"I guess yer pretty comfortable to start on," said he.
"All right," said Mr. Hanford, "drive on."
It would be a matter of surprise how it had entered into the head of a plain, common-sense, matter-of-fact young man like John Hanford, to bestow the name of "Fairy Knoll" on the little hillock in the wilderness, where stood his solitary cabin, did we not remember that at the time he was completely under love's influence. The name given under such circumstances was music to him as it fell frequently from the lips of his young bride on their toilsome journey thither.
"I hope the fairies at Fairy Knoll will have a nice fire to welcome us, she said, as the day was drawing to a close, and they were nearing her future home.
"Are you very cold?" said her husband, drawing her more closely to his side.
The day had been unusually chilly, and towards night the autumn winds got up a boisterous frolic, and swept past, dashing from their wings light flurries of snow directly in the faces of our travelers, and the delicate bride, unused to such rough play, had at last hid her face behind her veil and wished for the warm fireside. Before she had had time to reply to Mr. Hanford's question, Edward produced a neat little flask encased in silver, and unfastening from the stopper a tiny cup of the same make, he filled it with the sparkling fluid, at the same time giving orders for the wagon to stop.
"Now here is something almost equal to a warm fire," he said offering Mrs. Hanford the cup.
"What is it?" said she, hesitatingly.
"Pure domestic wine, some of Col. Wilson's best, ho presented it to me just before I left home, and gave me his word it was unadulterated," said Edward, with great assurance.
"Col. Wilson's wines are justly popular," said Mrs. Hanford, sipping the beverage; but it is whispered that the Colonel uses alcohol in their preparation."