The Golden Shoe by Grace Livingston Hill
It was a simple little supper, yet it tasted wonderfully good to her. A round bright pan of baked beans, piping hot from the oven where they had been all the afternoon. Delicate home made bread, brown and white, the like of which she has never eaten before, and sweet country butter. Sweet baked apples and cream with little caraway cookies for dessert.
She would have laughed but a day before at such a menu, but she ate, and enjoyed it, and knew suddenly that she was having a good time. There was a half wish upon her that she might just stay here always and live this strange peaceful life with them, and get away from all the restlessness and fever of her own world.
* ... I think how this type of meal makes us all feel special, maybe that is why we should all extend our hands toward hospitality. I know you won't ever hear a single soldiers who is invited to dinner complain.