servant of the fairy's dance; he had watched it, and he had liked it. To say nothing of the softness and beauty of the movements, eminently grateful to his grace-loving eye, that ease in his mothers' house charmed him, for it set him at ease: again she seemed a child for him—again, almost his playmate. I wondered how he would speak to her; I had not yet seen him address her; his first words proved that the old days of "little Polly" had been recalled to his mind by this evening's child-like light-heartedness.
"Your ladyship wishes for the tankard?"
"I think I said so. I think I intimated as much."
"Couldn't consent to a step of the kind on any account. Sorry for it, but couldn't do it."
"Why? I am quite well now: it can't break my collar-bone again, or dislocate my shoulder. Is it wine?"
"No; nor dew."
"I don't want dew; I don't like dew: but what is it?"
"Ale—strong ale—old October; brewed, perhaps, when I was born."
"It must be curious: is it good?"
