nd took it down, reaching over her head.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Pennington!" she said, taking it for granted that
it was her accustomed helper.

"It isn't Pennington; it's--me," said Francis. "I--I wouldn't have
bothered you, but you see the men sent me out here on an errand."

"The men sent you on an errand?" she said wonderingly. "That sounds
topsy-turvy. I thought you sent them on errands."

"Not this kind. They want to know if you won't sit down and eat with
them to-night. The flowers and the food made a hit, and they agree
with everybody else in the world, as far as I can see," said Francis,
with bitterness in his voice, "that this is no work for you to be
doing."

"Did they dare to say so?" said Marjorie angrily.

"No--oh, no. Don't mind me, Marjorie. I'm a little tired and nervous,
I expect--like Logan," he ended, trying to smile. "Will you come?"

"Why, of course!" said Marjorie instantly. "And I think it's _sweet_
of them to want me! Tell them just to wait till I take my apron off,
and I'll be with them."

He went back and she followed him and sat down. At first she felt
embarrassed, a little--she felt as if she were entertaining a large
dinner-party, and most of them strangers. But Pennington, her
unfailing comfort, was at one side of her, and the friendly, if
inarticulate, Ba'tiste at the other; and presently she was chattering
on, and liking it very much.

None of the men had seen much of women for a long time. A couple of
the better-class ones went into town, or what passed for it,
occasionally, to such dances as the few women near by could get up.
But that was practically all they saw of girls. And this "little
thing"--it was a phrase they always used in speaking of her, till the
very last--with her pretty face and pretty, shy ways, and excellent
cooking--and more than all, her pluck--won them completely.

And when she finally, with obvious delight in their delight, produced
the pudding, everything was over but the shouting, as they told her
husband afterward. She had been a bit apprehensive about it, but it
proved to be a good pudding, and large enough. Just large enough,
though. They finished it to the very last crumb, sauce and all, and
thanked her almost with tears. Pierre, it appeared, had not cooked
with any art, he had merely seen to it that there was enough stoking
material three times a day. From the moment of that meal on, anything
that Marjorie wanted of those men, t