X.

Westover could not have said he felt very much at home on his first
sojourn at the farm, or that he had cared greatly for the Durgins. But
now he felt very much at home, and as if he were in the hands of friends.

It was toward the close of the afternoon that he arrived, and he went in
promptly to the meal that was served shortly after. He found that the
farm-house had not evolved so far in the direction of a hotel as to have
reached the stage of a late dinner. It was tea that he sat down to, but
when he asked if there were not something hot, after listening to a
catalogue of the cold meats, the spectacled waitress behind his chair
demanded, with the air of putting him on his honor:

"You among those that came this afternoon?"

Westover claimed to be of the new arrivals.

"Well, then, you can have steak or chops and baked potatoes."

He found the steak excellent, though succinct, and he looked round in the
distinction it conferred upon him, on the older guests, who were served
with cold ham, tongue, and corned-beef. He had expected to be appointed
his place by Cynthia Whitwell, but Jeff came to the dining-room with him
and showed him to the table he occupied, with an effect of doing him
special credit.

From his impressions of the berries, the cream, the toast, and the tea,
as well as the steak, he decided that on the gastronomic side there could
be no question but the Durgins knew how to keep a hotel; and his further