“Jackie!” she called clearly. “Come here, Jackie!”
“You’re the one that’s going to jail,” laughed Neil.
“Chase yourself!” Jacqueline laughed back at him, and put down her mending basket, and trotted off to the house.
Did he want to see her, this strange old gentleman, because he had taught the father of the little girl she was supposed to be? Or did he want to see her because—Oh, could Caroline have told Aunt Eunice, and could Aunt Eunice have written to this man, who was “the biggest man in town” to set things straight?
With her heart quite thudding at the pleasurable thought, Jacqueline padded across the clean, familiar kitchen, and into the dining room. The table stood set for the simple dinner. The blinds were half drawn, and the light in the room, that came sifting through the leaves outside, was goldy green. Jacqueline blinked a second, and then made out the face of the Judge, grave, expressionless, all but the keen eyes that instantly sought her, from where he sat in the big rocker by the window.
“This is Henry’s little girl,” Aunt Martha spoke in a voice that was strangely flat, not like Aunt Martha’s voice at all.
Jacqueline glanced at her curiously. How white and queer Aunt Martha looked, she thought to herself, but perhaps it was only because of the dim, queer light in the room.
“So you’re Caroline Tait, are you?” said the Judge, with his steady eyes upon her.
Jacqueline bobbed a curtsy. That wasn’t saying yes to his question, so she hadn’t told a fib.
“Sit down,” bade the Judge, just as if it were his house, instead of Aunt Martha’s.