Vivienne and Judy were in their sitting room reading by the light of a lamp on the table between them when the younger girl suddenly pricked up her ears.
“There’s a puffing, panting sound on the staircase,” she said, “as if a steam-tug were approaching. It must be your Irish friend. I’ll decamp, for I don’t want to see her.” She picked up her crutch and was about to flee to her bedroom when she was arrested by a succession of squeals.
“Holy powers save us,” moaned Mrs. Macartney bursting into the room. “There’s something odd about this house when the devil lives in the top story of it.”
“Thank you,” said Judy smartly; “perhaps you don’t know that these are my apartments.”
Mrs. Macartney did not hear her. Holding Vivienne’s hands, and half laughing, half crying, she was rocking herself to and fro.
“He had on a nightcap and a woman’s gown, and he goggled at me from an open door; and, me dear, his face was like a coal——”
“It’s Mammy Juniper that you’ve seen, dear Mrs. Macartney,” exclaimed Vivienne.
“And who is Mammy Juniper?” inquired her visitor, stopping short to stare at her.
“She’s an old family servant; sit down here and I’ll tell you about her.”
“Ah me; ah me,” wailed the Irish lady dropping on a sofa; “we don’t have people of her color in my peaceful home. Sure, I thought me last hour had come.”