"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."

Paul quietly submitted himself to the guidance of Mr. Mudge. He was so
occupied with the thought of his sad loss that he did not realize the
change that was about to take place in his circumstances.