Her brood was gathered around her, and every face had been scrubbed until it shone. The baby sat at her right and pounded the table madly with his pewter spoon, to the evident delight of his father. Maria Indiana was sipping warm milk daintily, like the four-year-old lady that she was, and Ellen and Johnny conducted themselves with more dignity than is common to people of seven and nine. Forsyth had made friends with the children the evening before, and, of his own accord, had extended the schooling to all but the baby. "It's going to be a sight of comfort to me," said Mrs. Mackenzie, "to have the young ones out from under foot half the time. The baby don't bother much. I tie him in his chair, give him something to play with, and he's all right." "Where am I to teach, Aunt Eleanor?" "In the next room, I guess. There's a fireplace in there, and you can have it all to yourselves. Just wait till the breakfast things are out of the way and I'll see to it." At this juncture the Ensign appeared, smiling and debonair. "Morning! Am I too late for coffee?" "You've had some already this morning, haven't you?" asked Mackenzie. "Well, now, that depends on what coffee really is. Of course they called it that, but it isn't to be mentioned in the same breath with Mrs. Mackenzie's." Robert noted that there was an extra cup on the table, and surmised that the delicate hint was not infrequent. "Thank you," continued the visitor in a grateful tone; "you've saved my life." "I wish I had a dollar for every time I've saved your life," laughed Mrs. Mackenzie. "So do I, for you are a good and beautiful woman, and you deserve a fortune, if anybody ever did." "Go away, you flatterer. You remind me of a big, motherless chicken." "Gaunt and chicken-like I may be, but never motherless while you live. A little bread and butter, please, to go with the coffee." "Wouldn't you like some bacon?" asked Mackenzie, hospitably. "Well, perhaps--a little. Mrs. Mackenzie cooks it beautifully." "Ellen," said her mother, "get another plate." "You're so good to me," murmured the Ensign, drawing his chair closer to his hostess. "Are those doughnuts?" "They are." "I remember once, when you gave me a doughnut, just after drill. I can taste it yet." "Is that so? I'd forgotten it." "Now that I think of it, you didn't, but you said you would, some time." She laughed and pushed the plate toward him. "Ye gods!" he exclaimed, sinking his white teeth into a doughnut, "what cooking! What a woman!" "I think I'll ask to be excused," said Mackenzie, rising and pushing back his chair. "Certainly," responded the soldier, with a gesture of elaborate unconcern. "Don't stay on my account, I beg of you. Think of real cream in your coffee!" he sighed, scraping the pitcher with a spoon. "I could drink cream." "You're not going to," put in Mrs. Mackenzie, pointedly. "I know it," he answered sadly; "I only wish I were."