The Secret of the Old Clock - Carolyn Keene [1]
“I believe she’ll come to in a few minutes,” said Nancy.
The two women watched Judy intently as they introduced themselves as Edna and Mary Turner, great-aunts of the little girl.
“Judy lives with us,” explained Edna, the older sister. “We’re bringing her up.”
Nancy was somewhat surprised to hear that these elderly women were rearing such a small child. She gave her name and address, just as Judy opened her eyes and looked around. Seeing Nancy, she asked, “Who are you?”
“My name is Nancy. I’m glad to know you, Judy.”
“Did you see me fall?”
Nancy nodded, as the child’s Aunt Mary said, “She rescued you from the river after you fell in.”
Judy began to cry. “I’ll never, never run into the road again, really I won’t!” she told her aunts.
Nancy said she was sure that Judy never would. She patted the child, who smiled up at her. Although Nancy felt that Judy would be all right, she decided to stay a few minutes longer to see if she could be of help. The child’s wet clothes were removed and a robe put on her.
Mary Turner started for the kitchen door. “I’d better get some medication and wet compresses for Judy. She’s getting a good-sized lump on her head. Nancy, will you come with me?”
She led the way to the kitchen and headed for a first-aid cabinet which hung on the wall.
“I want to apologize to you, Nancy, for thinking you hit Judy,” the woman said. “I guess Edna and I lost our heads. You see, Judy is very precious to us. We brought up her mother, who had been an only child and was orphaned when she was a little girl. The same thing happened to Judy. Her parents were killed in a boat explosion three years ago. The poor little girl has no close relatives except Edna and me.”
“Judy looks very healthy and happy,” Nancy said quickly, “so I’m sure she must love it here.”
Mary smiled. “We do the best we can on our small income. Sometimes it just doesn’t suffice, though. We sold some old furniture to the two men in that van you saw. I don’t know who they were, but I guess the price was all right.”
Mary Turner’s thoughts went back to little Judy. “She’s so little now that Edna and I are able to manage with our small income. But we worry about the future. We’re dressmakers but our fingers aren’t so nimble with the needle as they used to be.
“To tell you the truth, Nancy, at the time Judy’s parents were killed, Edna and I wondered whether we would be able to take care of Judy properly. But we decided to try it and now we wouldn’t part with her for anything in the world. She’s won our hearts completely.”
Nancy was touched by the story. She knew what was in the minds of the Turner sisters—living costs would become higher, and with their advancing years, their own income would become lower.
“Unfortunately,” Mary went on, “Judy’s parents left very little money. But they were extremely bright people and Judy is going to be like them. She ought to study music and dancing, and have a college education. But I’m afraid we’ll never be able to give her those things.”
Nancy said reassuringly, “Judy may be able to win a scholarship, or get other financial aid.”
Mary, finding Nancy a sympathetic listener, continued, “A cousin of our father’s named Josiah Crowley used to help us. But he passed away a couple of months ago. For years he used to pay us long visits and was very generous with his money.” Miss Turner sighed. “He always promised to remember us in his will—he loved little Judy—and I am afraid Edna and I came to depend on that in our plans for her. But he did not carry out his promise.”
Nancy smiled understandingly and made no comment. But she did wonder why Mr. Crowley had changed his mind.
“Josiah went to live with some other cousins. After that, things changed. He rarely came to see us. But he was here just last February and said the same thing—that Edna and I were to inherit money from him. He had always helped us and it seemed strange that he should stop so suddenly.”
Mary Turner looked at Nancy. “Maybe you know our well-to-do cousins that he went to stay with. They live in River Heights. They’re