Prudence had reason to believe herself better educated than her cousin. She used the country dialect because it would have been “grand” to speak otherwise. But her uncle, Benoni Fishpingle, spoke English as free from accent as Sir Geoffrey’s, and expressed himself with even greater lucidity. “Will learn ’ee what sort of an old fusspot your Uncle Ben be. When I first comes here, ten years ago, ’twas well rubbed into me that this yere tankard,” he held it up again, “was worth its weight in gold. William an’ Mary.” “William and Mary?” “King William and Queen Mary. Bloody Mary he called her.” “My! What ever did she call him?” Alfred was unable to answer this question. Gazing solemnly at the tankard, he continued in the same impressive tone: “I dunno. In them ancient days I warn’t allowed to touch the damn thing. Not worthy accordin’ to your Uncle Fusspots. But when I becomes first footman it was my duty—an’ privilege—to clean un once a week. Now, Prue, you mark well what follers. I cleaned un yes’dy afternoon, an’ put un back in pantry safe. Fusspots was there, a-watchin’ me out o’ the corner of his eye. Then I had to answer the library bell. When I comes back to pantry this yere tankard was sittin’ bottom-up on floor!” Prudence gave an astonished gasp as she repeated his words: “Bottom-up on floor?” Alfred nodded, almost pontifically. He had caught and held the pretty maid’s interest in his narrative. His tone dropped mysteriously. “Knowin’ my man, so to speak, and his lil’ endearin’ ways I says never a word, but I picks up the mug and cleans un all over again. I puts it back in safe an’ presently Fusspots sends me in here to fetch his specs. When I gets back, I’m a liar if that there tankard warn’t wrong side up on floor again.” He paused dramatically. Prudence’s blue eyes were sparkling; a brace of dimples played hide and seek upon her rosy cheeks. “Well, I never!” Alfred just touched the shining silver with his “chammy.” “I looks at tankard, an’ Fusspots he looks at me with that queer grin o’ his. I’d half a mind to kick the mug into next parish, but I remains most handsomely calm—yas, I did. Then I goes to work on a teapot. Presently the old un says blandly, ‘Alferd, where’s my specs?’ I give him his specs and he shoves him on. Then he just looks at me over the top of ’em, and he says, ‘My lad,’ he says, ‘whatever is that settin’ on floor?’ I answers up, just as innocent as you be, Prue——” Prudence pouted, looking prettier than ever. “I bain’t innocent, Alfie.” Alfred glanced through the window and kissed her. “I answers then, just so full o’ sauce as you be, ‘Why, Mr. Fishpingle,’ I says, ‘’tis the tankard what I cleaned so be—utiful five minutes ago.’ ‘Hold hard,’ he says, ‘are you sure, my lad, that it is clean?’ That fair madded me, Prue, an’ I lets go my left——” Prudence gasped again. “Alferd Rockley, you never hit Uncle Ben surely?”