“She wants nourishing food,” said the Judge, “more than anything else. I shall give orders to have something sent to her every day from our table.”
Dallas said good-night to him and went away, and the Judge thoughtfully picked up his book.
“I wonder what he will make of her—poor little soul, she looks as if she were going to die.”
Until he went to bed Airy was in his thoughts. Poor little ailing creature, he hoped that she would gain strength. It was sad to have so much ambition bound up in such a fragile body. He was glad that he had done something to enable her mother to move away from narrow, dirty River Street.
During the night he dreamed of the Tingsbys, and when he awoke in the morning they were still before him. Therefore, when he went out into the hall and looked out the window, as he usually did before he went down to breakfast, he was hardly surprised to see the whole Tingsby family, except Airy, seated on the long flight of steps leading up to his front door. He stared at them, then he went slowly downstairs.
Higby was sitting on one of the hall chairs. He got up when he saw his employer, and slightly backing, as he always did when speaking to the Judge, said, “Th-th-there’s a whole f-f-family campin’ out on the s-s-steps, sir. They wouldn’t c-c-come in.”
The Judge patiently put on a hat and opened the door.
“’Tention,” he heard in Mrs. Tingsby’s voice as he stepped out.
“Good morning,” he said, politely.
She went on, without apparently noticing him: “Up, little Tingsbys!”