"no, sir, I can't take off no locks, sir," and so the Judge had to be
content, while the independent Perkins hunted up a locksmith and
brought him to the scene of disaster.

It was a white and somewhat cowed Judy that came out of the ice-box.

"Make her a cup of strong coffee, Perkins," commanded the Judge, as he
received the woebegone heroine in his arms, "and take it up to her
room, with something to eat with it."

"I don't want anything to eat," Judy declared. "There's everything to
eat in that awful box--enough for an army--but I don't feel as if I
could ever eat again," in a tone of martyr-like dolefulness.

"Them things in there is for the picnic, miss," said Perkins. "It's
lucky you and Miss Anne didn't eat them," and he cast on the culprit a
look of utter condemnation.

At the word "picnic," Anne's soul sank within her. She had forgotten
all about the picnic in the excitement of the evening, all about Judy's
anger and the confession she was to make of the plans for Saturday.

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.