“Bethany,” said the Judge, kindly, “you were wrong to do what was forbidden, but since you enjoy a little housework I will get Mrs. Blodgett to relax that rule, and give you some easy things to do.”
“Daddy Grandpa,” she said, seizing one of his large white hands and pressing it to her lips, “if you had wings you’d be an angel.”
He smiled amiably, and went to get ready for his drive.
“O, little pail,” said Bethany, seizing the tin, “O, little pail, I am glad he did not take you from me. I was afraid that would be my punishment.”
“What are you talking about up there?” inquired the Judge from the hall below, where he was putting on his coat.
Bethany took a few steps forward and put her head over the balusters.
“I was just telling Bobby that I am glad you did not take him from me.”
“And who is Bobby?”
“Bobby is one of the little pails we used to get our butter in. You know that poor people do not eat the kind of butter that you do, Daddy Grandpa. Ours was whiter, and it did not taste like Cloverdale butter. When we went to the grocer’s I always said we were going to buy a Bobby of butter.”
The Judge made no remark, but he wrinkled his forehead as he went to the hall door.