gling her little fat body the while, and
drumming on his side with her lace-up boots.

"Hold hard there!" cried he. "Them boots of yourn be so bad as a
pom-pom. Come, we must be lookin' up the wold lady. Say Ta-ta, and
we'll be off."

One blue eye peeped out shyly from beneath the forest of curls, one
little sunburnt hand was waved comprehensively; a smothered voice
uttered the necessary "Ta-ta," with an accompaniment of chuckles and
wriggles, and the soldier, clasping his burden more tightly, and
nodding laughingly right and left made his way towards home.

No one, looking at Mrs. Baverstock as she stood at her doorway in her
neat black stuff gown, the sleeves of which were decently drawn down
to her very wrists, would have guessed at the magnitude of the
culinary labours in which she had been employed. The beef was now done
to a turn, the "spuds" boiled to a nicety; she had made pastry of the
most solid description, which was even now simmering in the oven--I
use the word "simmering" advisedly, for in the generosity of her heart
she had not spared the dripping. The tea was brewed, hot and strong,
the teapot, singed by long use, standing on the hob. There was a
crusty loaf, a pat of butter indented in the middle with one of Dick's
regimental buttons, and a plate of cakes, hard as the nether--millstone
and very crumbly, having been purchased from the distant town at the
beginning of the week in expectation of this auspicious day.

"Well, mother, this be a spread!" cried the soldier, good-humouredly,
as he set the child upon her legs. "I haven't sat down to such a meal
as this since I left old England. 'Tis fit for a king."

Mrs. Baverstock rubbed her bony hands together; and laughed
deprecatingly. She was a little woman, with very bright, beady black
eyes, and hair that was still coal-black in spite of her wrinkled
face. Her son was like her, but taller and better looking. One had but
to glance at the child to realise that she must be the image of her
mother.

"Nay, now," said the widow; "I do do my best for 'ee, Dick, but I d'
'low it bain't so very grand. I'd like to do 'ee honour. There bain't
nothin' too good for 'ee to my mind, if I could give it 'ee."

"I tell 'ee, mother, some of the poor chaps out yonder 'ud give summat
to sit down to this 'ere dinner. Bully beef wi' a pound or two o' raw
flour, what you haven't got nothin' to cook wi'--it do make a man feel
a bit sick, I can tell 'ee, when it do come da