"If you'll go up to your room, Miss Bab," he said, "I'll
mix you an Eggnogg, without alkohol, of course, and bring it up.
An Eggnogg is a good thing to stay the stomache with at night.
I frequently resort to one myself."
I saw that he would not let me in, so I agreed to the
Eggnogg, but without nutmeg, and went away. My knees tremble to
think that into our peacefull home had come "Grim-vizaged War,"
but I felt keen and capable of dealing with anything, even a
Spy.
William brought up the Eggnogg, with a dash of sherry in
it, and I could hear him going up the stairs to his chamber. I
drank the Eggnogg, feeling that I would need all my strength for
what was to come, and then went down to the pantrey. It was in
perfect order, except that one of the tea towles had had a pen
wiped on it.
I then went through the drawers one by one, although not
hopeful, because he probably had the incrimanating document in
the heal of his shoe, which Spies usually have made hollow for
the purpose, or sowed in the lining of his coat.
At least, so I feared. But it was not so. Under one of the
best table cloths I found it.
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