e bacon, jes' ter liven it up, hey? That's right!
It's my idee thet most everythin' 's the better for a bit o' bacon,
unless it's soft custard. I d' 'no ez thet 'ud go with it pitickler.
Haw! haw!"

Hilda kept her eyes on her plate, determined to pay no attention to the
vulgar pleasantries of this unkempt monster. It was hard enough to eat
with a steel fork, without being further tormented. But the farmer
seemed determined to drag her into conversation.

"How's yer ha-alth in gineral, Huldy? Pooty rugged, be ye? Seems to me
ye look kin' o' peaked."

"I am quite well!" It was Queen Hildegarde who spoke now, in icy tones;
but her coldness had no effect on her loquacious host.

"I s'pose ye'll want ter lay by a day or two, till ye git used ter
things, like; but then I sh'll want ye ter take holt. We're short-handed
now, and a smart, likely gal kin be a sight o' help. There's the cows
ter milk--the' ain't but one o' them thet's real ugly, and _she_ only
kicks with the off hind-leg; so 't's easy enough ter look out for her."

Hilda looked up in horror and amazement, and caught a twinkle in the
farmer's eye which told her that he was quizzing her. The angry blood
surged up even to the roots of her hair; but she disdained to reply, and
continued to crumble her bread in silence.

"Father, what ails you?" said kind Dame Hartley. "Why can't you let the
child alone? She's tired yet, and she doesn't understand your joking
ways.--Don't you mind the farmer, dear, one bit; his heart's in the
right place, but he do love to tease."

But the good woman's gentle words were harder to bear, at that moment,
than her husband's untimely jesting. Hilda's heart swelled high. She
felt that in another moment the tears must come; and murmuring a word of
excuse, she hastily pushed back her chair and left the room.

An hour after, Hilda was sitting by the window of her own room, looking
listlessly out on the soft summer evening, and listening to the
melancholy cry of the whippoorwill, when she heard voices below. The
farmer was sitting with his pipe in the vine-clad porch just under the
window; and now his wife had joined him, after "redding up" the kitchen,
and giving orders for the next morning to the tidy maidservant.

"Well, Marm Lucy," said Farmer Hartley's gruff, hearty voice, "now thet
you have your fine bird, I sh'd like to know what you're a-goin' to do
with her. She's as pretty as a pictur, but a stuck-up piece as ever I
see. Don'