The other boarders--those who were in the house-straggled into
the basement dining-room one after the other, and took their
places at the long table, each in his customary manner.

That dining-room at Mother Atterson's never could have been a
cheerful place. It was long, and low-ceiled, and the paper on
the walls was a dingy red, so old that the figure on it had
retired into the background--been absorbed by it, so to speak.

The two long, dusty, windows looked upon an area, and were
grilled half way up by wrought-iron screens which, too, helped to
shut out the light of day.

The long table was covered by a red figured table cloth. The
"castors" at both ends and in the middle were the ugliest--Hiram
was sure--to be found in all the city of Crawberry. The
crockery was of the coarsest kind. The knives and forks were
antediluvian. The napkins were as coarse as huck towels.

But Mrs. Atterson's food--considering the cost of provisions and
the charge she made for her table--was very good. Only it had
become a habit for certain of the boarders, led by the jester,
Crackit, to criticise the viands.

Sometimes they succeeded in making Mrs. Atterson angry; and
sometimes, Hiram knew, she wept, alone in the dining-room, after
the harumscarum, thoughtless crowd had gone.

Old Lem Camp--nobody save Hiram thought to put "Mr." before the