[CHAPTER XIV]
It was a bright, cheerful party that gathered about the Viamede breakfast table the next morning.
"Southern air seems to agree finely with my young patient thus far," remarked Dr. Harold, looking smilingly at Ned, who was partaking of the good fare provided with an appetite such as he had not shown before since the beginning of his illness.
"Yes, uncle doctor, I'm hungry this morning, and everything tastes good," laughed Ned. "But Viamede victuals always were ever so nice."
"And home victuals poor and tasteless?" queried the lad's mother, feigning a look of grieved surprise.
"Oh, no, mamma; home victuals are good—very good—when one is well, so as to have a good appetite," returned Ned reassuringly.
"Very true, son," said his father; "and you used to show full appreciation of them. So mamma need not feel hurt that you so greatly enjoy your present fare."