There was another subdued shriek, then a hysterical giggle.

"Judy is shut up in the ice-box," announced Anne, hurrying up from the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"Bless my soul," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Judge.

"We hunted around and found the key," explained Anne, as the Judge stumped distractedly through the lower hall, "and Judy unlocked the door of the ice-box and got inside, and she still had the key in her hand, and I hit the door accidentally and it slammed on her, and it has a spring lock and we can't open it."

"Bless my soul," said the Judge again.

The ice-box was a ma.s.sive affair, almost like a small room. It was in a remote corner of the lower hallway, and its walls were thick and impenetrable.

"Let me out, oh, let me out," came in m.u.f.fled tones, as the Judge and Anne came up.

"My dear child, my dear child," said the Judge, "how could you do such a thing?"

"I shall freeze. I shall freeze," wailed Judy.

"Are you very cold, Judy?" shivered Anne, sympathetically.

"It's so dark--and damp. Let me out, let me out," and Judy's voice rose to a shriek.

"Now, my dear, be calm," advised the Judge, whose hands were shaking with nervousness, "I shall call Perkins--yes, I really think I shall have to call Perkins--" and he hurried through the hall to the speaking tubes.

"Is there anything to eat in there?" Anne asked through the keyhole.

"Lots of things," said Judy. "I lighted a match as I came in, and there are lots of things. But I don't want anything to eat--I want to get out--I want to get out."

"Don't cry, Judy," advised Anne soothingly, "the Judge has called Perkins and he is coming down now."

Perkins emerged into the light of the lower hallway in a state of informal attire and unsettled temper. His dignity was his stock in trade, and how could one be dignified in an old overcoat and bedroom slippers? But the Judge's summons had been peremptory and there had been no time for the niceties of toilet in which Perkins' orderly soul revelled.

"There ain't no other key," he said, severely. "I guess we will have to wait until mornin', sir."

"But we can't wait until morning," raged the Judge, "the young lady will freeze."

"Oh, no, sir," said Perkins, loftily, "oh, no, sir, she won't freeze.

Nothing freezes in that there box, sir."

"Well, she will die of cold," said the Judge. "Don't be a blockhead, Perkins, we have got to get her out now--at once--Perkins."

"All right, sir," said Perkins, "then I'll have to go for a locksmith, sir--"

"Can't you take off the lock?" asked the Judge.

Perkins drew himself up. "That's not my work, sir," he said, stiffly, "no, sir, I can't take off no locks, sir," and so the Judge had to be content, while the independent Perkins hunted up a locksmith and brought him to the scene of disaster.

It was a white and somewhat cowed Judy that came out of the ice-box.

"Make her a cup of strong coffee, Perkins," commanded the Judge, as he received the woebegone heroine in his arms, "and take it up to her room, with something to eat with it."

"I don't want anything to eat," Judy declared. "There's everything to eat in that awful box--enough for an army--but I don't feel as if I could ever eat again," in a tone of martyr-like dolefulness.

"Them things in there is for the picnic, miss," said Perkins. "It's lucky you and Miss Anne didn't eat them," and he cast on the culprit a look of utter condemnation.

At the word "picnic," Anne's soul sank within her. She had forgotten all about the picnic in the excitement of the evening, all about Judy's anger and the confession she was to make of the plans for Sat.u.r.day.

She and the Judge eyed each other guiltily, as Judy sank down on the bench and stared at Perkins.

"What picnic?" she demanded fiercely.

"The Judge said I was to get things ready, miss," said Perkins, dismally, and looked to his master for corroboration.

"Didn't you tell her, Anne?" asked the Judge, helplessly.

Anne felt as if she were alone in the world. Perkins and the Judge and Judy were all looking at her, and the truth had to come.

"We decided to have the picnic to-morrow, anyhow, Judy," she said. "We thought maybe you would like it after it was all planned."

Judy jumped up from the bench and began a rapid ascent of the stairway.

Half-way up she turned and looked down at the three conspirators. "I sha'n't like it," she cried, shrilly, "and I sha'n't go."

"Judy!" remonstrated the Judge.

"Oh, Judy," cried poor little Anne.

But Perkins, who had lived with the Judge in the days of Judy's lady grandmother, turned his offended back on this self-willed and unworthy scion of a n.o.ble race, and marched into the kitchen to make the coffee.

CHAPTER IV

"YOUR GRANDMOTHER, MY DEAR"

Judy had reached the door of her room when the Judge called her.

"Come down," he said, "I want to talk to you."

"I'm tired," said Judy, in a stifled voice, and Anne, who had followed her, saw that she was crying.

"I know," the Judge's voice was gentle, "I know, but I won't keep you long. Come."

Judy went reluctantly, and he led the way to the garden bench.

It was very still out there in the garden--just the splash of the little fountain, and the drone of lazy insects. The moon hung low, a golden disk above the distant line of dark hills.

"Judy," began the Judge, "do you know, my dear, that you are very like your grandmother?"