The table was decorated with holly and red ribbons and a miniature Christmas tree.
Bethany’s eyes shone brightly. At last she was wide awake, having had sleep enough to last her for some time.
She said nothing, but her appreciation of her gay and brilliant surroundings was so intense that, to the secret amusement of the Judge and Titus, she made up her mind to have a participator—some one who was not used to this style of living. Instead of waiting for the end of the meal she put up her hand at once, drew out the ghost of the dead mouse, and placed him behind a sprig of holly. All through the meal, from soup to fruit, mousie had his share of what was going. Not a course did he miss, and it was a very stuffed and overcome ghost that the child finally wrapped in her handkerchief when they left the table.
The big parlor was lighted, the piano was open, and picture books and games were laid out, but in some way or other the trio, after dinner, drifted to the Judge’s study. There on the hearthrug by the fire, with Princess Sukey, the two children, or, rather, the boy and the child, sat and talked, while the Judge listened quietly from his armchair. Part of the time Titus was shouting with laughter. In some marvelous way he had got over all his bashfulness of the morning. Bethany was such a little girl that it did not seem worth while to be afraid of her, and then he was in honor bound to tell her about their visit to the Tingsbys.
Airy, she said, was the name of the eldest girl. Airy, nickname for Mary, then came Annie, Rodd, Goldie, Gibb, and Dobbie.
“W-w-what’s Dobbie?” inquired Titus, “boy or girl?”
“Why, boy, of course,” responded Bethany, “didn’t you see him?”
“Y-y-yes, I saw a baby sitting on the floor, but I didn’t know which name belonged to him.”
“Then you had to think a name to him,” said Bethany, dreamily.
“T-t-think a name—what’s that?”