They now stood at the door of Hawk House.
"Enter in," said Mr. Baskerville. "You argue well, and there's a lot in what you say. And words come all to this, as the rivers come all to the sea, that we know nothing, outside Revelation. And now let's talk about your affairs. When is your marriage going to be? Has Milly Luscombe said she wants me to come to it? Answer the truth."
Dennis Masterman took the opportunity that offered after a service to meet his parish clerk and perambulate the churchyard. For the vicar's sister had pointed out that the burying-ground of St. Edward's was ill-kept and choked with weeds.
Overhead the bells made mighty riot. Two weddings had just been celebrated, and the ringers were doing their best.
"With spring here again, this place will be a scandal," said Dennis. "You must set to work in earnest, Gollop, and if it's more than you can do single-handed, you'd better get help."
"Hay is hay," answered the other; "and the Reverend Valletort was above any fidgets like what some people suffer from nowadays. He had the churchyard hay as his right in his opinion, and, given a good year, us made a tidy little rick for him. 'All flesh is grass,' he used to say in his wise fashion, 'and grass is not the less grass because it comes off a man's grave.'"
"I think differently. To make hay in a churchyard, Thomas, is very bad form, and shows a lack of proper and delicate feeling. Anyway, there's to be a thorough clean-up. We've got a lot of very interesting graves here, and when people come and ask to see the churchyard I don't like wading through a foot of weeds. Where's the famous tomb with the music book and bass viol on it? I wanted to show it to a man only last week, and couldn't find it."
Mr. Gollop led the way and indicated a slate amid the Baskerville monuments.
"There 'tis. A riddle and an open book; and the book actually had a bit of the Old Hundredth--the music, I mean--scratched on it when first 'twas set up. But time have eaten that off, I believe. He was a fine fiddler in the days afore the organs was put in the church, and then he had to go; and he soon died after the joy of playing on Sundays was taken from him. He made up his verse himself."
Mr. Gollop drew back the herbage from this slate and read out the rhyme half hidden beneath.