“Oh!” cried Hilda, taking the brown, motherly hand in both of hers, “I am so very, very sorry, dear Nurse Lucy!  I did not know!  I will never sit here again.  I thought—­”

But she was ashamed to say what she had thought,—­that this chair and table had been set for her to tempt her to sit down “in a kitchen!” She could hear herself say it as she had said it last night, with a world of scornful emphasis.  How long it seemed since last night; how much older she had grown!  And yet—­and yet somehow she felt a great deal younger.

All this passed through her mind in a moment; but Nurse Lucy was petting her, and saying:  “Nay, dearie; nay, child!  This is just where I want you to sit.  ’Twill be a real help to Farmer, once he is used to it.  Hark!  I hear him coming now.  Sit still!  To please me, my dear, sit still where ye are.”

[Illustration:  “SHE BENT IN REAL DISTRESS OVER THE CURRANTS.”]

Hilda obeyed, though her heart beat painfully; and she bent in real distress over the currants as Farmer Hartley once more entered the room.  She hardly knew what she feared or expected; but her relief was great when he bade her a quiet but cheerful “Good-day!” and crossing the room, sat down in his great leather arm-chair.

“Dinner’ll be ready in five minutes, Jacob!” said the good dame, cheerily; “I’ve only to lay the table and dish the mutton.”

“Oh! let me help,” cried Hilda, springing up and setting her bowl of currants on the window-sill.

So between the two the snowy cloth was laid, and the blue plates and the shining knives and forks laid out.  Then they all sat down, and the little maid-servant came too, and took her place at the end of the table; and presently in came a great loutish-looking fellow, about one or two and twenty, with a great shock of sandy hair and little ferret-eyes set too near together, whom Dame Hartley introduced as her nephew.  He sat down too, and ate more than all the rest of them put together.  At sight of this man, who gobbled his food noisily, and uttered loud snorts between the mouthfuls, the old Hilda awoke in full force.  She could not endure this; mamma never could have intended it!  The Hartleys were different, of course.  She was willing to acknowledge that she had been in the wrong about them; but this lout, this oaf, this villainous-looking churl,—­to expect a lady to sit at the same table with him:  it was too much!  She would ask if she might not dine in her own room after this, as apparently it was only at dinner that this “creature” made his appearance.

Farmer Hartley had been very silent since he came in, but now he seemed to feel that he must make an effort to be sociable, so he said kindly, though gravely,—­

“I see ye’re lookin’ at that old dish, Huldy.  ’Tis a curus old piece, ‘n’ that’s a fact.  Kin ye read the motter on it?”