were now most apparent. He had always been regarded as a clever
boy at home, and his rustic gallantry was well received by the
farmers' daughters in the neighborhood. What better proofs that
he was about right could a young fellow ask? He was on such good
terms with himself and the world that even the event which his
father so deprecated did not much disturb his easy-going assurance.
He doubted, in his thoughts, whether the city girls would "turn up
their noses" at him, and if they did, they might, for all that he
cared, for there were plenty of rural beauties with whom he could
console himself. But, like his father, he felt that the careless
undress and freedom of their farm life would be criticised by the
new-comers. He proposed, however, to make as little change as
possible in his habits and dress, and to teach the Jocelyns that
country people had "as good a right to their ways as city people
to theirs." Therefore the threatened invasion did not in the least
prevent him from making havoc in the substantial breakfast that
Mrs. Atwood and her daughter Susan put on the table in a haphazard
manner, taking it from the adjacent stove as fast as it was ready.
A stolid-looking hired man sat opposite to Roger, and shovelled in
his food with his knife, with a monotonous assiduity that suggested
a laborer filling a coal-bin. He seemed oblivious to everything
save the breakfast, and with the exception of heaping his plate
from time to time he was ignored by the family.

The men-folk were quite well along with their meal before Mrs.
Atwood and Susan, flushed with their labors about the stove, were
ready to sit down. They were accustomed to hear the farmer grumble,
and, having carried their point, were in no haste to reply or to
fight over a battle that had been won already. Roger led to a slight
resumption of hostilities, however, by a disposition--well-nigh