“Well, I dunno,” said the other. “Do you smoke?”

“Sometimes,” said Jurgis, “but I’ll do it out of doors.” When the man had assented, he inquired, “How much will it cost me? I haven’t very much money.”

“I reckon about twenty cents for supper,” replied the farmer. “I won’t charge ye for the barn.”

So Jurgis went in, and sat down at the table with the farmer’s wife and half a dozen children. It was a bountiful meal⁠—there were baked beans and mashed potatoes and asparagus chopped and stewed, and a dish of strawberries, and great, thick slices of bread, and a pitcher of milk. Jurgis had not had such a feast since his wedding day, and he made a mighty effort to put in his twenty cents’ worth.

They were all of them too hungry to talk; but afterward they sat upon the steps and smoked, and the farmer questioned his guest. When Jurgis had explained that he was a workingman from Chicago, and that he did not know just whither he was bound, the other said, “Why don’t you stay here and work for me?”