been the prize of his researches. Peter held it before his eyes, and looking through the liquid medium, beheld the kitchen illuminated with a golden glory, which also enveloped Tabitha, and gilded her silver hair, and converted her mean garments into robes of queenly splendor. It reminded him of his golden dream.
'Mr. Peter,' remarked Tabitha, 'must the wine be drunk before the money is found?'
'The money is found!' exclaimed Peter, with a sort of fierceness. 'The chest is within my reach. I will not sleep, till I have turned this key in the rusty lock. But, first of all, let us drink!'
There being no corkscrew in the house, he smote the neck of the bottle with old Peter Goldthwaite's rusty key, and decapitated the sealed cork at a single blow. He then filled two little china teacups, which Tabitha had brought from the cupboard. So clear and brilliant was this aged wine, that it shone within the cups, and rendered the sprig of scarlet flowers, at the bottom of each, more distinctly visible, than when there had been no wine there. Its rich and delicate perfume wasted itself round the kitchen.
'Drink, Tabitha!' cried Peter. 'Blessings on the honest old fellow, who set aside this good liquor for you and me! And here's to Peter Goldthwaite's memory!'
And good cause have we to remember him, quoth Tabitha, as she drank.
How many years, and through what changes of fortune, and various calamity, had that bottle hoarded up its effervescent joy, to be quaffed at last by two
