"Why, father," said Aunt Salomy, as we sat at table, giving me a glance indicative of a beaming conversance with elegant conventionalities; "ye _shouldn't_ set the surrup cup right atop o' the loaf o' bread.' "Never mind whar' she sets, mother," said Uncle Coffin gayly, "so long as she 's squar' amidships." He would pour out the treacle for us all--for that it was sweeter, sweeter than any refined juices I ever tasted. No denials, no protestations would avail to stay the utter generosity of his hand. The griddle-cakes were of the apparent size of the moon when she is full in the heavens. "Come, Pharo, brace up. Eat somethin', dodrabbit ye! Ye're poorin' away every minute ye're settin' there; ye hain't hauled yerself over but two yit." "By clam! Coffin, sure as I'm a livin' man, I've hauled myself over fourteen," said Captain Pharo seriously. "Come, come, major; ye're fadin' away to a shadder. Ye hain't hauled yerself over nothin' yet." "Oh, I have," I rejoined, with urgent truth and unction. "I can't, honestly I can't, haul myself over anything more." In spite of some suggestive winks directed on my behalf, not then understood, I remained innocently with Mrs. Lester and Aunt Salomy while they were doing the dishes. But presently through the open window where I sat I felt a bean take me sharply in the nape of the neck, and, turning, I discovered Captain Pharo outside. He winked at me. I naively winked back again. He coughed low and meaningly; I smiled and nodded. He disappeared, and ere long I felt one of my ears tingling from the blow of another bean. It was Uncle Coffin this time; his wink was almost savage with excess of meaning. I returned it amiably. He coughed low and hopelessly, and disappeared. But soon after he came walking nonchalantly into the room. "Dodrabbit ye, major!" said he, punching me with a vigorous hand, "don't ye take no interest in a man's stock? Come along out and look at the stock." At that I rose and followed him. Captain Pharo was waiting for us. They did not speak, but they led the way straight as the flight of an arrow to the barn, walked undeviatingly across the floor, lifted me solemnly ahead of them up the ladder to the hay-mow, stumbled across it to the farthest and darkest corner, dived down into it and brought up an ancient pea-jacket, unrolled it, and produced from the pocket a bottle, labelled with what I at once knew to be Uncle Coffin's own design: "RAT PISON TO TOUCH HER IS DETH." "Drink!" said Uncle Coffin. All his former levity was gone. He had the look of bestowing, and Captain Pharo of witnessing bestowed, upon another, a boon inestimable, priceless, rare. A temperate familiarity with the use of the cup informed me at once of the nature of this liquid. It was whiskey of a very vile quality. But even had it contained something akin to the dark sequel on its label, I could not have refused it from Uncle Coffin's hand.