Her nights she spent in the beer cellar.
My grandmother, shocked and grieved beyond expression, gave up her barrel and adopted bottles.

The cat, thus condemned to enforced abstinence, meandered about the house for a day and a half in a disconsolate, quarrelsome mood.

Then she disappeared, returning at eleven o'clock as tight as a drum.
Where she went, and how she managed to procure the drink, we never discovered; but the same programme was repeated every day.

Some time during the morning she would contrive to elude our vigilance and escape; and late every evening she would come reeling home across the fields in a condition that I will not sully my pen by attempting to describe.
It was on Saturday night that she met the sad end to which I have before alluded.

She must have been very drunk, for the man told us that, in consequence of the darkness, and the fact that his horses were tired, he was proceeding at little more than a snail's pace.
I think my grandmother was rather relieved than otherwise.