He stood before the dirt-begrimed window through which alone the struggling sunbeams found an inlet into the gloomy little attic, and looked wistfully out upon the barren fields that surrounded the poorhouse.  Where would he be on the morrow at that time?  He did not know.  He knew little or nothing of the great world without, yet his resolution did not for an instant falter.  If it had, the thought of Mrs. Mudge would have been enough to remove all his hesitation.

He threw himself on his hard bed, and a few minutes brought him that dreamless sleep which comes so easily to the young.

Meanwhile Aunt Lucy, whose thoughts were also occupied with Paul’s approaching departure, had taken from the pocket of her other dress—­for she had but two—­something wrapped in a piece of brown paper.  One by one she removed the many folds in which it was enveloped, and came at length to the contents.

It was a coin.

“Paul will need some money, poor boy,” said she, softly to herself, “I will give him this.  It will never do me any good, and it may be of some service to him.”

So saying she looked carefully at the coin in the moonlight.

But what made her start, and utter a half exclamation?

Instead of the gold eagle, the accumulation of many years, which she had been saving for some extraordinary occasion like the presents she held in her hand—­a copper cent.

“I have been robbed,” she exclaimed indignantly in the suddenness of her surprise.

“What’s the matter now?” inquired Mrs Mudge, appearing at the door, “Why are you not in bed, Aunt Lucy Lee?  How dare you disobey my orders?”

“I have been robbed,” exclaimed the old lady in unwonted excitement.

“Of what, pray?” asked Mrs. Mudge, with a sneer.

“I had a gold eagle wrapped up in that paper,” returned Aunt Lucy, pointing to the fragments on the floor, “and now, to-night, when I come to open it, I find but this cent.”

“A likely story,” retorted Mrs. Mudge, “very likely, indeed, that a common pauper should have a gold eagle.  If you found a cent in the paper, most likely that’s what you put there.  You’re growing old and forgetful, so don’t get foolish and flighty.  You’d better go to bed.”

“But I did have the gold, and it’s been stolen,” persisted Aunt Lucy, whose disappointment was the greater because she intended the money for Paul.

“Again!” exclaimed Mrs. Mudge.  “Will you never have done with this folly?  Even if you did have the gold, which I don’t for an instant believe, you couldn’t keep it.  A pauper has no right to hold property.”

“Then why did the one who stole the little I had leave me this?” said the old lady, scornfully, holding up the cent which had been substituted for the gold.

“How should I know?” exclaimed Mrs. Mudge, wrathfully.  “You talk as if you thought I had taken your trumpery money.”