Between partly open sliding doors the Judge saw in a second large room an enormous Christmas tree loaded with gifts.
The air of the house was sweet and wholesome. Looking beyond the Christmas tree, and through long windows which appeared to be old-fashioned ones made larger, the Judge had a magnificent view of the river.
“It is possible to be comfortable even on River Street,” he said, standing with his back to the fire and obligingly giving one foot to the baby, who was begging frantically for it.
“Good morning, good morning,” said a sudden gay voice, and a half-girlish, half-womanly figure entered the room and took both the Judge’s outstretched hands in her own. “The very best of Christmas blessings on you!”
“And on you,” he said, heartily, “for you deserve them if anyone does.”
“Hush, hush,” she protested, blushingly, then motioning him to the most comfortable of the many comfortable chairs in the room she took the roly-poly baby on her lap.
“What do you think of Tom, junior? Isn’t he immense? You naughty baby, your mouth is black again. He begs like a little dog for everybody’s feet—licks the blacking off. Just imagine! Now, Judge, do you think there is anything servile about me or Tom?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, this baby is an absolute lackey. Cringes and crawls to everyone—hasn’t the spirit of a mouse. Fancy liking blacking and coal. You young rogue!” and she shook him till the baby laughed in glee.
“He is a fine child,” said the Judge, “the picture of health. And now I must not take up your time, for I know you are a very busy person. You may know, or may not know, that for some time I have been looking for an orphan boy to adopt.”