THE JUDGE REVIEWS HIS FAMILY
Weeks and months flew by. Spring passed, summer came and went, autumn
followed, then winter and Christmas and the Christmas holidays.
It was just one year since the Judge and Titus had found Bethany
trotting along Broadway. It was considerably over a year since the
adoption of the pigeon princess into the family, and she was now a fully
matured bird.
She sat in her basket by the fireside. Higby had just been in and
carefully arranged the wire screen, so that no sparks from the wood fire
should fly out on her.
Sukey was listening for the Judge’s footstep. Dinner was over some time
ago. He ought to be coming to his study.
The Judge, after dinner, had put on his cap and had gone out to the
stable. He wished to review his family, to see that they were all happy
and comfortable.
To his great satisfaction, he found Roblee and Brick together. The old
coachman had brought the boy into his room. He was teaching him to read.
Outside it was cold and dreary. A wild wind was blowing, and the air was
full of gathering snowflakes. Inside Roblee’s apartment it was snug and
comfortable. At a little table drawn up under the electric light sat
Roblee, his feet on a coil of hot-water pipes, his mouth open nearly all
the time to correct Brick’s innumerable mistakes as he struggled through
the chapters of Oliver Twist.
The Judge stood at the door watching them. “Do you like that book,
Brick?” he said, suddenly.
The two inmates of the room turned round, then, seeing who it was, rose
respectfully.
“Sit down,” said the Judge, and coming into the room he took a chair
himself and for a few minutes talked kindly to them.
Roblee was certainly much bothered with Brick, but he was certainly much
benefited by having some young life under the roof with him.
After the Judge left his room he turned into the pigeon loft. The
sleepy, contented birds gave him bright glances.
“You are out of the coming storm,” he murmured to himself, as he went
downstairs to look at the horses and the cow. When he emerged from the
stable, and the biting wind struck his face, he looked up at the big,
brightly lighted house. Up under those dark eaves he knew a few street
pigeons were nestling.
“Their footing is precarious,” he said. “I will have a carpenter come
and make a better shelter for them. I cannot bear to think that anything
under my care should suffer this cold weather. Is that you, Bylow?” he
went on, as something touched his knee.
“Good dog,” and he stooped down and patted the now respectable member of
society. “Go into the stable. It is too cold for a short-haired dog to
be outside,” and he opened the door for him.
As he turned something passed his face. He heard nothing, but he knew
that one of the owls had flown by on its noiseless wings.
“’Frisco and ’Mento,” he said, with a smile, “having your night’s spin?
Well, there is a comfortable box for you above when you get through
wandering, and you know it. Strange,” he murmured, as he continued his
way to the house, “how the whole creation not only groans together, but
rejoices together, and is linked together. I used not to think of the
dumb creatures; but it is easy to go down, even to the owls, when one
begins to care for the children. Ah! that is a pretty sight!” and he
stopped short and looked in the window.
The curtains were not drawn. Down in the little dining room for the
servants Martha the cook and Jennie, Betty, and old Higby were seated
about a blazing fire. Martha was rubbing some kind of ointment on her
hands, Jennie and Betty were sewing, and Mrs. Blodgett, enthroned in a
big rocking-chair at the head of the table, was reading to them—reading
somewhat pompously and condescendingly, but also in a most satisfactory
manner, judging from the frequent smiles of her auditors. Higby, indeed,
sometimes transgressed by laughing too irrepressibly, upon which
occasions Mrs. Blodgett interrupted her reading, took off her glasses,
and solemnly scolded him.
The Judge came softly into the house, so that he would not disturb them,
and passed quietly upstairs.
Ah! here was the best picture of all, and he paused at the parlor door.
Mrs. Nancy Steele had arrived; the Judge had engaged her to become lady
housekeeper, mother-ingeneral, adviser-in-chief, and whatever was needed
to make a perfect superintendent for his family.
She was succeeding admirably, and the Judge gazed in intense admiration
at the slender, graceful figure at the piano. Mrs. Nancy was charming,
very ladylike, and very forceful, under a quiet, almost a languid
exterior.
The children were charmed with her. Bethany stood close to her, begging
her to sing again. Airy sat near by, quiet and watchful, her eyes glued
to Mrs. Nancy’s face. The Judge knew that both little girls adored her,
and he was delighted, for he had given them the young widow as a model.
Airy was spending a part of her Christmas holidays at 110 Grand
Avenue—the larger part, the Judge shrewdly guessed it would be.
Mrs. Steele spoke with a slight, a very slight drawl, and to the Judge’s
amusement Airy had already acquired this, though she had only been in
the house a few days with her. She also had put on a black dress,
because she so much admired the young widow’s trailing, somber garments.
Dallas and Titus were playing some game at a little table and
occasionally glancing up at the group by the piano.
Their faces were all happy. “Peace and good will,” murmured the Judge.
“How I wish my dear wife could look in on this sight. It reminds me of
the happy times we had when we first came to this house. For many years
this room has been desolate. Now it is again sanctified by the presence
of a good woman and promising children. Now if they will only turn out
well! God grant it, and give me grace so to train them that they may be
shining lights in this troublous world!” and casting a farewell glance
at the occupants of the handsome room the Judge went on his way to his
study.
Sukey was overjoyed to see him. She strutted toward the doorway,
spreading her tail and cooing with pleasure.
“The only thing I have left,” said the Judge, cheerfully; “that is, the
only thing under my special jurisdiction. Mrs. Steele has relieved me of
a great weight of care.”
Now he could spend the evening after his own fashion, safe from any
interruption from Bethany, or Airy, or the boys, he reflected, with a
deep sigh of satisfaction.
But could he? He had scarcely opened his book when they were all
hurrying in upon him—the elegant Mrs. Nancy drawn on by impetuous
Bethany, and Titus, Dallas, and Airy bringing up the rear.
“Grandfather,” said Titus, imperiously; “Dear Daddy Grandpa,” exclaimed
Bethany; “Mr. Judge,” said Airy, solemnly; and “Dear Judge,” said the
young widow, smilingly, “the children absolutely refuse to play a new
guessing game I want to teach them unless you are in it.”
The Judge took off his spectacles and blandly surveyed the young faces
about him. “Will it take long?”
“O, no, sir,” said Dallas, eagerly, “I half know it now. We can easily
stop at Bethany’s bedtime.”
“Mrs. Steele says I may sit up half an hour later than usual, you
naughty Dallas,” interposed Bethany, resentfully.
The Judge smiled. Bethany occasionally showed a little bit of temper.
Well, she had been rather spoiled lately, and he was afraid that some
foolish people had been talking to her about her rich grandfather.
He had had rather a trying interview with Mr. Hittaker. In the first
place, being two men so absolutely unlike, they had found no common
ground on which to stand. Then Mr. Hittaker had been painfully
absent-minded. It had been almost impossible to induce him to
concentrate his attention on the subject of Bethany, though it was for
the purpose of talking about her that he had come to see the Judge.
He evidently was not much interested in her. All the mind and heart that
he had seemed to have been buried with his dead daughter and her
children. However, before leaving, he gave the Judge to understand that
he regarded Bethany as the only remaining member of his family besides
himself, and in the event of his death she would receive what property
he had to leave.
He had at one time in their interview expressed a desire that Bethany
should come to New York to live with him.
This desire the Judge kindly but promptly told him could not be
gratified. Inwardly he added a resolve that not for all the wealth of
the Union would he deliver Bethany up to the training of so
self-centered a man.
Mr. Hittaker did not seem to feel disappointed. Indeed, so strange a
state of mind had he been in that he had not even asked to see the
child. It was the Judge who suggested having her come in the room.
He had expressed a little curiosity, though, on the subject of her
kidnapers, and had shown some satisfaction after hearing that Smalley
and the two women were serving long terms of imprisonment. The Judge
told him that everything was being done to influence them for good.
“Daddy Grandpa!” said Bethany, stroking his hand.
The Judge called back his wandering thoughts. While he had been busy
with his reminiscences Mrs. Steele and the children were waiting.
“Certainly, certainly, my dears,” he said, “I will play your game with
you. Shall we go downstairs?”
Airy was for returning to the parlor. She liked pomp and ceremony. “No,
no,” said Bethany, when the Tingsby girl remarked in a stilted voice,
“The parlor is more agreeable.”
“No, no,” the child went on, “here in the study with Daddy Grandpa and
Sukey. It is more cozy.”
They all seated themselves about the fire, and Mrs. Steele began the
guessing game.
Princess Sukey, in her basket, lifted her hooded head and with a wise
look surveyed her circle of friends. Her greenish-yellow eyes rested
longest on the beloved white head. There was the leader of the family
and her chief friend, and his benevolent eyes, taking in the happy faces
of the group about him, did not forget to rest occasionally on the
little creature who loved him, though she was only a bird.
THE END.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. P. 215, changed “Let him out,” ordered Dallas, “let him out; my
back’s ’most broken.” to “Let him out,” ordered Titus, “let him
out; my back’s ’most broken.”
2. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
3. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.