Wait till he comes," repeated the old man, with a face of the most impassive solemnity, and emphasizing every sentence with his long fore-finger.
And that was all Master Thomas could get out of him.

That much came just as often as he wished it; but no more--not a word.
Mistress Ann Putnam had come out to the gate by that time.

"He has been drinking too much cider," she said.
This gave a suggestion to Ezekiel.
"Yes, too much cider.

Rum--steady me!" Mistress Putnam thought that it might produce an effect of that kind, and, going back into the house, soon reappeared with a rather stiff drink of West India rum; which the old man tossed off with no perceptible difficulty.
He smiled as he handed back the tin cup which had held it.

"Yes--steady now!" he said.
"Who gave you the message ?" again asked Master Putnam.
Ezekiel looked solemn and thoughtful.