"I suppose _I_ am expected to sit there!" said Hilda to herself. "As if I should sit down in a kitchen!" But all the while she knew in her heart of hearts that this was one of the most attractive rooms she had ever seen, and that that particular corner was pretty enough and picturesque enough for a queen to sit in. You are not to think that she saw all these things at the first glance; far from it. There was something else in the room which claimed the immediate attention of our heroine, and that was a square oak table, shining like a mirror, and covered with good things,--cold chicken, eggs and bacon, golden butter and honey, a great brown loaf on a wonderful carved wooden platter, delicate rolls piled high on a shallow blue dish, and a portly glass jug filled with rich, creamy milk. Here was a pleasant sight for a hungry heroine of fifteen! But alas! at the head of this inviting table sat Farmer Hartley, the "odious savage," in his rough homespun coat, with his hair still very far from smooth (though indeed he had brushed it, and the broad, horny hands were scrupulously clean). With a slight shudder Hilda took the seat which Dame Hartley offered her. "Well, Huldy," said the farmer, looking up from his eggs and bacon with a cheery smile, "here ye be, eh? Rested after yer journey, be ye?" "Yes, thank you!" said Hilda, coldly. "Have some chick'n!" he continued, putting nearly half a chicken on her plate. "An' a leetle bacon, jes' ter liven it up, hey? That's right! It's my idee thet most everythin' 's the better for a bit o' bacon, unless it's soft custard. I d' 'no ez thet 'ud go with it pitickler. Haw! haw!" Hilda kept her eyes on her plate, determined to pay no attention to the vulgar pleasantries of this unkempt monster. It was hard enough to eat with a steel fork, without being further tormented. But the farmer seemed determined to drag her into conversation. "How's yer ha-alth in gineral, Huldy? Pooty rugged, be ye? Seems to me ye look kin' o' peaked." "I am quite well!" It was Queen Hildegarde who spoke now, in icy tones; but her coldness had no effect on her loquacious host. "I s'pose ye'll want ter lay by a day or two, till ye git used ter things, like; but then I sh'll want ye ter take holt. We're short-handed now, and a smart, likely gal kin be a sight o' help. There's the cows ter milk--the' ain't but one o' them thet's real ugly, and _she_ only kicks with the off hind-leg; so 't's easy enough ter look out for her." Hilda looked up in horror and amazement, and caught a twinkle in the farmer's eye which told her that he was quizzing her. The angry blood surged up even to the roots of her hair; but she disdained to reply, and continued to crumble her bread in silence. "Father, what ails you?" said kind Dame Hartley. "Why can't you let the child alone? She's tired yet, and she doesn't understand your joking ways.--Don't you mind the farmer, dear, one bit; his heart's in the right place, but he do love to tease."