“But dese waffles are col’, chile, an’ I know how fond men are of eatin’.  Nuffin’ kin make dem fergit dere stummicks.”

Smiling at the colored woman’s worries, Jean at once set to work to renew the fire.  There were a few hot coals, so by the time the men arrived, she had the fire burning brightly, and Mammy was preparing to cook an extra supply of waffles.

Colonel Sterling was a fine looking man.  His white hair, flowing beard, and commanding presence would have distinguished him in any company.  His face was genial, and his grey eyes shone with pleasure and pride as they rested upon his daughter who now turned to meet him.

“Is supper ready, dear?” he enquired, “I am hungry, and I know the Major is, too.”

“There is the supper,” and Jean pointed to the dish of waffles.  “But I’m afraid it’s not much for two hungry men.  The Major, I am sure, will find it pretty poor fare.”

“Not at all, Miss Jean,” the officer smilingly assured her.  “I recall so well the choice waffles I had at your old home in Stamford the last time I visited there.  And I am confident, too, that your excellent cook has lost none of her skill since then.”

He looked toward Mammy as he spoke, causing the faithful servant almost to drop the iron she was holding, so great was her confusion at such a compliment from so great a person.

Major Gilfred Studholme was the right man in the right place at this critical time in the history of Portland Point.  He had served with distinction on behalf of his King in numerous engagements, and his heart went out in sympathy to the thousands of refugees so suddenly thrust upon him for protection.  This soldier had held his post secure in the face of hostile savages and lawless marauders, and he was equally faithful now in the discharge of his duties to the newcomers.

Leaving Mammy to recover from her embarrassment and to continue her cooking, Jean went into the little shack, the only home she now knew, and brought forth a small table.  This she placed near the door, covered it with a white cloth, and again went inside for dishes.  Her supply of the latter was most meagre, as the rest had not been unpacked.  Her eyes grew a little misty as she recalled what the Major had said about the last time he had been with them in their old home in Stamford.  She had a clear remembrance of that day, of the neatly-arranged table, with fresh flowers in the centre, and the light of pleasure and contentment upon her dear mother’s face.  What changes had taken place since then!  Her mother had been laid to rest, the old home was gone, and they were exiles in a strange cruel land.

Hastily wiping her eyes with a delicately-embroidered handkerchief, she collected a few dishes, and had just reached the door when she suddenly stopped.  Standing before the Major she saw a young man, clad in the most peculiar manner she had ever seen.  But his face and bearing were what chiefly attracted her, while a pleasurable sensation, such as she had never before experienced, swept through her being.