“Gee!” said Ralph. “If that isn’t Judge Holden.”
He uncoiled himself and rose from the ground, and hobbling, because one foot had gone to sleep, hurried over to the kitchen door where the roadster had come to a stop. Jacqueline saw him open the door of the car, and wait for its occupant to alight, and then she saw a tall old gentleman, clean shaven, in dusty gray clothes, step spryly out, and pat Ralph’s shoulder, as he greeted him.
Aunt Martha must have heard or seen the car turn into the yard, for she appeared now at the kitchen door, a little flurried, with her apron off. Judge Holden shook hands with her, and then they both went into the house, and Ralph came back into the shadow of the trees.
“What does the Judge want?” asked Neil.
“He said you’d got to come to his court in Baring,” Ralph answered, with a perfectly sober face, “’cause you cut cross Deacon Whitcomb’s field, after Mother said not to.”
“G’on,” Neil scoffed, but in an anxious voice. “The Judge never said any such thing.”
“Much you know what he said!” retorted Ralph, as he took up his strap and his awl, and fell to work once more.
“Say, did he say that—honest?” Neil began to whine. “Honest Injun?”
“’Course he didn’t, you big baby,” Dickie broke in. “Ralph’s just stringing you. I guess the Judge wants Mother to sign something about the wood lot or something.”
“Is he Aunt Martha’s lawyer?” Jacqueline asked innocently.