But Grip, who had watched the action, anticipated his master, by hopping on before them;--constantly flapping his wings, and screaming 'cook!' meanwhile, as a hint perhaps that there was company coming, and a small collation would be acceptable.
Barnaby and his mother walked on, on either side of the gentleman on horseback, who surveyed each of them from time to time in a proud and coarse manner, and occasionally thundered out some question, the tone of which alarmed Barnaby so much that he could find no answer, and, as a matter of course, could make him no reply.

On one of these occasions, when the gentleman appeared disposed to exercise his horsewhip, the widow ventured to inform him in a low voice and with tears in her eyes, that her son was of weak mind.
'An idiot, eh ?' said the gentleman, looking at Barnaby as he spoke.

'And how long hast thou been an idiot ?' 'She knows,' was Barnaby's timid answer, pointing to his mother--'I--always, I believe.' 'From his birth,' said the widow.
'I don't believe it,' cried the gentleman, 'not a bit of it.

It's an excuse not to work.

There's nothing like flogging to cure that disorder.
I'd make a difference in him in ten minutes, I'll be bound.' 'Heaven has made none in more than twice ten years, sir,' said the widow mildly.
'Then why don't you shut him up?
we pay enough for county institutions, damn 'em.