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few minutes pass and Martha returns with a plate of eggs, ham and toasted muffins and places it in front of me. Her countenance is stern and challenging. It appears I’m being tested.
    “What’s this?” I ask. “All I wanted is coffee and toast.”
    “You’re too thin.” Comes the reply from a woman who is about five foot nothing and weighs around two hundred pounds on her lighter days. “It’s early and you have a long day ahead and I don’t want you in here every ten minutes asking for a handout. So eat while I see if I can find you some dessert.”
    “Dessert! For breakfast! Look, Martha, I’ll have some of this, but I’m not having any dessert. So forget the dessert. All right?”
    Martha smiles and walks over to the cupboard while it slowly dawns on me that I’ve been had. Obviously, she never intended to serve dessert, but she threw it in so she could cave to where she wanted to be anyway. I’m certain it’s the first of many skirmishes to come… and I have a feeling we are going to get along just fine. Martha returns with a cup, fills it from the silver pot and joins me at the table.
    “Why don’t you get a plate, Martha, and have some of this?” I gesture towards the ample serving. “I’ll never finish it.”
    Martha shakes her head.
    “You’ll finish it. Besides, I don’t want to get fat.”
    I keep a straight face and nod my head in agreement, afraid to look her in the eye. I don’t want to lose all my hard-won points, earned for eating a delicious meal I don’t need. Besides, ‘fat’ is a relative term. It’s also the kind of word that can get a newrelationship off to a very rocky start, so even though it’s her word, I don’t think I’ll acknowledge it.
    As I eat my breakfast, Martha fills me in with news about what’s going on at the mansion, but names and positions mean little without faces to go with them. She hints with brief comments here and there that tell me there is much to be learned from this source. Although I have little to go on, Martha appears to be an astute observer and a better than average judge of humankind. A few minutes later her tutorial is interrupted by the rapid pitter-pat of little bare feet in the hallway.
    “Here comes Jeff-Jeff,” she says with a smile.
    Martha turns in her seat as a little boy pokes his head in the door, sees his target and rushes headlong into her lap. Martha scoops him up in her arms and gives him a hug.
    The boy looks over Martha’s shoulder and spies me. His eyes widen and he smiles a greeting. He’s a beautiful boy and the near-perfect image of his father.
    “Say, hello, to Mr. Richards, Jeff-Jeff.” Martha says while softly patting his back. There must be some maternal instinct that kicks in whenever a woman holds someone in her arms. It seems they automatically begin patting the back of the object of their affections. perhaps feeling everyone could use a good burp every now and then. The boy buries his head in Martha’s shoulder and waves shyly without looking.
    “This is Jeffrey,” Martha says with a smile, “but I think he’s going to be Jeff-Jeff for a little while longer.”
    “Hi, Jeff-Jeff,” I reply, “how are you?”
    I guess I don’t really know how to talk to guys this small.
    No answer.
    “I think it’s time for some breakfast,” Martha says as she heads for the pantry, ignoring my futile attempt to converse with the little guy. She lets the boy slide to the floor as she walks along. “Hop in your chair, Master Jeff-Jeff and we’ll see if we can’t find something you like.”
    The youngster heads for the highchair at the end of the table and nimbly climbs to his lofty perch. Thirty seconds later Martha has a bowl of cereal sitting in front of him and he contentedly digs in. I have a feeling Martha rules her domain with an iron fist. Another feeling I have tells me she has many happy subjects.
    Prior to my arrival, I had given some thought as to the best way to conduct myself in this job. After