“Little saint, you must not soil Bethany’s glove. You are a rich bird, and do not understand that poor little girls have to be careful of their clothes.”
Sukey seized the glove and did her best to toss it into the ashes.
Bethany patiently took it from her, then she looked round. “Daddy Grandpa, where is Sukey’s pincushion? She wants something to play with.”
The Judge took the cushion from a drawer and put it on the hearthrug, and the pigeon, trotting over to it, began to pull out the large-headed pins and throw them about the carpet.
“I’ll pick them up,” said Bethany, “just as soon as I put my things away,” and she again filled her arms with her wraps, the Judge agreeably placing the cap on the top of the pile.
“Good-bye,” she said, sweetly, “I’ll soon be back.” Then she bent forward and looked mysteriously out into the hall, which Higby, strange to say, had not yet lighted.
“What do you see?” asked the Judge.
“The yellow, spotted dog,” she replied, in a whisper. “I just caught one little glimpse of his tail. He’s running upstairs. Maybe I’ll find him under my bed.”
The Judge watched her toiling up the staircase. What a strange child! He had never heard her express any fear of the darkness. Indeed, it was so peopled with ghosts and fancies that he doubted if it had any terrors for her. It was rather filled with companionship. He often heard her talking to Ellen and Susie, to her mother and the yellow, spotted dog. Then he must also take into consideration that she was the child of poverty. Children nursed in the lap of luxury can afford to have nerves. The children of the poor must steel themselves to privations. Bethany had never been accustomed to lighted halls till she came here.
Dear little child! What kind of a woman would she make; and as the Judge went back into his study he put up a fervent prayer, “O! Lord, let me live till I see what is to become of my own child and the child of my adoption.”