ragile physically, but she was so little and
slender that, in spite of her wild-rose flush and her red lips, she
always impressed men with a belief in her fragility.

"Look at there, boys!" he half said, half whispered; and the crew
halted behind him, looking at Marjorie as if she were some very
wonderful and lovely thing.

The steps, or perhaps the eyes fixed admiringly on her, woke Marjorie.
She opened her eyes, and smiled a little. She had gone to sleep very
pleased, on account of the flowers, and of having arranged her work so
it fitted in properly.

"Oh, you've come!" she said, smiling at them as a friendly child might
smile, flushed with sleep. "Did you have a hard day? Everything's
ready."

She was up and out in the cook-shed, half-frightened of their friendly
eyes, before they could say any more. That is, to her.

"Gosh, that's some wife of yours!" said one of them to Francis, who was
a little in the rear of the others. "But ain't she a little thing?"

Francis simply said "Yes" constrainedly. He had heard all that before.
Pennington, who did not as a rule like girls, had been telling him what
a lucky devil he was, as they went over to the working place together.
He also had said that Marjorie was a little thing. And the note in his
voice as he said it had insinuated to Francis, who was all too
sensitive for such insinuations, that she was scarcely the type of
woman to cook for a men's camp. Francis felt quite remorseful enough
already. He sat down with the rest, while Marjorie brought in first
the big platter of fish, then the vegetables, and a big pitcher of
cocoa which she had made.

"Some eats!" said another of the crew, and Marjorie dimpled
appreciatively. While she went out again, after something she had
forgotten, one of the Frenchmen whispered bashfully to Pennington, who
was Francis's assistant. He smiled his slow, half-mocking, half-kindly
smile, and passed it on to Francis.

"Ba'tiste says that he wonders if the lady would sit down and eat with
us. Do you think she would, Ellison? It's a long time since any of us
had a lady keep house for us."

"I'll ask her," said Francis, the taciturn. He would rather have done
a good many things than go to Marjorie with a request, as things stood
between them, but there was nothing else for it. He came on her,
standing on tiptoe at the cupboard, like a child, trying to reach down
a cup. She had counted one too few.

He stood behind her a