"Don't say things like that, father. You may get better yet. He's going to fetch another doctor to-morrow." "Let him fetch twenty--they can do nought. 'Tis the last back-heel that none ever stand against. I don't grumble. I'm only sorry that 'twas my own son has struck his father. Death don't matter, but 'tis a bitter death to know the fruit of your loins---- His work I was doing: let him know that--his work. An old man doing a young man's work. If Rupert had been here, he'd have been shifting they sacks. Let none deny it. 'Tis solemn truth." Ned knew the extreme falsity of this impression, but he made no effort to contradict his father. "What I done to Tavistock a month agone, I might have undone afore I went," continued the sick man. "But not now--not when I remember 'twas his wickedness has hurried me into my grave. Where be my son Nathan's ship to now?" "Don't know, father." "You ought to know, then. Him that I would see I can't see; and him that would see me I won't see." "You might see him, father, for his peace." "'Peace'! Damn his peace! What peace shall he have that killed his own father? He don't deserve to look upon me again, and he shan't--living nor dead--mark that. Tell your mother that when I'm dead, Rupert ban't to see me. Only the coffin lid shall he see." The old man snorted and groaned. Then he spoke again. "Have you got pen and ink ready?" "Yes, father." "Turn to the first leaf of the Bible, then, and see my date." Ned opened the family register and read the time of his father's birth. "Born June, died January--and just over the allotted span. Let me see, how shall the stone read? There's good things on the Baskerville stones. 'Sacred to the memory of Vivian Baskerville, of Cadworthy Farm, in this parish, yeoman.' You can begin like that." "Shall you say anything about being champion of the west country at wrestling?" asked Ned. "No. That ban't a thing for the grave--at least, perhaps it might be. Your uncle, the great musicker, had a fiddle cut 'pon his stone very clever. If 'twas thought that the silver belt could be copied upon my slate---- But no, let that pass, 'tis but a small matter." "Better leave it to us to think about. Uncle Nathan will know best." "So he will, then. And we must work in a rhyme, for certain; but first, I've got a fine thought to put down." Ned waited, pen in hand; then his father continued to dictate:-- "'What it pleased the great I AM'--capital letters for I AM--'what it pleased the great I AM to give me in shape of a body in eighteen hundred and eighteen, it likewise pleased Him to call home again in eighteen hundred and eighty-nine.' How does that sound?" "Splendid, father." "Now there's the rhyme to follow. I want to work in 'breath' and 'death' if it can be done. You ought to be able to do it, seeing all the learning you've had and what it cost."