"Let me give you some," said John, reaching toward her with the bottle. Mrs. Cullom looked first at Mrs. Bixbee and then at David.
"I don't know," she said. "I never tasted any."
"Take a little," said David, nodding approvingly.
"Just a swallow," said the widow, whose curiosity had got the better of scruples. She took a swallow of the wine.
"How do you like it," asked David.
"Well," she said as she wiped her eyes, into which the gas had driven the tears, "I guess I could get along if I couldn't have it regular."
"Don't taste good?" suggested David with a grin.
"Well," she replied, "I never did care any great for cider, and this tastes to me about as if I was drinkin' cider an' snuffin' horseredish at one and the same time."
"How's that, John?" said David, laughing.
"I suppose it's an acquired taste," said John, returning the laugh and taking a mouthful of the wine with infinite relish. "I don't think I ever enjoyed a glass of wine so much, or," turning to Aunt Polly, "ever enjoyed a dinner so much," which statement completely mollified her feelings, which had been the least bit in the world "set edgeways."