nk, my comrade, and while you are slaking your thirst I will
spin you a drinking story."

Then I recounted to him the story of Count Tilly of Brabant, and the
Holy Prior. How, during one of Tilly's numerous campaigns, a certain
town held out far too long for the general's liking, but at last it was
forced to surrender. Tilly had six of the chief men brought before him,
and commanded, as the town had laughed at his terms, that they should
die, to expiate the rest of the citizens. All kinds of conditions were
laid before him to avoid the doom of these unfortunate men, but they
were of no avail with him; he was implacable. One, Prior Hirsch, sought
him and tried to melt his adamantine heart, and being a man of
experience with human foibles, concluded to try the effect of some of
the good old wine for which the country is famous, and his own monastery
in particular. A huge flagon being introduced, filled with some of the
very "A1" of the district, Tilly was induced to try some.

"Very good wine indeed," exclaimed the General, "but it is no use your
trying to get round me in that way to pardon your burgesses, for I can
no more turn from my word than you can empty this goodly flagon at a
draught."

"Is the case indeed so hopeless?" said the priest.

"Yes, indeed," said the Count rising, "Drink me the contents of this
flagon at a draught, and your citizens are free; else at noon they
swing," and with a mocking smile on his lips he was about to stride out
of the room, when the priest arrested his steps with,

"One moment, good Count, and I will e'en essay the task."

Then, taking up the flagon, which held _thirteen pints_, he emptied it
to the very dregs, and fell back into his townsmen's arms.

Tilly was as good as his word, and released his captives.

"Whew!" whistled Alec; "where's the salt box? Thirteen pints at a
draught--thirteen pints! Why, your old priest would make a good second
to our maire's cat!"

"What did his cat do?" queried I, innocently.

"Oh, I thought everyone had heard of Curat's cat," premised Alec. "You
must know that his cat was growing old and spiteful, so he determined to
kill it; but although he tried various means, and got very near
accomplishing his end on several occasions the cat would always appear
again to trouble him. One evening, as a final effort in assassination,
before retiring to bed, he tied a heavy piece of iron round the cat's
neck, and dropped it into a water-butt which stood