Paul Prescotts Charge | Page 9

the newcomer making the tenth.
They were all advanced in years, except one young woman, who was
prevented by mental aberration from supporting herself outside the
walls of the Institution.
Of all present, Paul's attention was most strongly attracted towards one

who appeared more neatly and scrupulously attired than any of the rest.
Aunt Lucy Lee, or plain Aunt Lucy, for in her present abode she had
small use for her last name, was a benevolent-looking old lady, who
both in dress and manners was distinguished from her companions. She
rose from her knitting, and kindly took Paul by the hand. Children are
instinctive readers of character, and Paul, after one glance at her
benevolent face, seated himself contentedly beside her.
"I suppose," said the old lady, socially, "you've come to live with us.
We must do all we can to make you comfortable. Your name is Paul
Prescott, I think Mrs. Mudge said."
"Yes, ma'am" answered Paul, watching the rapid movement of the old
lady's fingers.
"Mine is Aunt Lucy," she continued, "that is what everybody calls me.
So now we know each other, and shall soon be good friends, I hope. I
suppose you have hardly been here long enough to tell how you shall
like it."
Paul confessed that thus far he did not find it very pleasant.
"No, I dare say not," said Aunt Lucy, "I can't say I think it looks very
attractive myself. However, it isn't wholly the fault of Mr. and Mrs.
Mudge. They can't afford to do much better, for the town allows them
very little."
Aunt Lucy's remarks were here interrupted by the apparition of the
worthy landlady at the door.
"Dinner's ready, folks," said that lady, with little ceremony, "and you
must come out quick if you want any, for I'm drove with work, and
can't be hindered long."
The summons was obeyed with alacrity, and the company made all
haste to the dining-room, or rather the kitchen, for it was here that the
meals were eaten.

In the center of the room was set a table without a cloth, a table-cloth
being considered a luxury quite superfluous. Upon this were placed
several bowls of thin, watery liquid, intended for soup, but which, like
city milk, was diluted so as hardly to be distinguishable. Beside each
bowl was a slice of bread.
Such was the bill of fare.
"Now, folks, the sooner you fall to the better," exclaimed the energetic
Mrs. Mudge, who was one of those driving characters, who consider
any time spent at the table beyond ten minutes as so much time wasted.
The present company appeared to need no second invitation. Their
scanty diet had the positive advantage of giving them a good appetite;
otherwise the quality of their food might have daunted them.
Paul took his place beside Aunt Lucy. Mechanically he did as the rest,
carrying to his mouth a spoonful of the liquid. But his appetite was not
sufficiently accustomed to Poor House regime to enable him to relish
its standing dish, and he laid down his spoon with a disappointed look.
He next attacked the crust of bread, but found it too dry to be palatable.
"Please, ma'am," said he to Mrs. Mudge, "I should like some butter."
Paul's companions dropped their spoons in astonishment at his daring,
and Mrs. Mudge let fall a kettle she was removing from the fire, in
sheer amazement.
"What did you ask for?" she inquired, as if to make sure that her ears
did not deceive her.
"A little butter," repeated Paul, unconscious of the great presumption of
which he had been guilty.
"You want butter, do you?" repeated Mr. Mudge. "Perhaps you'd like a
slice of beefsteak and a piece of plum-pudding too, wouldn't you?"
"I should very much," said Paul, resolved to tell the truth, although he

now began to perceive the sarcasm in his landlady's tone.
"There isn't anything more you would like, is there?" inquired the lady,
with mock politeness.
"No, ma'am," returned Paul after a pause, "I believe not, to-day."
"Very moderate, upon my word," exclaimed Mrs. Mudge, giving vent
at length to her pent- up indignation. "You'll be contented with butter
and roast beef and plum-pudding! A mighty fine gentleman, to be sure.
But you won't get them here, I'll be bound."
"So will I," thought Aunt Lucy.
"If you ain't satisfied with what I give you," pursued Mrs. Mudge,
"you'd better go somewhere else. You can put up at some of the great
hotels. Butter, forsooth!"
Having thus given expression to her feelings, she left the room, and
Paul was left to finish his dinner with the best appetite he could
command. He was conscious that he had offended Mrs. Mudge, but the
thoughts of his recent great sorrow swallowed up all minor