“It’s all right, sir,” said Mrs. Blodgett. “I might a-remembered what you said. I call back now that you told me plainly she was a boy, but, as I said afore, you can’t change nater,” and with another gratified smile she waddled away.
Meanwhile Titus, having recovered, or nearly recovered, himself, for he found it necessary to drop his napkin on the floor every two minutes and to be a long time in picking it up, stared almost uninterruptedly at the little girl.
She was eating an orange that the Judge had given her, eating it prettily and quietly and without splashing the juice on her white gown, and casting meantime curious and searching glances about the room.
The boy or girl problem disturbed the Judge somewhat. He could not get it out of his head that she was a boy. It was extremely disappointing that she was not, for now she would be no companion for Titus.
“Child,” he asked, kindly, “what is your name?”
“Bethany,” she replied, in a low voice, “little Bethany. My mamma was big Bethany.”
“Little Bethany,” said the Judge, “that is a nice name. Now, what are you going to have? Will you eat mush, cornmeal mush?”
“If you please, sir.”
“Higby, give her some—put plenty of cream on it—Indian corn is what our ancestors here in New England raised and gave to their children. We don’t eat enough of it nowadays.”
Titus, stricken with sudden shyness, would not talk to the child. He knew nothing about girls, and did not care for them, so the Judge felt it his duty to keep up a conversation.