The Major stroked his clean-shaven chin and eyed him askance.
"Sergeant, you may—er—go," said he; whereat the Sergeant saluted, wheeled sharply and marched swiftly away.
"And pray," questioned the Major again, "who might you be?"
"A maid, sir."
"Hum!" said he, "and what would your mistress say if she knew you habitually stole and ate my cherries?"
"My mistress?" The grave blue eyes opened wider.
"Aye," nodded the Major, "the fine London lady. You are her maid, I take it?"
"Indeed, sir, her very own."
"Well, suppose I inform her of your conduct, how then?"
"She'd swear at me, sir."