“It’s no trouble at all,” said Ben.

“She’s a pretty good woman,” thought he, as he left the house.  “I wouldn’t play a trick on her for a good deal.  But that Mrs. Mudge is a hard case.  I wonder what she would have said if she had known that I was the ‘scamp’ that troubled her so much Monday.  If I had such a mother as that, by jingo, I’d run away to sea.”

Mrs. Mudge was bent upon reading Aunt Lucy’s letter.  Knowing it to be from Paul, she had a strong curiosity to know what had become of him.  If she could only get him back!  Her heart bounded with delight as she thought of the annoyances to which, in that case, she could subject him.  It would be a double triumph over him and Aunt Lucy, against whom she felt that mean spite with which a superior nature is often regarded by one of a lower order.

After some reflection, Mrs. Mudge concluded that Aunt Lucy would probably leave the letter in the little chest which was appropriated to her use, and which was kept in the room where she slept.  The key of this chest had been lost, and although Aunt Lucy had repeatedly requested that a new one should be obtained, Mrs. Mudge had seen fit to pay no attention to her request, as it would interfere with purposes of her own, the character of which may easily be guessed.

As she suspected, Paul’s letter had been deposited in this chest.

Accordingly, the same afternoon, she left her work in the kitchen in order to institute a search for it.  As a prudent precaution, however, she just opened the door of the common room, to make sure that Aunt Lucy was at work therein.

She made her way upstairs, and entering the room in which the old lady lodged, together with two others, she at once went to the chest and opened it.

She began to rummage round among the old lady’s scanty treasures, and at length, much to her joy, happened upon the letter, laid carefully away in one corner of the chest.  She knew it was the one she sought, from the recent postmark, and the address, which was in the unformed handwriting of a boy.  To make absolutely certain, she drew the letter from the envelope and looked at the signature.

She was right, as she saw at a glance.  It was from Paul.

“Now I’ll see what the little rascal has to say for himself,” she muttered, “I hope he’s in distress; oh, how I’d like to get hold of him.”

Mrs. Mudge began eagerly to read the letter, not dreaming of interruption.  But she was destined to be disappointed.  To account for this we must explain that, shortly after Mrs. Mudge looked into the common room, Aunt Lucy was reminded of something essential, which she had left upstairs.  She accordingly laid down her work upon the chair in which she had been sitting, and went up to her chamber.

Mrs. Mudge was too much preoccupied to hear the advancing steps.

As the old lady entered the chamber, what was her mingled indignation and dismay at seeing Mrs. Mudge on her knees before her chest, with the precious letter, whose arrival had gladdened her so much, in her hands.