atin' 'em."

As comprehension dawned upon Lucy, she was silent.

"Folks don't need eggs in the mornin' anyway," continued Ellen, still on
the defensive. "This stuffin' yourself with food is all habit. Anybody can
get into the way of eatin' more 'n' more, an' not know where to stop.
Bread an' coffee an' oatmeal is all anybody needs for breakfast."

If she expected a reply from her niece, she was disappointed, for Lucy did
not speak.

"When you can get sixty-six cents a dozen for eggs, it's no time to be
eatin' 'em," Ellen continued irritably. "You ain't come to live with a
Rockefeller, Miss."

Receiving no answer to the quip, she drew a chair to the table and sat
down.

"You'd better come an' get your coffee while it's hot," she called to
Lucy.

Slowly the girl approached the table and seated herself opposite her
aunt.

The window confronting her framed a scene of rare beauty. The Webster farm
stood high on a plateau, and beneath it lay a broad sweep of valley, now
half-shrouded in the silver mists of early morning. The near-at-hand field
and pasture that sloped toward it were gemmed with dew. Every blade of
tall grass of the mowing sparkled. Even the long rows of green shoots
striping the chocolate earth of the garden flashed emerald in the morning
sunlight; beyond the plowed land, through an orchard whose apple boughs
were studded with ruby buds, Lucy caught a glimpse of a square brick
chimney.

"Who lives in the next house?" she inquired, in an attempt to turn the
unpleasant tide of the conversation. If she had felt resentment at her
aunt's remarks, she at least did not show it.

"What?"

"I was wondering who lived in the next house."

"The Howes."

"I did not realize last night that you had neighbors so near at hand,"
continued the girl brightly. "Tell me about them."

"There's nothin' to tell."

"I mean who is in the family?"

"There's Martin Howe an' his three sisters, if that's what you want to
know," snapped Ellen.

Lucy, however, was not to be rebuffed. She attributed her aunt's
ungraciousness to her irritation about the breakfast and, determining to
remain unruffled, she went on patiently:

"It's nice for you to have them so near, isn't it?"

"It don't make no difference to me, their bein' there. I don't know 'em."
For some reason that Lucy could not fathom, the woman's temper seemed to
be rising, and being a person of tact she promptly shifted the subject.

"No matter about the Howe