"Oh Jacky, Jacky, you rude boy! and you silly boy as well! This is your dear pretty Auntie Hilda come to see you. Go up and say 'How d'ye do?' nicely, and kiss her." "How d'ye do?" he said, swaggering up to me with his hands in both pockets. "I'll tell you what I'd like very much. A guinea-pig, or else a white rat. You don't happen to have thought of bringin' one? Hey?" Freda burst out laughing even while she tried to stiffen her features to an expression of rebuke. I looked from her to the curly golden head and blue eyes of the boy. Ah, well! Freda is a happier woman than most, though she is a widow indeed. CHAPTER XXI. FREDA BREAKS SILENCE. Half an hour later we were sitting at a pleasant meal, and I was only sorry not to be hungrier, for the Magnolia Cottage of my imagination could not have provided more inviting viands than the cold fowl, and rolls and butter, and honey and fragrant coffee, which made our lunch. Freda flushed with pleasure when I said so. "Ah!" she said, looking towards her friend, "if anybody can make a shilling go as far as a pound, it is Mary Vincent." "Hardly that, my dear, but I am not an old campaigner for nothing, and the advantage of living in a slum is, that food is sold at prices within reach of the poor. Then I spent a couple of years of my girlhood in a French convent, and learned from Sister St. Genevieve to make coffee," said Freda's friend. I liked Mrs. Vincent uncommonly well. She was quite plain-looking, but had, I thought, one of the sweetest expressions imaginable. Her hair, too, was very pretty, white, and with a wave in it, a striking contrast to her olive-hued cheeks and quick, brown eyes. But looking at her one only got an impression of the goodness of the face; the irregular features and small eyes and colourless skin faded into insignificance as compared with that. Master Jacky, too, had his chair at the table, beside Mrs. Vincent. I must say he behaved very well for so small a boy, and one evidently so much petted. Except for an occasional indiscretion, such as asking why wasn't there chicken and honey every day, his conduct was exemplary. Indeed, with regard to her training of him it was evident that Mrs. Vincent had not been a soldier's wife for nothing. She had a number of military words of command, which she uttered with an immovable face whenever the young gentleman seemed on the point of becoming obstreperous. It amused me very much to see the boy's prompt obedience to them; but that was, as she explained to me, because Jacky was to be a soldier when he grew up, and he had already begun his training. I couldn't help thinking that she was probably better for the young pickle than his own dear little mother, whose eyes danced and twinkled with such merriment when Jacky forgot that he was a soldier acting under orders. Mrs. Vincent's face never lost its sweet seriousness for one moment, even when Freda and I were visibly merry.