Titus, who was getting excited, stopped stuttering and told her.
When he finished she turned round, set the lamp down on the table, and threw up her hands.
“Thank the Lord! Thank the Lord! Here, duckie, old Mother Tingsby has found you a home. Stir up, and go with the gentleman,” and in feverish haste she aroused the sleeping child, got him on his feet, and put his cap on his head.
“Well, well,” said the Judge, in some hesitation, “I did not think of taking him to-night.”
The woman did not hear him, though she spoke as if she had. “Better have it over in darkness, with none to see and none to hear. I don’t want to drag down that sweet woman’s child by any connection with me. Ah! sir, she was like a sister to me. I’ll miss her child,” and with very genuine regret she embraced the bewildered little boy.
“I assure you,” vociferated the Judge, “that I am not in the habit of doing things in secret. I do not care who knows that I have taken a poor child from River Street.”
Mrs. Tingsby did not hear him, and Titus was too excited to report, so the Judge slightly shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll miss my baby—I’ll miss my baby!” she cried, “for there’s not a soul younger in the house but the kitten—good-bye, pet—good-bye. Old Mother Tingsby will sometimes sneak up to look in your windows. Sir, you’ll never give up this child—you’ll let your soul go first.”
The Judge smiled slightly, and catching this smile she suddenly flung up her black head and fixed two shrewd eyes on him.
“Sir, don’t you be afraid of no fathers an’ grandfathers. Some of my boarders was talkin’ the other evenin’. Says one of ’em, says he, ‘I’ve been readin’ a magazine article. It says everyone of us has had thieves an’ robbers in our ancestors.’ Do you believe that, sir?”