"Mr. Soldier, will you please tell me when you're going to kill some bad people with the cannon?"
"Eh?" said Jermyn, taking his cigar from his lips and raising his cap. "Oh, not until they come here and insist upon being killed, I suppose."
"Why? Do they insist upon bein' killed, and come here to have you do it for them?"
"Um—er—well, we like to be ready, in case they should come, although we hope they'll stay away. I beg your pardon, but will you tell me your name? You look very like some one whom I used to know."
"My name's Trixy Highwood, and that's Aunt Fee, sittin' on the rocks there, and——"
"And her last name is?——"
"Wardlow."
"Well, well." The officer did not sigh, but he looked reminiscent; then he took both of Trixy's hands, looked intently into the child's face, and said:
"I knew your mother about ten years ago."