Of Susan it might be said that she was honest and not honest. In her case, though, she would have scorned to take a crust; she listened at doors. To steal a spoon was beyond her power; but to steal information not intended for her ears did not outrage her moral sense. Her rare triumphs were concerned with Humphrey's ragged wardrobe; and when she could prevail with him to buy a new suit of clothes, or burn an old one, she felt the day had justified itself. Now, through the clitters beneath him, there ascended a man, and Humphrey prepared to meet his nephew. He had marked Rupert speak with Mrs. Hacker and seen her point to the tor. It pleased the uncle that this youth should sometimes call unasked upon him, for he rated Rupert as the sanest and usefulest of his kindred. In a sense Rupert pleased Humphrey better than his own son did. A vague instinct to poetry and sentiment and things of abstract beauty, which belonged as an ingredient to Mark's character, found no echo in his father's breast. "I be come to eat my dinner along with you and fetch a message for Mark," began the young man. "Mr. Masterman's meeting, to tell everybody about the play, will be held in the parish room early next month, and parson specially wants you and Mark to be there. There's an idea of reviving some old-fangled customs. I dare say 'tis a very good idea, and there will be plenty to lend a hand; but I doubt whether Mark will dress up and spout poetry for him--any more than I would." "He means to perform 'St. George' next Christmas and invite the countryside," said Mr. Baskerville. "Well, one man's meat is another man's poison. He's young and energetic. He'll carry it through somehow with such material as lies about him. The maidens will all want to be in it, no doubt." "I think 'tis foolery, uncle." "You think wrong, then. Ban't always foolery to hark back to old ways. He's got his ideas for waking the people up. You and me might say, 'don't wake 'em up'; but 'tisn't our business. It is his business, as a minister, to open their eyes and polish their senses. So let him try with childish things first--not that he'll succeed, for he won't." "Then what's the good of trying?" "The man must earn his money." "Fancy coming to a dead-alive hole like this! Why, even Jack Head from Trowlesworthy--him as works for Mr. Luscombe--even he laughs at Shaugh." "He's a rare Radical, is Head. 'Tis the likes of him the upper people don't want to teach to read or to think--for fear of pickling a rod for themselves. But Head will be thinking. He's made so. I like him."