“Hooray!” cried the boys and girls, who were still hilarious—that is, all but the eldest, smart girl. Then they pressed out of the kitchen after Titus, who volunteered to show them where the toys were.
The Judge stood looking at Mrs. Tingsby. He was sorry for her. She did not quite take in the situation of affairs, and was troubled and anxious.
He turned to Mafferty as the one who would best understand him.
“Explain to her, will you?” he said. “I have no intention of again placing the child on her hands. I cannot keep her myself, as she is not a boy, but I shall find a suitable home for her.”
“Yes, I will,” said the man, then he put out a hand and touched the Judge’s coat almost lovingly. “I once had a fur-lined coat. I suppose you haven’t another?”
“Yes, I have,” said the Judge, promptly, “too small for me—just your fit.”
Mafferty smiled. He knew he would get it. The Judge gave a great sigh of relief as he passed up the dark staircase. He had grown strangely sensitive this Christmas season. It had seemed to him that he could not go away comfortably and leave this man Mafferty without doing something for him. True, he had not half the respect for him that he had for the honest expressman, the furrier, and the parcel-carrier standing modestly in the background. Those men would have died rather than beg from him. They were workers, and Mafferty had been, and evidently still was, a kind of drone. Yet the cat man was of the Judge’s class. They understood each other’s Shibboleth, and the rich man’s heart was full of pity as he went out to the frosty street.
Roblee had sprung out of his sleigh and had gone to the horses’ heads.
There was such a screaming and pulling from the young Tingsbys, who were dragging at the toys and bearing them to the house, that he was afraid of a runaway. Titus, scarcely less excited than the poor children, was in the thickest of the fun.
“Come! Come!” said the Judge, “stop this tumult,” and he waved his hand.