"I love it--" she said, with a catch of her breath, "and it is not
cruel--is it?"

"No--" he began. But with a man of his fiber the truth must out; "not
always," he amended, and took her hands in his, "not always--"

"And men do come back," she said, eagerly; "the one you told about in
your sermon--"

He saw the hope he had raised. "Yes, men do come back--but not always,
Judy."

Her lip quivered. "Let me believe it," she pleaded, and in that
moment, Judy's face foreshadowed the earnestness of the woman she was
to be. "Let me believe that my father will come some day--"

"Indeed, I will," said the doctor, and there was a mist in his eyes as
he clasped her hand, "and you must let me be your friend, Judith, as I
was your father's."

"I shall be glad--" she said, simply, and then and there began a
friendship that some day was to bring to Judy her greatest happiness.

That afternoon the Judge and Judy drove Anne home.

"It seems just like a dream," said Anne, as they came in sight of the
little gray house, with Belinda chasing butterflies through the clover,
and Becky Sharp on the lookout in the plumtree. "It seems just like a
dream--the good times and all, since Friday, Judy."