style="font-size:15px;"> "Then I wish he hadn't. We had a good time when Mr. Avery was here. Now all is changed."
"So you don't like Mr. and Mrs. Fogson?" asked Percy curiously.
"No, I don't. But I must be going to the lot to call Mr. Fogson."
"I'll go with you. I don't want to be left alone."
Jed ought doubtless to have felt complimented at this offer of company from his high-toned visitor, but he did not appear to be overwhelmed by it.
"You can go along if you like," he said.
"Of course I can. I don't need to ask permission of you."
"Certainly not. No offense was meant."
"It is well for you that there isn't. So you liked Mr. and Mrs. Avery better than the Fogsons?"
"Yes," answered Jed guardedly, for he understood now that Percy wanted to "pump" him.
"Why?"
"Because they treated me better."
"My father thinks well of the Fogsons. He says that old Avery pampered the paupers and almost spoiled them."
"I won't argue the question. I only know that we all liked Mr. and Mrs. Avery. Now it's scold, scold, scold all day and every day, and we don't live nearly as well as we did."
"Paupers mustn't expect to live as well as at a first-class hotel!" said Percy sarcastically.
"They certainly don't live like that here."
"And they won't while my father is overseer. He says he's going to put a stop to their being pampered at the town's expense. You live well enough now."
"If you think we live so well, I wish you would come and board here for a week."
"Me—board at a poorhouse!" ejaculated Percy in intense disgust. "You are very kind, but I shouldn't like it."
"I don't think you would."
"All the same, you ought to be grateful for such a good home."
"It may be a good home, but I shan't stay here long."
"You shan't stay here long?" exclaimed Percy in amazement. "Do you mean to tell me you are going to run away?"
"I haven't formed any plans yet."
"I'll tell my father, and he'll put a spoke in your wheel. What do you expect to do if you leave? You haven't got any money?"
"No."
"Then don't make a fool of yourself."
Jed did not reply, for they had reached the fence that bounded the three-acre lot, and Mr. Fogson had discovered their approach.
CHAPTER II.
MR. AND MRS. FOGSON
Mr. Fogson was about as unpleasant-looking as his wife, but was not so thin. He had stiff red hair with a tendency to stand up straight, a blotched complexion, and red eyes, corresponding very well with the color of his hair. He was quite as cross as his wife, but she was more venomous and malicious. Like her he was disposed to fawn upon Squire Dixon, the Overseer of the Poor, with whom he knew it was necessary to stand well.
Had Jed come alone he might have met with a disagreeable reception; but Mr. Fogson's quick eye recognized in his companion the son of the poorhouse autocrat, Squire Dixon, and he summoned up an ingratiating smile on his rugged features.
"How are you, Master Percy?" he said smoothly. "Did your pa come with you?"
"Yes, he's over to the house. Mrs. Fogson wants you to go right home, as he may want to see you."
"All right! It will give me pleasure. It always does me good to see your pa."
Percy looked at him critically, and thought that Mr. Fogson was about as homely a man as he had ever seen. It was fortunate that the keeper of the poorhouse could not read his thoughts, for, like most ugly men, Mr. Fogson thought himself on the whole rather prepossessing.
Fogson took his place beside Percy, and curtly desired Jed to walk behind.
Jed smiled to himself, for he understood that Mr. Fogson considered him not entitled to a place in such superior company.
Mr. Fogson addressed several questions to Percy, which the latter answered languidly, as if he considered it rather a bore to be entertained by a man in Fogson's position. Indeed he almost snubbed him, and Jed was pleased to find the man who made so many unpleasant speeches to others treated in the same manner himself. As a general thing, a man who bullies others has to take his turn in being bullied himself.
Meanwhile Mrs. Fogson was chatting with Squire Dixon.
"Nobody can tell what I have to put up with from them paupers," she said. "You'd actilly think they paid their board by the way they talk. The fact is, the Averys pampered and indulged them altogether too much."
"That is so, Mrs. Fogson," said the squire pompously, "and that, I may remark, was the reason I dismissed them from their responsible position. Do they—ahem!—complain of anything in particular?"
"Why, they want butter every day!" exclaimed Mrs. Fogson. "Think of it! Butter every day for paupers!"
"As you justly observe, this is very unreasonable. And how often do you give them butter?"
"Once a week—on Sundays."
"Very judicious. It impresses them with the difference between Sunday and other days. It shows your religious training, Mrs. Fogson."
"I always aim to be religious, Squire Dixon," said Mrs. Fogson meekly.
"Well, and what else?"
"Likewise the old people expect tea every day. They say Mrs. Avery gave it to them."
"I dare say she did. It's an imposition on the town to spend their—ahem!—hard-earned money on such luxuries."
"That's the way I look at it, Squire Dixon."
"How often do you give them meat?"
"Every other day. I get the cheapest cuts from the butcher—what he has left over. But they ain't satisfied. They want it every day."
"Shocking!" exclaimed the squire, arching his brows.
"So I say. Of course I get a good many sour looks, and more complaints, but I tell 'em that if they ain't suited with their boarding-house they can go somewhere else."
"Very good! Very good indeed; ha, ha! I presume none of them have left the poorhouse in consequence?"
"No, but one has threatened to do so."
"Who is that?" asked Squire Dixon quickly.
"The boy Jed."
"Oh, yes, he was the one who opened the gate for me. Now, what sort of a boy is he, Mrs. Fogson?"
"He's an impudent young jackanapes," answered Mrs. Fogson spitefully,
