the wine, though he may look as if he did not. And
old Popham knew it, too. He was Butler, and responsible to Sir Godfrey
for all the brandy, and ale, and cider, and mead, and canary, and
other strong waters there were in the house.

Now, Sir Godfrey Disseisin, fourth Baron of Wantley, and immediate
tenant by knight-service to His Majesty King John of England, was
particular about his dogs, and particular about his horses, and about
his only daughter and his boy Roland, and had been very particular
indeed about his wife, who, I am sorry to say, did not live long. But
all this was nothing to the fuss he made about his wine. When the
claret was not warm enough, or the Moselle wine was not cool enough,
you could hear him roaring all over the house; for, though generous in
heart and a staunch Churchman, he was immoderately choleric. Very
often, when Sir Godfrey fell into one of his rages at dinner, old
Popham, standing behind his chair, trembled so violently that his
calves would shake loose, thus obliging him to hasten behind the tall
leathern screen at the head of the banquet-hall and readjust them.

Twice in each year the Baron sailed over to France, where he visited
the wine-merchants, and tasted samples of all new vintages,--though
they frequently gave him unmentionable aches. Then, when he was
satisfied that he had selected the soundest and richest, he returned
to Wantley Manor, bringing home wooden casks that were as big as
hay-stacks, and so full they could not gurgle when you tipped them.
Upon arriving, he sent for Mrs. Mistletoe, the family governess and
(for economy's sake) housekeeper, who knew how to write,--something
the Baron's father and mother had never taught him when he was a
little boy, because they didn't know how themselves, and despised
people who did,--and when Mrs. Mistletoe had cut neat pieces of
card-board for labels and got ready her goose-quill, Sir Godfrey would
say, "Write, Chateau Lafitte, 1187;" or, "Write, Chambertin, 1203."
(Those, you know, were the names and dates of the vintages.) "Yes, my
lord," Mistletoe always piped up; on which Sir Godfrey would peer over
her shoulder at the writing, and mutter, "Hum; yes, that's correct,"
just as if he knew how to read, the old humbug! Then Mistletoe, who
was a silly girl and had lost her husband early, would go "Tee-hee,
Sir Godfrey!" as the gallant gentleman gave her a kiss. Of course,
this was not just what he should have done; but he was a wid