"I don't know," answered Miss Miflin, more to herself than to them. "We must see some one."
"Could I go and ask?" inquired Sarah.
"No," answered Miss Miflin. "Are you afraid to wait here a minute with the twins, while I see what I can do?"
At that moment a door at the upper end of the hall opened, and a tall gentleman came toward them. At sight of them his step slackened, and he looked at them curiously. He, too, remembered the little Pennsylvania German schoolhouse to which he had gone as a small boy. He did not wait for Miss Miflin to speak to him.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked courteously.
Miss Miflin looked up into the kindly face.
"Why, yes. But it would take a few minutes to explain, and I don't like to keep you."
"Oh, I shall be glad to help. Only—" The gentleman looked back over his shoulder. The door of the prothonotary's office had opened. In a moment two or three idle young clerks would be in the hall, curious to see the girl whose voice they heard. He opened the nearest door, and stepped back for Miss Miflin and the twins to enter. "Come in here," he said.
The little room into which they went was stiffly furnished in the fashion of fifty years ago, as an ante-room to the judge's private office. It was not often used; the horsehair-covered chairs, set neatly against the wall, and the dark heavy velvet curtains were unworn. To the twins it was a marvelously beautiful place. Miss Miflin and Sarah saw nothing but the kindly face which invited them to tell their story.