“What are you doing there, Mrs. Mudge?” she said, sternly.

Mrs. Mudge rose from her knees in confusion.  Even she had the grace to be ashamed of her conduct.

“Put down that letter,” said the old lady in an authoritative voice quite new to her.

Mrs. Mudge, who had not yet collected her scattered senses, did as she was requested.

Aunt Lucy walked hastily to the chest, and closed it, first securing the letter, which she put in her pocket.

“I hope it will be safe, now,” she said, rather contemptuously.  “Ain’t you ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Mudge?”

“Ashamed of myself!” shrieked that amiable lady, indignant with herself for having quailed for a moment before the old lady.

“What do you mean—­you—­you pauper?”

“I may be a pauper,” said Aunt Lucy, calmly, “But I am thankful to say that I mind my own business, and don’t meddle with other people’s chests.”

A red spot glowed on either cheek of Mrs. Mudge.  She was trying hard to find some vantage-ground over the old lady.

“Do you mean to say that I don’t mind my business?” she blustered, folding her arms defiantly.

“What were you at my trunk for?” said the old lady, significantly.

“Because it was my duty,” was the brazen reply.

Mrs. Mudge had rapidly determined upon her line of defense, and thought it best to carry the war into the enemy’s country.

“Yes, I felt sure that your letter was from Paul Prescott, and as he ran away from my husband and me, who were his lawful guardians, it was my duty to take that means of finding out where he is.  I knew that you were in league with him, and would do all you could to screen him.  This is why I went to your chest, and I would do it again, if necessary.”

“Perhaps you have been before,” said Aunt Lucy, scornfully.  “I think I understand, now, why you were unwilling to give me another key.  Fortunately there has been nothing there until now to reward your search.”

“You impudent trollop!” shrieked Mrs. Mudge, furiously.

Her anger was the greater, because Aunt Lucy was entirely correct in her supposition that this was not the first visit her landlady had made to the little green chest.

“I’ll give Paul the worst whipping he ever had, when I get him back,” said Mrs. Mudge, angrily.

“He is beyond your reach, thank Providence,” said Aunt Lucy, whose equanimity was not disturbed by this menace, which she knew to be an idle one.  “That is enough for you to know.  I will take care that you never have another chance to see this letter.  And if you ever go to my chest again”—­

“Well, ma’am, what then?”

“I shall appeal for protection to ’Squire Newcome.”

“Hoity, toity,” said Mrs. Mudge, but she was a little alarmed, nevertheless, as such an appeal would probably be prejudicial to her interest.

So from time to time Aunt Lucy received, through Ben, letters from Paul, which kept her acquainted with his progress at school.  These letters were very precious to the old lady, and she read them over many times.  They formed a bright link of interest which bound her to the outside world, and enabled her to bear up with greater cheerfulness against the tyranny of Mrs. Mudge.