Strange to say, the voice, which was shrill and uncultured rather than noisy, woke Bethany like the sound of a trumpet.
Instantly rousing herself she sat up and looked composedly at the Judge. There was not the slightest sign of confusion about her, or any bewildered look as of a child hastily aroused from sleep.
“Daddy Grandpa,” she said, quickly, “I’m the yellow spotted dog,” and beginning to growl and snap horribly she went down on hands and feet and crawled under a big table in a corner—a favorite play place because it had a long, heavy cover whose sheltering folds concealed a castle, a ship, a railway train, an ogre’s cavern, or any other fancy that Bethany chose to indulge in.
The Judge looked after her submissively. His part was not to rebel, but to await developments.
Then he turned his head to the doorway.
“Sir,” said Jennie, in a puzzled voice, “there’s a little poor girl craving to see you.”
“Bring her up,” said the Judge, promptly, and he tried to think where he had heard that shrill voice before.
Two minutes later he knew, for Airy Tingsby, the smart, pert girl, the head of the Tingsby clan, and the one who had been so saucy and impertinent to him, now stood within a few feet of his chair.
CHAPTER XIV
A Call from Airy
The Judge was a gentleman, and he was in his own house, so he got up, motioned her to a seat, and said, politely, “Good evening.”