ts rockers.

The brothers put down their lights on the bottom of the tub, and took
off their coats, which they hung each on their own peg.

"Well, what's it to be to-day?" said Christian Frederick, rubbing his
hands.

"Port wouldn't be bad," suggested Richard, examining the bin.

"Port wine would be first-rate," answered the Consul, holding out his
light. "But look, there's a row of bottles lying in here that we have
never tried. I should like to know what they are."

"I dare say it is some of my grandmother's raspberry vinegar," suggested
Richard.

"Nonsense! Do you suppose father would have hidden away raspberry
vinegar in this cellar?"

"Perhaps he was as fond of old things as some other people I know,"
answered Richard.

"You always are so sarcastic," muttered the Consul. "I wish we could get
at these bottles."

"You'll have to creep in after them, Christian Frederick. I am too
stout."

"All right," answered his brother, taking off his watch and heavy bunch
of seals. And the old gentleman crept into the bin with the utmost care.
"Now I've got one," he cried.

"Take two while you are about it."

"Yes; but you will have to take hold of my legs and pull me out."

"_Avec plaisir_!" answered Richard. "But won't you have a drop of
Burgundy before you come out?"

There must have been some joke hidden in the question, for the Consul
began to laugh; but before long he stammered out, "I am choking, Dick;
will you pull me out, you fiend?"

The joke about the Burgundy was as follows. Once when the young Consul
had crept in among the bottles, to look for something very particular,
he managed to knock his head against one which lay in the rack above so
hard that it broke, and the whole bottle of Burgundy ran down his neck.
Every time any allusion was made to this mishap, a meaning smile passed
between the brothers, and Richard was even so careless as sometimes to
allude to it when others were present. For instance, if they were
sitting at dinner, and the conversation turned upon red wines, he would
say, "Well, my brother has his own peculiar way of drinking Burgundy;"
and then would follow a series of mysterious allusions and laughter
between the two, which usually ended in a fit of coughing.

The young people had several times tried to get at this joke about the
Burgundy, but always in vain. Miss Cordsen, who had been obliged that
day to get a clean shirt for the Consul, was the only one in the secret;
but