With a merry laugh Dyck Calhoun turned up his cup and drained the liquid
to the last drop. With a laugh not quite so merry, Sheila raised her mug
and slowly drained the green happiness away.

"Isn't it good--isn't it like the love of God?" asked the old man.
"Ain't I glad I had it for ye? Why I said I hadn't annything for ye to
dhrink or eat, Lord only knows. There's nothing to eat, and there's only
this to dhrink, and I hide it away under the bedclothes of time, as one
might say. Ah, ye know, it's been there for three years, and I'd almost
forgot it. It was a little angel from heaven whispered it to me whir ye
stepped inside this house. I dunno why I kep' the stuff. Manny's the
time I was tempted to dhrink it myself, and manny's the time something
said to me, 'Not yet.' The Lord be praised, for I've had out of it more
than I deserve!"

He took the mugs from their hands, and for a minute stood like some
ancient priest who had performed a noble ritual. As Sheila looked at
him, she kept saying to herself:

"He's a spirit; he isn't a man!"

Dyck's eye met that of Sheila, and he saw with the same feeling what was
working in her heart.

"Well, we must be going," he said to Christopher Dogan. "We must get
homeward, and we've had a good drink--the best I ever tasted. We're
proud to pay our respects to you in your own house; and goodbye to you
till we meet again."

His hand went out to the shoulder of the peasant and rested there for a