hind him. Then Ruth said to me in
the simplest manner, 'You have ridden far today, Cousin Ridd; and have
far to ride to get home again. What will dear Aunt Ridd say, if we send
you away without nourishment? All the keys are in my keeping, and
dear grandfather has the finest wine, not to be matched in the west of
England, as I have heard good judges say; though I know not wine from
cider. Do you like the wine of Oporto, or the wine of Xeres?'

'I know not one from the other, fair cousin, except by the colour,' I
answered: 'but the sound of Oporto is nobler, and richer. Suppose we try
wine of Oporto.'

The good little creature went and fetched a black bottle of an ancient
cast, covered with dust and cobwebs. These I was anxious to shake aside;
and indeed I thought that the wine would be better for being roused up a
little. Ruth, however, would not hear a single word to that purport;
and seeing that she knew more about it, I left her to manage it. And the
result was very fine indeed, to wit, a sparkling rosy liquor, dancing
with little flakes of light, and scented like new violets. With this I
was so pleased and gay, and Ruth so glad to see me gay, that we quite
forgot how the time went on; and though my fair cousin would not be
persuaded to take a second glass herself, she kept on filling mine so
fast that it was never empty, though I did my best to keep it so.

'What is a little drop like this to a man of your size and strength,
Cousin Ridd?' she said, with her cheeks just brushed with rose, which
made her look very beautiful; 'I have heard you say that your head is so
thick--or rather so clear, you ought to say--that no liquor ever moves
it.'

'That is right enough,' I answered; 'what a witch you must be, dear
Ruth, to have remembered that now!'

'Oh, I remember every word I have ever heard you say, Cousin Ridd;
because your voice is so deep, you know, and you talk so little. Now
it is useless to say "no". These bottles hold almost nothing. Dear
grandfather will not come home, I fear, until long after you are gone.
What will Aunt Ridd think of me, I am sure? You are all so dreadfully
hospitable. Now not another "no," Cousin Ridd. We must have another
bottle.'

'Well, must is must,' I answered, with a certain resignation. 'I cannot
bear bad manners, dear; and how old are you next birthday?'

'Eighteen, dear John;' said Ruth, coming over with the empty bottle;
and I was pleased at her calling me 'John,' and had a