This question was ignored as Helen Brandt went on with her story. “Stanley wouldn’t fix anything. The fountain used to be pretty. We wanted it that way again, so we hired Mr. Banning. He’s a plumber, you know. He sent his son, Roger, to do the work—”
“That fits,” agreed Peter.
“But what about that other voice Judy heard?” asked Horace. “We still haven’t figured out that one.”
“I think I have,” Judy told him. “Helen, if you heard what my grandparents were saying, and then found me crying again, you must have pretended you were the fountain.”
“You used to be full of tricks, Helen,” Lois put in. “When we played dolls together you were always talking for them and pretending they came to life at midnight—things like that.”
Honey laughed. “That must be how it happened, Judy. Now I won’t be afraid to go down there. That is, if I’m ever invited.”
“You pretended a lot of other things, didn’t you, Helen?” asked Judy. “I mean things like wishes that came true if you shed a tear in the fountain.”
“I read about it in a fairy story once,” Helen Brandt confessed. “There were two sisters. The good one shed tears that turned into diamonds, but the tears the other one shed changed into toads. I tried it on you just for fun. Then I peeked out from behind those cupids and watched you wish. But what were you crying about? Your tears looked real.”
“They were,” declared Judy. “Growing up isn’t easy. There are lots of things to cry about when you’re fourteen.”
“I know,” Helen said. “When you’ve outgrown your dolls and you’re not old enough for boys—”