Westover fancied this a fit mood in Mrs. Durgin for her further instruction, and he said:  “And if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Durgin, I don’t think what you did was quite the way to keep a hotel.”

More tears flashed into Mrs. Durgin’s eyes, but they were tears of wrath now.  “I would ‘a’ done it,” she said, “if I thought every single one of ’em would ‘a’ left the house the next minute, for there a’n’t one that has the first word to say against me, any other way.  It wa’n’t that I cared whether she thought my son was good enough to eat with her or not; I know what I think, and that’s enough for me.  He wa’n’t invited to the picnic, and he a’n’t one to put himself forward.  If she didn’t want him to stay, all she had to do was to do nothin’.  But to make him up a plate before everybody, and hand it to him to eat with the horses, like a tramp or a dog—­” Mrs. Durgin filled to the throat with her wrath, and the sight of her made Westover keenly unhappy.

“Yes, yes,” he said, “it was a miserable business.”  He could not help adding:  “If Jeff could have kept it to himself—­but perhaps that wasn’t possible.”

“Mr. Westover!” said Mrs. Durgin, sternly.  “Do you think Jeff would come to me, like a great crybaby, and complain of my lady boarders and the way they used him?  It was Mr. Whit’ell that let it out, or I don’t know as I should ever known about it.”

“I’m glad Jeff didn’t tell you,” said Westover, with a revulsion of good feeling toward him.

“He’d ‘a’ died first,” said his mother.  “But Mr. Whit’ell done just right all through, and I sha’n’t soon forget it.  Jeff’s give me a proper goin’ over for what I done; both the boys have.  But I couldn’t help it, and I should do just so again.  All is, I wanted you should know just what you was blamin’ me for—­”

“I don’t know that I blame you.  I only wish you could have helped it—­managed some other way.”

“I did try to get over it, and all I done was to lose a night’s rest.  Then, this morning, when I see her settin’ there so cool and mighty with the boarders, and takin’ the lead as usual, I just waited till she got Whit’ell across, and nearly everybody was there that saw what she done to Jeff, and then I flew out on her.”

Westover could not suppress a laugh.  “Well, Mrs. Durgin, your retaliation was complete; it was dramatic.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Mrs. Durgin, rising and resuming her self-control; she did not refuse herself a grim smile.  “But I guess she thought it was pretty perfect herself—­or she will, when she’s able to give her mind to it.  I’m sorry for her daughter; I never had anything against her; or her mother, either, for that matter, before.  Franky look after you pretty well?  I’ll send him up with your ice-water.  Got everything else you want?”

“I should have to invent a want if I wished to complain,” said Westover.

“Well, I should like to have you do it.  We can’t ever do too much for you.  Well, good-night, Mr. Westover.”