of the Dudgeons;
but it is so plain itself that a modern house agent would let both at
about the same rent. The chief dwelling room has the same sort of
kitchen fireplace, with boiler, toaster hanging on the bars, movable
iron griddle socketed to the hob, hook above for roasting, and broad
fender, on which stand a kettle and a plate of buttered toast. The
door, between the fireplace and the corner, has neither panels,
fingerplates nor handles: it is made of plain boards, and fastens with
a latch. The table is a kitchen table, with a treacle colored cover of
American cloth, chapped at the corners by draping. The tea service on
it consists of two thick cups and saucers of the plainest ware, with
milk jug and bowl to match, each large enough to contain nearly a
quart, on a black japanned tray, and, in the middle of the table, a
wooden trencher with a big loaf upon it, and a square half pound block
of butter in a crock. The big oak press facing the fire from the
opposite side of the room, is for use and storage, not for ornament;
and the minister's house coat hangs on a peg from its door, showing
that he is out; for when he is in it is his best coat that hangs there.
His big riding boots stand beside the press, evidently in their usual
place, and rather proud of themselves. In fact, the evolution of the
minister's kitchen, dining room and drawing room into three separate
apartments has not yet taken place; and so, from the point of view of
our pampered period, he is no better off than the Dudgeons.

But there is a difference, for all that. To begin with, Mrs. Anderson
is a pleasanter person to live with than Mrs. Dudgeon. To which Mrs.
Dudgeon would at once reply, with reason, that Mrs. Anderson has no
children to look after; no poultry, pigs nor cattle; a steady and
sufficient income not directly dependent on harvests and prices at
fairs; an affectionate husband who is a tower of strength to her: in
short, that life is as easy at the minister's house as it is hard at
the farm. This is true; but to explain a fact is not to alter it; and
however little credit Mrs. Anderson may deserve for making her home
happier, she has certainly succeeded in doing it. The outward and
visible signs of her superior social pretensions are a drugget on the
floor, a plaster ceiling between the timbers and chairs which, though
not upholstered, are stained and polished. The fine arts are
represented by a mezzotint portrait of some Presbyterian d