for many a day, not since he was a-hunting: bless me, if it
ayn't a fortnight. This day fortnight he tasted our ale, sure enough.
Will you take a glass, sir?'

'You are very good. No, I thank you; not today.'

'Yes, give him a glass, nurse. He is unwell, and it will do him good.'

She brought the sparkling amber fluid, and the Duke did justice by his
draught.

'I shall have fine honey for you, Miss, this year,' said the old nurse.
'Are you fond of honey, sir? Our honey is well known about. I don't know
how it is, but we do always contrive to manage the bees. How fond some
people are of honey, good Lord! Now, when you were a little girl (I knew
this young lady, sir, before you did), you always used to be fond of
honey. I remember one day: let me see, it must be, ay! truly, that it
is, eighteen years ago next Martinmas: I was a-going down the nursery
stairs, just to my poor mistress's room, and I had you in my arms (for I
knew this young lady, sir, before you did). Well! I was a-going down the
stairs, as I just said, to my poor dear mistress's room with you, who
was then a little-un indeed (bless your smiling face! you cost me many
a weary hour when you were weaned, Miss. That you did! Some thought you
would never get through it; but I always said, while there is life there
is hope; and so, you see I were right); but, as I was saying, I was
a-going down the stairs to my poor dear mistress, and I had a gallipot
in my hand, a covered gallipot, with some leeches. And just as I had
got to the bottom of the stairs, and was a-going into my poor dear
mistress's room, said you (I never shall forget it), said you, "Honey,
honey, nurse." She thought it were honey, sir. So you see she were
always very fond of honey (for I knew this young lady long before you
did, sir).'

'Are you quite sure of that, nurse?' said Miss Dacre; 'I think this is
an older friend than you imagine. You remember the little Duke; do not
you? This is the little Duke. Do you think he has grown?'

'Now! bless my life! is it so indeed? Well, be sure, he has grown. I
always thought he would turn out well, Miss, though Dr. Pretyman were
always a-preaching, and talking his prophecycations. I always thought he
would turn out well at last. Bless me! how he has grown, indeed! Perhaps
he grows too fast, and that makes him weak. Nothing better than a glass
of ale for weak people. I remember when Dr. Pretyman ordered it for my
poor dear mistress. "Give her ale," sai