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 pentup 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!”