Judy Part 21

"What?" gasped Judy.

"I shall do it," said Launcelot, and as he swung down the path, Judy, looking after the straight, strong figure, knew that his threat was not an idle one.

And yet, after all, if it had not been for Launcelot, Judy would never have gone to the camp. She had debated the question and had decided that the game was not worth the candle. She had approached Tommy Tolliver, and his numerous excuses convinced her that Launcelot had been before her. She had hinted her wishes to Anne, only to be met by that virtuous maiden with "Oh, Judy, I should be afraid--they look so dark and wild--and besides we ought not to go--" She even suggested a drive to the camp to the Judge, but he had said: "It is not a place for you, my dear," as if that settled the question.

Then, too, she had other plans for Sat.u.r.day, for Launcelot planned to drive his mother and Judy and Anne to Lake Limpid, and they were to take an early boat for a little resort where they were to meet some of Mrs. Bart's friends.

Judy stayed with Anne all night, so as to be as near the Barts as possible, for there was a drive of five miles, and the boat left at eight o'clock.

"Do get up, Judy," begged Anne, on Sat.u.r.day morning, as she stood in front of her little mirror, her hair combed, her shoes polished, and her last bow tied.

But Judy dug her rumpled head deeper into the pillow.

"'If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother, dear,'" she murmured, having improved her acquaintance with Tennyson during the week.

"Well, it isn't early," said Anne, sharply. "You will be late, Judy, and we must catch the boat."

Judy sat up rubbing her eyes. "Oh, it won't hurt Launcelot to wait a little. He thinks he can manage everybody--but he can't dictate to me, Anne. I am not as meek as you are."

"I'm not meek," flared Anne, whose usually sweet temper had been somewhat ruffled in her efforts to wake Judy. "But Launcelot is a very sensible boy."

"Oh, sensible," groaned Judy. "I _hate_ sensible people."

"What kind of people do you like?" demanded Anne, indignantly.

"Unsensible ones?"

"Yes. Das.h.i.+ng people and lively people and funny people--and--and--romantic people--but sensible people, oh, dear," and she buried her head again in the pillow.

"Judy, _get up_."

"I'll be ready in time."

"No, you won't. And breakfast is ready. Judy, get up."

A gentle snore was the only answer.

"Oh," and Anne flung herself out of the room, "if you are late, Judy Jameson, I can't help it."

She went down-stairs and ate her breakfast. But no sign of Judy.

"Judee--ee!" she called up the stairway, and "Judee--ee!" she called again from the garden, where, with Belinda and Becky, she stood awaiting the arrival of the carriage.

"Judith, my dear," expostulated the little grandmother, climbing the stairway slowly, "Judith, my dear, you really must hurry. You will have to go without any breakfast--I--"

She opened the door of the little bedroom and stopped short.

The bedclothes had been thrown over the foot-board, the pillows were on the floor, Judy's clothes were gone, and the room was empty!

CHAPTER XIII

A FORTUNE AND A FRIGHT

"She is hiding," said Anne.

But though they hunted and called, not a sign of the missing girl could they find.

When Launcelot came, Anne was almost in tears.

"She must be here somewhere," she said. "It's too bad. We shall be late."

"No, we won't," said Launcelot, who had listened without a word to the tale of Judy's shortcomings and final disappearance. "We will not be late, Anne, for if Judy doesn't come in just three minutes, we will go without her."

"Oh, no, no, no," protested Anne, all her grievances against Judy forgotten in the face of such a calamity. "We can't leave her behind."

"She will leave herself behind," said Launcelot, "for mother can't miss the boat. She has promised her friends that she will meet them."

"But my dear," protested gentle Mrs. Bart, "we can surely wait until the last minute. Judy only intends it as a joke, and it is too bad to leave her."

But Launcelot was in an explosive mood. The morning had been a trying one for him. He had hurried through a half-day's work in an hour and a half, he had eaten hardly any breakfast for fear he should keep the girls waiting, and now--to be treated like this!

"We can't wait any longer," he said, looking at his watch. "I am sorry, Anne, but we shall just have to leave Judy behind."

Again Anne started to protest, but the little grandmother shook her head. "Judy deserves it," she said. "She is too old to be so childish."

"Maybe she is waiting down the road somewhere," said Anne, hopefully.

"I think she is trying to fool us."

But Judy was not waiting down the road. She was in the orchard behind the plum-tree.

"It won't hurt Launcelot to wait," she had, thought as she hid herself, "I will make him think I am not going--"

But she had not dreamed that they would go without her, and when she saw Anne climb in and the carriage start off, she ran forward wildly.

"Wait," she called, "wait for me."

But the carriage whirled on in a cloud of dust, and her voice echoed on the empty air.

By the time Judy reached the house Mrs. Batch.e.l.ler had gone in, and so the little girl ran down the road unseen. "Perhaps they will stop for me," she thought, and her eyes were strained after the flying vehicle.

But it did not stop, and at last warm and tired Judy dropped down by the roadside, a forlorn figure.

"I didn't think they would leave me," she thought disconsolately.

After a while she got up and started towards the house. She dreaded to face Mrs. Batch.e.l.ler, however, and she sat down again to decide upon a plan for spending the day.