key as that, Christian;
you should try more," said Fairway.

"Yes, you should try more," echoed the Grandfer with insistence, as
if he had been the first to make the suggestion. "In common conscience
every man ought either to marry or go for a soldier. 'Tis a scandal to
the nation to do neither one nor t'other. I did both, thank God! Neither
to raise men nor to lay 'em low--that shows a poor do-nothing spirit
indeed."

"I never had the nerve to stand fire," faltered Christian. "But as to
marrying, I own I've asked here and there, though without much fruit
from it. Yes, there's some house or other that might have had a man for
a master--such as he is--that's now ruled by a woman alone. Still it
might have been awkward if I had found her; for, d'ye see, neighbours,
there'd have been nobody left at home to keep down Father's spirits to
the decent pitch that becomes a old man."

"And you've your work cut out to do that, my son," said Grandfer Cantle
smartly. "I wish that the dread of infirmities was not so strong in
me!--I'd start the very first thing tomorrow to see the world over
again! But seventy-one, though nothing at home, is a high figure for a
rover....Ay, seventy-one, last Candlemasday. Gad, I'd sooner have it in
guineas than in years!" And the old man sighed.

"Don't you be mournful, Grandfer," said Fairway. "Empt some more
feathers into the bed-tick, and keep up yer heart. Though rather lean in
the stalks you be a green-leaved old man still. There's time enough left
to ye yet to fill whole chronicles."

"Begad, I'll go to 'em, Timothy--to the married pair!" said Granfer
Cantle in an encouraged voice, and starting round briskly. "I'll go to
'em tonight and sing a wedding song, hey? 'Tis like me to do so, you
know; and they'd see it as such. My 'Down in Cupid's Gardens' was well
liked in four; still, I've got others as good, and even better. What do
you say to my

She cal'-led to' her love'
From the lat'-tice a-bove,
'O come in' from the fog-gy fog'-gy dew'.'

'Twould please 'em well at such a time! Really, now I come to think of
it, I haven't turned my tongue in my head to the shape of a real good
song since Old Midsummer night, when we had the 'Barley Mow' at the
Woman; and 'tis a pity to neglect your strong point where there's few
that have the compass for such things!"

"So 'tis, so 'tis," said Fairway. "Now gie the bed a shake down. We've
put in seventy pounds of best feathers, and I