The old man was expecting his nephew and came upon the waste to meet him. They had not spoken together for many days and Rupert was glad to see the elder again. A year had stamped its record upon Humphrey Baskerville, and the significance of his son's death might now be perceived. Mark's passing left a permanent scar, but the expected callosity of spirit by no means overtook the sufferer. Man, if he did not delight him, bulked upon his mind as the supreme experience. It was an added tribulation that, upon his brother's estrangement and death, one of the few living beings with whom he enjoyed the least measure of intimacy had dropped out of his life. And now he became increasingly sensitive to the opinion of the people and developed a morbidity that was new. Mrs. Hacker was his frank intelligencer, and more than once he smarted to hear her tell how sensible men had spoken ill of him. Now he fell into talk with Rupert and uttered the things uppermost in his mind. "Well enough in body, but sometimes I doubt if my brain's all it used to be. Mayhap in the head is where I'll go first." Rupert laughed. "Not much fear of that, uncle." "You must know," answered the other, "that every man in this life has to suffer a certain amount of injustice. From the king on his throne to the tinker in his garret, there are thorns stuffed in all pillows. Human nature misunderstands itself at every turn, and the closest, life-long friends often catch their secret hearts full of wonder and surprise at each other. But I--I've had more than my share of that. The injustice that's heaped upon me is insufferable at times. And why? Because I don't carry my heart on my sleeve, and won't palter with truth at the world's bidding." "'Tis only fools laugh at you or grumble at you." "You're wrong there," answered Humphrey. "The scorn of fools and the snarl of evil lips are a healthy sign. There are some men and some dogs that I would rather bark at me than not. But how is it that wise men and understanding men hold aloof and say hard things and look t'other way when I pass by?" "Lord knows," answered Rupert. "They'm too busy to think for themselves, I suppose, and take the general opinion that you're rather--rather unsociable. You do many and many a kind thing, but they ban't known." "No I don't. I can't--'tisn't my nature. Kind things are often terrible silly things. Leave your Uncle Nathan to do the kind things. He did a kind thing when my son died; and I felt it. For warmth of heart there never was such another. The trouble that man takes for people is very fine to see. I'm not saying he's wise. In fact, I don't think he is wise. To do other folks' work for 'em and shelter 'em from the results of their own folly is to think you know better than God Almighty." "He's wonderful good, I'm sure. A godsend to my mother. Taken all the business over for her. When father died----"