“Is there anything to eat in there?” Anne asked through the keyhole.

“Lots of things,” said Judy.  “I lighted a match as I came in, and there are lots of things.  But I don’t want anything to eat—­I want to get out—­I want to get out.”

“Don’t cry, Judy,” advised Anne soothingly, “the Judge has called Perkins and he is coming down now.”

Perkins emerged into the light of the lower hallway in a state of informal attire and unsettled temper.  His dignity was his stock in trade, and how could one be dignified in an old overcoat and bedroom slippers?  But the Judge’s summons had been peremptory and there had been no time for the niceties of toilet in which Perkins’ orderly soul revelled.

“There ain’t no other key,” he said, severely.  “I guess we will have to wait until mornin’, sir.”

“But we can’t wait until morning,” raged the Judge, “the young lady will freeze.”

“Oh, no, sir,” said Perkins, loftily, “oh, no, sir, she won’t freeze.  Nothing freezes in that there box, sir.”

“Well, she will die of cold,” said the Judge.  “Don’t be a blockhead, Perkins, we have got to get her out now—­at once—­Perkins.”

“All right, sir,” said Perkins, “then I’ll have to go for a locksmith, sir—­”

“Can’t you take off the lock?” asked the Judge.

Perkins drew himself up.  “That’s not my work, sir,” he said, stiffly, “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.

“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.