Andy did as he was desired; and he happened at the time to hold the bottle of soda-water on a level with the candles that shed light over the festive board from a large silver branch, and the moment he made the incision, bang went the bottle of soda, knocking out two of the lights with the projected cork, which, performing its parabola the length of the room, struck the squire himself in the eye at the foot of the table, while the hostess at the head had a cold-bath down her back. Andy, when he saw the soda-water jumping out of the bottle, held it from him at arm's length; every fizz it made, exclaiming, "Ow!--ow!--ow!" and, at last, when the bottle was empty, he roared out, "Oh, Lord!--it's all gone!" Great was the commotion;--few could resist laughter except the ladies, who all looked at their gowns, not liking the mixture of satin and soda-water. The extinguished candles were relighted,--the squire got his eye open again,--and, the next time he perceived the butler sufficiently near to speak to him, he said, in a low and hurried tone of deep anger, while he knit his brow, "Send that fellow out of the room!" but, within the same instant, resumed the former smile, that beamed on all around as if nothing had happened. Andy was expelled the _salle à manger_ in disgrace, and for days kept out of his master's and mistress's way: in the mean time the butler made a good story of the thing in the servants' hall; and, when he held up Andy's ignorance to ridicule, by telling how he asked for "soap and water," Andy was given the name of "Suds," and was called by no other, for months after. But, though Andy's function in the interior were suspended, his services in out-of-door affairs were occasionally put in requisition. But here his evil genius still haunted him, and he put his foot in a piece of business his master sent him upon one day, which was so simple as to defy almost the chance of Andy making any mistake about it; but Andy was very ingenious in his own particular line. "Ride into the town, and see if there's a letter for me," said the squire, one day, to our hero.--"Yis, sir." "You know where to go?"--"To the town, sir." "But do you know where to go in the town?"--"No, sir." "And why don't you ask, you stupid thief?"--"Sure, I'd find out, sir." "Didn't I often tell you to ask what you're to do, when you don't know?"--"Yis, sir." "And why don't you?"--"I don't like to be throublesome, sir." "Confound you!" said the squire; though he could not help laughing at Andy's excuse for remaining in ignorance. "Well," continued he, "go to the post-office. You know the post-office, I suppose?"--"Yis, sir; where they sell gunpowdher." "You're right for once," said the squire; for his Majesty's postmaster was the person who had the privilege of dealing in the aforesaid combustible. "Go then to the post-office, and ask for a letter for me. Remember,--not gunpowder, but a letter."