Paul’s brilliant prospects.

Two days later, the funeral of Mr. Prescott took place.

Poor Paul!  It seemed to him a dream of inexpressible sorrow.  His father and mother both gone, he felt that he was indeed left alone in the world.  No thought of the future had yet entered his mind.  He was wholly occupied with his present sorrow.  Desolate at heart he slipped away from the graveyard after the funeral ceremony was over, and took his way back again to the lonely dwelling which he had called home.

As he was sitting in the corner, plunged in sorrowful thought, there was a scraping heard at the door, and a loud hem!

Looking up, Paul saw entering the cottage the stiff form of Squire Benjamin Newcome, who, as has already been stated, was the owner.

“Paul,” said the Squire, with measured deliberation.

“Do you mean me, sir?” asked Paul, vaguely conscious that his name had been called.

“Did I not address you by your baptismal appellation?” demanded the Squire, who thought the boy’s question superfluous.

“Paul,” pursued Squire Newcome, “have you thought of your future destination?”

“No, sir,” said Paul, “I suppose I shall live here.”

“That arrangement would not be consistent with propriety.  I suppose you are aware that your deceased parent left little or no worldly goods.”

“I know he was poor.”

“Therefore it has been thought best that you should be placed in charge of a worthy man, who I see is now approaching the house.  You will therefore accompany him without resistance.  If you obey him and read the Bible regularly, you will—­ahem!—­you will some time or other see the advantage of it.”

With this consolatory remark Squire Newcome wheeled about and strode out of the house.

Immediately afterwards there entered a rough-looking man arrayed in a farmer’s blue frock.

“You’re to come with me, youngster,” said Mr. Nicholas Mudge, for that was his name.

“With you?” said Paul, recoiling instinctively.

In fact there was nothing attractive in the appearance or manners of Mr. Mudge.  He had a coarse hard face, while his head was surmounted by a shock of red hair, which to all appearance had suffered little interference from the comb for a time which the observer would scarcely venture to compute.  There was such an utter absence of refinement about the man, that Paul, who had been accustomed to the gentle manners of his father, was repelled by the contrast which this man exhibited.

“To be sure you’re to go with me,” said Mr. Mudge.  “You did not calc’late you was a goin’ to stay here by yourself, did you?  We’ve got a better place for you than that.  But the wagon’s waitin’ outside, so just be lively and bundle in, and I’ll carry you to where you’re a goin’ to live.”

“Where’s that?”

“Wal, some folks call it the Poor House, but it ain’t any the worse for that, I expect.  Anyhow, them as has no money may feel themselves lucky to get so good a home.  So jest be a movin’, for I can’t be a waitin’ here all day.”