And if dogs will break chains, why—so will girls.
It was on Christmas Day that the spell was shattered. Judy awoke at the accustomed time, but no welcome whine, no pathetic scrabble of eager paws broke the respectable stillness of the Aunt’s house. Judy listened. She even crept down to the side gate. A feeling of misery, of real physical faintness came over her. Alcibiades was not there! he had not come! He had, indeed, forgotten her.
The conviction that the master of Alcibiades would be the last to appreciate the new attachment of his dog comforted her a little; but for all that the day was grey, life seemed well-nigh worthless. Judy now had leisure to reconsider her position, and she was not pleased with herself. It was in the thick of the Christmas beef that the thought awoke.
“He is tired of meeting me; he has locked Alcibiades up. If he hadn’t, the darling must have come.” Since this solution left Alcibiades without a stain upon his faithful character, it ought to have been comforting, but it wasn’t.
She felt her cheeks flush.
“Good gracious, child,” said the Aunt, “what are you turning that curious purple colour for? If the fire’s too much for you,
