"These ladies my admiral uncle greeted with something even approaching to servility. I understood him well enough. He instinctively sought to make a party to protect him when the awful secret of his cellar should be found out. But for two preliminary days or so, his resources would serve; for he had plenty of excellent claret and Madeira--stuff I don't know much about--and both Jacob and himself condescended to manoeuvre a little. "The wine did not arrive. But the morning of Christmas Eve did. I was sitting in my room, trying to write a song for Kate--that's your mother, my dears--" "I know, papa," said Effie, as if she were very knowing to know that. "--when my uncle came into the room, looking like Sintram with Death and the Other One after him--that's the nonsense you read to me the other day, isn't it; Effie?" "Not nonsense, dear papa," remonstrated Effie; and I loved her for saying it, for surely _that_ is not nonsense. "I didn't mean it," said my father; and turning to my mother, added: "It must be your fault, my dear, that my children are so serious that they always take a joke for earnest. However, it was no joke with my uncle. If he didn't look like Sintram he looked like t'other one. "'The roads are frozen--I mean snowed up,' he said. 'There's just one bottle of port left, and what Captain Calker will say--I dare say I know, but I'd rather not. Damn this weather!--God forgive me!--that's not right--but it is trying--ain't it, my boy?' "'What will you give me for a dozen of port, uncle?' was all my answer. "'Give you? I'll give you Culverwood, you rogue.' "'Done,' I cried. "'That is,' stammered my uncle, 'that is,' and he reddened like the funnel of one of his hated steamers, 'that is, you know, always provided, you know. It wouldn't be fair to Lady Georgiana, now, would it? I put it to yourself--if she took the trouble, you know. You understand me, my boy?' "'That's of course, uncle,' I said. "'Ah! I see you're a gentleman like your father, not to trip a man when he stumbles,' said my uncle. For such was the dear old man's sense of honour, that he was actually uncomfortable about the hasty promise he had made without first specifying the exception. The exception, you know, has Culverwood at the present hour, and right welcome he is. "'Of course, uncle,' I said--'between gentlemen, you know. Still, I want my joke out, too. What will you give me for a dozen of port to tide you over Christmas Day?' "'Give you, my boy? I'll give you--' "But here he checked himself, as one that had been burned already. "'Bah!' he said, turning his back, and going towards the door; 'what's the use of joking about serious affairs like this?'