He had already imagined the Prince of Darkness in the guise of Mr.Button; Mrs.Button was in every way fit to be the latter's diabolical mate.

Encouraged by sympathy and shrewd questions, he sketched in broad detail his short career, glorifying himself as the prize scholar and the erstwhile Grand Llama of Budge Street, and drawing a dismal picture of the factory.

Barney Bill listened comprehendingly.

Then, smoking a well-blackened clay, he began to utter maledictions on the suffocating life in towns and to extol his own manner of living.

Having an appreciative audience, he grew eloquent over his lonely wanderings the length and breadth of the land; over the joy of country things, the sweetness of the fields, the wayside flowers, the vaulted highways in the leafy summer, the quiet, sleepy towns, the fragrant villages, the peace and cleanness of the open air.
The night had fallen, and in the cleared sky the stars shone bright.
Paul, his head against the lintel of the van door, looked up at them, enthralled by the talk of Barney Bill.