"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