With a readiness and faith that was sublime, he of the petticoats went at it, and had just succeeded in turning a side somersault, such as was never seen before, when further effort was nipped in the bud by some one coming into the hall.
"Good gracious!" cried a merry voice, as the tumbler was caught up, shaken, and set down with some force. "What are you up to now, Thomas, my lively son?"
"He wath standin' on hith head, auntie," explained the judge, with great politeness, as the tumbler appeared too much confused by all the circumstances to make any answer.
"Wath he, indeed?" laughed Thomas's mama. "Mashing his little head all to jelly; poor Tommy!"
"No," said Tom, whose remarks were more noticeable for brevity than anything else. "No shelly."
"Yes, indeed, little soft-head; come, ask papa," and with that Mrs. Tremayne—for who should it be but lively Kat—shouldered her small, but ambitious son, and carried him away. The judge looked forlorn after that. He folded his small handkerchief and put it carefully away in its tiny pocket, then he sat down on the lowest step and looked thoughtfully out of the front door, as though he expected further developments to arrive from that direction. Nor was he disappointed. There arose a sound of labored and energetic breathing from without, as of some one toiling up the steps, and then something in white fluttered across the porch, and in at the door, and the judge fairly beamed with delight and satisfaction.
"Hullo!" he said politely.
"'Llo," returned the new-comer.
"Where'd you come from?"
"Off," said the stranger, with a flourish of both small arms, intended to indicate some great distance. "Runned off."