apron, and placed them and some glasses upon the table.
"Now then, fill up the glass," he shouted, in a commanding voice, "and take care that you don't spill any, or you'll spoil my luck."
With trembling hand Viola did as she was bidden, without spilling a single drop. Then he took up the glass and drained it at one draught. His face flushed a bright crimson: he poured himself out another glass.
"Are n't you drinking, Ephraim?" he exclaimed, after he had finished that glass also.
"I don't drink to-day, father," Ephraim faltered, "it's a fast."
"A fast? What fast? I have been fasting too," he continued, with a coarse laugh, "twice a week, on bread and water; an excellent thing for the stomach. Fancy, a fast-day in midsummer. On such a long day, when the sun is up at three already, and at eight o'clock at night is still hesitating whether he'll go to bed or not . . . what have I got to do with your Fast-day?"
His face grew redder every moment; he had drunk a third and a fourth glass, and there was nothing but a mere drain left in the bottle. Already his utterance was thick and incoherent, and his eyes were fast assuming that glassy brightness that is usually the forerunner of helpless intoxication. It was a sight Ephraim could not bear to see. Impelled by that natural, al-
