He again put the jug to his mouth, and having taken a little, swallowed it:—­“Why, I tell you, woman, you must have made some mistake; one-half of it is water.”

Now, Nancy, from the moment he refused to swallow the liquor, had been lock-jawed; the fact was, she thought that the devil himself, or old Squire Graham, had got under her roof; and she stood behind Ned, who was nearly as terrified as herself, with her hands raised, her tongue clinging to the roof of her mouth, and the perspiration falling from her pale face in large drops.  But as soon as she saw him swallow a portion of that liquid, which she deemed beyond the deglutition of ghost or devil, she instantly revived—­her tongue resumed its accustomed office—­her courage, as well as her good-humor, returned, and she went up to him with great confidence, saying,

“Why, then, your Reverence’s honor, maybe I did make a bit of a mistake, sir”—­taking up the jug, and tasting its contents:  “Hut! bad scran to me, but I did, beggin’ your honor’s pardon; how-an-diver, I’ll soon rightify that, your Reverence.”

So saying, she went and brought him a pint of the stoutest the house afforded.  The stranger drank a glass of it, and then ordered hot water and sugar, adding—­

“My honest friends here about the fire will have no objection to help me with this; but, on second consideration, you had better get us another quart, that as the night is cold, we may have a jorum at this pleasant fire, that will do our hearts good; and this pretty girl here,” addressing Biddy, who really deserved the epithet, “will sit beside me, and give us a song.”

It was surprising what an effect the punch even in perspective, had upon the visual organs of the company; second-sight was rather its precursor than its attendant; for, with intuitive penetration, they now discovered various good qualities in his ghost-ship, that had hitherto been beyond their ken; and those very personal properties, which before struck them dumb with terror, already called forth their applause.

“What a fine man he is!” one would whisper, loud enough, however, to be heard by the object of his panegyric.

“He is, indeed, and a rale gintleman,” another would respond in the same key.

“Hut! he’s none of your proud, stingy upsthart bodagahs*—­none of your beggarly half-sirs*,” a third would remark:  “he’s the dacent thing entirely—­you see he hasn’t his heart in a thrifle.”

     * A person vulgar, but rich, without any pretensions but
     those of wealth to the character of a gentleman; a churl. 
     Half-sir; the same as above.

“And so sign’s on him,” a fourth would add, with comic gravity, “he wasn’t bred to shabbiness, as you may know by his fine behavior and his big whiskers.”

When the punch was made, and the kitchen-table placed endwise towards the fire, the stranger, finding himself very comfortable, inquired if he could be accommodated with a bed and supper, to which Nancy replied in the affirmative.