iance with the closeness.

The bed felt fresh when he got into it, and the sweet breath of the
mountains came in so cold through the sash he had lifted that he was glad
to pull the secondary quilt up over him. He heard the clock tick in some
room below; from another quarter came the muffled sound of coughing; but
otherwise the world was intensely still, and he slept deep and long.

VI.

The men folks had finished their breakfast and gone to their farm-work
hours before Westover came down to his breakfast, but the boy seemed to
be of as much early leisure as himself, and was lounging on the threshold
of the back door, with his dog in waiting upon him. He gave the effect of
yesterday's cleanliness freshened up with more recent soap and water. At
the moment Westover caught sight of him, he heard his mother calling to
him from the kitchen, "Well, now, come in and get your breakfast, Jeff,"
and the boy called to Westover, in turn, "I'll tell her you're here," as
he rose and came in-doors. "I guess she's got your breakfast for you."

Mrs. Durgin brought the breakfast almost as soon as Westover had found
his way to the table, and she lingered as if for some expression of his
opinion upon it. The biscuit and the butter were very good, and he said
so; the eggs were fresh, and the hash from yesterday's corned-beef could
not have been better, and he praised them; but he was silent about the
coffee.

"It a'n't very good," she suggested.

"Why, I'm used to making my own coffee; I lived so long in a country
where it's nearly the whole of breakfast that I got into the habit of it,
and I always carry my little machine with me; but I don't like to bring
it out, unless--"

"Unless you can't stand the other folks's," said the woman, with a
humorous gleam. "Well, you needn't mind me. I want you should have good
coffee, and I guess I a'n't too old to learn, if you want to show me. Our
folks don't care for it much; they like tea; and I kind of got out of the
way of it. But at home we had to have it." She explained, to his
inquiring glance.

"My father kept the tavern on the old road to St. Albans, on the other
side of Lion's Head. That's where I always lived till I married here."

"Oh," said Westover, and he felt that she had proudly wished to account
for a quality which she hoped he had noticed in her cooking. He thought
she might be going to tell him something more of herself, but she only
said, "Well, any time you want to