“He opened them impish eyes, sir, he give me a glance. ‘Blodgieblossom,’ says he, ‘feed the pigeon, an’ tell grandfather.’
“He spoke, an’ he went to sleep again, an’ I was hustled out into the hall, an’ my! didn’t them nurses give me a tongue-lashin’! But I had heard my boy speak, sir; his mind were there.”
The Judge’s face was disturbed and bewildered.
Mrs. Blodgett was hurrying on, though she kept a keen eye on him.
“So, sir, I says to myself, ‘Go right home, tell the Judge what the boy says. Tell him that if the Lord in his mercy spared an innocent bird when it was tumbled out of its nest, maybe he will spare a helpless boy.’”
The Judge’s face was radiant. “Then there is a pigeon?”
“Indeed there be, sir,” she said, pulling at the princess, who, perceiving herself in a new environment, had crouched down in her basket. “Your young grandson’s pet pigeon, hid for fear of you—O, sir, ’tis sad to see him cravin’ dogs an’ cats, an’ havin’ only this senseless fowl!”
This was an unkind slap at the princess, who, however, took it good-naturedly, but the Judge looked sharply at Mrs. Blodgett.
“Sir,” she said, in an earnest voice, “I’ve been thinkin’ of the many years I’ve served you. You’ve been a good, kind master to me, bearin’ with my faults an’ my temper, an’, sir, when I heard of the boy’s mishap I blamed myself for somethin’ I’ve often thought of doin’, but have never done.”
The Judge made no remark, but his round, full, honest eyes were bent on her intently as she went on.