"Yes, that's all very well; but just at present I'd like to have a little liquor. Be easy, though, and don't let the madam know what you're after." "There's not a drop in the house, Gid, but there's a demijohn in the office. Let's step out there." "No, I believe not, John," the old fellow replied, with a shudder. "Can't you bring it out?" "She'll see me if I do. You must go with me. Whisky that's not worth going after is not worth drinking." "You are right, John; but you have stated one of those truths that are never intended to be used except in the absence of something else that might have been said. Plain truths are tiresome, John. They never lend grace to a conversation." "What do you know about the graces of conversation? You are better fitted to talk of the disgraces of conduct." "Slow, John. But I know that a truth to be interesting must be whimsical or so blunt that it jolts." "But didn't it jolt you when I said that you must go into the office after the liquor?" "Yes; but cruelly, John. You must never jolt cruelly. I gad, I'm getting old. Do you realize that we have known each other intimately for thirty-five years?" Mrs. Cranceford came out upon the porch. "Ah," said old Gid, without changing his tone, and as if he were continuing a moral discourse, "thirty-five years ago we heard an old circuit-rider preach at Gum Springs, and while we could not subscribe to his fiery doctrine, being inclined to the broader and more enlightened faith of the Episcopal church, yet the fervor and sincerity of his utterances made a lasting impression on us. Madam, I hear with much pleasure that Mr. Pennington is better." "Yes, he is feeling quite improved," she replied, merely glancing at him. "Did the Major think enough of him to tell you?" The Major looked at Gid, winked at him, and the old fellow believing that he knew what was wanted, thus answered: "Yes, ma'am, but I first heard it from the priest. He knows everything, it seems. I met him down the road and had quite a talk with him. By the way, I read a number of years ago a most edifying book, 'The Prince of the House of David.' You doubtless have it in your collection, and may I ask you to lend it to me?" She had but small faith in the old fellow's sincerity, and yet she was pleased to see him manifest an interest in so godly a book. "Yes, and I will get it for you," she answered, going straightway to look for it; and when she had passed through the door, Gid snatched a bottle out of his pocket and held it out toward the Major. "Here, John, hurry out there and fill this up while she's gone. Meet me around at the gate. Quick!" "Why, you old rascal, do you suppose me capable of complicity in such a fraud?"