Weeks and months flew by. Spring passed, summer came and went, autumn followed, then winter and Christmas and the Christmas holidays.

It was just one year since the Judge and Titus had found Bethany trotting along Broadway. It was considerably over a year since the adoption of the pigeon princess into the family, and she was now a fully matured bird.

She sat in her basket by the fireside. Higby had just been in and carefully arranged the wire screen, so that no sparks from the wood fire should fly out on her.

Sukey was listening for the Judge’s footstep. Dinner was over some time ago. He ought to be coming to his study.

The Judge, after dinner, had put on his cap and had gone out to the stable. He wished to review his family, to see that they were all happy and comfortable.

To his great satisfaction, he found Roblee and Brick together. The old coachman had brought the boy into his room. He was teaching him to read. Outside it was cold and dreary. A wild wind was blowing, and the air was full of gathering snowflakes. Inside Roblee’s apartment it was snug and comfortable. At a little table drawn up under the electric light sat Roblee, his feet on a coil of hot-water pipes, his mouth open nearly all the time to correct Brick’s innumerable mistakes as he struggled through the chapters of Oliver Twist.

The Judge stood at the door watching them. “Do you like that book, Brick?” he said, suddenly.

The two inmates of the room turned round, then, seeing who it was, rose respectfully.

“Sit down,” said the Judge, and coming into the room he took a chair himself and for a few minutes talked kindly to them.

Roblee was certainly much bothered with Brick, but he was certainly much benefited by having some young life under the roof with him.

After the Judge left his room he turned into the pigeon loft. The sleepy, contented birds gave him bright glances.

“You are out of the coming storm,” he murmured to himself, as he went downstairs to look at the horses and the cow. When he emerged from the stable, and the biting wind struck his face, he looked up at the big, brightly lighted house. Up under those dark eaves he knew a few street pigeons were nestling.

“Their footing is precarious,” he said. “I will have a carpenter come and make a better shelter for them. I cannot bear to think that anything under my care should suffer this cold weather. Is that you, Bylow?” he went on, as something touched his knee.

“Good dog,” and he stooped down and patted the now respectable member of society. “Go into the stable. It is too cold for a short-haired dog to be outside,” and he opened the door for him.

As he turned something passed his face. He heard nothing, but he knew that one of the owls had flown by on its noiseless wings.

“’Frisco and ’Mento,” he said, with a smile, “having your night’s spin? Well, there is a comfortable box for you above when you get through wandering, and you know it. Strange,” he murmured, as he continued his way to the house, “how the whole creation not only groans together, but rejoices together, and is linked together. I used not to think of the dumb creatures; but it is easy to go down, even to the owls, when one begins to care for the children. Ah! that is a pretty sight!” and he stopped short and looked in the window.

The curtains were not drawn. Down in the little dining room for the servants Martha the cook and Jennie, Betty, and old Higby were seated about a blazing fire. Martha was rubbing some kind of ointment on her hands, Jennie and Betty were sewing, and Mrs. Blodgett, enthroned in a big rocking-chair at the head of the table, was reading to them—reading somewhat pompously and condescendingly, but also in a most satisfactory manner, judging from the frequent smiles of her auditors. Higby, indeed, sometimes transgressed by laughing too irrepressibly, upon which occasions Mrs. Blodgett interrupted her reading, took off her glasses, and solemnly scolded him.

The Judge came softly into the house, so that he would not disturb them, and passed quietly upstairs.

Ah! here was the best picture of all, and he paused at the parlor door.

Mrs. Nancy Steele had arrived; the Judge had engaged her to become lady housekeeper, mother-ingeneral, adviser-in-chief, and whatever was needed to make a perfect superintendent for his family.

She was succeeding admirably, and the Judge gazed in intense admiration at the slender, graceful figure at the piano. Mrs. Nancy was charming, very ladylike, and very forceful, under a quiet, almost a languid exterior.

The children were charmed with her. Bethany stood close to her, begging her to sing again. Airy sat near by, quiet and watchful, her eyes glued to Mrs. Nancy’s face. The Judge knew that both little girls adored her, and he was delighted, for he had given them the young widow as a model.

Airy was spending a part of her Christmas holidays at 110 Grand Avenue—the larger part, the Judge shrewdly guessed it would be.

Mrs. Steele spoke with a slight, a very slight drawl, and to the Judge’s amusement Airy had already acquired this, though she had only been in the house a few days with her. She also had put on a black dress, because she so much admired the young widow’s trailing, somber garments.

Dallas and Titus were playing some game at a little table and occasionally glancing up at the group by the piano.

Their faces were all happy. “Peace and good will,” murmured the Judge. “How I wish my dear wife could look in on this sight. It reminds me of the happy times we had when we first came to this house. For many years this room has been desolate. Now it is again sanctified by the presence of a good woman and promising children. Now if they will only turn out well! God grant it, and give me grace so to train them that they may be shining lights in this troublous world!” and casting a farewell glance at the occupants of the handsome room the Judge went on his way to his study.

Sukey was overjoyed to see him. She strutted toward the doorway, spreading her tail and cooing with pleasure.

“The only thing I have left,” said the Judge, cheerfully; “that is, the only thing under my special jurisdiction. Mrs. Steele has relieved me of a great weight of care.”

Now he could spend the evening after his own fashion, safe from any interruption from Bethany, or Airy, or the boys, he reflected, with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

But could he? He had scarcely opened his book when they were all hurrying in upon him—the elegant Mrs. Nancy drawn on by impetuous Bethany, and Titus, Dallas, and Airy bringing up the rear.

“Grandfather,” said Titus, imperiously; “Dear Daddy Grandpa,” exclaimed Bethany; “Mr. Judge,” said Airy, solemnly; and “Dear Judge,” said the young widow, smilingly, “the children absolutely refuse to play a new guessing game I want to teach them unless you are in it.”

The Judge took off his spectacles and blandly surveyed the young faces about him. “Will it take long?”

“O, no, sir,” said Dallas, eagerly, “I half know it now. We can easily stop at Bethany’s bedtime.”

“Mrs. Steele says I may sit up half an hour later than usual, you naughty Dallas,” interposed Bethany, resentfully.

The Judge smiled. Bethany occasionally showed a little bit of temper. Well, she had been rather spoiled lately, and he was afraid that some foolish people had been talking to her about her rich grandfather.

He had had rather a trying interview with Mr. Hittaker. In the first place, being two men so absolutely unlike, they had found no common ground on which to stand. Then Mr. Hittaker had been painfully absent-minded. It had been almost impossible to induce him to concentrate his attention on the subject of Bethany, though it was for the purpose of talking about her that he had come to see the Judge.

He evidently was not much interested in her. All the mind and heart that he had seemed to have been buried with his dead daughter and her children. However, before leaving, he gave the Judge to understand that he regarded Bethany as the only remaining member of his family besides himself, and in the event of his death she would receive what property he had to leave.

He had at one time in their interview expressed a desire that Bethany should come to New York to live with him.

This desire the Judge kindly but promptly told him could not be gratified. Inwardly he added a resolve that not for all the wealth of the Union would he deliver Bethany up to the training of so self-centered a man.

Mr. Hittaker did not seem to feel disappointed. Indeed, so strange a state of mind had he been in that he had not even asked to see the child. It was the Judge who suggested having her come in the room.

He had expressed a little curiosity, though, on the subject of her kidnapers, and had shown some satisfaction after hearing that Smalley and the two women were serving long terms of imprisonment. The Judge told him that everything was being done to influence them for good.

“Daddy Grandpa!” said Bethany, stroking his hand.

The Judge called back his wandering thoughts. While he had been busy with his reminiscences Mrs. Steele and the children were waiting. “Certainly, certainly, my dears,” he said, “I will play your game with you. Shall we go downstairs?”

Airy was for returning to the parlor. She liked pomp and ceremony. “No, no,” said Bethany, when the Tingsby girl remarked in a stilted voice, “The parlor is more agreeable.”

“No, no,” the child went on, “here in the study with Daddy Grandpa and Sukey. It is more cozy.”

They all seated themselves about the fire, and Mrs. Steele began the guessing game.

Princess Sukey, in her basket, lifted her hooded head and with a wise look surveyed her circle of friends. Her greenish-yellow eyes rested longest on the beloved white head. There was the leader of the family and her chief friend, and his benevolent eyes, taking in the happy faces of the group about him, did not forget to rest occasionally on the little creature who loved him, though she was only a bird.