it's some I got down at
Yokelton, Somersetshire."

Here Joe looked up; he hadn't been home for a week, and began to feel
some interest in the old place, and everything belonging to it.

"I comes from that ere place, Mr. Sergeant," said he.

"Indeed, sir," said the Sergeant, in an off-hand manner.

"Did thee buy un at a shop by the Pond, sir?"

"That's it," replied the Sergeant, pointing with his pipe, "to the
right."

"The seame plaace," exclaimed Joe. "Why my sister lives there sarvant wi
that ooman as keeps the shop."

"Indeed!" said Sergeant Goodtale; "how very curious!"

And Jack said, "What a rum thing!"

And Bill said, "That is a rum thing!"

And Harry said it was a strange coincidence. In short, they all agreed
that it was the most remarkable circumstance that ever was.

CHAPTER XIX.

The subject continued.

As soon as the conversation on the remarkable circumstance recorded in
the last chapter had drifted into another subject no less remarkable, and
the Sergeant had finished his pipe, the beautiful being appeared with the
rump steak and onions, a snowy white cloth having been previously spread
at the end of one of the tables. When all was ready, it looked as nice
and appetizing as could well be conceived. The most indifferent man
there seemed the Sergeant himself, who, instead of rushing to the chair
provided for him, walked as coolly up to the table as though he were
going into action. Then he took the knife, and seeing it had not quite
so sharp an edge as he liked, gave it a touch or two on the stone hearth.

The smell of that tobacco from Yokelton had been sweet; so had the
perfume from the whiskey toddy and the lemon; but of all the delicious
and soul-refreshing odours that ever titilated human nostrils, nothing
surely could equal that which proceeded from the rump steak and onions.
The fragrance of new mown hay, which Cowper has so beautifully mentioned,
had palled on Joe's senses; but when would the fragrance of that dish
pall on the hungry soul?

The Sergeant took no notice of the hungry looks of the company; he was a
soldier, and concentrated his mind upon the duties of the moment.
Sentimentality was no part of his nature. He was a man, and must eat; he
was a soldier, and must perform the work as a duty irrespective of
consequences.

"Do you mind my smoke?" asked Harry.

"Oh dear, no," said the Sergeant; "I like it."

Joe stared and watched every bit as the Sergeant c