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May you long have the will to work and the health to enjoy the fruits of honest labour!" There was another outburst of noisy cheering, followed by a new kind of clamour, "A song!" "A song!" "Who'll begin?" "Where's Steevy?" "Little Steevy!" "Steevy! Wheer be ye got to?" roared one old fellow with very white hair and a very red face "ye're not so small as ye can hide in yer mother's thimble!"
He fell in one of the skirmishes that took place near Moultan, and the two letters one going to Europe with tidings of his death, the other going to India with news of his father's illness crossed each other on the route. "Steevy," said old Mr. Verner to his younger son, after giving a passing lament to Sir Lionel, "I shall leave Verner's Pride to you."
A young giant of a man stood up in response to this adjuration, blushing and smiling bashfully. "Here I be!" "Sing away, lad, sing away!" "Wet yer pipe, and whistle!" "Tune up, my blackbird!" Steevy, thus adjured, straightened himself to his full stature of over six feet and drank off a cupful of ale.
You were at its building, Steevy; it has been your home as much as it has been mine; and I'll never turn you from it for a stranger, let him be whose child he may. No, no! Verner's Pride shall be yours. But, look you, Stephen! you have no children; bring up young Lionel as your heir, and let it descend to him after you." And that is how Stephen Verner had inherited Verner's Pride.
A dozen or more stentorian voices joined in the refrain: "A woman that's won While harvest goes on, And we merrily, merrily rake." "Bravo!" "Good for you, Steevy!" "First-class!" "Here's to you, my lad!" The shouting, laughter and applause continued for many minutes, then came more singing of songs from various rivals to the tuneful Steevy.
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