The Judge wrinkled his forehead. Poor child—she, too, was grappling with the mystery of the inequality of the human lot.
“W-w-well,” said Titus, hurrying back from the stalls where he had been to speak to Roblee. “T-t-the sleigh will be at the door in twenty minutes. N-n-now let us go up to see the pigeons,” and he led the way toward a flight of steps.
Bethany tripped behind, occasionally extricating a hand from the long sleeve of Titus’s coat to push back on her head the capacious cap, which persisted in falling over her brows.
Titus, with Charlie Brown’s help, had had a fine place made for his pigeons. His grandfather had allowed him to have a part of the hay loft inclosed, some extra windows put in, and a floor of matched pine laid.
“There isn’t a better loft in the city,” Charlie had said when it was finished.
Clean, coarse sand had been put on the floor, movable nest compartments had been placed against the wall, and the latest things in feed hoppers and drinking fountains had been bought for the boy.
He was full of joy over his new possession, and, as Mrs. Blodgett prophesied, most of his leisure time was spent here, either alone or in company with other boys.
He did all the work himself, and with a worthy pride in the clean home of his birds he stood at the top of the steps and eagerly waited to hear what the little girl would say.
Bethany came up the steps, walked through the screen door that Titus held open, and looked about her.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and in view of the fast approaching darkness the pigeons were bestirring themselves in order to have their last feed before going to bed. They were all promenading over the sanded floor, going from one rack to another looking for the choicest grains.