And as he walked wearily away, and she
saw the night closing in black and dark, and felt the cold dash of the
rain blown against her own cheek, she concluded to take pity on him. For
she was by no means a hard-hearted woman; and though her house was
altogether too good for poor folks, and she really didn't know what she
should do with him, it seemed too bad to send him away shelterless, that
stormy November night. Besides, her husband was a rising
politician,--the public-spirited Judge Gingerford, you know,--the
eloquent philanthropist and reformer;--and to have it said that his door
had been shut against a perishing stranger might hurt him. So, as I
remarked, she concluded to take pity on the boy, and, after duly
weighing the matter, to call him back. And she called,--though, as I
suspect, not very loud. Moreover, the wind was whistling through the
leafless shrubbery, and his rags were fluttering, and his hat was
flapping about his ears, and the rain was pelting him; and just then the
Judge's respectable dog put his head out of the warm, dry kennel, and
barked; so that he did not hear,--the lady believed.
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