"What is the name of the white pony, Mr. Winter?" said Kate.
"Whatever you like."
"Spatter the Dew," suggested the Colonel.
"That is quite poetical, grandpapa."
"My father had a horse called Toby," said Miss Araminta Cox in a mincing voice.
"Cyclops, they say, had only one eye," I observed.
"I tell you he has the use of two," said Winter hastily.
"That is not quite clear, and Cyclops is a fine sounding name," said Kate, "I vote for Cyclops, and I shall drink his health in a glass of your gooseberry wine, Mr. Winter."
"Cyclops, be it then," sighed Winter resignedly. "Captain Egerton, you must drink Miss Vernon's toast, but not in her beverage; here's some port wine I'll answer for, I bought it myself in Oporto." We all drank success to Cyclops, and bidding our kind host and hostess good night, strolled home by moonlight. Ah! a delicious walk. Gilpin took the Colonel's arm, and Kate accepted mine. The glorious moon, not yet risen to her highest altitude, threw out the lacelike tracery of the cathedral towers into strong relief—silvering the walls here and there, leaving large masses of deep shadow, while the old gateways and arches looked like openings into an abyss of darkness. A few light clouds floated in the deep blue sky. We walked on for some moments in silence.