And the florid, prosperous parent and the gaunt
and famishing pauper are alone, confronting each other by the light of
the shining hall-lamp.
"I'm cold," says the latter,--"and wet," with an aguish shiver.
"I should think so!" cries the gentleman, recovering from his alarm, and
getting his breath again, as he hears Stephen's step behind him. "Stand
back, can't you?" (indignantly). "Don't you see you are dripping on the
carpet?"
"I'm so tired!"
"Well! you needn't rub yourself against the door, if you are! Don't you
see you are smearing it? What are you roaming about in this way for,
intruding into people's houses?"
"Please, Sir, I don't know," is the soft, sad answer; and Fessenden's is
meekly taking himself away.
"It's too bad, though!" says the man, relenting. "What can we do with
this fellow, Stephen?"
"Send him around to Judge Gingerford's,--I should say that's about the
best thing to do with him," says the witty Stephen.
The man knew well what would please. His master's face lighted up. He
rubbed his hands, and regarded the vagabond with a humorous twinkle,
with malice in it.
Pages:
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118