Do you like bacon, then ?" Rather disappointed at the failure of her first attempt to be useful, Hilda laid the snowy napkin on the shining table, and chose a pretty blue and white plate from the well-stocked shelves of the dresser.
"And now open that cupboard, my lamb," said her hostess, "and you'll find the loaf, and a piece of honeycomb, and some raspberries.

I'll bring a pat of butter and some milk from the dairy, where it's all cool for you." "Raspberries!" cried Hilda.

"Oh, how delightful! Why, the dew is still on them, Nurse Lucy! And how pretty they look, with the cool green leaves round them!" "Ay!" said the good woman, "Jacob brought them in not ten minutes ago.
He thought you would like them fresh from the bushes." Hilda's cheek rivalled the raspberries in bloom as she bent over them to inhale their fragrance.

The farmer had picked these himself for her,--had probably left his work to do so; and she had called him an odious old savage, and an unkempt monster, and--oh dear! decidedly, the old Hilda was a very disagreeable girl.

But here were the eggs, each blushing behind its veil of white, and here was the milk, and a little firm nugget in a green leaf, which was too beautiful to be butter, and yet too good to be anything else.