From Captain Hezekiah Butterfield, generally known as Cap’n ’Kiah, an octogenarian who was regarded as an oracle, down to Tready Morgan, a half-witted orphan, the inmates of the poor-house had an enjoyment of living astonishing to behold.  It had been hinted at town-meeting that the keeper of the poor-farm was a “leetle mite too generous and easy-going,” especially as he insisted upon furnishing the paupers with “store” tea and coffee, whereas his predecessor, Hiram Judkins, had made them drink bayberry tea, a refreshment which old Mrs. Gerald, a pauper whose wits were wandering, and who was familiarly known as “Marm Bony,” because she cherished a conviction that she was the empress Josephine, declared was “no more consolin’ than meadow hay.”

Seth Bemis and his wife made the farm pay:  so the town voted to wink at the store-tea.  And they suited the paupers,—­which was even more difficult than to suit the town officers.

Miranda’s arrival had created quite an excitement among the inmates of the poor-house.  They had all heard that she had fallen heir to almost ten thousand dollars, and there was curiosity to see how she would comport herself under this great accession of fortune.

Miranda stoutly resisted the charms of the best room, and sat down with the paupers in the great kitchen after supper.  For the spare chamber she showed some weakness, for the little back chamber which she usually occupied during her visits to the poor-farm was next to Oly Cowden’s room, and Oly had a way of rapping on her wall in the dead of the night for somebody to bring her a roasted onion to avert a peculiarly bad dream to which she was subject; and the next room on the other side was occupied by Jo Briscoe, who had a habit of playing on his violin at most unseemly hours, and, as poor Jo had come through a terrible shipwreck, in which he had lost, by freezing, both his feet and several of his fingers, which latter loss made it wonderful that he could play at all, nobody had the heart to interfere with the consolation which “Fisher’s Hornpipe” and “The Girl I left behind me” afforded him at three o’clock in the morning,—­nobody, that is, except “Marm Bony,” whose room was on the other side of the corridor, and who took Jo’s performances as a serenade, and gently insinuated to him that, as Napoleon was still living, she might be compromised by such tributes to her charms.  Although she was anxious not to accept any privileges on account of her wealth, Miranda thought she would occupy the spare chamber.

The paupers were all disposed to keep holiday in Miranda’s honor.  Old Cap’n ’Kiah had donned a collar so high that it sawed agonizingly upon his ears, little Dr. Pingree, a peddler of roots and herbs, who was occasionally obliged to seek winter quarters at the poor-house, wore a black satin vest brocaded with huge blue roses, which had appeared at his wedding forty years before, and “Marm Bony” had adorned herself with a skimpy green satin skirt and three peacock-feathers standing upright in her little knob of back hair.  And Jo Briscoe was tuning his violin, evidently in preparation for an unusual effort.