He happened at that time to hold the bottle on the 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 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, at every fizz it made, exclaiming: "Ow! Ow! Ow!" and at last, when the bottle was empty, he roared out: "Oh, oh, 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 eyes 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." Suspended from indoor service, Andy was not long before he distinguished himself out of doors in such a way as to involve his master in a coil of trouble, and, incidentally, to retard the good fortune that came to himself in the end. THE SQUIRE SENDS ANDY TO THE POST-OFFICE FOR A LETTER The squire said to him one day: "Ride into the town and see if there's a letter for me." "Yes, sir," said Andy. "Do you know where to go?" inquired his master. "To the town, sir," was the reply. "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?" "Yes, sir." "And why don't you?" "I don't like to be troublesome, sir." "Confound you!" said the squire, though he could not help laughing at Andy's excuse for remaining in ignorance. "Well, go to the post-office. You know the post-office, I suppose?" continued his master in sarcastic tones. "Yes, sir; where they sell gunpowder." "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." "Yes, sir," said Andy, who got astride of his hack, and trotted away to the post-office. On arriving at the shop of the postmaster (for that person carried on a brisk trade in groceries, gimlets, broadcloth, and linen-drapery), Andy presented himself at the counter, and said: "I want a letther, sir, if you plaze." "Who do you want it for?" said the postmaster, in a tone which Andy considered an aggression upon the sacredness of private life. So Andy, in his ignorance and pride, thought the coolest contempt he could throw upon the prying impertinence of the postmaster was to repeat his question. ANDY HAS A VERY FOOLISH QUARREL WITH THE POSTMASTER