Judy | Page 5

where Launcelot Bart raises violets," she said.
"What a funny name!" was Judy's careless rejoinder.
"Launcelot is a funny boy," said Anne, "but I think you would like him,
Judy."
"I hate boys," said Judy, and settled back in the corner of the carriage
with a bored air.
But Anne was eager in the defence of her friend. "Launcelot isn't like
most boys," she protested, "he is sixteen, and he lived abroad until his
father lost all his money, and they had to come out here, and they were
awfully poor until Launcelot began to raise violets, and now he is
making lots of money."
"Well, I don't want to meet him," said Judy, indifferently, "he is sure to
be in the way--all boys are in the way--"
Anne did not talk much after that; but when they reached the Judge's
great red brick mansion, with the white pillars and with wistaria
drooping in pale mauve clusters from the upper porch, she could not
restrain her enthusiasm.
"What a lovely old place it is, Judy, what a lovely, lovely place."
But Judy's clenched fist beat against the cushions. "No, it isn't, it isn't,"
she declared in a tense tone, so low that the Judge could not hear, "it
isn't lovely. It's too big and dark and lonely, Anne--and it isn't lovely at
all."
As the Judge helped them out, there came over Anne suddenly a wave
of homesickness. Judy was so hard to get along with, and the Judge
was so stately, and after Judy's words, even the old mansion seemed to
frown on her. Back there in the quiet fields was the little gray house,
back there was peace and love and contentment, and with all her heart
she wished that she might fly to the shelter of the little grandmother's
welcoming arms.

Perhaps something of her feeling showed in her face, for as they went
up-stairs, Judy said repentantly, "Don't mind me, Anne. I'm not a bit
nice sometimes--but--but--I was born that way, I guess, and I can't help
it."
Anne smiled faintly. She wondered what the little grandmother would
have said to such a confession of weakness. "There isn't anything in
this world that you can't help," the dear old lady would say, "and if
you're born with a bad temper, why, that's all the more reason you
should choose to live with a good one."
But Anne was not there to read moral lectures to her friend, and in fact
as Judy opened the door of her room, the little country girl forgot
everything but the scene before her.
"Oh, Judy, Judy," she cried, "how did you make it look like this? I have
never seen anything like it. Never."
From where they stood they seemed to look out over the sea--a sea
roughened by a fresh wind, so that tumbling whitecaps showed on the
tops of the green waves. Not a ship was to be seen, not a gull swept
across the hazy noon-time skies. Just water, water, everywhere, and a
sense of immeasurable distance.
"It's a mirror," Judy explained, "and it reflects a picture on the other
wall."
"It seems just as if I were looking out of a window," said Anne. "I have
never seen the sea, Judy. Never."
"I love it," cried Judy, "there is nothing like it in the whole world--the
smell of it, and the slap of the wind against your cheeks. Oh, Anne,
Anne, if we were only out there in a boat with the wind whistling
through the sails." Her face was all animation now, and there was a
spot of brilliant color in each cheek.
"How beautiful she is," Anne thought to herself. "How very, very
beautiful."

"You must have hated to leave it," she said, presently.
"I shall never get over it," said Judy with a certain fierceness. "I want to
hear the 'boom--boom--boom' of the waves--it is so quiet here, so
deadly, deadly quiet--"
"How sweet your room is," said tactful little Anne, to change the
subject.
"Yes, I do like this room," admitted Judy reluctantly.
There were pictures everywhere---here a dark little landscape, showing
the heart of some old forest, there a flaming garden, all red and blue
and purple in a glare of sunlight. In the alcove was an etching--the head
of a dream-child, and a misty water-color hung over Judy's desk.
"I did that myself," she said, as Anne examined it.
"Oh, do you paint?"
"Some," modestly.
"And play?" Anne's eyes were on the little piano in the alcove.
"Yes."
"Play now," pleaded Anne.
But Judy shook her head. "After dinner," she said. "The bell is ringing
now."
Dinner at Judge Jameson's was a formal affair, commencing with soup
and ending with coffee. It was served in the great dining-room where
silver dishes and