"Mighty considerate, I declare. And I shouldn't be at all surprised
if you were knitting them with the yarn I gave you for Mr. Mudge's
stockings."

"You are mistaken," said Aunt Lucy, shortly.

"Oh, you're putting on your airs, are you? I'll tell you what, Madam,
you'd better put those stockings away in double-quick time, and finish
my husband's, or I'll throw them into the fire, and Paul Prescott may
wait till he goes barefoot before he gets them."

There was no alternative. Aunt Lucy was obliged to obey, at least while
her persecutor was in the room. When alone for any length of time she
took out Paul's stockings from under her apron, and worked on them till
the approaching steps of Mrs. Mudge warned her to desist.

*****

Three days passed. The shadows of twilight were already upon the earth.
The paupers were collected in the common room appropriated to their use.
Aunt Lucy had suspended her work in consequence of the darkness, for
in this economical household a lamp was considered a useless piece of
extravagance. Paul crept quietly to her side, and whispered in tones
audible to her alone, "I AM GOING TO-MORROW."

"To-morrow! so soon?"

"Yes," said Paul, "I am as ready now as I shall ever be. I wanted to
tell you, because I thought maybe you might like to know that this is
the last evening we shall spend together at present."

"Do you go in the morning?"

"Yes, Aunt Lucy, early in the morning. Mr. Mudge usually calls me at
five; I must be gone an hour before that time. I suppose I must bid you
good-by to-night."

"Not to-night, Paul; I shall be up in the morning to see you go."

"But if Mrs. Mudge finds it out she will abuse you."

"I am used to that, Paul," said Aunt Lucy, with a sorrowful smile. "I
have borne it many times, and I can again. But I can't lie quiet and let
you go without one word of parting. You are quite determined to go?"

"Quite, Aunt Lucy. I never could stay here. There is no pleasure in the
present, and no hope for the future. I want to see something of life,"
and Paul's boyish figure dilated with enthusiasm.

"God grant that you do not see too much!" said Aunt Lucy, half to
herself.

"Is the world then, so very sad a place?" asked Paul.

"Both joy and sorrow are mingled in the cup of human life," said Aunt
Lucy, solemnly:

"Which shall preponderate it is partly in our power to determine. He
who follows the path of duty steadfastly, cannot be wholly miserable,
whatever