"I suppose _I_ am expected to sit there!" said Hilda to herself. "As if
I should sit down in a kitchen!" But all the while she knew in her heart
of hearts that this was one of the most attractive rooms she had ever
seen, and that that particular corner was pretty enough and picturesque
enough for a queen to sit in. You are not to think that she saw all
these things at the first glance; far from it. There was something else
in the room which claimed the immediate attention of our heroine, and
that was a square oak table, shining like a mirror, and covered with
good things,--cold chicken, eggs and bacon, golden butter and honey, a
great brown loaf on a wonderful carved wooden platter, delicate rolls
piled high on a shallow blue dish, and a portly glass jug filled with
rich, creamy milk. Here was a pleasant sight for a hungry heroine of
fifteen! But alas! at the head of this inviting table sat Farmer
Hartley, the "odious savage," in his rough homespun coat, with his hair
still very far from smooth (though indeed he had brushed it, and the
broad, horny hands were scrupulously clean). With a slight shudder Hilda
took the seat which Dame Hartley offered her.
"Well, Huldy," said the farmer, looking up from his eggs and bacon with
a cheery smile, "here ye be, eh? Rested after yer journey, be ye?"
"Yes, thank you!" said Hilda, coldly.
"Have some chick'n!" he continued, putting nearly half a chicken on her
plate. "An' a leetle bacon, jes' ter liven it up, hey? That's right!
It's my idee thet most everythin' 's the better for a bit o' bacon,
unless it's soft custard.
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