"Good God! At his age! Can't an old man of seventy find nothing better and wiser to do than run after childish things like that?" The son was silent, and his uncle, with a snort of deep disdain, rode forward. "'Tis about the birthday," Rupert explained to Milly. "In June father will turn seventy, and there is to be a rare fuss made, and a spread, and all the family to come round him at Cadworthy. Of course, Uncle Nat will come. In fact, 'twas his idea that we should have a celebration about it; but I doubt if Uncle Humphrey will. He'd think such a thing all rubbish, no doubt, for he's against every sort of merry-making. You see how he went just now when I told him father was gone to the wrestlin' matches." "Don't you mind him too much, all the same," said Milly. "He looks terrible grim and says dreadful things, but I don't believe he's half in earnest. I ban't feared of him, and never will be. Don't you be neither." They left the tor and proceeded to the girl's home beneath. The close-cropped turf of the warrens spread in a green and resilient carpet under their feet; and, flung in a mighty pattern upon it, young red leaves of whortleberry broke through and spattered the miles of turf with a haze of russet. Rupert said farewell at the entrance; then he hastened homeward and presently reached his family circle as it was preparing to dine. Hester Baskerville, the wife of Vivian, was a quiet, fair woman of fine bearing and above middle height. She was twenty years younger than her husband, but the union had been a happy and successful one in every respect, and the woman's mild nature and large patience had chimed well with the man's strong self-assertion, narrow outlook, and immovable opinions. Kindness of heart and generosity of spirit distinguished them both; and these precious traits were handed to the children of the marriage, six in number. Ned Baskerville, the eldest son, was considered the least satisfactory and the best looking. Then came Rupert, a commonplace edition of Ned, but worth far more as a responsible being. These men resembled their mother and both lived at home. Young Nathan Baskerville followed. He was a sailor and seldom seen at Cadworthy. The two girls of this family succeeded Nathan. May and Polly were like their father--of dark complexion and inclined to stoutness; while the baby of the household was Humphrey, a youngster of thirteen, called after the dreaded uncle. All save Nat, the sailor, were at table when Rupert entered with his letter, and all showed keenest interest to learn whether Mr. Baskerville of Hawk House had accepted his invitation. Rupert handed the letter to his mother, and she was about to put it aside until her husband's return; but her children persuaded her to open it. "Such a terrible exciting thing, mother," said stout May. "Us never won't sleep a wink till us knows."