"So I understand. Not much of a church-goer, though, I'm afraid. However, perhaps he'll come oftener now. The bells make the tower shake, I do believe. We've never had the tenor bell rung like your son rang it, Mr. Baskerville."
The old man shrugged his shoulders.
"I always fancy so; but then, I've a right to fancy so. I was his father. No doubt 'tis folly. One pair of hands can pull a rope as well as another. But 'as the heart thinketh, so the bell clinketh,' though the heart of man is generally wrong. My son would have done his best to-day, no doubt, though such was his nature that he'd sooner toll alone than peal in company."
"Are you going to the wedding breakfast?"
"Yes; not that they really want me. 'Twas only because the boys and girls wouldn't take 'no' for an answer that I go. I doubt whether they're in earnest. But I'm glad to be there too."
"Who was the fine young brown fellow in the Baskerville pew beside Mrs. Baskerville?"
"Nathan Baskerville the younger. Called after my brother, the innkeeper. He's just off the sea for a bit."
"A handsome man."
"He is for certain."
"Well, I'm very glad to meet you. I was telling Gollop that our graves are not worthy of us. We must make the churchyard tidier."