wagon. I began to complain of my neighbor, who was sitting on my
legs. He claimed that I was pressing against him with my shoulder.
We all began to look up to the guard, as if expecting that he could
or would prevent us from torturing one another.

Still I had some fun even on that day of weeping. I happened to
turn around, and I noticed that Barker, my dog, was running after
our wagon.

"Too bad, foolish Barker," said I, laughing at him in spite of my
heartache. "Do you think I am going to a feast? It is into exile
that I am going; and what do you run after me for?"--



This made old Samuel laugh; he laughed like a child, as if the thing
had just happened before his eyes, and as if it were really comical.
Meanwhile our coach had reached the top of the hill; we jumped into
our seats, and proceeded to make one another uncomfortable.

The old man glanced at his son, who was sitting opposite to him. It
was a loving and tender look, issuing from under long shaggy
eyebrows, a beautiful, gentle, almost motherly look, out of accord
with the hard-set face of an irritable and stern father.

The old man made his son's seat comfortable for him, and then fell
silent.