As for the four boys, I have never seen healthier or happier ones.
I sat with them at their Sunday-evening luncheon.

As the minister bowed his head to say grace I felt him clasp my hand on one side while the oldest boy clasped my hand on the other, and thus, linked together, and accepting the stranger utterly, the family looked up to God.
There was a fine, modest gayety about the meal.

In front of Mrs.
Minister stood a very large yellow bowl filled with what she called rusk--a preparation unfamiliar to me, made by browning and crushing the crusts of bread and then rolling them down into a coarse meal.

A bowl of this, with sweet, rich, yellow milk (for they kept their own cow), made one of the most appetizing dishes that ever I ate.

It was downright good: it gave one the unalloyed aroma of the sweet new milk and the satisfying taste of the crisp bread.
Nor have I ever enjoyed a more perfect hospitality.