"But Perkins has retired, and Mary, and everybody—" expostulated the
Judge.
"Who cares for Perkins?" asked Judy with her nose in the air.
"Well," said the Judge, who was hopelessly the slave of his servants, "he might not like it—"
"Judge Jameson," said Judy, shaking a reproachful finger at him, "I believe you are afraid of your butler."
"Well, perhaps I am, my dear," said the Judge, weakly, "but Perkins is an individual of a great deal of firmness, and he carries the keys, and I don't believe you will find anything, anyhow. And if you eat up anything that he has ordered for breakfast, you will have an unpleasant time accounting for it in the morning. I know Perkins, my dear—and he is rather difficult—rather difficult. But he is a very fine servant," he amended hastily.
"You leave him to me in the morning," said Judy, "I'll make the peace, grandfather, and I simply can't be starved to-night."
"But Perkins—"
"Perkins won't say a word to you," said Judy, "and if he does, you can say you were not in the kitchen, because you are to stay right here, and Anne and I will bring things up, and make you a receiver of stolen goods."
She was very charming in spite of her wilfulness, and when she ended her little speech, by tucking her hand through the Judge's arm, and looking up at him mischievously, the old gentleman gave in.
The two girls were gone for a long time, so long that the Judge nodded on his bench.