"Especially for a drap o' drink," said the tranter.

"Good, but not religious-good," suggested Mr. Penny.

The tranter nodded. Having at last made the tap and hole quite ready,
"Now then, Suze, bring a mug," he said. "Here's luck to us, my sonnies!"

The tap went in, and the cider immediately squirted out in a horizontal
shower over Reuben's hands, knees, and leggings, and into the eyes and
neck of Charley, who, having temporarily put off his grief under pressure
of more interesting proceedings, was squatting down and blinking near his
father.

"There 'tis again!" said Mrs. Dewy.

"Devil take the hole, the cask, and Sam Lawson too, that good cider
should be wasted like this!" exclaimed the tranter. "Your thumb! Lend
me your thumb, Michael! Ram it in here, Michael! I must get a bigger
tap, my sonnies."

"Idd it cold inthide te hole?" inquired Charley of Michael, as he
continued in a stooping posture with his thumb in the cork-hole.

"What wonderful odds and ends that chiel has in his head to be sure!"
Mrs. Dewy admiringly exclaimed from the distance. "I lay a wager that he
thinks more about how 'tis inside that barrel than in all the other parts
of the world put together."

All persons present put on a speaking countenance of admiration for the