No one spoke on the way home. The Judge and Titus on the back seat of the sleigh scarcely took their eyes from the serious, little face of the strangely pale, quiet child opposite.
He was not sleepy now. They could see the two large brown eyes shining with the steady light of two solemn stars.
When they reached their home on the avenue, Titus politely assisted the child to alight, and took his hand as they went up the long steps.
Higby had gone to bed, and the parlor-maid’s face as she opened the door was a study. Nobody explained matters to her, and in a complete state of mystification she was sent to request Mrs. Blodgett’s immediate presence in the parlor.
Titus had lifted the little stranger to a chair, and was drawing off his cap and mittens.
“Mrs. Blodgett,” said the Judge, when that good woman appeared, “I wish you to take charge of this child. Put him to sleep at once. If he is nervous, some one must sleep in the room with him. Don’t give him a bath to-night. He is very tired. In the morning dress him and bring him down to breakfast.”
Mrs. Blodgett, in amazement, looked down at the shabby child. Who was this? She was not fond of children, except her own—and poor and dirty children she detested.
However, a little hand was stealing into hers. A tired, unhappy face was looking trustfully up at her, seeking the kind glances of a third mother.
Mrs. Blodgett would have been less than a woman if she could have resisted. This was probably some child who was here only for the night.
“Yes, sir,” she said, respectfully, and with the little boy clinging closely to her, instead of bestowing glances on the Judge and Titus, she went upstairs.