“Pooh! pooh!” the older man protested airily, “the gout's like a woman, my dear sir--if you begin to humour it, you'll get no rest. If you deny yourself a half bottle of port, the other half will soon follow. No, no, I say--put a bold foot on the matter. Don't give up a good thing for the sake of a bad one, sir. I remember my grandfather in England telling me that at his first twinge of gout he took a glass of sherry, and at the second he took two. 'What! would you have my toe become my master?' he roared to the doctor. 'I wouldn't give in if it were my whole confounded foot, sir!' Oh, those were ripe days, Governor!” “A little overripe for the toe, I fear, Major.” “Well, well, we're sober enough now, sir, sober enough and to spare. Even the races are dull things. I've just been in to have a look at that new mare Tom Bickels is putting on the track, and bless my soul, she can't hold a candle to the Brown Bess I ran twenty years ago--you don't remember Brown Bess, eh, Governor?” “Why, to be sure,” said the Governor. “I can see her as if it were yesterday,--and a beauty she was, too,--but come in to supper with us, my dear Major; we were just sitting down. No, I shan't take an excuse--come in, sir, come in.” “No, no, thank you,” returned the Major. “Molly's waiting, and Molly doesn't like to wait, you know. I got dinner at Merry Oaks tavern by the way, and a mighty bad one, too, but the worst thing about it was that they actually had the impudence to put me at the table with an abolitionist. Why, I'd as soon eat with a darkey, sir, and so I told him, so I told him!” The Governor laughed, his fine, brown eyes twinkling in the gloom. “You were always a man of your word,” he said; “so I must tell Julia to mend her views before she asks you to dine. She has just had me draw up my will and free the servants. There's no withstanding Julia, you know, Major.” “You have an angel,” declared the other, “and she gets lovelier every day; my regards to her,--and to her aunts, sir. Ah, good night, good night,” and with a last cordial gesture he started rapidly upon his homeward way. Betty caught the Governor's hand and went with him into the house. As they entered the hall, Uncle Shadrach, the head butler, looked out to reprimand her. “Ef'n anybody 'cep'n Marse Peyton had cotch you, you'd er des been lammed,” he grumbled. “An' papa was real mad!” called Virginia from the table. “That's jest a story!” cried Betty. Still clinging to her father's hand, she entered the dining room; “that's jest a story, papa,” she repeated. “No, I'm not angry,” laughed the Governor. “There, my dear, for heaven's sake don't strangle me. Your mother's the one for you to hang on. Can't you see what a rage she's in?” “My dear Mr. Ambler,” remonstrated his wife, looking over the high old silver service. She was very frail and gentle, and her voice was hardly more than a clear whisper. “No, no, Betty, you must go up and wash your face first,” she added decisively.