Mat looked steadily and sternly from
one to the other; then repeated with the gruffest gravity--"I tell you,
it's Squaw's Mixture."
"What a very curious name! how is it made?" asked Valentine.
"Enough Brandy to spile the Water. Enough Rum to spile the Brandy and
Water. Enough Lemon to spile the Rum _and_ Brandy _and_ Water. Enough
Sugar to spile everything. That's 'Squaw's Mixture,'" replied Mat with
perfect calmness and deliberation.
Zack began to laugh uproariously. Mat became more inflexibly grave than
ever. Mr. Blyth felt that he was growing interested on the subject of
the Squaw's Mixture. He stirred it diffidently with his spoon, and
asked with great curiosity how his host first learnt to make it.
"When I was out, over there, in the Nor'-West," began Mat, nodding
towards the particular point of the compass that he mentioned.
"When he says Nor'-West, and wags his addled old head like that at the
chimney-pots over the way, he means North America," Zack explained.
"When I was out Nor'-West," repeated Mat, heedless of the interruption,
"working along with the exploring gang, our stock of liquor fell short,
and we had to make the best of it in the cold with a spirt of spirits
and a pinch of sugar, drowned in more hot water than had ever got down
the throat of e'er a man of the lot of us before.
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