tles of ginger-beer, and sixpenn'orth of
bis--I say, got any fresh gingerbread?"

This was to a stoutish, dark-eyed woman of about one-and-twenty, as we
entered the cottage, in one of whose windows there was a shelf with a
row of bottles of sweets and a glass jar of biscuits.

"Yes, sir, quite new--fresh from Hastings," said the girl eagerly. And
she produced a box full of brown, shiny-topped squares.

"Was it some of this old Dicksee had yesterday?" said Mercer.

"Yes, sir. I opened the fresh box for him, and he had four tuppenny
bits."

"Then we will not," said my companion sharply. "Let's have biscuits
instead."

The biscuits were placed before us, and the keeper's daughter then took
a couple of tied-down stone bottles from a shelf.

"I say," cried Mercer, "I didn't introduce you. Burr junior, this is
Polly Hopley. Polly, this is--"

"Yes, sir, I know. I heard you tell father," said the woman quickly, as
she cut the string.

_Pop_!

Out came the opal-looking, bubbling liquid into a grey mug covered with
stripes, and then _Pop_! again, and a mug was filled for my companion,
ready for us to nod at each other and take a deep draught of the
delicious brewing--that carefully home-made ginger-beer of fifty years
ago--so mildly effervescent that it could be preserved in a stone
bottle, and its cork held with a string. A very different beverage to
the steam-engine-made water fireworks, all wind, fizzle, cayenne pepper,
and bang, that is sold now under the name.

"Polly makes this herself on purpose for us," said Mercer importantly.
"We boys drink it all."

"And don't always pay for it," said Polly sharply.

I saw Mercer's face change, and I recalled what he had said about
credit.

"Why--er--" he began.

"Oh, I don't mean you, sir, and I won't mention any names, but I think
young gen'lemen as drinks our ginger-beer ought to pay, and father says
so too."

I glanced at Mercer, whose face was now scarlet, and, seeing that he was
thinking about what he had said respecting credit, I quietly slipped my
hand into my pocket and got hold of a shilling.

"It is beautiful ginger-beer," I said, after another draught.

"Beautiful," said Mercer dismally, but he gave quite a start and then
his eyes shone brightly as he glanced at me gratefully, for I had handed
the shilling to the keeper's daughter, who took it to a jug on the
chimney-piece, dropped it in, and then shook out some half-pence from a
cracked gla