"Very aggravating 'tis to hear it--to me," suddenly declared a sad-looking, silent man, in a corner. "There's my wife might be doing the very same; but rabbit it! she've never got time for nothing now. We've gived up our market stall altogether. I've got to do everything of late days. I never thought she'd have changed like that--else I'd never have took her." "How many children have you got, Samuel?" asked Mr. Huggins. "But one," said Samuel gloomily. "There 'tis!" cried the ancient. "They'm all the same with one--'tis the commonest thing. But wait till she've brought 'e half-a-dozen or more, and she'll have time for everything--market included." "'Tis strange but true, like other ways of Providence," declared Taverner; "but I've marked it in my own family, that one child be far more trouble than six; an' takes far more time. 'Tis the want of practice, no doubt." Men came and went. Presently Weekes prepared to depart, and put on his coat again. "Where's my father to-night?" he asked. "'Tis past his hour. He had rather a dressing down afore mother started this morning. I should have thought he'd have come for an extra glass in consequence." "He never takes but four half pints of a Saturday night, year in, year out," answered Mr. Pearn. "Sometimes he'll top up with a thimble of sloe gin, if the weather's harsh; but that's his outside allowance." "Life's a stormy voyage--without no harbour--for him," said Huggins. "I don't speak disrespectfully of Mrs. Weekes--very far from it--she's a born wonder; but one of the sort built for wild weather. She likes it; she'd droop if everything went smooth." "Everything do go smooth," said Jarratt. "She is like a stately vessel that casts up foam from its prow," declared the schoolmaster. "Mrs. Weekes is a lesson to Lydford, as I have always maintained, and always shall do." The husband of the stately vessel appeared at this moment. "Be blessed if I didn't miss the door," he said. "Never remember such a fog. 'Twill be blind man's buff to-morrow." He sighed and came to the fire. "Have a drink, father," said Jarratt, as to an inferior. But Philip shook his head. "Not yet, Jar, thank 'e. I must get a thought warmer first. I'll smoke my pipe a bit." "Down on his luck he is to-day," explained the younger Weekes. "Down on his luck--because he don't know his luck--eh, father?" Philip did not answer; conversation became general, and the castle-keeper departed. Then, when he had gone, Noah Pearn endeavoured to cheer his customer. "Us have got some hot ale here wi' a nutmeg and a bit 'o toast in it, my dear," he said. "You sup a drop and 'twill brace your sinews. The cold have touched 'e perhaps." "Thank you, Noah," said Mr. Weekes, and took the glass. "You're very good, I'm sure. I've had a lot on my mind to-day." "She'd be a fine woman, if there was a thought less lemon in her," said Taverner soothingly.