modest little demijohn--or rather a
semi-demi-little-john--all in his wicker-basket clothes, with a card
sewed on his jacket--like a lost boy (Peggy Coston of Wesley did the
sewing) bearing its name and address--"Old Peach, 1796, Wesley, Eastern
Shore," was placed on St. George's right within reach of his hand. "It
reminds me of the dear woman herself, gentleman, in her homely outside
and her warm, loving heart underneath, and I wouldn't change any part of
it for the world."

"What Madeira is this, St. George?" It was the judge who was
speaking--he had not yet raised the thin glass to his lips; the old
wine-taster was too absorbed in its rich amber color and in the delicate
aroma, which was now reaching his nostrils. Indeed a new--several new
fragrances, were by this time permeating the room.

"It is the same, judge, that I always give you."

"Not your father's Black Warrior?"

"Yes, the 1810. Don't you recognize it? Not corked, is it?"

"Corked, my dear man! It's a posy of roses. But I thought that was all
gone."

"No, there are a few bottles still in my cellar--some--How many are
there, Todd, of the Black Warrior?"

"Dat's de las' 'cept two, Marse George."

"Dying in a good cause, judge--I'll send them to you to-morrow."

"You'll do nothing of the kind, you spendthrift. Give them to Kennedy or
Clayton."

"No, give them to nobody!" laughed Kennedy. "Keep them where they are
and don't let anybody draw either cork until you invite me to dinner
again."

"Only two bottles left," cried Latrobe in consternation! "Well, what the
devil are we going to do when they are gone?--what's anybody going to
do?" The "we" was the key to the situation. The good Madeira of Kennedy
Square was for those who honored it, and in that sense--and that sense
only--was common property.

"Don't be frightened, Latrobe," laughed St. George--"I've got a lot
of the Blackburn Reserve of 1812 left. Todd, serve that last bottle
I brought up this morning--I put it in that low decanter next to--Ah,
Malachi--you are nearest. Pass that to Mr. Latrobe, Malachi--Yes, that's
the one. Now tell me how you like it. It is a little pricked, I think,
and may be slightly bruised in the handling. I spent half an hour
picking out the cork this morning--but there is no question of its
value."

"Yes," rejoined Latrobe, moistening his lips with the topaz-colored
liquid--"it is a little bruised. I wouldn't have served it--better lay
it aside for a month or