“Fill up, Miss Heptonstall, fill up!” cried Ted, energetically; “eh, if you dunnot gi’ it no more nor that, Victoria met jest as well be a bantam.  He’ll noan as mich as wet that great yaller beak of his wi’ that drop.”

Margaret smiled no more, but she filled up the glass.  Joe, in the doorway, cleared his throat reflectively.  Ted, again encircling the gander with his arm, forced open its beak.

“Now then,” he whispered eagerly, “fotch a spoon, Miss Hep.  Coom, owd bird, this’ll fettle thee up, an’ no mistake.”

But whether Victoria’s struggles were more lively than he had anticipated, or whether Ted purposely relaxed his hold, certain it was that the gander, with a scream of fury, backed out of his grasp and fluttered on to the floor; proceeding to waddle with great speed and evident indignation across the kitchen into the yard without.

“He’s teetotal,” said Ted, gazing at Margaret with a twinkle in his eye.  “I met ha’ knowed he’d be, seein’ as he’s bin brought up so careful, an’ took to water nateral fro’ th’ first.”

Miss Heptonstall had been about to restore the liquor to its bottle, but she now hesitated, looking towards Ted with a grim smile; his style of humour tickled her.  Seized with a sudden fit of generosity, she extended the glass to him.

“You’re noan teetotal, I’ll be bound,” she observed.  “Theer!  Sup it up.”

“Your ’ealth!” said Ted, nodding towards her, much elated.  Joe again cleared his throat tentatively, but Margaret ruthlessly corked the bottle, and, assuming her usual frosty air, remarked with somewhat scant politeness that it was time for her to be setting about her business, and there was no need for other folks to be waiting.

Thereupon the “other folks” were constrained to depart, Ted being still jubilant and Joe very glum.

“Well,” began the former, as soon as they had advanced some paces, “t’ folks up yon ‘ull laugh fit to split when they hear this tale!  Th’ owd lady is a dacent sort o’ body when all’s said an’ done.  Hoo behaved uncommon ’andsome to me.”

“Ah,” returned Joe with surly sarcasm, “uncommon ’andsome.  Hoo gave thee th’ gander’s leavin’s, didn’t hoo?  Ho, ho! gander’s leavin’s.”

Joe so seldom made a joke that he was quite astonished at himself, and after three or four repetitions of the same, with much wagging of the head, and a few knowing jerks of his thumb over his shoulder, apparently to accentuate the point of the jest, he became quite good-humoured again, and the pair walked on in amicable silence, each preparing to astonish his cronies with the recital of his own prowess.

The Thornleigh Arms was a snug old-fashioned hostelry standing a little back from the high-road.  An air of homely jollity and comfort seemed to pervade the place; the ruddy afternoon sun lit up the small-paned windows with as cheerful a glow as that which in winter was reflected from the roaring fire piled by old Jack half up the wide chimney; the very Thornleigh lion of the imposing sign seemed to lean confidentially on his toe and to grin affably, as though to assure the passers-by of the good cheer within.