“I am morally certain that woman is deceiving us,” he said; “but I must confess my fear that we shall be unable to prove the deed a forgery.”
“Never mind, sir,” replied Phil, smiling at Phœbe to give her courage; “we’ve managed to get along so far without gran’pa’s money, and I guess we can stand it hereafter.”
“That isn’t the point,” suggested Judith. “The money is rightfully yours, and you are entitled to it. Why, the fortune left by my uncle is nearly a hundred thousand dollars, counting the money and securities alone. Surely Elaine Halliday cannot claim her services to be worth all that!”
“Not justly, my dear,” answered the judge; “but the law will not look at it from that point of view, and here is a point of law to be considered. If the deed is allowed to stand we cannot prevent Elaine from getting every penny, and the house to boot. If it is a forgery, and so proved, she is not entitled to a dollar beyond her wages as housekeeper. Even that would be forfeited by her deception.”
“Suppose,” said Phœbe, “we compromise, and agree to give her all the money if she will let us have the house. Wouldn’t that be better than getting nothing at all?”
“I fear it is too late to compromise,” said the judge, shaking his head regretfully. “At first we might have made such an arrangement, but now that pettifogger Kellogg will insist on her getting everything. Elaine has wisely left her defence entirely in Kellogg’s hands.”
“Isn’t he a rascal?” asked Cousin Judith.
“I would not accuse him of rascality,” was the reply. “No; Kellogg is not a bad man, nor a bad lawyer; he is doing his duty by his client, that is all.”
Just then Becky came rushing across the lawn, screaming and laughing. She was closely followed by Don and Allerton Randolph, who tried to head her off. Becky was clutching and waving a paper, and she ran up to Cousin Judith, who sat beside the judge, and thrust the paper into her hand, crying:
“Don’t let ’em have it, Little Mother—promise you won’t!”