'Ay.

That's bad.

Your mother, poor soul, would be happier if she was richer, Barnaby.' 'Why, so I tell her--the very thing I told her just before you came to-night, when all that gold was in the sky,' said Barnaby, drawing his chair nearer to him, and looking eagerly in his face.

'Tell me.

Is there any way of being rich, that I could find out ?' 'Any way! A hundred ways.' 'Ay, ay ?' he returned.