e to you would be the same as writing to a river,' she said; and
insisted that I should drop the odious name of Roy when I grew a man. My
father quarrelled with Colonel Goodwin. Months after I felt as if I had
only just been torn from Clara, but she stood in a mist, irrecoverably
distant. I had no other friend.

Twelve dozen of splendid Burgundy were the fruit of our tour, to be laid
down at Dipwell farm for my arrival at my majority, when I should be a
legal man, embarked in my own ship, as my father said. I did not taste
the wine. 'Porter for me that day, please God!' cried Mrs. Waddy, who
did. My father eyed her with pity, and ordered her to send the wine down
to Dipwell, which was done. He took me between his knees, and said
impressively, 'Now, Richie, twelve dozen of the best that man can drink
await you at the gates of manhood. Few fathers can say that to their
sons, my boy! If we drink it together, blessings on the day! If I'm gone,
Richie, shut up in the long box,' his voice shook, and he added, 'gone to
Peribanou underneath, you know, remember that your dada saw that the wine
was a good vintage, and bought it and had it bottled in his own presence
while you were asleep in the Emperor's room in the fine old Burgundy
city, and swore that, whatever came to them both, his son should drink
the wine of princes on the day of his majority.' Here my father's tone
was highly exalted, and he sat in a great flush.

I promised him I would bend my steps toward Dipwell to be there on my
twenty-first birthday, and he pledged himself to be there in spirit at
least, bodily if possible. We sealed the subject with some tears. He
often talked of commissioning a poet to compose verses about that
wonderful coming day at Dipwell. The thought of the day in store for us
sent me strutting as though I had been in the presence of my
drill-master. Mrs. Waddy, however, grew extremely melancholy at the
mention of it.

'Lord only knows where we shall all be by that time!' she sighed.

'She is a dewy woman,' said my father, disdainfully They appeared always
to be at variance, notwithstanding her absolute devotion to him. My
father threatened to have her married to somebody immediately if she
afflicted him with what he called her Waddyism. She had got the habit of
exclaiming at the end of her remarks, 'No matter; our clock strikes
soon!' in a way that communicated to me an obscure idea of a door going
to open unexpectedly in one of the walls,