And I think I ought to build a club-room for the young fellows in the village, and give a new lifeboat to replace the `Vega,' What do you think ?" "I'll tell you this time to-morrow.

Meanwhile what do you say to a ride before dark?
It would do you good." They had a long trot through the lanes and along the shore, ending with a canter over the downs, which landed the heir of Maxfield at home with a glow in his cheeks and an appetite such as he had not known for a week.
Next day the funeral took place in the family vault at the little churchyard of Yeld.

The villagers, as in duty bound, flocked to pay their last respects to the old Squire, whose face for the last twenty years they had scarcely seen, and of whose existence, save on rent-day, many of them had been well-nigh ignorant.
Many an eye turned curiously to the slim, pale boy, as he stood alone, the last of his house, at the open tomb; and many a speculation as to his temper and prospects occupied minds which were supposed to be intent on the solemn words of the Burial Service.
Roger himself, with that waywardness of the attention which afflicts us even in the gravest acts of our life, found himself listening to the words in a sort of dream, while his mind was occupied in reading over to himself the names of his ancestors inscribed on the panels of the vault.
"John Ingleton of Maxfield Manor, who died ye ninth day of June, 1760, aetat 74.
"Peter Ingleton of Maxfield Manor, his son, obiit March 6, 1794.
"Paul Ingleton, only son of above Peter; born January 1, 1790, died September 20, 1844.
"Ruth, beloved wife of Roger Ingleton, Esquire, of Maxfield Manor, who died on February 14, 1865, aged 37." Now a new inscription would be added.
"Roger Ingleton, son of the above-named Paul Ingleton, who died January 10, 1885." And when that was added, there would yet be space for another name below.
Roger shuddered a little, and brought his mind back with an effort to the solemn act which was taking place.
The clergyman's voice ceased, and the fatherless lad stooped to get a last view of the flower-covered coffin.

Then, with a heart lonelier than he had ever known it before, he turned away.
The people fell back and made a silent lane for him to pass.
"Poor lad," said a country wife, as she looked after him, "pity knows, he'll be this way again before long." "Hold thy tongue," said another; "thee'd look white and shaky if thee was the only man of thy name left on earth--eh, Uncle Hodder ?" "Let un go," said the venerable proprietor of the tutor's borrowed horse last week, "let 'un go.

The Ingletons was all weaklings, but they held out to nigh on threescore and ten years.