“I’m going to tell Daddy Grandpa how you are scolding me,” remarked Bethany, plaintively.
“I am delighted to hear it. His calm, judicial mind will decide between us. I just wanted him to know, but I wouldn’t go to him, because I hate to carry tales. And now you may go, Miss Selfishness. My interview with you is over.”
Barry, under the window, laughed to himself, then listened as he heard the Judge’s kind voice: “Children, what are you sparring about here in this lonely room?”
“O, Daddy Grandpa,” exclaimed Bethany—and Barry could imagine her running to throw herself into the arms of her adopted grandfather, “am I a selfish creature?”
The Judge’s clear tones floated out the window, “Certainly—we all are.”
“But Dallas says I am just un—un—it begins with ‘un’ and ends with ‘able.’”
“So we all are,” said the Judge; “so we all are.”
“But he says I’ve been very hateful to Airy, Daddy Grandpa.”
“So have we all been,” said the Judge, cheerily, “so have we all been. She is longing to come here. She meets me in the street, and she throws out hints. Dallas, invite your pupil to visit us any hour of any day, or to any meal. She does you credit.”
Barry could hear the boy’s deeply gratified “Thank you, sir,” then the voices were hushed for him, for the Judge said, “Please close that window, my boy. Bethany’s frock is thin.”