Mrs. Blodgett pushed the child, who did not seem inclined to leave her, toward the Judge, then she said in a puzzled way, “The boy, sir?”
“Yes—the boy I brought home last night,” replied the Judge.
“The boy, sir,” she repeated in amazement, while an additional flood of color swept over her rubicund face. “There weren’t no boy, sir.”
The Judge gazed patiently at her. Mrs. Blodgett was getting older. He had noticed several times lately that she seemed a little stupid and did not understand quickly what was said to her.
“You surely remember the little boy I brought home with me last evening?”
Mrs. Blodgett gazed up at the ceiling, down at the floor, under the table, and behind her out into the hall as if seeking a lost child.
Then she said, faintly, “As I am a mortal woman, sir, I didn’t see no boy, sir. He must have slipped off on the doorstep. I know these poor children. They’re sneaky as foxes.”
“No, he did not slip away,” said the Judge, with a quiet smile. “I brought him in and gave him to you.”
Mrs. Blodgett’s face was purple, and she turned to Higby in quiet exasperation. “Now, if you’d been about, instead of bein’ in bed, I’d have said it was some of them queer tricks of yours.”
“Do not make a scapegoat of Higby,” said the Judge, decidedly, “but let your memory go back to last evening. This is a serious matter, Mrs. Blodgett. I had a young boy in my charge. I am answerable for his safety. I brought him in the house and gave him into your care. Now, what has become of him?”