wn later that she had refused for both the dishes sent to their
rooms. Her farewells to the other ladies, when they gathered to see
her off on the stage, were airy rather than cheery; there was almost
a demonstration in her behalf, but Westover was oppressed by a kind of
inherent squalor in the incident.

At night he responded to a knock which he supposed that of Frank
Whitwell with ice-water, and Mrs. Durgin came into his room and sat down
in one of his two chairs. "Mr. Westover," she said, "if you knew all I
had done for that woman and her daughter, and how much she had pretended
to think of us all, I don't believe you'd be so ready to judge me."

"Judge you!" cried Westover. "Bless my soul, Mrs. Durgin! I haven't said
a word that could be tormented into the slightest censure."

"But you think I done wrong?"

"I have not been at all able to satisfy myself on that point, Mrs.
Durgin. I think it's always wrong to revenge one's self."

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Mrs. Durgin, humbly; and the tears came
into her eyes. "I got the tray ready with my own hands that was sent to
her room; but she wouldn't touch it. I presume she didn't like having a
plate prepared for her! But I did feel sorry for her. She a'n't over and
above strong, and I'm afraid she'll be sick; there a'n't any rest'rant
at our depot."

Westover fancied this a fit mood in Mrs. Durgin for her further
instruction, and he said: "And if you'll excuse me, Mrs. Durgin, I don't
think what you did was quite the way to keep a hotel."

More tears flashed into Mrs. Durgin's eyes, but they were tears of wrath
now. "I would 'a' done it," she said, "if I thought every single one of
'em would 'a' left the house the next minute, for there a'n't one that
has the first word to say against me, any other way. It wa'n't that I
cared whether she thought my son was good enough to eat with her or not;
I know what I think, and that's enough for me. He wa'n't invited to the
picnic, and he a'n't one to put himself forward. If she didn't want him
to stay, all she had to do was to do nothin'. But to make him up a plate
before everybody, and hand it to him to eat with the horses, like a
tramp or a dog--" Mrs. Durgin filled to the throat with her wrath, and
the sight of her made Westover keenly unhappy.

"Yes, yes," he said, "it was a miserable business." He could not help
adding: "If Jeff could have kept it to himself--but perhaps that wasn't
possible."

"Mr. Westover!" said