"'Tis no good asking impossibilities from you, and I'm the last to do it," said Humphrey. "There are some things we can't escape from, and our characters are one of them. There's no more sense in trying to run from your character than in trying to run from your shadow. Too often your character is your shadow, come to think on it; and cruel black at that. But don't be impatient. Wait and watch yourself as well as other people. If these thoughts have been put in your head by the girl, they may not be natural to you, and they may not be digested by you. See how your own character takes 'em. I'm not against courting, mind, nor against early marriages; and if this woman be made of the stuff to mix well and close with your own character, then marry her and defy the devil and all his angels to harm you. To take such a woman is the best day's work that even the hardest working man can do in this world. But meantime don't whine, but go ahead and gather wisdom and learn a little about the things that happen outside the picture-frame--as I do." They turned presently and went back to dinner. Rupert praised his uncle, and declared that life looked the easier for his advice. "'Tis no good being called 'The Hawk' if you can't sharpen your wits as well as your claws," said the old man. "Yes--you're astonished--but I know what they call me well enough." "I knocked a chap down last Sunday on Cadworthy bridge for saying it," declared Rupert. "Very thoughtful and very proper to stand up for your family; but I'm not hurt. Maybe there's truth in it. I've no quarrel with the hawks--or the herons either--for all they do eat the trout. By all accounts there was birds to eat trout afore there was men to eat 'em. We humans have invented a saying that possession is nine points of the law; but we never thought much of that when it comed to knocking our weaker neighbours on the head--whether they be birds or men." "You've made me a lot more contented with the outlook, anyway." "I'm glad to hear it. Content's the one thing I'd wish you--and wish myself. I can't see the way very clear yet. Let me know if ever you come by it." "You! Why, you'm the most contented of any of us." "Come and eat, and don't talk of what you know nought," said Mr. Baskerville. They went through the back yard of the homestead presently, where a hot, distinctive odour of pigs saturated the air. As they passed by, some young, very dirty, pink porkers grunted with fat, amiable voices and cuddled to their lean mother, where she lay in a lair of ordure. "That's content," explained Humphrey; "it belongs to brainless things, and only to them. I haven't found it among men and women yet, and I never count to. Rainbow gold in this world. Yet, don't mistake me, I'm seeking after it still." "Why seek for it, if there's no such thing, uncle?"