things.

"Aw--I don't know," he said, uncertainly. "I guess I can run away if I
want to, Anne."

"No, you can't," cried Anne. "You ought not to encourage him, Judy."

"I'm not encouraging him," said Judy, but there was a wicked sparkle in
her eyes.

Tommy saw it and swaggered a little. He had returned home in the
spirit of the prodigal son. He was ready to be forgiven. To eat of
the fatted calf--if he should be so lucky. If not, to eat humble pie.
The sight of the familiar fields and roads had even brought tears to
his eyes. But now--!

"A fellow can't be tied to a little old place like this all his life,"
he said, toploftically, "you can't expect it, Anne."

"I don't expect it," said little Anne, quietly, "but if you had seen
your mother after you ran away, Tommy--"

At that Tommy lowered his head.

"I know--" he stammered, huskily, "poor little mother."

"Tell me about her," he said. And now he turned his back on the dark
young lady on the hay.

But Launcelot's voice broke in on Anne's story. He came in all wet and