Paul Prescott's Charge, Jr. Horatio Alger [popular romance novels TXT] 📗

At the very moment that Paul was driving through the village street, Mr. Nicholas Mudge entered the Poorhouse in high spirits. Certainly ill-fortune must have befallen some one to make the good man so exhilarant.

To explain, Mr. Mudge had just been to the village store to purchase some groceries. One of his parcels was tied up in a stray leaf of a recent New York Daily, in which he discovered an item which he felt sure would make Aunt Lucy unhappy. He communicated it to Mrs. Mudge, who highly approved his design. She called the old lady from the common room.

“Here, Aunt Lucy,” she said, “is something that will interest you.”

Aunt Lucy came in, wondering a little at such an unusual mark of attention.

Mrs. Mudge immediately commenced reading with malicious emphasis a paragraph concerning a certain Paul Prescott, who had been arrested for thieving, and sentenced to the House of Reformation for a term of months.

“There,” said Mrs. Mudge, triumphantly, “what do you say to your favorite now? Turned out well, hasn't he? Didn't I always say so? I always knew that boy was bad at heart, and that he'd come to a bad end.”

“I don't believe it's the same boy,” declared Aunt Lucy, who was nevertheless unpleasantly affected by the paragraph. She thought it possible that Paul might have yielded to a powerful temptation.

“Perhaps you think I've been making it up. If you don't believe it look at the paper for yourself,” thrusting it into Aunt Lucy's hands.

“Yes,” said the old lady. “I see that the name is the same; but, for all that, there is a mistake somewhere. I do not believe it is the same boy.”

“You don't? Just as if there would be more than one boy of that name. There may be other Prescotts, but there isn't but one Paul Prescott, take my word for it.”

“If it is he,” said Aunt Lucy, indignantly, “is it Christianlike to rejoice over the poor boy's misfortune?”

“Misfortune!” retorted Mrs. Mudge with a sneer; “you call it a misfortune to steal, then! I call it a crime.”

“It's often misfortune that drives people to it, though,” continued the old lady, looking keenly at Mrs. Mudge. “I have known cases where they didn't have that excuse.”

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.”

Meanwhile the two friends were conversing together happily.

“I'm so glad you're doing so well, Paul,” said Aunt Lucy. “It was a lucky day when you left the Poorhouse behind you.”