"I don't know."

"Who's your favorite heroine in Tennyson, Anne?" asked Launcelot.

"Elaine."

"Then Elaine it shall be--"

"And you must be Lancelot," cried Anne, eagerly.

"But he _is_ Launcelot," said puzzled Judy.

Anne and Launcelot laughed. "Well, you see," said Anne, "in the poem
Elaine is in love with a knight named Lancelot, and he doesn't love
her, and she dies, and when she is dead they put her on a barge and
send her to the court of King Arthur, where Lancelot is one of the
knights, and there is a letter to him in her hand, and a lily, and it's
lovely," she finished breathlessly.

"We shall have a hard time to build a barge," said Launcelot, with a
shake of his head.

"But we must have that scene, Launcelot," insisted Anne.

"Never mind," said Judy, who believed that all difficulties could be
surmounted in this line, "we will find something. How many pictures
shall we have for 'Elaine,' Anne?"

"We could have her giving him the 'red sleeve broider'd with pearls,'
and then we could have him ill in the cave, and the scene in the
garden, and at her window when he rides away, and then on the barge."

"We'll have to outline the story," said Launcelot; "the poem would be
too long."

"But we could get in some of it, like the little song about Love and
Death," said Anne, anxiously, for being too young to know tragedy or
love, she was yet enamoured by that which was beyond her comprehension.

It took all the next day for them to get things ready, but everything
went beautifully. Dr. Grennel promised to read the poems. Perkins,
though depressed at the prospect of more undignified gayety, gave
permission to use the dining-room for the tableaux, and the little
grandmother promised to spend all of Saturday with the Judge and his
sister, thus giving Anne a crowning delight.

And then, at the last minute, Anne spoiled everything!

"I can't bear to think of poor Miss Mary," she sobbed, late on Saturday
morning, when Judy found her crouched up in the window-seat overlooking
the garden.

"What?"

"I can't bear to think about poor Miss Mary," repeated Anne, dabbing
her eyes with her wet handkerchief.

"What's the matter?" asked Launcelot, as Judy stood speechless. He was
outside of the window, where he was helping Perkins place the tables
and arrange the chairs in the garden.

Anne's woebegone face bobbed up over the window-sill.

"I can't bear to think of Miss Mary. All alone while we shall b