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“’Twill do ’e a power o’ gude an’ keep away evil an’ make heroes of ’e,” declared the woman. Then she watched the drinking men, with pleasure in her bright eyes, and shewed that she appreciated their grunts and gurgles of satisfaction.

“Better’n milk?” she said.

“A godlike brew!” declared Timothy; and John, who had waited to see his master drink first before venturing upon the witch’s gift, now gave Gammer Gurney the compliments of the blessed season with all respect, then drained the last drop of his refreshment and scraped out the remaining spice and sugar with his fingers.

“Sure I feels like a mighty man o’ Scripture compared to what I was a bit ago,” he declared, as the spirit moved him.

“You’d make your fortune if you set up a sign in a city and sold that stuff to all buyers,” prophesied Timothy.

“I wants no fortune, Maister Chave. I be here, an auld sawl well thought ’pon an’ wi’in call o’ friends. I tell no tales an’ breed no troubles, an’ what goes in my ear doan’t come out at my mouth wi’ a new shape to it, I assure ’e. No tale-bearer me. Tongue an’ ear strangers—that’s the wise way.”