This magnificent domain was under the superintendence of Mr. Nicholas Mudge, who in consideration of taking charge of the town paupers had the use of the farm and buildings, rent free, together with a stipulated weekly sum for each of the inmates.
“Well, Paul,” said Mr. Mudge, as they approached the house, in a tone which was meant to be encouraging, “this is goin’ to be your home. How do you like it?”
Thus addressed, Paul ventured a glance around him.
“I don’t know,” said he, doubtfully; “it don’t look very pleasant.”
“Don’t look very pleasant!” repeated Mr. Mudge in a tone of mingled amazement and indignation. “Well, there’s gratitude for you. After the town has been at the expense of providin’ a nice, comfortable home for you, because you haven’t got any of your own, you must turn up your nose at it.”
“I didn’t mean to complain,” said Paul, feeling very little interest in the matter.
“Perhaps you expected to live in a marble palace,” pursued Mr. Mudge, in an injured tone. “We don’t have any marble palaces in this neighborhood, we don’t.”
Paul disclaimed any such anticipation.
Mr. Mudge deigned to accept Paul’s apology, and as they had now reached the door, unceremoniously threw it open, and led the way into a room with floor unpainted, which, to judge from its appearance, was used as a kitchen.
IV
LIFE IN A NEW PHASE
Everything was “at sixes and sevens,” as the saying is, in the room Mr. Mudge and Paul had just entered. In the midst of the scene was a large stout woman, in a faded calico dress, and sleeves rolled up, working as if her life or the world’s destiny depended upon it.
It was evident from the first words of Mr. Mudge that this lady was his helpmeet.
“Well, wife,” he said, “I’ve brought you another boarder. You must try to make him as happy and contented as the rest of ‘em are.”
From the tone of the speaker, the last words might be understood to be jocular.
Mrs. Mudge, whose style of beauty was not improved by a decided squint, fixed a scrutinizing gaze upon Paul, and he quite naturally returned it.
“Haven’t you ever seen anybody before, boy? I guess you’ll know me next time.”
“Shouldn’t wonder if he did,” chuckled Mr. Mudge.
“I don’t know where on earth we shall put him,” remarked the lady. “We’re full now.”
“Oh, put him anywhere. I suppose you won’t be very particular about your accommodations?” said Mr. Mudge turning to Paul.
Paul very innocently answered in the negative, thereby affording Mr. Mudge not a little amusement.
“Well, that’s lucky,” he said, “because our best front chamber’s occupied just now. We’d have got it ready for you if you’d only wrote a week ago to tell us you were coming. You can just stay round here,” he said in a different tone as he was about leaving the room, “Mrs. Mudge will maybe want you to do something for her. You can sit down till she calls on you.”
It was washing day with Mrs. Mudge, and of course she was extremely busy. The water was to be brought from a well in the yard, and to this office Paul was at once delegated. It was no easy task, the full pails tugging most unmercifully at his arms. However, this was soon over, and Mrs. Mudge graciously gave him permission to go into the adjoining room, and make acquaintance with his fellow-boarders.
There were nine of them in all, Paul, 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