There was also a spirited reproduction of "The Stag at Bay"
and some charming coloured prints of villagers, children, and domestic
animals in their lighter moments.
Tea being presently ready, I genially insisted that it should be
served in the kitchen where it had been prepared, though to this my
hostess at first stoutly objected, declaring that the room was in no
suitable state. But this was a mere womanish hypocrisy, as the place
was spotless, orderly, and in fact quite meticulous in its neatness.
The tea was astonishingly excellent, so few Americans I had observed
having the faintest notion of the real meaning of tea, and I was
offered with it bread and butter and a genuinely satisfying compote of
plums of which my hostess confessed herself the fabricator, having, as
she quaintly phrased the thing, "put it up."
And so, over this collation, we chatted for quite all of an hour. The
lady did, as I have intimated, a bit of charring, a bit of plain
sewing, and also derived no small revenue from her vegetables and
fruit, thus managing, as she owned the free-hold of the premises, to
make a decent living for herself and child. I have said that she was
cheerful and competent, and these epithets kept returning to me as we
talked. Her husband--she spoke of him as "poor Judson"--had been a
carter and odd-job fellow, decent enough, I dare say, but hardly the
man for her, I thought, after studying his portrait.
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