Tom Brangwen’s mood of inspiration began to pass away. He forgot all about it, and was soon roaring and shouting with the rest. Outside the wake came, singing the carols. They were invited into the bursting house. They had two fiddles and a piccolo. There in the parlour they played carols, and the whole company sang them at the top of its voice. Only the bride and bridegroom sat with shining eyes and strange, bright faces, and scarcely sang, or only with just moving lips. The wake departed, and the guysers came. There was loud applause, and shouting and excitement as the old mystery play of St. George, in which every man present had acted as a boy, proceeded, with banging and thumping of club and dripping pan. “By Jove, I got a crack once, when I was playin’ Beelzebub,” said Tom Brangwen, his eyes full of water with laughing. “It knocked all th’ sense out of me as you’d crack an egg. But I tell you, when I come to, I played Old Johnny Roger with St. George, I did that.” He was shaking with laughter. Another knock came at the door. There was a hush. “It’s th’ cab,” said somebody from the door. “Walk in,” shouted Tom Brangwen, and a red-faced grinning man entered. “Now, you two, get yourselves ready an’ off to blanket fair,” shouted Tom Brangwen. “Strike a daisy, but if you’re not off like a blink o’ lightnin’, you shanna go, you s’ll sleep separate.” Anna rose silently and went to change her dress. Will Brangwen would have gone out, but Tilly came with his hat and coat. The youth was helped on. “Well, here’s luck, my boy,” shouted his father. “When th’ fat’s in th’ fire, let it frizzle,” admonished his uncle Frank. “Fair and _softly_ does it, fair an’ _softly_ does it,” cried his aunt, Frank’s wife, contrary. “You don’t want to fall over yourself,” said his uncle by marriage. “You’re not a bull at a gate.” “Let a man have his own road,” said Tom Brangwen testily. “Don’t be so free of your advice—it’s his wedding this time, not yours.” “’E don’t want many sign-posts,” said his father. “There’s some roads a man has to be led, an’ there’s some roads a boss-eyed man can only follow wi’ one eye shut. But this road can’t be lost by a blind man nor a boss-eyed man nor a cripple—and he’s neither, thank God.” “Don’t you be so sure o’ your walkin’ powers,” cried Frank’s wife. “There’s many a man gets no further than half-way, nor can’t to save his life, let him live for ever.” “Why, how do you know?” said Alfred. “It’s plain enough in th’ looks o’ some,” retorted Lizzie, his sister-in-law. The youth stood with a faint, half-hearing smile on his face. He was tense and abstracted. These things, or anything, scarcely touched him. Anna came down, in her day dress, very elusive. She kissed everybody, men and women, Will Brangwen shook hands with everybody, kissed his mother, who began to cry, and the whole party went surging out to the cab. The young couple were shut up, last injunctions shouted at them. “Drive on,” shouted Tom Brangwen.