So Anne and Belinda and Becky Sharp went down the path to meet the
carriage.

On each side of the path the spring blossoms were coming up, tulips and
crocuses and hyacinths. Against the background of the gray house, an
almond bush flung its branches of pink and white, and the grass was
violet-starred.

"Isn't that a picture, Judy," said the Judge to the girl beside him, as
they drove up, "that little old house, with the flowers and Anne and
her pets?"

But Judy was looking at Anne with an uplifting of her dark, straight
eyebrows.

"She must be a queer girl," she said.

"This is my granddaughter, Judy Jameson," was the Judge's introduction,
when he had shaken hands with Anne. "She is going to live with me now,
and I want you two to be great friends."

To little country Anne, Judy seemed like a being from another world;
she had never seen anything like the white hat with its wreath of
violets, the straight white linen frock, the white cloth coat, and the
low ribbon-tied shoes, and the unconscious air with which all these
beautiful things were worn filled her with wonder. Why, a new ribbon
on her own hat always set her happy heart a-flutter!

She gave Judy a shy welcome, and Judy responded with a self-possession
that made Anne's head whirl.