Such was the bill of fare.

"Now, folks, the sooner you fall to the better," exclaimed the energetic
Mrs. Mudge, who was one of those driving characters, who consider any
time spent at the table beyond ten minutes as so much time wasted.

The present company appeared to need no second invitation. Their
scanty diet had the positive advantage of giving them a good appetite;
otherwise the quality of their food might have daunted them.

Paul took his place beside Aunt Lucy. Mechanically he did as the rest,
carrying to his mouth a spoonful of the liquid. But his appetite was not
sufficiently accustomed to Poor House regime to enable him to relish its
standing dish, and he laid down his spoon with a disappointed look.

He next attacked the crust of bread, but found it too dry to be
palatable.

"Please, ma'am," said he to Mrs. Mudge, "I should like some butter."

Paul's companions dropped their spoons in astonishment at his daring,
and Mrs. Mudge let fall a kettle she was removing from the fire, in
sheer amazement.

"What did you ask for?" she inquired, as if to make sure that her ears
did not deceive her.

"A little butter," repeated Paul, unconscious of the great presumption
of which he had been guilty.