Judy | Page 3

peach preserves, and dished them in the little glass saucers that had
been among her grandmother's wedding things. Then she cut the bread

in thin slices and brought in a pitcher of milk.
"Why don't you have some flowers on the table?" said Judy. "Flowers
are better than food, any day--"
Like a flame the color went over Anne's fair face. "Oh, do you like
flowers, Judy?" she said, joyously. "Do you, Judy?"
Judy nodded. "I love them," she said. "Give me that big blue bowl,
Anne, and I'll get you some for the table."
"Wouldn't you like a vase, Judy?" asked Anne. "We have a nice red one
in the parlor."
Judy drew her shoulders together in a little shiver of distaste. "Oh, no,
no," she shuddered, "this bowl is such a beauty, Anne."
"But it is so old," said Anne, "it belonged to my great-grandmother."
"That is why it is so beautiful," said Judy, as she went out of the door
into the garden.
When she came in she had filled the bowl with yellow tulips, which, set
in the center of the table, seemed to radiate sunshine, and to glorify the
plain little room. "I should never have thought of the tulips, Judy,"
exclaimed Anne, "but they look lovely."
There was such genuine admiration in the tender voice, that Judy
looked at Anne for the first time with interest--at the plain, straight
figure in the unfashionable blue gingham, at the freckled face, with its
tip-tilted nose, and at the fair hair hanging in two neat braids far below
the little girl's waist.
"Do you like to live here, Anne?" she asked, suddenly.
Anne, still bending over the tulips, lifted two surprised blue eyes.
"Of course," she said. "Of course I do, Judy."

"I hate it," said Judy. "I hate the country, Anne--"
And this time she did not express her dislike indifferently, but with a
swift straightening of her slender young body, and a nervous clasping
of her thin white fingers.
"I hate it," she said again.
Anne stood very still by the table. What could she say to this strange
girl who hated so many things, and who was staring out of the window
with drawn brows and compressed red lips?
"Perhaps I like it because it is my home," she said at last, gently.
Judy caught her breath quickly. "I am never going back to my home,
Anne," she said.
"Never, Judy?"
"No--grandfather says that I am to stay here with him--" There was
despair in the young voice.
Anne went over to the window. "Perhaps you will like it after awhile,"
she said, hopefully, "the Judge is such a dear."
"I know--" Judy's tone was stifled, "but he isn't--he isn't my
mother--Anne--"
For a few minutes there was silence, then Judy went on:
"You see I nursed mother all through her last illness. I was with her
every minute--and--and--I want her so--I want my mother--Anne--"
But so self-controlled was she, that though her voice broke and her lips
trembled, her eyes were dry. Anne reached out a plump, timid hand,
and laid it over the slender one on the window-sill.
"I haven't any mother either, Judy," she said, and Judy looked down at
her with a strange softness in her dark eyes. Suddenly she bent her head

in a swift kiss, then drew back and squared her shoulders.
"Don't let's talk about it," she said, sharply. "I can't stand it--I can't
stand it--Anne--"
But in spite of the harshness of her tone, Anne knew that there was a
bond between them, and that the bond had been sealed by Judy's kiss.
CHAPTER II
ANNE GOES TO TOWN
"Grandfather," said Judy, at the lunch-table, "I want to take Anne home
with us."
A little shiver went up and down Anne's spine. She wasn't sure whether
it would be pleasant to go with Judy or not. Judy was so different.
"I don't believe Anne could leave Becky and Belinda," laughed the
Judge. "She would have to carry her family with her."
"Of course she can leave them," was Judy's calm assertion, "and I want
her, grandfather."
She said it with the air of a young princess who is in the habit of having
her wishes gratified. The Judge laughed again.
"How is it, Mrs. Batcheller?" he asked.
"May Anne go?"
The little grandmother shook her head.
"I don't often let her leave me," she said.
"But I want her," said Judy, sharply, and at her tone the little
grandmother's back stiffened.
"Perhaps you do, my dear," was her quiet answer, "but your wants must

wait upon my decision."
The mild blue eyes met the frowning dark ones steadily, and Judy gave
in. Much as she hated to own it, there was something about this little
lady in faded calico that