The lad’s smiling face told that he was gratified by the compliment.  To me the sight was painful, for I saw that this youthful tippler was on dangerous ground.

“Who is that young man in the bar?” I asked, a few minutes afterward, on being rejoined by the landlord.

Simon Slade stepped to the door and looked into the bar for a moment.

Two or three men were there by this time; but he was at no loss in answering my question.

“Oh, that’s a son of Judge Hammond, who lives in the large brick house as you enter the village.  Willy Hammond, as everybody familiarly calls him, is about the finest young man in our neighborhood.  There is nothing proud or put-on about him—­nothing —­even if his father is a judge, and rich into the bargain.  Every one, gentle or simple, likes Willy Hammond.  And then he is such good company.  Always so cheerful, and always with a pleasant story on his tongue.  And he’s so high-spirited withal, and so honorable.  Willy Hammond would lose his right hand rather than be guilty of a mean action.”

“Landlord!” The voice came loud from the road in front of the house, and Simon Slade again left me to answer the demands of some new-comer.  I went into the bar-room, in order to take a closer observation of Willy Hammond, in whom an interest, not unmingled with concern, had already been awakened in my mind.  I found him engaged in a pleasant conversation with a plain-looking farmer, whose homely, terse, common sense was quite as conspicuous as his fine play of words and lively fancy.  The farmer was a substantial conservative, and young Hammond a warm admirer of new ideas and the quicker adaptation of means to ends.  I soon saw that his mental powers were developed beyond his years, while his personal qualities were strongly attractive.  I understood better, after being a silent listener and observer for ten minutes, why the landlord had spoken of him so warmly.

“Take a brandy-toddy, Mr. H—?” said Hammond, after the discussion closed, good humoredly.  “Frank, our junior bar-keeper here, beats his father, in that line.”

“I don’t care if I do,” returned the farmer; and the two passed up to the bar.

“Now, Frank, my boy, don’t belie my praises,” said the young man; “do your handsomest.”

“Two brandy-toddies, did you say?” Frank made inquiry with quite a professional air.

“Just what I did say; and let them be equal to Jove’s nectar.”

Pleased at this familiarity, the boy went briskly to his work of mixing the tempting compound, while Hammond looked on with an approving smile.

“There,” said the latter, as Frank passed the glasses across the counter, “if you don’t call that first-rate, you’re no judge.”  And he handed one of them to the farmer, who tasted the agreeable draught, and praised its flavor.  As before, I noticed that Hammond drank eagerly, like one athirst—­emptying his glass without once taking it from his lips.