It is the poor man that gives the rich man all the pull on him, by cherishing the same feelings as the rich man concerning riches, by fancying the rich man because of his riches the greater man, and longing to be rich like him. A man that can _do_ things is greater than any man who only _has_ things. True, a rich man can get mighty things done, but he does not do them. He may be much the greater for willing them to be done, but he is not the greater for the actual doing of them. “At any rate,” said Barbara to herself, “I like this working man better than that gentleman!” Richard stood for a while boiling with indignation. He would have cared less if he had been sure he had answered him properly, but he could not remember what he had said. The clock struck the hour that ended his workday. Instead of sitting down to read, he set out for the smithy. It was not a week since he had seen his grandfather, but he wanted motion, and desired a human face that belonged to him. It was rather dark when he reached it, but the old man had not yet dropped work. The sparks were flying wild about his gray head as Richard drew near. “Can I help you, grandfather?” he said. “No, no, lad; your hands are too soft by this time--with your bits of brass wheels, and scraps of leather, and needles, and paste! No, no, lad;--thou cannot help the old man to-night.--But you're not in earnest, are you?” he added, looking up suddenly. “You 'ain't left your place?” “No, but my day's work being over, why shouldn't I help you to get yours over! When first I came you expected me to do so!” “Look here, lad!--as a man gets older he comes to think more of fair play, and less of his rights: it seems to me that not your time only, but your strength as well belongs to the man who hires you; and if you weary yourself helping me, who have no claim, you cannot do so much or so good work for your master!--Do you see sense in that?” “Indeed I do! I think you are quite right.” “It is strange,” Simon went on, “how age makes you more particular! The thing I would have done without thinking when I was young, I think twice of now. Is that what we were sent here for--to grow honest, I wonder?--Depend upon it,” he resumed after a moment's silence, “there's a somewhere where the thing's taken notice of! There's a somebody as thinks about it!” After more talk, and a cup of tea at the cottage, Richard set out for the lodgeless gate, already mentioned more than once, to which the housekeeper had lent him a key. He had not got far into the park, when to his surprise he perceived, a little way off on the grass, a small figure gliding swiftly toward him through the dusk rather than the light of the moon, which, but just above the horizon, sent little of her radiance to the spot. It was Barbara. “I have been watching for you ever so long!” she said. “They told me you had gone out, and I thought you might come home this way.”