Innocent put one of her little hands furtively under the board and pressed Priscilla’s rough knuckles tenderly, but she said nothing.  The silence was broken by one of the oldest men present, who rose, tankard in hand.

“The time for good farming is never past!” he said, in a hearty voice—­“And no one will ever beat Farmer Jocelyn at that!  Full cups, boys!  And the master’s health!  Long life to him!”

The response was immediate, every man rising to his feet.  None of them were particularly unsteady except Ned Landon, who nearly fell over the table as he got up, though he managed to straighten himself in time.

“Farmer Jocelyn!”

“To Briar Farm and the master!”

“Health and good luck!”

These salutations were roared loudly round the table, and then the whole company gave vent to a hearty ‘Hip-hip-hurrah!’ that roused echoes from the vaulted roof and made its flaring lights tremble.

“One more!” shouted Landon, suddenly, turning his flushed face from side to side upon those immediately near him—­“Miss Jocelyn!”

There followed a deafening volley of cheering,—­tankards clinked together and shone in the flickering light and every eye looked towards the girl, who, colouring deeply, shrank from the tumult around her like a leaf shivering in a storm-wind.  Robin glanced at her with a half-jealous, half-anxious look, but her face was turned away from him.  He lifted his tankard and, bowing towards her, drank the contents.  When the toast was fully pledged, Farmer Jocelyn got up, amid much clapping of hands, stamping of feet and thumping on the boards.  He waited till quiet was restored, and then, speaking in strong resonant accents, said: 

“Boys, I thank you!  You’re all boys to me, young and old, for you’ve worked on the farm so long that I seem to know your faces as well as I know the shape of the land and the trees on the ridges.  You’ve wished me health and long life—­and I take it that your wishes are honest—­but I’ve had a long life already and mustn’t expect much more of it.  However, the farm will go on just the same whether I’m here or elsewhere,—­and no man that works well on it will be turned away from it,—­that I can promise you!  And the advice I’ve always given to you I give to you again,—­ stick to the land and the work of the land!  There’s nothing finer in the world than the fresh air and the scent of the good brown earth that gives you the reward of your labour, always providing it is labour and not ‘scamp’ service.  When I’m gone you’ll perhaps remember what I say,—­and think it not so badly said either.  I thank you for your good wishes and”—­here he hesitated—­“my little girl here thanks you too.  Next time you make the hay—­if I’m not with you—­I ask you to be as merry as you are to-night and to drink to my memory!  For whenever one master of Briar Farm has gone there’s always been another in his place!—­and there always will be!” He paused,—­then lifting a full tankard which had been put beside him, he drank a few drops of its contents—­“God bless you all!  May you long have the will to work and the health to enjoy the fruits of honest labour!”