‘He’s a fine little lad,’ said Mr. Pepperdine. ‘An uncommon fine little lad, and quite the gentleman. I’m proud of him.’ He had got into his slippers by this time, and he cast a longing eye at the spirit-case on the table. Miss Pepperdine rose, produced an old-fashioned pewter thimble, measured whisky into it, poured it into a tumbler, added lemon, sugar, and hot water, and handed it to her brother, who received it with an expression of gratitude, and sipped it critically. She measured a less quantity into two other glasses and mixed each with similar ingredients. ‘Judith won’t be coming down again,’ she said. ‘I’ll take her tumbler up to her room; and I’m going to bed myself--we’ve had a long day with churning. You’ll not want any news to-night, Simpson; it’ll keep till to-morrow, and there’s little to tell--all’s gone on right.’ ‘That’s a blessing,’ said Mr. Pepperdine, stretching his legs. Miss Pepperdine put away her knitting, removed the spirit-case into the cupboard, locked the door and put the key in her pocket, and took up the little tray on which she had placed the tumblers intended for herself and her sister. But on the verge of leaving the room she paused and looked at her brother. ‘We were glad you got there in time, Simpson,’ she said. ‘And you did right to bring the child home--it was the right thing to do. I hope Damerel has made provision for him?’ Mr. Pepperdine was seized with a mighty yawning. ‘Oh ay!’ he said as soon as he could speak. ‘The lad’s all right, Keziah--all right. Everything’s in my hands--yes, it’s all right.’ ‘You must tell me about it afterwards,’ said Miss Pepperdine. ‘I’ll go now--I just want to see that the boy has all he wants. Good-night, Simpson.’ ‘Good-night, my lass, good-night,’ said the farmer. ‘I’ll just look round and be off to bed myself.’ Miss Pepperdine left the room and closed the door; her brother heard the ancient staircase creak as she climbed to the sleeping-chambers. He waited a few minutes, and then, rising from his chair, he produced a key from his pocket, walked over to the old bureau, unlocked a small cupboard, and brought forth a bottle of whisky. He drew the cork with a meditative air and added a liberal dose of spirit to that handed to him by his sister. He replaced the bottle and locked up the cupboard, poured a little more hot water into his glass, and sipped the strengthened mixture with approbation. Then he winked solemnly at his reflection in the old mirror above the chimney-piece, and sat down before the fire to enjoy his nightcap in privacy and comfort. CHAPTER IV