"Yes, run on, Anne," commanded Launcelot. "I'll take care of Judy, and
you must not get wet," and with a protest Anne disappeared behind the
curtain of driving rain.

Judy staggered to her feet and attempted to walk two or three steps.

"Stop it," said Launcelot, firmly, "you must not."

"But I can't stay here," cried poor Judy, desperately.

Her lips were blue and her cheeks were white, so that Launcelot wavered
no longer. Without any warning, he picked her up as if she had been a
child, and ran with her across the field.

"Put me down, Launcelot. Put me down." Judy's tone was imperious.

But she had met her match. Launcelot plodded on doggedly.

"I shall never forgive you," she sobbed, as they reached the door of
the Cutter barn.

"Yes, you will," said Launcelot, and his lips were set in a firm line.
"I had to do it, Judy."

He laid her on a pile of hay in the corner.

Her eyes were closed, and her dark lashes swept across her pallid
cheeks.

"She isn't strong," whispered the worried Anne, her tender fingers