He was greatly touched. They were so pitiful, so insignificant, these little presents, and yet how they had pleased the recipients.
“An’ now,” called Mrs. Tingsby, “may I be forgiven for not havin’ put her first—how is that blessed child?”
The Judge’s lips formed the words, “Very well.”
“Aint she a darlin’! O, you’ll get to love her like your own flesh an’ blood.”
“I am sorry that she is not a boy,” vociferated the Judge; “a boy would have been more of a companion for my grandson.”
“Yes, sir—yes, sir,” said Mrs. Tingsby, beaming on him, “a boy an’ a girl—just a nice family. I always did despise two boys or two girls for a set piece.”
“You tell her,” said the Judge, with a wave of his hand toward his grandson.
Titus approached his lips somewhat nearer to the little woman’s ear than they were. “M-m-my grandfather says he is sorry the girl is not a boy.”
“Boy!” repeated Mrs. Tingsby, “O, yes, she should have been a boy. They do get on easier than girls, but we can’t change her now, you know.”
The semicircle of boarders, children, and the Judge could not but agree with this statement, and she looked approvingly round at them.