“Took them?” Aunt Martha’s voice was no more than a gasp of pain and dismay. “Oh, no, Jackie! No!” She hid her face in her hands.
Jacqueline rose to her feet, bewildered.
“Aunt Martha! Don’t!” she quavered. “Aunt Martha!” She fairly whimpered the last words, as she flung her arms round Aunt Martha. In half a minute she knew she was going to cry and it was all that hateful Judge’s fault.
Aunt Martha put her arms round Jacqueline and held her close.
“Oh, Judge!” she said. “There’s some mistake—I can’t believe it even now. She’s coming down sick or something—she didn’t understand—she never took them wilfully. Jackie! Tell us everything! I can’t stand it to have folks calling you a thief.”
Jacqueline stiffened in Aunt Martha’s arms.
“Me—a thief?” she cried furiously. “They’d better not call me that. Why, Aunt Martha, don’t you ever dare think so! Don’t you let ’em make you think so!”
Aunt Martha was crying—actually crying! Aunt Martha! Oh, but that couldn’t be allowed. At any cost, even a broken promise to Caroline! What did Caroline matter now? It was Aunt Martha who counted.
“Don’t! Don’t!” wailed Jacqueline and clasped Aunt Martha tight. “Don’t you cry, Aunt Martha! There’s nothing to cry about. I didn’t steal those beads—they’re my own beads! I’ll tell you all about it, if you won’t cry. It’s all right, Aunt Martha—because I’m not Caroline Tait at all—I’m Jacqueline Gildersleeve.”
