The Judge understood. “Thank you,” he said, gravely. Then he faced the crowd in the street.
It was not a cold day, and the really soft spring wind blew aside his white hair as he looked from the window at his assembled and assembling citizens, for others were yet arriving.
For just one instant he faltered. He was not a public speaker, and he had never addressed a crowd like this. He might have failed, or he might have made a lame and halting speech, if it had not been for the presence of a hand somewhat smaller than his own.
Titus was standing by him, his own dear grandson was watching him anxiously. The Judge thought of him and of the other children of his family. He would speak so that they might be proud of him, and his voice rang out on the clear noonday air: “My dear fellow citizens, I thank you for this grand sympathetic gathering. In trouble or in joy, the inhabitants of a city should stand together. Stand by each other, and stand by your families. We read in Holy Writ that God setteth the solitary in families; also that ye shall not afflict any widow or fatherless child. Now, a fatherless child has been afflicted. Wicked men attempted to lay hands upon her, but they were defeated.”
A burst of applause interrupted the Judge, and with his blood tingling in his veins he went on with the delivery of the best twenty-minute impromptu speech that had ever been given in Riverport, so the newspapers said next day.
The speech was not concluded with as much dignity as it had been begun. It certainly had a more affecting conclusion than beginning. The Judge was just about to close. He was about to thank his friends and acquaintances and well wishers for the honor they had done him, when out of the profound silence about him there arose a little cry—a child’s cry.
Bethany, happy at first in her play at riding a horse, had soon become alarmed by the continued influx of strangers. Some kind-hearted persons had taken it upon themselves to comfort her, and for a time had succeeded.
The child, however, wanted Daddy Grandpa, and refused to be consoled for his absence. She did not care if he were making a speech, and her wailing cry grew louder and louder, until at last some one had the happy thought of passing her out to the Judge. She was lifted along from one set of strong arms to another, until at last her little feet were on the window sill beside the Judge, and her arms were about his neck.
The close-cropped head was laid across his mouth. He could not utter a word. The crowd understood the little affectionate, frightened, childish embrace, and a tremendous cheering and clapping broke out.
The Judge fell back from the window, and the Mayor stepped forward.