Never before had Lucian seen the parlour of an English farmhouse, nor such a feast as that spread out on the square dinner-table. The parlour was long and wide and low-roofed, and the ceiling was spanned by beams of polished oak; a bright fire crackled in the old-fashioned grate, and a lamp burned on the table; but there were no blinds or curtains drawn over the latticed windows which overlooked the garden. Lucian’s observant eyes roved about the room, noting the quaint old pictures on the walls; the oil paintings of Mr. Trippett’s father and mother; the framed samplers and the fox’s brush; the silver cups on the sideboard, and the ancient blunderbuss which hung on the centre beam. It seemed to him that the parlour was delightfully quaint and picturesque; it smelled of dried roses and lavender and sweetbriar; there was an old sheep-dog on the hearth who pushed his muzzle into the boy’s hand, and a grandfather’s clock in one corner that ticked a solemn welcome to him. He had never seen such an interior before, and it appealed to his sense of the artistic. Lucian’s eyes wandered at last to the table, spread for high tea. That was as new to him as the old pictures and samplers. A cold ham of generous proportions figured at one side of the table; a round of cold roast-beef at the other; the tea-tray filled up one end; opposite it space was left for something that was yet to come. This something presently appeared in the shape of a couple of roast fowls and a stand of boiled eggs, borne in by a strapping maid whose face shone like the setting sun, and who was sharply marshalled by Mrs. Trippett, carrying a silver teapot and a dish of hot muffins. ‘Now then, my dear,’ she said, giving a final glance over the table, ‘we can begin as soon as the gentlemen come, and I lay they won’t be long, for Mr. Pepperdine’ll be hungry after his journey, and so I’m sure are you. Come and sit down here and help yourself to an egg--they’re as fresh as morning dew--every one’s been laid this very day.’ The boy sat down and marvelled at the bountiful provision of Mrs. Trippett’s tea-table; it seemed to him that there was enough there to feed a regiment. But when Mr. Trippett and Mr. Pepperdine entered and fell to, he no longer wondered, for the one had been out in the fields all day, and the other had been engaged in the unusual task of travelling, and they were both exceptional trenchermen at any time. Mr. Trippett joked with the boy as they ate, and made sundry references to Yorkshire pudding and roast-beef which seemed to afford himself great satisfaction, and he heaped up his youthful visitor’s plate so generously that Lucian grew afraid. ‘Cut and come again,’ said Mr. Trippett, with his mouth full and his jaws working vigorously. ‘Nothing like a good appetite for growing lads--ah, I was always hungry when I was a boy. Never came amiss to me, didn’t food, never.’