heartily than before, for his forenoon's labor made even poorhouse fare
palatable.

Mrs. Mudge observed the change, and remarked in a satisfied tone. "Well,
my fine gentleman, I see you are coming to your appetite. I thought you
wouldn't hold out long."

Paul, who had worn off something of his diffidence, could not help
feeling indignant at this speech; unaccustomed to be addressed in this
way, the taunt jarred upon his feelings, but he only bit his lip and
preserved silence.

Aunt Lucy, too, who had come to feel a strong interest in Paul, despite
her natural mildness, could not resist the temptation of saying with
some warmth, "what's the use of persecuting the child? He has sorrows
enough of his own without your adding to them."

Mrs. Mudge was not a little incensed at this remonstrance.

"I should like to know, ma'am, who requested you to put in your oar!"
she said with arms akimbo. "Anybody wouldn't think from your lofty airs
that you lived in the poorhouse; I'll thank you to mind your own
business in the future, and not meddle with what don't concern you."

Aunt Lucy was wise enough to abstain from provoking further the wrath of
her amiable landlady, and continued to eat her soup in silence. But Mrs.
Mudge neer forgot this interference, nor the cause of it, and henceforth
with the malignity of a narrow-minded and spiteful woman, did what she
could to make Paul uncomfortable. Her fertile ingenuity always found
some new taunt, or some new reproach, to assail him with. But Paul,