Part 90

Mrs. Mudge colored.

“Go back to your room,” said she, sharply; “and don't stay here accusing me and Mr. Mudge of unchristian conduct. You're the most troublesome pauper we have on our hands; and I do wish the town would provide for you somewhere else.”

“So do I,” sighed the old lady to herself, though she did not think fit to give audible voice to her thoughts.

It was at this moment that Paul halted his chaise at the gate, and lightly jumping out, fastened his horse to a tree, and walked up to the front door.

“Who can it be?” thought Mrs. Mudge, hastily adjusting her cap, and taking off her apron.

“I don't know, I'm sure,” said Mr. Mudge, unsuspiciously.

“I declare! I look like a fright.”

“No worse than usual,” said her husband, gallantly.

By this time Paul had knocked.

“Good-morning, sir,” said Mrs. Mudge, deferentially, her respect excited by Paul's dress and handsome chaise.

“Is Mrs. Lee in?” inquired Paul, not caring to declare himself, yet, to his old enemy.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Mudge, obsequiously, though not overpleased to find that this was Aunt Lucy's visitor; “would you like to see her?”

“If you please.”

“What can he want of the old lady?” thought Mrs. Mudge, as she went to summon her.

“A visitor for me?” asked Aunt Lucy, looking at Mrs. Mudge somewhat suspiciously.

“Yes; and as he's come in a carriage, you'd better slick up a little; put on a clean cap or something.”

Aunt Lucy was soon ready.

She looked wonderingly at Paul, not recognizing him.

“You are not very good at remembering your old friends,” said Paul, with a smile.

“What!” exclaimed Aunt Lucy, her face lighting up with joy; “are you little Paul?”

“Not very little, now,” said our hero, laughing; “but I'm the same Paul you used to know.”

Mrs. Mudge, who through the half open door had heard this revelation, was overwhelmed with astonishment and confusion. She hurried to her husband.

“Wonders will never cease!” she exclaimed, holding up both hands. “If that doesn't turn out to be Paul Prescott. Of course he's up in the world, or he wouldn't dress so well, and ride in such a handsome carriage.”

“You don't say so!” returned Mr. Mudge, who looked as if he had heard of a heavy misfortune.

“Yes, I do; I heard him say so with his own lips. It's a pity you showed that paragraph to Aunt Lucy, this morning.”

“That you showed, you mean,” retorted her husband.

“No, I don't. You know it was you that did it.”

“Hush; they'll hear.”