Well no, honestly, it wasn't very comfortable, Allen replied. To tell the truth, he was rather disappointed in the place. He had gone there after hearing some undergraduates describe it, and tell how amusing they had found the people. But, somehow, he had not found the people different from people anywhere else. But then he had only made the acquaintance of one man-- "Well, didn't he turn out to be an old poacher, or a gipsy, or something romantic?" asked Mrs. Ross. "No, not at all--he was a Methodist Calvinist deacon, who gave me a lift one wet afternoon, and lectured me all the way about Temperance. And, of course," Allen added, with rather a comic smile, "and, of course, I was already a total abstainer." They all laughed at this. What was he working at over there? Ross asked him a few minutes afterwards. He was writing a paper, Allen replied; but what it was about Mrs. Ross did not understand. She hoped her husband would ask something more, but he merely said, "I see," without much interest, adding that he had not read any philosophy for years. When they sat down to dinner, the lady's evening dress, the silver and flowers on the table, seemed to make Allen all the more awkward and conscious of his appearance. However, he plainly meant to do his best to talk, and, after a moment's silence, he remarked that he supposed the theory of farming was very interesting. "Yes, it is," said Mrs. Ross, "and it's such fun ploughing in the autumn, and in the spring seeing the young green things come up." "I suppose the climate is a great factor in the problem." "Oh, of course, everything depends on that; suppose it comes on to rain just when you've cut your hay!" Ross began to laugh. "I believe my wife thinks of nothing but hay now." "You farm yourself, don't you?" Allen asked, looking at her rather timidly. "Oh, a little; I always say I manage our little farm, and I'm going to learn to plough. And I keep chickens--this is one of mine--poor little thing!" she added. "She pretends to be sorry now, but when she has a chance to sell her chickens I never saw anyone so bloodthirsty." "Oh, George, how can you say such things? Don't believe him, Mr. Allen. And anyhow," she added (it seemed a platitude, but platitudes were better than absolute silence), "anyhow, I suppose it is what the chickens are meant for." To her surprise this mild remark led to an animated argument. For Allen, in agreeing with her, said something about "the general scheme of things." Ross began to laugh at this, and asked Allen if he still held to that old system of his. Allen answered this question so earnestly, that the lady looked at him with wonder.