This kind decision of manner, so unlike anything she had before seen in Susan Sliver, quite interested Emma. She did not feel averse to a further acquaintance, and taking her arm they crossed the rustic bridge, and were soon at the farm-house. An elderly man, wearing a Quaker hat, had just entered, and Emma heard him talking to a good-looking old lady, who, both warm and tired, was vehemently beating a minute pudding. "Thee looks tired, Sarah; where are the girls?" "Can't say where Susan is," was the reply. "Margaret is up stairs, sewing." "Well, there is a time for everything, and the girls are old enough to know it; but here comes Susan. Come, Susan, thee ought to be helping thy mother these hot days; but who is this friend?" "Mrs. Lindsay's daughter," said Susan. Emma might have saved her graceful courtesy this time; for the old gentleman did not return it by taking off his broad-brimmed hat: yet she felt the sincere politeness of his manner, as, offering his hand, he said, "I am glad to see thee, child; how is thy mother?" "Very well, thank you," said Emma, taking a seat upon the cushioned chair, which Susan brought and placed near the open door. The old lady was not less cordial in her manner toward their visitor; but she seemed in a great hurry to get dinner upon the table, for the men were coming from the field, and the sun had crossed the noon-mark. Emma was glad to see Susan taking hold to help her mother; and presently Margaret came down stairs, dressed a little too much, and a little too girlish, but appearing very kind and good-natured. "What shall I call thy name?" asked the old gentleman. "Emma, if you please," was the reply. "Well, then, Emma," he continued, "thee is welcome to our table; take thy chair along, and eat dinner with us." Emma felt but little appetite for a farmer's dinner; but she saw that the family would feel more comfortable if she was at the table with them, and prompted, not by appetite, but by true courtesy, she did as she was desired. The farmer folded his hands, and the whole family sat for a moment in rigid silence. Emma was not accustomed to any form of thanksgiving before meat; but she understood this silent expression, and sympathized therein. "Thee looks delicate," said the old man; "what shall I give thee to eat, Emma?" "Anything, sir," answered Emma, with habitual politeness, though she did feel a preference for the milk which came up to the very rim of a large pitcher upon a corner of the table. Margaret began to apologize for the coarseness of their meal: but her father interposed, saying, "It is good enough for well people, and as good as we generally have; but if thee has anything a little nice for a poor appetite, bring it to thy friend." "Now," thought Emma, "Christian politeness bids me put them at ease in this respect." So she said frankly, "I would rather have a glass of your nice milk than anything else."