ee."

"Yes, I would like it, Norton."

"And beefsteak? or cold chicken? We'll have chicken. I know you like it
best."

It was nice of Norton; for he didn't.

"Buckwheats, Pink?"

"Yes. I like them," said Matilda.

"So do I, when they are good. And rolls, in case they shouldn't be. And
good syrup--Silver Drip, mind."

Norton gave his order, and the two sat waiting. Matilda examined the
place and its appointments. It was neat, if it was very plain.

"It's a good place enough," said Norton. "The country people come here
in the middle of the day when they have driven in to Poughkeepsie to
market and do shopping. Then the place is busy and all alive; now, you
see, we have got it to ourselves. But anyhow, they have always good
plain things here."

So the breakfast proved when it came. Matilda was very much amused with
the little coffee pot, holding just enough for two, and the cream
pitcher to match. But there was hot milk in plenty; and the cakes were
feathery light; and the cold fowl very good; and the rolls excellent.
And the two, Norton and Matilda, were very hungry. So much exercise and
so much business and pleasure together made them sharp. Eating stopped
talking a little. But the very goodness of the breakfast made Matilda
think only the more, in the intervals, of that question Norton had
given her; why were there poor people, who could have nothing like this?

"Shall we go to Blodgett's next? or will you see Maria first?" Norton
asked.

"O, Maria first, Norton; and then we need not be hurried about the
plants."

"The roots," said Norton. "Well, I'll see you there, and then I have
some other business to attend to. I'll come for you about dinner time;
then we can go to Blodgett's after dinner. You'll want a good deal of
time with Maria, I suppose."

So after breakfast the two went down the town again and turned into the
cross street where Maria lived. At the door of the humble-looking
house, Norton left Matilda and went off again. Yes, it was a plain,
small brick house, with wooden steps and little windows. Matilda had
the door opened to her by Maria herself. She could not understand,
though she surely saw, the cloud which instantly covered a flash of
pleasure in Maria's face. The two went in, went up the stairs to a
little back room, which was Maria's own. A chill came over Matilda
here. It was so different from her room. A little close stove warmed
it; the bed was covered with a gay patchwork quilt w