June, steadying herself by grabbing his stubbly beard--for fairies are not entirely impervious to the law of gravitation--leaned forward and, just as he had said "Garn! I brought it for----" touched his lips with her wand. He substituted "Sally" for "myself."
Bill put the beer-can on the chair, and rallied himself with an effort.
"I am drunk!" he asserted most seriously, as though a mighty uncertainty had suddenly been put straight.
Sally was still in the green joy-land, whereto June had enchanted her; but she took the can dreamily, and put it to her lips.
That was too much for the man. He stooped forward and grabbed the can.
"Not 'arf!" he said, as he took it from her, spilling some of the contents.
Sally's thoughts were torn from the trance-world. She was snatched from the green dream-country, brought back summarily to the hungry, grey realities of the present. She looked at Bill, and then blasphemed fluently. June, horrified by the child's fierce anger, touched her lips with the wand. Sally was obediently silent, though still her mouth moved with muted imprecations. The two women had, meanwhile, gone on with their work, and the mother stared, her eyes two stones.
Bill sprawled on the boards, and pillowed his head and shoulders on the pile of half-completed clothing. He supped at the beer with long luxurious satisfaction, and slowly tumbled into sleep. The emptied can slipped from his fingers and rolled half-way across the room.
June, who in the presence of this experience had been bewildered and unprepared, flew to where it was lying, and contemplated it thoughtfully.
"There has been magic there," she declared, "worse than the evil of witches."