“Well, I declare,” he said, grinning, as he held it up, “here is
something, Nell, to drink your health with this Christmas day.”
But the wife’s bright look had vanished in a moment when she heard what the bottle contained; and now, in a grave tone, she answered: “No, dear, do not drink my health with that. Thank God! you have never yet touched liquor, so do not begin the bad habit on this sacred day, nor on any other day. Throw the bottle out of doors—do!”
“Well, now, can’t a fellow take just a sip in honor of Santa Claus, who brought it?”
“No, no; the devil brought it. Don’t take even one drop; throw the poison away—quick!”
“Oh! but it’s a bitter cold morning, Nell, and the fire isn’t lit, and a sip of whiskey’ll keep me warm while I make it—only just one sip.”
“Husband, I beg you”—here the wife clasped her hands—“I implore you to get rid of the devil’s gift as quick as possible. I see that you are already tempted. O husband! listen to my voice.”
To calm her—for she seemed much excited—Roony opened the door, and, stepping out into the frosty air, struck the neck of the bottle against the rock, so as to make her believe that it was broken in pieces; but only the neck came off. “Really,” he said within himself, after moistening his lips with a drop, “this doesn’t taste bad; surely a little won’t hurt me.” Then, concealing the bottle in the goat-house, he went back and told his wife what he had never told her before—a lie.
“You broke it! Oh! I’m so glad,” she exclained, “so very glad!” But there was a tear in her eye as she spoke; then, while Mike busied himself kindling the fire, Helen knelt down and remained a good while on her knees.
“Why, Nell, what ails you?” he asked, drawing near her after she had finished the prayer. “This is Christmas morning; let’s be merry.”