Uncle Richard opened the second bottle, put his nose to it, and said
approvingly, "Madeira!" and in a moment the golden wine was sparkling in
the old-fashioned Dutch glasses.

"Ah! that's quite another thing," said the young Consul, taking his
usual place astride of the old rocking-horse.

The rocking-horse was a relic of their childhood. "They used to make
everything more solid in those days," said Christian Frederick; and when
some years previously the horse had been found amongst a lot of rubbish,
the Consul had had it brought down to the cellar. For many a long year
he had sat on this horse, drinking the old wine out of the same old
glasses with his brother, who sat in the rickety armchair, which cracked
under his weight, laughing and telling anecdotes of their boyhood. He
never got such wine anywhere else, and no room ever appeared so
brilliant in his eyes as the low-vaulted cellar with its two smoky
lights.

"I declare, it's a shame," said the young Consul, "that you have never
had your half of that cask of port. However, I will send you some wine
out to Bratvold one of these days, so that you may have some, till we
can get it tapped."

"But you are always sending me wine, Christian Frederick. I am sure I
have had my half, and more too, long ago."

"Nonsense, Dick! I declare, I believe you keep a wine account."

"No, I am sure I don't."