But 'tis well to think the day IS done, when 'tis done." Winterborne had abstractedly taken the poker, and with a wrinkled forehead was ploughing abroad the wood-embers on the broad hearth, till it was like a vast scorching Sahara, with red-hot bowlders lying about everywhere.

"Do you think it went off well, Creedle ?" he asked.
"The victuals did; that I know.

And the drink did; that I steadfastly believe, from the holler sound of the barrels.

Good, honest drink 'twere, the headiest mead I ever brewed; and the best wine that berries could rise to; and the briskest Horner-and-Cleeves cider ever wrung down, leaving out the spice and sperrits I put into it, while that egg-flip would ha' passed through muslin, so little curdled 'twere.
'Twas good enough to make any king's heart merry--ay, to make his whole carcass smile.

Still, I don't deny I'm afeared some things didn't go well with He and his." Creedle nodded in a direction which signified where the Melburys lived.
"I'm afraid, too, that it was a failure there!" "If so, 'twere doomed to be so.