"Hebe?" suspiciously. The peasant is always suspicious of anything he
doesn't understand.

"Hebe was a cup-bearer to the mythological gods in olden times,"
Carmichael explained. He had set a trap, but the vintner had not fallen
into it.

"A fairy-story." The vintner nodded; he understood now.

Carmichael's glance once more rested on the vintner's hand. He would lay
another trap.

"What happened to her?"

"Oh," said Carmichael, "she spilled wine on a god one day, and they
banished her."

"It must have been a rare vintage."

"I suppose you are familiar with all valleys. Moselle?"

"Yes. That is a fine country."

The old man in tatters sat erect in his chair, but he did not turn his
head.

"You have served?"

"A little. If I could be an officer I should like the army." The vintner