She and the Judge eyed each other guiltily, as Judy sank down on the bench and stared at Perkins.
"What picnic?" she demanded fiercely.
"The Judge said I was to get things ready, miss," said Perkins, dismally, and looked to his master for corroboration.
"Didn't you tell her, Anne?" asked the Judge, helplessly.
Anne felt as if she were alone in the world. Perkins and the Judge and
Judy were all looking at her, and the truth had to come.
"We decided to have the picnic to-morrow, anyhow, Judy," she said. "We thought maybe you would like it after it was all planned."
Judy jumped up from the bench and began a rapid ascent of the stairway. Half-way up she turned and looked down at the three conspirators. "I sha'n't like it," she cried, shrilly, "and I sha'n't go."
"Judy!" remonstrated the Judge.
"Oh, Judy," cried poor little Anne.
But Perkins, who had lived with the Judge in the days of Judy's lady grandmother, turned his offended back on this self-willed and unworthy scion of a noble race, and marched into the kitchen to make the coffee.