"You've a nice idea of manners, I must say! What! an orderly to make his way into the room of the General's lady!" "Then give the letter here and I'll take it in for you." "Now, my little sister, that's quite enough! What! deliver a letter into the hands of anybody but the person to whom it is addressed!" "Do you know how to write, Mr. Orderly?" "What a question! Ask me another! Why, if I could write I should have become a sergeant long ago." "Why don't you take off that shako? It's pretty heavy, ain't it?" "Now, my little wench, that's quite enough! Right about turn, quick march! They are calling you in the kitchen." The nursery-maid scuttled off. The veteran was getting quite angry at all these simple questions. In no very long time, however, the neat little wench came sidling back again. First she poked her head through the kitchen door as if she wanted to find out whether the big soldier there would bite off her nose--which was a little snub, and small enough already. "Mr. Orderly, the cook has sent you three hearth cakes." "Good." "Take them then." This she said, still keeping at a safe distance, and thrusting forward the nice lard-made hearth cakes as if she were offering them to some snappy, snarling watch-dog at the end of a long chain. "I can't," answered the gallant defender of his country sturdily. "Ain't you got hands, then?" "No, not for them. But if you like you can tuck them into my cartridge-box behind there." "What, in there?" inquired snub-nose amazedly. "But ain't there gunpowder inside?" "Shove 'em in, they won't hurt it." "Won't it explode?" "Not unless a spark from your eyes catches it." The nursery-maid timidly lifted the brightly-polished lid of the cartridge-box, peeping half up at the soldier to see if he meant to frighten her, and at the same time gazing curiously at the many funny round little things in the cartridge-box, at which she pretended to be desperately afraid. The gallant soldier was in duty bound not to move his hand, but he so far relaxed as to allow the tips of two of his fingers to crook downwards and give the plump round arm of the wench a good tweak. "Be off with you, I'm afraid you're a bad man after all, Mr. Soldier!" "I fancy I am too, otherwise I suppose there would not have been so much of me--little and good you know!" "Do you know why the cook sent you those cakes?" "That I may eat them instead of you, I suppose." "Go along, you naughty man! You do say such naughty things! No, she sent them that you might tell her when the next public whipping will take place." "Does the cook want to see it then? A nice pastime, I must say. You don't want to see it too, do you?" "No, not I." "You ought to see it. It is just the thing for wenches. There are always as many ladies present on such occasions as if it was play-acting."