The Judge nodded, for this particular season was, as Titus said, an ideal one. Enough snow had fallen to make sleighing pleasant, the air was clear and frosty, but not too sharp, and the days were cloudless and the nights bright. It was a pleasure to be out.
The usual Christmas stir prevailed. The streets were full of people, the shops were crowded. The Judge and Titus had nothing to buy. The boy had bought his presents for his grandfather and the servants, and the Judge had his gifts all neatly done up and labeled. They were in two of the big drawers of one of his bookcases, and Princess Sukey, the pigeon, had been the only one to see them as yet.
Everything was gay and cheerful. Nobody seemed sad, nobody sorry. Boys and girls, men and women, were laughing and talking cheerily, and Titus was staring about, his eyes going this way and that way, until at last his grandfather turned his wandering gaze in one direction by saying, “What do you suppose is the matter with that boy?”
Titus looked straight in front of him.
A small child clad in a long coat and having on a shabby fur cap was trotting along in front of them. Sometimes he would take several steps in a straight and assured way, then he would falter and stagger. Once in a while he would reel up against the shop windows. Upon one of these occasions he pressed his little face against the frosty glass and gazed in at the toys.
The child’s cheeks were white and dirty, his eyes were sleepy, and Titus said in a puzzled way, “Do you suppose anyone would give him anything to make him stagger?”
“Hardly,” said the Judge, “the little fellow must have extraordinarily weak ankles. Watch him.”
The child set out again, and this time he staggered so badly that he fell on the snowy pavement. There he sat with his little face bent, a curious smile playing about his lips as he gazed, not at the passersby, but down at the ice and snow.
The Judge and Titus were the first to reach him. “Here,” said the Judge, and he looked down at the child, “try again,” and he set him on his feet.
The little boy gave him a slow, scrutinizing glance, then he smiled mysteriously and said, “My little trotters slipped on the ghosts of running things.”