"All these things," said Mrs. Lintern, "have been done for honour of the name. Your folk go back along far--far into the past, and there's never been a cloud between them and honest dealing. But, when Heathman's father was cut off with his work unfinished, it happed that he left no money, and the many things that he had planned all fell short, without his mastermind to pick up the threads and bring them through. Then came Humphrey Baskerville, and for love of his brother and for love of the name, did these good deeds. And to beggar himself in money be nought in the eyes of that man, if he leaves his family rich in credit afore the eyes of the world. Such another was your own father, May; and such another is your brother Rupert; and such another was your cousin Mark. They had their own sight and looked at the world their own way and all saw it different, maybe; but they never saw justice different." "And such be I," declared Heathman. "I can't call myself a Baskerville, and shan't get no thinner for that; but I'm the son of my mother, and she's worth a shipload of any other sort--better than the whole flight of you Baskervilles, May--good though you be. And I'm very well pleased to be kin to you all, if you like, and if you don't like, you can leave it." They parted then, and May returned home. Heathman showed himself highly gratified at what he had heard, and his sister shared his satisfaction. But their mother was sunk deep in the hidden places of her own heart, and they left her alone while they spoke together. CHAPTER XII Joe Voysey walked over one evening to talk with his lifelong friend Thomas Gollop. The gardener felt choked to the throat with injustice, and regarded his dismissal from the vicarage as an outrage upon society; while Mr. Gollop laboured under similar emotions. Both declared that the ingratitude of Dennis Masterman was what principally stung them. To retire into private life caused them no pain; but to have been invited to do so was a bitter grievance. Miss Eliza Gollop chanced to be out, and Thomas sat by the fire alone. His Bible stood on the table, but he was not reading it. Only when Voysey's knock sounded at the cottage door did Thomas wheel round from the fire, open the book and appear to be buried in its pages. He had rather expected a visit from Mr. Masterman, hence these preparations; but when Voysey entered, Thomas modified his devout attitude and shut the Bible again. "I half thought as that wretched man from the vicarage might call this evening," he said. "He won't, then," replied Joe, "for he've got together all they fools who have fallen in with his wish about yowling carols at Christmas. Him and her be down at the schoolroom; and there's row enough rising up to fright the moon." "Carol-singing! I wish the time was come for him to sing to his God for mercy," said Thomas. Then he went to a cupboard and brought out a bottle of spirits.