woman serve us is all the style I want. Why, I’ve been cooking for months, and am heartily sick of it. I would give almost anything to be back in my own home, to see my mother working around the kitchen, and to hear her say, ‘Tom, will you have another piece of pie?’ I never fully appreciated her and her cooking until I came to this canned-food country.”
Both Marion and the sergeant laughed heartily at the doleful expression upon Rolfe’s face.
“Tom never wearies of telling about his mother’s wonderful cooking,” the sergeant explained. “I wish to goodness he had taken a few lessons from her before he left home.”
“You eat all I cook, though,” the constable retorted.
“I have to or starve. You won’t let me do any cooking, although I am in command.”
“Self-preservation is a strong feature in my make-up, Miss Brisbane. The sergeant is teachable for all that, so with little tact you may be able to train him properly.”
There was a fine spirit of comradeship between these two men, who spent so much time together on the long trails. They knew each other thoroughly, and their light banter was merely an offset to the difficulty and seriousness of their tasks. The commanding officer who had sent them forth together had made no mistake in his knowledge of men. Rolfe’s bright and buoyant disposition was an excellent balance to North’s stern and somewhat taciturn nature.
When breakfast was over, Rolfe insisted upon washing the few dishes. He then spread out his blankets in one corner of the room, and stretched out his tired body. Marion and North sat near the stove side by side. For a while they were silent, rejoicing in each
