The Major nodded his handsome head meditatively. "Well, there's a deal to
be said on that side," he remarked. "Still, children about the hearth help
one to grow old pleasantly. And you always had a weakness for brats."

Mr. Stewart said again: "I have my young Dutchman."

Once more the soldier looked at me, and, I'll be bound, saw me blushing
furiously. He smiled and said:

"He seems an honest chap. He has something of your mouth, methinks."

My patron pushed his dish back with a gesture of vexation.

"No!" he said, sharply. "There's none of that. His father was a dominie
over the river; his mother, a good, hard-working lady, left a widow,
struggles to put bread in a dozen mouths by teaching a little home-school
for infants. I have the boy here because I like him--because I want him.
We shall live together--he and I. As he gets older this hut will doubtless
grow into a house fit for gentlemen. Indeed, already I have the logs cut
out in part for an addition, on the other side of the chimney."

The Major rose at this, smiling again, and frankly put out his hand.

"I meant no harm, you know, Tom, by my barracks jest. Faith! I envy the
lad the privilege of living here with you. The happiest days of my life,
dear friend, were those we spent together while I was waiting for
my bride."

Mr. Stewart returned his smile rather sadly, and took his hand.