“Are you glad?” inquired the Judge.
“I would rather have had Charlie Brown,” she said, frankly. “Couldn’t the Browns take Dallas, and let us have Charlie?”
The Judge did not reply. What a mysterious thing was child nature. Bethany was sweet and kind with Dallas, but she did not like him as she did Titus and Charlie Brown.
What was it about the English boy that did not harmonize with the natures of either Bethany or Titus? It could not be a racial difference, for the boy was half American. Probably Bethany and Titus, being essentially honest, felt that there was something about the stranger that was hidden from them. They did not quite trust him. Now, if Dallas were to turn over a new leaf and try to be strictly honorable, to try to mean just what he said, their slight aversion might change to real liking.
“Daddy Grandpa,” asked Bethany, suddenly, “must I call Dallas ‘Brother’?”
“Yes, you must,” said the Judge, firmly. He would do his best to reconcile these strong young natures.
Bethany’s face became dreamy. Her fingers stopped stroking the pigeon; she was wandering off into her spirit land as she often did when things in her material world went contrary with her.
The Judge, who had been standing watching her, walked back and forth, and finally extended his promenade to the hall.
When he approached the doorway or entered the study he could catch sentences from Bethany.
“Yellow, spotted dog, you must not bite clothes. Be a good, gentle dog, or boys will throw stones at you. Brick, will you let poor doggie sleep in your hogshead to-night? He is lonely all by himself.”