in and sat down beside the country boy, as
usual. He was a queer, colorless sort of person--a man who never looked
into the face of another if he could help it. He would look all around
Hiram when he spoke to him--at his shoulder, his shirtfront, his hands,
even at his feet if they were visible, but never at his face.

And at the table he kept up a continual monologue. It was difficult
sometimes for Hiram to know when he was being addressed, and when poor
Mr. Camp was merely talking to himself.

"Let's see--where has Sister put my napkin--Oh! here it is--You've been
for a walk, have you, young man?--No, that's not my napkin; I didn't
spill any gravy at dinner--Nice day out, but raw--Goodness me! can't I
have a knife and fork?--Where's my knife and fork?--Sister certainly has
forgotten my knife and fork.--Oh! Here they are--Yes, a very nice day
indeed for this time of year."

And so on. It was quite immaterial to Mr. Camp whether he got an answer
to his remarks to Hiram, or not. He went on muttering to himself, all
through the meal, sometimes commenting upon what the others said at the
table--and that quite shrewdly, Hiram noticed; but the other boarders
considered him a little cracked.

Sister smiled sheepishly at Hiram as she passed the tea. She drowned
his tea with milk and put in no less than four spoonfuls of sugar. But
although the fluid was utterly spoiled for Hiram's taste he drank it
with fortitude, knowing that the girl's generosity was the child of her
gratitude; for both sugar and milk were articles very scantily supplied
at Mother Atterson's table.

The mistress herself did not appear. Now that he was down here in the
dining-room, Hiram lingered. He hated the thought of going up to his
lonely and narrow quarters at the top of the house.

The other boarders trailed out of the room and up stairs, one after
another, Old Lem Camp being the last to go. Sister brought in a dish of
hot toast between two plates and set it at the upper end of the table.
Then Mrs. Atterson appeared.

Hiram knew at once that something had gone wrong with the boarding
house mistress. She had been crying, and when a woman of the age of Mrs.
Atterson indulges in tears, her personal appearance is never improved.

"Oh, that you, Hi?" she drawled, with a snuffle. "Did you get enough to
eat?"

"Yes, Mrs. Atterson," returned the youth, starting to get up. "I have
had plenty."

"I'm glad you did," said the lady. "And you're easy 's