is spoon, and asked
with great curiosity how his host first learnt to make it.

"When I was out, over there, in the Nor'-West," began Mat, nodding
towards the particular point of the compass that he mentioned.

"When he says Nor'-West, and wags his addled old head like that at the
chimney-pots over the way, he means North America," Zack explained.

"When I was out Nor'-West," repeated Mat, heedless of the interruption,
"working along with the exploring gang, our stock of liquor fell short,
and we had to make the best of it in the cold with a spirt of spirits
and a pinch of sugar, drowned in more hot water than had ever got down
the throat of e'er a man of the lot of us before. We christened the
brew 'Squaw's Mixture,' because it was such weak stuff that even a woman
couldn't have got drunk on it if she tried. Squaw means woman in those
parts, you know; and Mixture means--what you've got afore you now. I
knowed you couldn't stand regular grog, and that's why I cooked it up
for you. Don't keep on stirring of it with a spoon like that, or you'll
stir it away altogether. Try it."

"Let _me_ try it--let's see how weak it is," cried Zack, reaching over
to Valentine.

"Don't you go a-shoving of your oar into another man's rollocks,"
said Mat, dexterously knocking Zack's spoon out of his hand just as it
touched Mr. Blyth's tumbler. "You stick to _your_ grog; I'll stick to
_my_ grog; and _he'll_ stick to Squaw's Mixture." With those words,
Mat leant his bare elbows on the table, and watched Valentine's first
experimental sip with great curiosity.

The result was not successful. When Mr. Blyth put down the tumbler, all
the watery part of the Squaw's Mixture seemed to have got up into his
eyes, and all the spirituous part to have stopped short at his lungs. He
shook his head, coughed, and faintly exclaimed--"Too strong."

"Too hot you mean?" said Mat.

"No, indeed," pleaded poor Mr. Blyth, "I really meant too strong."

"Try again," suggested Zack, who was far advanced towards the bottom of
his own tumbler already. "Try again. Your liquor all went the wrong way
last time."

"More sugar," said Mat, neatly tossing two lumps into the glass from
where he sat. "More lemon (squeezing one or two drops of juice, and
three or four pips, into the mixture). More water (pouring in about a
tea-spoonful, with a clumsy flourish of the kettle). Try again."

"Thank you, thank you a thousand times. Really, do you know, it tastes
much ni