"Yes, sir," said David, "And I'm glad." And the doctor knew that he also
liked the paragon.

Lunch was an epic meal above and below stairs. Jeems had been fetched by
that black Mercury Jackson, messenger today of the gods of joy. And the
two old souls had been told by Mrs. Cabell that never again should they
work hard or be anxious or want for anything. The sensation-loving
colored servants rejoiced in the events as a personal jubilee, and made
much of Aunt Basha and Unc' Jeems till their old heads reeled. Above
stairs the scroll unrolled more or loss decorously, yet in magic colors
unbelievable. Somehow David had told about Annesley and Jarvis last
night.

"Somebody knitted him a whole dozen pairs of socks!" he commented,
"Really she did. He said so. Think of a girl being as good to a chap as
that."

"I'll knit you a dozen," Miss Eleanor Cabell capped his sentence, like
the Amen at the end of a High Church prayer. "I'll begin this
afternoon."

"And, David," said Mrs. Cabell--for it had got to be "David" and "Cousin
Virginia" by now--"David, when you get your commission, I'll have your
field glass ready, and a few other things."

Dr. Cabell lifted his eyes from his chop. "You'll spoil that boy," he
stated. "And, mother, I pointed out that I'm not the Almighty, even on
joints, I haven't looked at that game leg yet. I said it _might_ be
curable."