Martin said pleasantly, "You can drink milk now, master, to your heart's content. Or even water." And he walked over to the Well-House, and pointed invitingly to the bucket.
Old Gillman followed him with one eye open. "It's too late for that, boy. When you've turned toper for six months, after sixty sober years, it'll take you another six to drop the habit. That's what these daughters do for their dads. But we'll not talk of em." He stood beside Martin and stared down at the padlock. "How did the pretty go?"
"In the swing, like a swift."
"Why not through the gate like a gal?"
"The keys wouldn't turn."
"Which way?"
"The right way."
"You should ha' tried em the wrong way, boy."
"That would have locked it," said Martin.
"Azactly," said Old Gillman; and slipped the padlock from the staple and put it in his pocket. "Come along up now."