"Oh yes, they will," declared Prout. "You'll do a lot better than me. You'm younger and have your ideas. 'Tis about the procession and so on. A lot was done last time; but 'tis such a while agone, that I dare say they'll have to begin all over again. Anyway, I couldn't ride to Lydford to-night for a fortune. I'm dog tired." "'Twill fit very well," said Sarah Jane, who was clearing away the tea-things in Ruddyford kitchen. "I walk into Lydford myself this evening, to take the butter to Mrs. Weekes. Say you'll go, Daniel." "I'm willing enough. The only point is if I can serve on a committee in place of another man." "Certainly you can," said Mr. Prout. "They'll be very pleased to see you, I'm sure. Jarratt Weekes is a member, and he'll take you along with him." "I'll go, then," assented Daniel, "and Weekes will post me up in the business, no doubt." It happened that relations of a harmonious character existed at present between the family of Philip Weekes and Ruddyford. Hephzibah took large quantities of Sarah Jane's butter into Plymouth every Saturday; and sometimes Philip himself, or the girl Susan, came for this produce. Occasionally it was brought to Lydford by a messenger from the farm. The Brendons were now on terms of friendship with Jarratt's parents and of superficial friendship with the castle-keeper himself. To-night Sarah Jane and Daniel heard the familiar voice raised as they entered the front gate, and, despite a loud summons, they stood some while under the dusk, with the scent of the garden primroses in their nostrils, before any attention was paid to them. Then Susan appeared, and as she opened the door the full and withering blast of Hephzibah's rhetoric burst upon the air. "Didn't hear 'e first time," said the girl. "Aunt's in one of her tantrums. A very awkward thing's happed just now. Awkward for Uncle Philip, I mean. He was in the street talking to Mr. Churchward; and unbeknownst to him, on our side the wall, not two yards off, Aunt Hepsy chanced for to be." "Never mind all that," interrupted Sarah Jane. "Here's the butter, and my husband be come to see Jarratt. We don't want to hear none of your rows, Susie." "You'll have to hear--you know what Aunt Hepsy be." They went into the kitchen, and Mrs. Weekes, without saluting them, instantly turned the torrent of her speech in their direction. Philip sat by the fire with his hands in his pockets and his wistful grey eyes roaming, rather like a wild animal caught in a trap; his son was eating at the table; Mrs. Weekes stood in the middle of the kitchen; her legs were planted somewhat apart, and her arms waved like semaphores to accentuate her speech.