Thinking of this the old man sighed, and expected me to sigh after him.  But a sigh is not (like a yawn) infectious; and we are all more prone to be sent to sleep than to sorrow by one another.  Not but what a sigh sometimes may make us think of sighing.

“Well, sir,” cried I, in my sprightliest manner, which rouses up most people, “here’s to your health and dear little Ruth’s:  and may you live to knock off the cobwebs from every bottle in under the arch.  Uncle Reuben, your life and health, sir?”

With that I took my glass thoughtfully, for it was wondrous good; and Uncle Ben was pleased to see me dwelling pleasantly on the subject with parenthesis, and self-commune, and oral judgment unpronounced, though smacking of fine decision. “Curia vult advisari,” as the lawyers say; which means, “Let us have another glass, and then we can think about it.”

“Come now, John,” said Uncle Ben, laying his wrinkled hand on my knee, when he saw that none could heed us, “I know that you have a sneaking fondness for my grandchild Ruth.  Don’t interrupt me now; you have; and to deny it will only provoke me.”

“I do like Ruth, sir,” I said boldly, for fear of misunderstanding; “but I do not love her.”

“Very well; that makes no difference.  Liking may very soon be loving (as some people call it) when the maid has money to help her.”

“But if there be, as there is in my case—­”

“Once for all, John, not a word.  I do not attempt to lead you into any engagement with little Ruth; neither will I blame you (though I may be disappointed) if no such engagement should ever be.  But whether you will have my grandchild, or whether you will not—­and such a chance is rarely offered to a fellow of your standing”—­Uncle Ben despised all farmers—­“in any case I have at least resolved to let you know my secret; and for two good reasons.  The first is that it wears me out to dwell upon it, all alone, and the second is that I can trust you to fulfil a promise.  Moreover, you are my next of kin, except among the womankind; and you are just the man I want, to help me in my enterprise.”

“And I will help you, sir,” I answered, fearing some conspiracy, “in anything that is true, and loyal, and according to the laws of the realm.”

“Ha, ha!” cried the old man, laughing until his eyes ran over, and spreading out his skinny hands upon his shining breeches, “thou hast gone the same fools’ track as the rest; even as spy Stickles went, and all his precious troopers.  Landing of arms at Glenthorne, and Lynmouth, wagons escorted across the moor, sounds of metal and booming noises!  Ah, but we managed it cleverly, to cheat even those so near to us.  Disaffection at Taunton, signs of insurrection at Dulverton, revolutionary tanner at Dunster!  We set it all abroad, right well.  And not even you to suspect our work; though we thought at one time that you watched us.  Now who, do you suppose, is at the bottom of all this Exmoor insurgency, all this western rebellion—­not that I say there is none, mind—­but who is at the bottom of it?”