stream: every house in the fields was the Fairyland King's House to
us. Don't you remember, Clara?"

"Yes," she said; and it seemed to me as if a slight cloud came over
her fair face. I was going to speak to her on the subject, when the
pretty waitresses came to us smiling, and chattering sweetly like
reed warblers by the river side, and fell to giving us our dinner.
As to this, as at our breakfast, everything was cooked and served
with a daintiness which showed that those who had prepared it were
interested in it; but there was no excess either of quantity or of
gourmandise; everything was simple, though so excellent of its kind;
and it was made clear to us that this was no feast, only an ordinary
meal. The glass, crockery, and plate were very beautiful to my eyes,
used to the study of mediaeval art; but a nineteenth-century club-
haunter would, I daresay, have found them rough and lacking in
finish; the crockery being lead-glazed pot-ware, though beautifully
ornamented; the only porcelain being here and there a piece of old
oriental ware. The glass, again, though elegant and quaint, and very
varied in form, was somewhat bubbled and hornier in texture than the
commercial articles of the nineteenth century. The furniture and
general fittings of the ball were much of a piece with the table-
gear, beautiful in form and highly ornamented, but without the
commercial "finish" of the joiners and cabinet-makers of our time.
Withal, there was a total absence of what the nineteenth century
calls "comfort"--that is, stuffy inconvenience; so that, even apart
from the delightful excitement of the day, I had never eaten my
dinner so pleasantly before.

When we had done eating, and were sitting a little while, with a
bottle of very good Bordeaux wine before us, Clara came back to the