with an old label from which the writing had faded.

With eyes bright now, Christopher uncorked the bottle and smelled the
contents. As he did so, a smile crinkled his face.

"Thank the Lord! There's enough for the two of ye--two fine
tablespoonfuls of the cordial that'd do anny man good, no matter how bad
he was, and turn an angel of a woman into an archangel. Bless yer Bowl!"

When Christopher turned to lift down two pewter pots, Calhoun reached up
swiftly and took them from the shelf. He placed them in the hands of the
old man, who drew a clean towel of coarse linen from a small cupboard in
the wall above his head.

She and Dyck held the pots for the old man to pour the cordial into them.
As he said, there was only a good porridge-spoon of liqueur for each. He
divided it with anxious care.

"There's manny a man," he said, "and manny and manny a lady, too, born in
the purple, that'd be glad of a dhrink of this cordial from the cellar of
the bishop.

"Alpha, beta, gamma, delta is the code, and with the word delta," he
continued, "dhrink every drop of it, as if it was the last thing you were
dhrinking on earth; as if the Lord stooped down to give ye a cup of
blessing from His great flagon of eternal happiness. Ye've got two kind
hearts, but there's manny a day of throuble will come between ye and the
end; and yet the end'll be right, God love ye! Now-alpha, beta, gamma,
delta!"