By the time the tragedian had finished his recital, our friends had arrived at the door of the inn, where their host's pretty daughter waited to receive them.
"Well, Helen, my dear," said Mr. Oldstone. "Is the breakfast ready? We have had a long story, and we are all very hungry."
"Yes, sir," answered the maiden; "everything is on the table. I'll run and fetch the eggs. I put them in to boil when I saw you coming in the distance. The toast and rolls are hot, and all in order."
"Bravo! Helen, bravo!" said Professor Cyanite, rubbing his hands.
"By my troth, Helen," said our artist, "if I wanted an appetite your bright eyes would be enough to give me one."
Helen blushed and smiled, and skipped lightly away to see after the eggs.
"Ah! here is a breakfast fit for a king," said Mr. Crucible, as Helen re-entered with a tray.
"And all made with her own fair hands, too, I'll warrant," said McGuilp.
"What makes you blush so much of late, Helen?" asked Mr. Hardcase.
"Oh, what a shame to tease the poor child," said Mr. Parnassus, with tenderness.