“I suppose I should have warned you, Miss Williams,” he finished; “but the whole thing seemed to me so impossible, I could not believe there was any danger of the crazy creature actually attempting to carry out her wild threat; and, besides,—well, you can see that it was rather difficult for me to speak of it to you. I am sorry,” he ended, with embarrassment.
For a long moment, the two looked at each other silently; then Betty Jo's practical common sense came to the rescue: “It would have been awkward for you to try to tell me, wouldn't it, Mr. Burns? And now that it is all over, and no harm done, we must just forget it as quickly as we can. We won't ever mention it again, will we?”
“Certainly not,” he agreed heartily. “But I shall keep an eye on Miss Judy, in the future, I can promise you.”
“I doubt if we ever see her again,” returned Betty Jo, thoughtfully. “I don't see how she would dare go back to the house after this. I expect she will return to her father. Poor thing! But we must be careful not to let Auntie Sue know.” Then smiling up at him, she added: “It seems like Auntie Sue is getting us into all sorts of conspiracies, doesn't it? What DO you suppose we will be called upon to hide from her next?”
At Brian's suggestion, they went first to the barn, where he quickly finished his work. Then, carrying the full milk-pail between them, they proceeded, laughing and chatting, to the house, where Auntie Sue stood in the doorway.
The dear old lady smiled when she saw them coming so, and, returning their cheery greeting happily, added: “Have you children seen Judy anywhere? The child is not in her room, and the fire is not even made in the kitchen-stove yet.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
BETTY JO FACES HERSELF.
All that day Auntie Sue wondered about Judy, while Brian and Betty Jo exhausted their inventive faculties in efforts to satisfy the dear old lady with plausible reasons for the mountain girl's disappearance.