With another sharp pang at his heart he felt that the tiny finger was roughened by work. Then guiding it to the white head under the hood of feathers he looked away from the bird and out the window. God helping him, this child should never toil again.
When Bethany felt her hand touching the velvety feathers she gave a long shudder of delight.
After a time, when the princess had impatiently thrown off the little caressing finger, Bethany threw up her hands to the ceiling. “I have seen them in the street, I have called to them, but they never let me touch them. I think they thought I was a cat.”
“W-w-what do you mean—pigeons?” asked Titus.
“Yes, birds—pretty birds of the air. I love them, but they don’t love me. Only dogs, and cats, and rats, and mice love me.”
“H-h-hello!” exclaimed Titus, “there goes eleven. N-n-now we’ll have the presents.”
The Judge rang the bell, and the servants, headed by Higby and Mrs. Blodgett, filed into the room.
Bethany’s serious brown eyes took in every detail of the scene. The presentation of the good-sized parcels done up in white paper, the untying of strings, the exclamations and expressions of gratitude, all belonged to a world that she had never entered before.
Fur-lined gloves, mufflers, fur capes, and warm dresses for the maids, a dressing-gown for Higby, beautifully bound books and a new watch for Titus, were all spread before the eyes of the astonished child, and she surveyed the various gifts without a suspicion of envy or jealousy. The Judge saw this by her transparent face, and with a gesture he told Titus to give her a small box of candy that lay unnoticed among his many presents.
The boy hastened to give it to her.