I must ask my wife.

But come in and have a cup of tea--we're just having a cup ourselves, and perhaps you'd like one." I could have told him that I should like a dozen cups and a great many slices of bread-and-butter, if there was nothing else more substantial to be had.

However, I only said, "Thank you," and followed him in to where his wife, a nice-looking woman, with black hair and olive face, was seated behind the teapot.

Imagine my surprise when I found that besides tea there was a big hot repast on the table--a ham, a roast fowl, potatoes and cabbage, a rice pudding, a dish of stewed fruit, bread-and-butter, and other things.
"You call this a cup of tea!" I exclaimed delightedly.

The woman laughed, and he explained in an apologetic way that he had formerly suffered grievously from indigestion, so that for many years his life was a burden to him, until he discovered that if he took one big meal a day, after the work was over, he could keep perfectly well.
I was never hungrier than on this evening, and never, I think, ate a bigger or more enjoyable meal; nor have I ever ceased to remember those two with gratitude, and if I were to tell here what they told me--the history of their two lives--I think it would be a more interesting story than the one I am about to relate.