Shrinking to nearly half her usual size, she managed to pass him without coming in contact with said finger, which was merely a stump, the first joint having been amputated.  On reaching the back room she readily found the place where she with all the rest was to wash.  For this she did not care, as the water was as cold and pure, and seemed as refreshing as when dipped from her mother’s tin wash-basin.  But when she came to the wiping part, and tried in vain to find a clean corner’ on the long towel, which hung upon a roller, she felt that she was indeed a pauper.

“I should think we might have a decent towel,” thought she.  “Mother used to say it cost nothing to be clean;” then looking round to be sure that no one saw her, she caught up the skirt of her dress and drying her face with it, went back to the kitchen.

She would greatly have preferred a seat by a pleasant looking old lady who looked kindly on her, but Mrs. Grundy bade her sit down by her and help herself.  She did not exactly fancy the looks of the thick fried pork, swimming in grease, so she took a potato and a slice of bread, to get which she reached so far that the lower hook on her dress which for a day or two had been uncertain whether to come off or stay on, now decided the matter by dropping on the floor.  As she was proceeding with her breakfast, Uncle Peter suddenly dropping his knife and fork, exclaimed, “Little daughter’s teeth are awry, ain’t they?”

Mary had hoped that at the poor-house her mouth would not be a subject of comment, but she was disappointed, and bursting into tears would have risen from the table, had not the kind looking woman said, “Shame on you, Peter, to plague a little girl.”

Uncle Peter, too, who was fond of children, seemed distressed, and passing towards her the bowl of milk which was standing by him, he said, “Drink it, daughter;—­milk for babes, and meat for strong men.”

There was so much of real kindness in his manner that Mary’s fear of him diminished, and taking the offered milk she thanked him so kindly that Uncle Peter, who was quite an orator, considered it his duty to make a speech.  Pushing back his chair, he commenced with a bow which required do many changes of his legs that Mary wondered they were not entirely twisted up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, one and all,” said he, “but particularly ladies, what I have to say is this, that henceforth and for ever I am the champion of this unprotected female, who from parts unknown has come among us.—­God bless her.  I will also announce formally that I still hold myself in readiness to teach the polite accomplishment of dancing in my room, No. 41, Pauper’s Hotel.”

Having finished this speech he resumed his breakfast, after which with another of his wonderful bows he quitted the room.  Mary was about following his example when Mrs. Grundy said.  “Come, catch hold now and see how spry you can clear the table, and you, Rind,” speaking to a simple looking girl with crooked feet, “do you go to your shoes.  Be quick now, for it’s goin’ on seven o’clock.”