"You silly folk!" he said. "God knows there's small need of this. But thank you all--wife, children, brothers, and nephew. I be getting up home to my tether's end now, and can't look with certainty for over and above another ten birthdays or thereabouts; but such as come we'll keep together, if it pleases you. And if you be drinking, then here's to you all at a breath--to you all, not forgetting my son Nathan that's sailing on the sea." "I'll write to Nat and tell him every blessed word of it, and what we've had for dinner and all," said May. The company grew hilarious and Nathan, leaving them, went to the trap that had brought him from Shaugh Prior and returned with a bottle. "'Tis a pretty cordial," he said, "and a thimbleful all round will steady what's gone and warm our hearts. Not but what they'm warm enough already." The liquor was broached and all drank but Humphrey. "Enough's as good as a feast. And you can saddle my pony, Mark. I'm going home now. I'm glad to have been here to-day; but I'm going now." They pressed him to remain, but he judged the invitation to be half-hearted. However, he was tranquil and amiable at leave-taking. To Rupert he even extended an invitation. Rupert was the only one of his brother's family for whom he even pretended regard. "You can come and see me when you've got the time," he said. "I'll go for a walk along with you and hear what you have to say." Then he rode off, but Mark stopped and finished the day with his cousins. He talked to Rupert and, with secret excitement, heard the opinions of May and Polly on the subject of Cora Lintern. A very glowing and genial atmosphere settled over Cadworthy after the departure of Humphrey Baskerville. Even the nervous Mark consented to sing a song or two. The musical traditions of the Baskervilles had reawakened in him, and on rare occasions he favoured his friends with old ballads. But in church he never sang, and often only went there to ring the tenor bell. Mr. Nathan also rendered certain comic songs, and May played the aged piano. Then there was dancing and dust and noise, and presently the meal called 'high tea.' Hester Baskerville protested at last against her brother-in-law's absurdities, for everybody began to roll about and ache with laughter; but he challenged her criticism. "Clever though you all are," he said, "no woman that ever I met was clever enough to play the fool. 'Tis only the male creature can accomplish that." "No woman ever wanted to, I should hope," she answered; and he retorted triumphantly-- "There you are! There's my argument in a nutshell!" She was puzzled. "What d'you mean by that?" she asked, and, from the standpoint of his nimble wit, he roared. "There you are again!" he said. "I can't explain; but the lack in you be summed in the question." "You'm a hopeless case," she said. "We all laugh at you, and yet couldn't for the life of us tell what on earth 'tis we be laughing at."