He was stooping down to buckle on his shoe, when a hackney-coach passed them rather quickly, and a voice inside called to the driver to stop.
'Young man,' said a voice within.
'Who's that ?' cried Barnaby, looking up.
'Do you wear this ornament ?' returned the stranger, holding out a blue cockade.
'In Heaven's name, no.

Pray do not give it him!' exclaimed the widow.
'Speak for yourself, woman,' said the man within the coach, coldly.
'Leave the young man to his choice; he's old enough to make it, and to snap your apron-strings.

He knows, without your telling, whether he wears the sign of a loyal Englishman or not.' Barnaby, trembling with impatience, cried, 'Yes! yes, yes, I do,' as he had cried a dozen times already.

The man threw him a cockade, and crying, 'Make haste to St George's Fields,' ordered the coachman to drive on fast; and left them.
With hands that trembled with his eagerness to fix the bauble in his hat, Barnaby was adjusting it as he best could, and hurriedly replying to the tears and entreaties of his mother, when two gentlemen passed on the opposite side of the way.

Observing them, and seeing how Barnaby was occupied, they stopped, whispered together for an instant, turned back, and came over to them.
'Why are you sitting here ?' said one of them, who was dressed in a plain suit of black, wore long lank hair, and carried a great cane.