"I don't believe you have,--anything that is good," said he. "Where have you been all this while?"
"O part of the time in New York, and part of the time in Paris, and some other places."
"Well you ha'n't seen anything better than Queechy, or Queechy bread and butter, have you?"
"No indeed!"
"Come, you shall give me another kiss for that," said he, suiting the action to the word;--"and now sit down and eat as much bread and butter as you can. It's just as good as it used to be. Come mother!--I guess breakfast is ready by the looks of that coffee-pot."
"Breakfast ready!" said Fleda.
"Ay indeed; it's a good half hour since it ought to ha' been ready. If it ain't I can't stop for it. Them boys will be running their furrows like sarpents 'f I ain't there to start them."
"Which like serpents," said Fleda,--"the furrows or the men?"
"Well, I was thinking of the furrows," said he glancing at her;--"I guess there ain't cunning enough in the others to trouble them. Come sit down, and let me see whether you have forgotten a Queechy appetite."
"I don't know," said Fleda doubtfully,--"they will expect me at home."