“Betsy Jane!  How can you wear them abominable things!” exclaimed the distressed woman, stooping to pick up the purple satin which had tumbled out.

A look from the more fashionable daughter, as with a swinging sweep she passed on into the parlor, silenced the mother on the subject of hoops, and thinking her guests must necessarily be thirsty after their walk she brought them a pitcher of water, asking if they’d “chuse it clear, or with a little ginger and molasses,” at the same time calling to Betsy Jane to know if them windows was “wung” off!

The answer was in the affirmative, whereupon the ladies were invited to enter, which they did the more willingly as through the open door they had caught glimpses of what proved to be a very handsome Brussels carpet, which in that room seemed a little out of place, as did the sofa, and handsome haircloth rocking-chair.  In this last Madam Conway seated herself, while Maggie reclined upon a lounge, wondering at the difference in the various articles of furniture, some of which were quite expensive, while others were of the most common kind.

“Who can they be?  She looks like someone I have seen,” said Maggie as Betsy Jane left the room.  “I mean to ask their names;” but this her grandmother would not suffer.  “It was too much like familiarity,” she said, “and she did not believe in putting one’s self on a level with such people.”

Another loud blast from the horn was blown, for the bustling woman of the house was evidently getting uneasy, and ere long three or four men appeared, washing themselves from the spout of the pump, and wiping upon a coarse towel which hung upon a roller near the back door.

“I shan’t eat at the same table with those creatures,” said Madam Conway, feeling intuitively that she would be invited to dinner.

“Why, grandma, yes you will, if she asks you,” answered Maggie.  “Only think how kind they are to us—­perfect strangers!”

What else she might have said was prevented by the entrance of Betsy Jane, who informed them that dinner was ready, and with a mental groan, as she thought how she was about to be martyred, Madam Conway followed her to the dining room, where a plain, substantial farmer’s meal was spread.  Standing at the head of the table, with her good-humored face all in a glow, was the hostess, who, pointing Madam Conway to? chair, said:  “Now set right by, and make yourselves to hum.  Mebby I or to have set the table over, and I guess I should if I had anything fit to eat.  Be you fond of biled victuals?” and taking it for granted they were, she loaded both Madam Conway’s and Maggie’s plate with every variety of vegetables used in the preparation of the dish known everywhere as “boiled victuals.”