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?"