simplicity.

“Be good, Alfie. If you kiss me afore ‘elevenses’ my cheeks ’ll be red as fire, and Uncle Ben ’ll ask questions.”

Alfred let this soak in, as he rubbed the shining tankard. Then he spoke decisively.

“I want un to ask questions. Sooner the better. Our gettin’ wed depends, seemin’ly, upon your Uncle Ben.”

The significance of his tone was not lost upon the maid. Her straight brows puckered slightly as she asked:

“But—why? You said that las’ night, you did.”

Alfred laid down the tankard and held aloft a handsome silver inkstand.

“It is here, Prue.” Then he read aloud an inscription. “‘Presented to Benoni Fishpingle, after fifty years’ service, by his affectionate friends, Sir Geoffrey and Lady Pomfret.’ Affectionate! Ah-h-h-h! They do think the world o’ Benoni Fishpingle, they do. Now, Prue, you coax your Uncle Ben, and then he’ll downscramble Squire. Tell un that we be a fine up-standin’ couple, a credit to Nether Applewhite.”

“That don’t need tellin’, Alfie.”

Alfred put down the inkstand and approached the maid, smiling at her. He wagged his head knowingly.

“They got on to it at dinner las’ night. Yas, they did.”

He chuckled and took her hand in his.

“Got on to—what?”

“Eugannicks.”

He spoke so solemnly that Prudence was vastly impressed.

“Eugannicks,” she repeated, “what’s that?”

Alfred hesitated.

“Eugannicks be—eugannicks.”

“You’re a oner at explainin’ things to a pore young maid, you be.”

Alfred stiffened, but he pressed her hand softly.

“It’s like this, Prue. I can’t explain eugannicks to a young maid, rich or pore—see?”

“No, I don’t. S’pose,” she dimpled with mischief, “s’pose you try.”

Alfred’s face brightened. Inspiration illumined it.

“You ask your Uncle Ben. Never so happy he be as when enlightenin’ ignorance.”

She withdrew her hand.

“Ignorance? Thank you. I will ask un.”

Alfred sighed with relief.

“Do. All the same, if you think red bain’t so becomin’ early in the marning, do ’ee put off askin’ un till after tea.”

Prudence betrayed a livelier interest.

“Mercy! Why should eugannicks make me blush?”

Alfred chuckled again.

“You ask your Uncle Ben.”

Prudence nodded, satisfied that interrogation could not be pushed further. Her eyes were caught by the gleaming tankard.

“That be a be—utiful mug, Alfie.”

“Don’t ’ee touch it. I’ll tell ’ee why I brought un in here, and take payment after supper. The story be a kind o’ parryble.”

Prudence laughed.

“What big, brave words!”

Alfred pointed at the tankard. Unconsciously, he began to understudy the tone and manner of the village parson. We shall meet this gentleman presently. For the moment it is enough to say that he was a man of character and influence. He had taught Alfred in Sunday school and prepared him for Confirmation.

“The parryble o’ that there tankard’ll learn ’ee——”

“Teach me, Alfie——”

Prudence had reason to believe herself better educated than her cousin. She used the country dialect because it would have been “grand” to speak otherwise. But her uncle, Benoni Fishpingle, spoke English as free from accent as Sir Geoffrey’s, and expressed himself with even greater lucidity.

“Will learn ’ee what sort of an old fusspot your Uncle Ben be. When I first comes here, ten years ago, ’twas well rubbed into me that this yere tankard,” he held it up again, “was worth its weight in gold. William an’ Mary.”

“William and Mary?”

“King William and Queen Mary. Bloody Mary he called her.”

“My! What ever did she call him?”

Alfred was unable to answer this question. Gazing solemnly at the tankard, he continued in the same impressive tone:

“I dunno. In them ancient days I warn’t allowed to touch the damn thing. Not worthy accordin’ to your Uncle Fusspots. But when I becomes first footman it was my duty—an’ privilege—to clean un once a week. Now, Prue, you mark well what follers. I cleaned un yes’dy afternoon, an’ put un back in pantry safe. Fusspots was there, a-watchin’ me out o’ the corner of his eye. Then I had to answer the library bell. When I comes back to pantry this yere tankard was sittin’ bottom-up on floor!”

Prudence gave an astonished gasp as she repeated his words:

“Bottom-up on floor?”

Alfred nodded, almost pontifically. He had caught and held the pretty maid’s interest in his narrative. His tone dropped mysteriously.

“Knowin’ my man, so to speak, and his lil’ endearin’ ways I says never a word, but I picks up the mug and cleans un all over again. I puts it back in safe an’ presently Fusspots sends me in here to fetch his specs. When I gets back, I’m a liar if that there tankard warn’t wrong side up on floor again.”

He paused dramatically. Prudence’s blue eyes were sparkling; a brace of dimples played hide and seek upon her rosy cheeks.

“Well, I never!”

Alfred just touched the shining silver with his “chammy.”

“I looks at tankard, an’ Fusspots he looks at me with that queer grin o’ his. I’d half a mind to kick the mug into next parish, but I remains most handsomely calm—yas, I did. Then I goes to work on a teapot. Presently the old un says blandly, ‘Alferd, where’s my specs?’ I give him his specs and he shoves him on. Then he just looks at me over the top of ’em, and he says, ‘My lad,’ he says, ‘whatever is that settin’ on floor?’ I answers up, just as innocent as you be, Prue——”

Prudence pouted, looking prettier than ever.

“I bain’t innocent, Alfie.”

Alfred glanced through the window and kissed her.

“I answers then, just so full o’ sauce as you be, ‘Why, Mr. Fishpingle,’ I says, ‘’tis the tankard what I cleaned so be—utiful five minutes ago.’ ‘Hold hard,’ he says, ‘are you sure, my lad, that it is clean?’ That fair madded me, Prue, an’ I lets go my left——”

Prudence gasped again.

“Alferd Rockley, you never hit Uncle Ben surely?”

“Figure o’ speech, my maid. I says: ‘I be just so sure ’tis clean, as you be o’ salvation.’”

“What a nerve!” murmured Prudence.

“I thought I’d fair landed un. Not a bit! He answers up, very quiet-like: ‘Alferd,’ he says, ‘I bain’t sure o’ my salvation. Pick up that tankard, my lad, and put it in safe. You can clean it properly to-morrow marnin’. At a quarter to eleven, you put un on the table in my room—bottom up.’ Now I asks you, Prue, is that tankard cleaned a fair treat, or is it not? Don’t ’ee touch un!”

As he ended his amazing narrative, Alfred solemnly placed