"Mother," said Diana doubtfully, when she had washed her hands from the berry stains, "will you bring Mr. Knowlton out _here_ to tea, if he should possibly stay?" "He's gone, child, this age." "No, he isn't." "He ain't out yonder any more." "But his horse stands by the fence under the elm." "I wish he was farther, then! Yes, of course he'll come here, if he takes supper with _me_ to-night. I don't think he will. I don't know him, and I don't know as I want to." But this vaguely expressed hope was disappointed. The young officer came in, a little while before supper; laughingly asked Diana for some water to wash his hands; and followed her out to the lean-to. There he was introduced to Mrs. Starling, and informed her he had been doing her work, begging to know if that did not entitle him to some supper. I think Mrs. Starling was a little sorry then that she had not made preparations to receive him more elegantly; but it was too late now; she only rushed a little nervously to fetch him a finer white towel than those which usually did kitchen duty for herself and Diana; and then the biscuits were baked, and the farm hands came streaming in. There were several of them, now in haying time, headed by Josiah Davis, Mrs. Starling's ordinary stand-by. Heavy and clumsy, warm from the hay-field, a little awkward at sight of the company, they filed in and dropped into their several seats round one end of the table; and Mrs. Starling could only play all her hospitable arts around her guest, to make him forget if possible his unwonted companions. She served him assiduously with the best she had on the table; she would not bring on any dainties extra; and the young officer took kindly even to the pork and pickles, and declared the brown bread was worth working for; and when Mrs. Starling let fall a word of regretful apology, assured her that in the times when he was a cadet he would have risked getting a good many marks for the sake of such a meal. "What are the marks for?" inquired Mrs. Starling curiously. "Bad boys," he told her; and then went off to a discussion of her hay crop, and a dissertation on the delights of making hay and the pleasure he had had from it that afternoon; "something he did not very often enjoy." "Can't you make hay anywheres?" Mrs. Starling asked a little dryly. He gravely assured her it would not be considered military. "I don't know what military means," said Mrs. Starling. "_You_ are military, ain't you?" "Mean to be," he answered seriously. "Well, you are. Then, I should think, whatever you do would be military."