Magdalen presented the second dish.  Once more the old gentleman helped himself largely—­once more he sent her away to the side-table—­once more he tumbled the entire contents of the plate down the dog’s throat, selecting Cassius this time, as became a considerate master and an impartial man.  When the next course followed—­consisting of a plain pudding and an unwholesome “cream”—­Magdalen’s suspicion of the function of the dogs at the dinner-table was confirmed.  While the master took the simple pudding, the dogs swallowed the elaborate cream.  The admiral was plainly afraid of offending his cook on the one hand, and of offending his digestion on the other—­and Brutus and Cassius were the two trained accomplices who regularly helped him every day off the horns of his dilemma.  “Very good! very good!” said the old gentleman, with the most transparent duplicity.  “Tell the cook, my dear, a capital cream!”

Having placed the wine and dessert on the table, Magdalen was about to withdraw.  Before she could leave the room, her master called her back.

“Stop, stop!” said the admiral; “you don’t know the ways of the house yet, Lucy.  Put another wine-glass here, at my right hand—­the largest you can find, my dear.  I’ve got a third dog, who comes in at dessert—­a drunken old sea-dog who has followed my fortunes, afloat and ashore, for fifty years and more.  Yes, yes, that’s the sort of glass we want.  You’re a good girl—­you’re a neat, handy girl.  Steady, my dear! there’s nothing to be frightened at!”

A sudden thump on the outside of the door, followed by one mighty bark from each of the dogs, had made Magdalen start.  “Come in!” shouted the admiral.  The door opened; the tails of Brutus and Cassius cheerfully thumped the floor; and old Mazey marched straight up to the right-hand side of his master’s chair.  The veteran stood there, with his legs wide apart and his balance carefully adjusted, as if the dining-room had been a cabin, and the house a ship pitching in a sea-way.

The admiral filled the large glass with port, filled his own glass with claret, and raised it to his lips.

“God bless the Queen, Mazey,” said the admiral.

“God bless the Queen, your honor,” said old Mazey, swallowing his port, as the dogs swallowed the made-dishes, at a gulp.

“How’s the wind, Mazey?”

“West and by Noathe, your honor.”

“Any report to-night, Mazey!”

“No report, your honor.”

“Good-evening, Mazey.”

“Good-evening, your honor.”

The after-dinner ceremony thus completed, old Mazey made his bow, and walked out of the room again.  Brutus and Cassius stretched themselves on the rug to digest mushrooms and made gravies in the lubricating heat of the fire.  “For what we have received, the Lord make us truly thankful,” said the admiral.  “Go downstairs, my good girl, and get your supper.  A light meal, Lucy, if you take my advice—­a light meal, or you will have the nightmare.  Early to bed, my dear, and early to rise, makes a parlor-maid healthy and wealthy and wise.  That’s the wisdom of your ancestors—­you mustn’t laugh at it.  Good-night.”  In those words Magdalen was dismissed; and so her first day’s experience of Admiral Bartram came to an end.