"In ancient times, sirs," began the stranger, with his gaze upon the hurrying waters of the brook, "when a man had committed some great sin he hid himself from the world, and lashed himself with cruel stripes, he walked barefoot upon sharp flints and afflicted himself with grievous pains and penalties, glorying in the blood of his atonement, and wasting himself and his remaining years in woeful solitude, seeking, thereby, to reclaim his soul from the wrath to come. But, as for me, I walk the highways preaching always forgiveness and forgetfulness of self, and if men grow angry at my teaching and misuse me, the pain of wounds, the hardships, the fatigue, I endure them all with a glad and cheerful mind, seeking thereby to work out my redemption and atonement, for I was a very selfish man." Here the stranger paused, and his face seemed more lined and worn, and his white hair whiter, as he stared down into the running waters of the brook.
       "Sirs," he continued, speaking with bent head, "I once had a daughter, and I loved her dearly, but my name was dearer yet. I was proud of her beauty, but prouder of my ancient name, for I was a selfish man."
       "We lived in the country, a place remote and quiet, and consequently led a very solitary, humdrum life, because I was ever fond of books and flowers and the solitude of trees--a selfish man always. And so, at last, because she was young and high-spirited, she ran away from my lonely cottage with one who was a villain. And I grieved for her, young sirs, I grieved much and long, because I was lonely, but I grieved more for my name, my honorable name that she had besmirched, because, as I told you, I was a selfish man." Again the stranger was silent, sitting ever with bent head staring down at the crystal waters of the brook, only he clasped his thin hands and wrung them as he continued:
       "One evening, as I sat among my roses with a book in my hand, she came back to me through the twilight, and flung herself upon her knees before me, and besought my forgiveness with sobs and bitter, bitter tears. Ah, young sirs! I can hear her weeping yet. The sound of it is always in my ears. So she knelt to me in her abasement with imploring hands stretched out to me. Ah, the pity of those white appealing hands, the pity of them! But I, sirs, being as I say a selfish man and remembering only my proud and honorable name, I, her father, spurned her from me with reproaches and vile words, such burning, searing words as no daughter should hear or father utter."
       "And so, weeping still, she turned away wearily, hopelessly, and I stood to watch her bowed figure till she had crept away into the evening and was gone."
       "Thus, sirs, I drove her from me, this wounded lamb, this poor broken-hearted maid--bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh--I drove her from me, I who should have comforted and cherished her, I drove her out into the night with hateful words and bitter curses. Oh, was ever sin like mine? Oh, Self, Self! In ancient times, sirs, when a man had committed some great sin he lashed himself with cruel stripes, but I tell you no rod, no whip of many thongs ever stung or bit so sharp and deep as remorse--it is an abiding pain. Therefore I walk these highways preaching always forgiveness and forgetfulness of self, and so needs must I walk until my days be done, or until--I find her again." The stranger rose suddenly and so stood with bent head and very still, only his hands griped and wrung each other. Yet when he looked up his brow was serene and a smile was on his lips."
       "But you, sirs, you are friends again, and that is good, for friendship is a blessed thing. And you have youth and strength, and all things are possible to you, therefore. But oh, beware of self, take warning of a selfish man, forget self, so may you achieve great things."
       "But, as for me, I never stand upon a country road when evening falls but I see her, a broken, desolate figure, creeping away from me, always away from me, into the shadows, and the sound of her weeping comes to me in the night silences." So saying, the stranger turned from them and went upon his way, limping a little because of his hurts, and his hair gleamed silver in the sunshine as he went.

Chapter I. In Which Babnabas Knocks Down His Father, Though as Dutifully as May Be
Chapter II. In Which is Much Unpleasing Matter Regarding Silk Purses, Sows' Ears, Men, and Gentlemen
Chapter III. How Barnabas Set Out for London Town
Chapter IV. How Barnabas Fell in with a Pedler of Books, and Purchased a "Priceless Wollum"
Chapter V. In Which the Historian Sees Fit to Introduce a Lady of Quality; and Further Narrates How Barnabas Tore a Wonderful Bottle-Green Coat
Chapter VI. Of the Bewitchment of Black Eyelashes; and of a Fateful Lace Handkerchief
Chapter VII. In Which May Be Found Divers Rules and Maxims for the Art of Bowing
Chapter VIII. Concerning the Captain's Arm, the Bosun's Leg, and the "Belisarius," Seventy-Four
Chapter IX. Which Concerns Itself, Among Other Matters, with the Virtues of a Pair of Stocks and the Perversity of Fathers
Chapter X. Which Describes a Peripatetic Conversation
Chapter XI. In Which Fists are Clenched; and of a Selfish Man, Who was an Apostle of Peace
Chapter XII. Of the Stranger's Tale, Which, Being Short, May Perhaps Meet with the Reader's Kind Approbation.
Chapter XIII. In Which Barnabas Makes a Confession
Chapter XIV. Concerning the Buttons of One Milo of Crotona
Chapter XV. In Which the Patient Reader May Learn Something of the Gentleman in the Jaunty Hat
Chapter XVI. In Which Barnabas Engages One Without a Character
Chapter XVII. In Which Barnabas Parts Company with the Person of Quality
Chapter XVIII. How Barnabas Came to Oakshott's Barn
Chapter XIX. Which Tells How Barnabas Talks with My Lady Cleone for the Second Time
Chapter XX. Of the Prophecy of One Billy Button, a Madman
Chapter XXI. In Which Barnabas Undertakes a Mission
Chapter XXII. In Which the Reader is Introduced to an Ancient Finger-Post
Chapter XXIII. How Barnabas Saved His Life--Because He was Afraid
Chapter XXIV. Which Relates Something of the "White Lion" at Tenterden
Chapter XXV. Of the Coachman's Story
Chapter XXVI. Concerning the Duties of a Valet--and a Man
Chapter XXVII. How Barnabas Bought an Unridable Horse--and Rode It
Chapter XXVIII. Concerning, Among Other Things, the Legs of a Gentleman-in-Powder
Chapter XXIX. Which Describes Something of the Misfortunes of Ronald Barrymaine
Chapter XXX. In Which Ronald Barrymaine Makes His Choice
Chapter XXXI. Which Describes Some of the Evils of Vindictiveness
Chapter XXXII. Of Corporal Richard Roe, Late of the Grenadiers; and Further ConcerninG Mr. Shrig's Little Reader
Chapter XXXIII. Concerning the Duty of Fathers; More Especially the Viscount's "Roman"
Chapter XXXIV. Of the Luck of Captain Slingsby, of the Guards
Chapter XXXV. How Barnabas Met Jasper Gaunt, and What Came of It
Chapter XXXVI. Of an Ethical Discussion, Which the Reader is Advised to Skip
Chapter XXXVII. In Which the Bo'sun Discourses on Love and Its Symptoms
Chapter XXXVIII. How Barnabas Climbed a Wall
Chapter XXXIX. In Which the Patient Reader is Introduced to an Almost Human Duchess
Chapter XL. Which Relates Sundry Happenings at the Garden Fete
Chapter XLI. In Which Barnabas Makes a Surprising Discovery, That May Not Surprise the Reader in the Least
Chapter XLII. In Which Shall Be Found Further Mention of a Finger-Post
Chapter XLIII. In Which Barnabas Makes a Bet, and Receives a Warning
Chapter XLIV. Of the Tribulations of the Legs of the Gentleman-in-Powder
Chapter XLV. How Barnabas Sought Counsel of the Duchess "Bo'sun?"
Chapter XLVI. Which Concerns Itself with Small Things in General, and a Pebble in Particular
Chapter XLVII. How Barnabas Found His Manhood
Chapter XLVIII. In Which "The Terror," Hitherto Known as "Four-Legs," Justifies His New Name
Chapter XLIX. Which, Being Somewhat Important, is Consequently Short
Chapter L. In Which Ronald Barrymaine Speaks His Mind
Chapter LI. Which Tells How and Why Mr. Shrig's Case was Spoiled
Chapter LII. Of a Breakfast, a Roman Parent, and a Kiss
Chapter LIII. In Which Shall Be Found Some Account of the Gentleman's Steeplechase
Chapter LIV. Which Concerns Itself Chiefly with a Letter
Chapter LV. Which Narrates Sundry Happenings at Oakshott's Barn
Chapter LVI. Of the Gathering of the Shadows
Chapter LVII. Being a Parenthetical Chapter on Doubt, Which, Though Uninteresting, is Very Short
Chapter LVIII. How Viscount Devenham Found Him a Viscountess
Chapter LIX. Which Relates, Among Other Things, How Barnabas Lost His Hat
Chapter LX. Which Tells of a Reconciliation
Chapter LXI. How Barnabas Went to His Triumph
Chapter LXII. Which Tells How Barnabas Triumphed in Spite of All
Chapter LXIII. Which Tells How Barnabas Heard the Ticking of a Clock
Chapter LXIV. Which Shows Something of the Horrors of Remorse
Chapter LXV. Which Tells How Barnabas Discharged His Valet
Chapter LXVI. Of Certain Conclusions Drawn by Mr. Shrig
Chapter LXVII. Which Gives Some Account of the Worst Place in the World
Chapter LXVIII. Concerning the Identity of Mr. Bimby's Guest
Chapter LXIX. How Barnabas Led a Hue and cry
Chapter LXX. Which Tells How Barnabas Rode Another Race
Chapter LXXI. Which Tells How Barnabas, in His Folly, Chose the Harder Course
Chapter LXXII. How Ronald Barreymaine Squared His Account
Chapter LXXIII. Which Recounts Three Awakenings
Chapter LXXIV. How The Duchess Made Up Her Mind, and Barnabas Did the Like
Chapter LXXV. Which Tells Why Barnabas Forgot His Breakfast
Chapter LXXVI. How the Viscount Proposed a Toast
Chapter LXXVII. How Barnabas Rode Homewards, and Took Counsel of a Pedler of Books
Chapter LXXVIII. Which Tells How Barnabas Came Home Again, and How He Awoke for the Fourth Time