And then all at once the thought struck me—why was it that I had never seen this auntie, with the lovely name, at church? Was she going to turn out another strange parishioner?
There she sat, intent on her book. As we drew near she looked up and rose, but did not come forward.
“Aunt Winnie, here’s Mr. Walton,” said Judy.
I lifted my hat and held out my hand. Before our hands met, however, a tremendous splash reached my ears from the pond. I started round. Judy had vanished. I had my coat half off, and was rushing to the pool, when Miss Oldcastle stopped me, her face unmoved, except by a smile, saying, “It’s only one of that frolicsome child’s tricks, Mr Walton. It is well for you that I was here, though. Nothing would have delighted her more than to have you in the water too.”
“But,” I said, bewildered, and not half comprehending, “where is she?”
“There,” returned Miss Oldcastle, pointing to the pool, in the middle of which arose a heaving and bubbling, presently yielding passage to the laughing face of Judy.
“Why don’t you help me out, Mr Walton? You said you could swim.”
“No, I did not,” I answered coolly. “You talked so fast, you did not give me time to say so.”
“It’s very cold,” she returned.
“Come out, Judy dear,” said her aunt. “Run home and change your clothes. There’s a dear.”