Judy Part 27

"Hum--" mused the Judge. "But I remember somebody in a little white gown with green sprigs, and a hat with pink roses under the brim."

"Judith and I had them just alike," smiled the blus.h.i.+ng little grandmother.

"And you looked like two sweet old-fas.h.i.+oned roses," said the old man, "and you knew it, too. The world hasn't changed so very much, or girl nature."

"Perhaps not," confessed the little grandmother, her eyes still bright with the memories of youthful vanities; "perhaps not, and you may have your way, Judge, only you mustn't spoil my little girl."

"She can't be spoiled," said the Judge promptly, and went away triumphant.

And so it came about that in the trunk on which Anne sat were five frocks--two white linen ones like Judy's; a soft gray for cool days, an organdie all strewn with little pink roses, and an enchanting pale blue mull for parties.

No wonder that Anne sat on that trunk!

It was a treasure casket of her dreams--and with the knowledge of what it contained, she did not envy Cinderella her G.o.dmother, nor Aladdin his lamp!

"Amelia and Nannie are coming to say 'good-bye,'" said Anne, as two figures appeared far up the road, "they'd better hurry."

"Tommy is coming, too," said Judy. "I wish I could take them all with me."

"Why not invite them all down to The Breakers," suggested the Judge, who was eager to do anything for this fragile, big-eyed granddaughter, who was creeping into his heart by gentle ways and loving consideration, so that he sometimes wondered if the old, tempestuous Judy were gone for ever.

"Not now," said Judy, thoughtfully. "I just want you and Anne for a while, but I should love to have them some time--and Launcelot, too."

"Can you?" she asked Launcelot, as he came out of the baggage room with their checks in his hand, followed by Perkins with the bags.

"Can I what?" he asked, standing before her with his hat in his hand, a shabby figure in shabby corduroy, but a gentleman from the crown of his well-brushed head to the soles of his s.h.i.+ning boots.

"Will you come down to The Breakers sometime?--I am going to ask Amelia and Nannie and Tommy, and I want you, too--"

"Will I come? Well, I should say I would--" but suddenly his smile faded. "I am awfully afraid I can't, though. There is so much to do around our place, and father isn't well."

Now in spite of the affectionate dutifulness with which of late Judy treated her grandfather, she still showed her th.o.r.n.y side to Launcelot.

"Oh, well, of course, if you don't want to come"--she snapped, tartly, and went forward to meet the young people, who were hurrying up, Amelia puffing and out of breath, Nannie with her red curls flying, and Tommy laden with a parting gift of apples, an added burden for the martyred Perkins.

Far down the road the train whistled. Anne was surrounded by a little circle of sorrowing friends. Even Launcelot was in the group, and Judy and the Judge stood alone.

"How they love her," said Judy, with a little ache of envy in her heart.

"How she loves them," said the wise old Judge. "That is the secret, Judy."

Amelia had brought Anne a box of fudge, Nannie a handkerchief made by her own stubby and patient fingers, and Launcelot made her happy with a book of fairy-tales, worn as to cover, but with rich things within--a book of his that she had long coveted.

"By-by, little Anne," he said, with a brotherly pat on her shoulder.

Then he shook hands with the Judge. "I hope you will have a fine time, sir," he said. Then as he and Judy stood together for a moment, he handed her something wrapped carefully in tissue-paper.

"These are for you," he said, a little awkwardly.

She unwound the paper and gave a little cry of delight.

"Violets, oh, Launcelot--how did you know I loved them?"

"Guessed it--you had them on your hat, and I liked that violet colored dress you wore."

"And they are so sweet and fragrant. Where could you get them this time of year?"

"In my little hothouse. I forced them for you."

But he did not tell her of the hours he had spent over them.

She was silent for a moment. "It was lovely of you," she said, at last, with a little flush and with a sweetness that she rarely revealed. "It was lovely of you--and I was so hateful just now."

She reached out her hand to him, and his grasp was hearty, rea.s.suring.

"It wouldn't seem natural if you and I didn't fuss a little, would it, Judy?" and then the train pulled in.

"All aboard!" shouted the conductor.

Anne and Judy went through the Pullman, and came out on the observation platform.

"Tell little grandmother to take good care of Belinda and Becky,"

called Anne, whose heart yearned for her pets.

"And all of you come and see me," cried Judy, hoping that she might win some of the love that was extended to Anne.

"We will," they cried, "we will."

"We will," echoed Launcelot, with his eyes on the violets pinned on Judy's gray coat, "we will if we have to sit up nights to do it."

A flutter of handkerchiefs, a blur of gray coat and red one, a trail of blue smoke, and the train was gone, and life to those left in Fairfax seemed suddenly a monotonous blank. As Launcelot turned away from the station, he ran into Dr. Grennell, who was rus.h.i.+ng breathlessly up the steps.

"Has the train gone?" panted the minister.

"Yes."

Dr. Grennell wiped his heated forehead.

"I am sorry for that," he said, "I wanted especially to see the Judge."

He had a letter in his hand, and he stood looking at it perplexedly.

"To tell the truth, Launcelot," he began slowly, "I have something strange to tell the Judge, and I didn't want him to get away before I saw him. It isn't a thing to write about--and oh, why did I miss that train--"

Launcelot waited while the minister stared wistfully down the s.h.i.+ning track.

"Look here, Launcelot," he asked, suddenly, "do you remember that Spanish coin of Judy's?"

"Well, I should say I did," replied the boy.