chuckle. "I knows when you is bullyraggin' me an' say you is goin' to
sen' me back to Virginia, you is jes' jokin'. You done tole me that
too oftin, Miss Betty, an' you ain't never give me no ticket yet, an'
'tain't nothin' but a sign you is comin' roun', Miss Betty."

Kettle's grin was so seductive and his reasoning so correct that Mrs.
Fortescue suddenly laughed, too; there was no way short of putting
Kettle in handcuffs and leg-irons to keep him from obeying the
After-Clap, whose orders were _orders_ to Kettle.

In the afternoon Colonel Fortescue, sitting in his office, from which
not even Christmas Day exempted him, saw, a long way off, down by the
non-coms' quarters, a pitiful sight. Mrs. McGillicuddy had carried out
her menace to put a buggy in the Sergeant's Christmas stocking. The
buggy was at the Sergeant's door, and in it sat Mrs. McGillicuddy,
elaborately dressed, a picture hat and feathers on her carefully
frizzed hair and her voluminous draperies nearly swamping the little
Sergeant cowering in the corner of the buggy. To it was hitched the
milkman's mare, which was about as big as a large rabbit and owned up
to twenty-three years of age and the name of Dot. The equipage passed
out of sight but in an hour was seen returning. Mrs. McGillicuddy sat
majestically upright in the buggy, while the Sergeant bestrode the
peaceful and amiable Dot.

[Illustration: Mrs. McGillicuddy sat majestically upright in the buggy
while the Sergeant bestrode the peaceful and amiable Dot.]

Presently the Sergeant, looking much wilted and depressed, entered the
Colonel's office.