As there was nothing but the red damask portières that separated the little chamber from the little parlor, Stuart heard the whole of that story; he could not help hearing it. Once or twice he hemmed to let the narrator know that he was awake and listening; but that made no difference to Judy. She had no secrets. “All the birds of the air” were welcome to hear her history. It was near daylight when at length she had talked herself to sleep. As for Palma, she had dozed through the narrative, though Judy had not suspected it.
With the first glinting of the rising sun’s rays through the slats of the parlor blinds, Stuart gladly arose from his uncomfortable couch and went into the little bathroom to make his morning toilet.
When he had finished it, in returning to the parlor he passed by the open door and saw that Mrs. Pole had risen, tidied up her kitchen and got breakfast well under way. He stepped in to tell her about their guest and send her into the parlor to set the room to rights. Then he went downstairs to take the air on the sidewalk.
Mrs. Pole passed into the parlor to hoist the window, replenish the fire, and restore the place to order before setting the breakfast table.
Her movements awoke the two sleepers in the next room.
They arose laughing and talking, dressed themselves quickly and came out into the parlor.
Mrs. Pole turned from the window she was just closing to look at the stranger.
Palma laughingly introduced the two.
“This is our friend, Miss Judith Man, Poley. And, Judy, darling, this is our dear Mrs. Pole, who is like a second mother to me.”
The elder woman wiped her clean hands on her clean apron, and then gave the stranger a close clasp and a warm welcome.