“It means saving. Do you think that Titus ought to go and pick up sticks for the fire?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because he isn’t a little poor boy. He is your very own child.”
“Yes, he is my very own grandson, and you are my very own granddaughter.”
She took a quick step toward him, and in her excitement made one of her rare slips in speaking. “But he was borned that way.”
“And you are made that way,” said the Judge, firmly. “I make you my little granddaughter. Unless the Lord takes my money away from me, you will never have to pick up coal again.”
“I didn’t think you would send me back to River Street, Daddy Grandpa,” she said, earnestly.
The Judge was silent, not knowing what turn her thoughts would take.
“I thought I was your little girl,” she went on, earnestly, “your little poor girl. I picked up sticks and coal to help you. It is a good deal for you to take a little poor girl when you have a rich boy to keep up.”