“No, ma’am,” answered Mary Ellen virtuously, feeling public opinion turn her way.
Behind Miss Martin’s back, her eyes fixed on Lydia, she noiselessly said:
“I’ll never speak to you again as long as I live.”
“I don’t care,” answered Lydia out loud.
“Don’t care?” repeated Miss Martin, not understanding. “Of course you care; we all do. Now, Roger, why did you say Mary Ellen took the slipper? Did you see her take it?”
“No, but Lydia said so,” returned the little boy innocently. To a stanch friend like Roger, whatever Lydia said must be so.
“Children, did any of you see or touch Lydia’s slipper?” was the next question. “No? Then, Sammy, go find out who unpacked Lydia’s bag, and ask her to come here.”
Sammy returned with Kate, Nurse Norrie’s niece.
“Sure I saw the slippers, Miss Martin,” said Kate. “I put them both on the window-sill with the doll baby, and then I saw that the screen had fallen out of the window, and I ran down to tell Mat to put it in, and I never thought of them from that moment to this.”
“It must have fallen out of the window,” said Miss Martin, “though I don’t exactly see how. We’ll ask Mat to take a lantern and look for it in the grass.”