"Wal?" said Uncle Josh, with a slow, stupid smile.

"Because your horses are all thin, and _you_ wear these clothes; and
Aunt Hepsy doesn't dress like a lady. Rich people don't live so."

"You're a fool, youngster. Just your mother over again. You don't
know, I suppose, that to save money folks must live cheap, an' not be
all outside show. Ye'll learn better, maybe, afore ye've been long at
Thankful Rest,--Hi, Sally! Whoa, lass."

The thin, wretched-looking horse stood still, thankful to be released
from the heavy waggon; and Tom watched all his uncle's movements with
much interest. He followed him from the yard to the stable, saw him
give the five horses a scanty feed of corn and a pail of water.

"We'll go and hev a bite o' dinner now," he said; then, "Your
sister'll be indoors, I guess?"

Tom nodded, and the two proceeded to the house. Lucy was downstairs
by this time, awkwardly placing knives, forks, and plates on the
table, under Miss Hepsy's directions. A glad smile crept to her eyes
at sight of Tom; it seemed ages since he had gone out. She looked
timidly at her uncle as he shook hands with her, remarking she was a
pale-faced thing, and needed work and exercise to make her spry. Then
the company sat down, and Tom, if Lucy did not, did ample justice to
Miss Hepsy's cookery. It was an unsociable, uncomfortable meal. Aunt
and uncle ate, as they did everything else, as if for a wager, and
were finished before Lucy had touched her meat and potatoes.

"Look spry, child," said her aunt, beginning to clear away almost