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