The grace of early spring lay upon it
and all around. True, it was small and unpainted and in bad repair,
but its smallness and its brownness seemed not out of keeping with
the mountain-side. Its narrow veranda was railed by unbarked
branches from the cedars. Its walls were rough and weather-beaten,
its few windows, broad and low. The door was open and led directly
into the living room whence his hostess had preceded him.
The marvellous scent of the morning was everywhere. The room, as he
went in, seemed full of it. Not such a bad room, either, not nearly
so comfortless as he had thought last night. There was a fireplace,
for instance, a real fireplace of cobble-stones, for use, not
ornament; a long table stood in the middle of the room, an old
fashioned sofa sprawled beneath one of the windows. There was a
dresser at one end with open shelves for china and, at the other, a
book-case, also open, filled with old and miscellaneous books. . . .
And, best and most encouraging of all, there was breakfast on the
table.
"I told Li Ho to give you eggs," said Miss Farr. "It is the one
thing we can be sure of having fresh. Do you like eggs?"
The professor liked eggs. He had never liked eggs so well before,
except once in Flanders--he looked up to thank his hostess, but she
had not waited. Nevertheless the breakfast was very good. Not until
he had finished the last crumb of it did he notice that the comfort
of the place was more apparent than real.
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