d. I'll
go right in and get you something."

"Are you going to help me to get away?" he insisted.

"I must think about it."

"But you promised."

"I am not sure that I exactly promised," hesitated Judy.

"You're afraid."

"I am not."

"Aw, you are--or you'd do it."

That was touching Judy on a tender point. She was proud of her
courage--none of her race had ever been cowards.

Besides, as she stood there with the wind and the waves beating their
wild song into her ears, all the recklessness of her nature came
uppermost. It would be glorious to sail down the bay. The water would
be rough, and the wind would fill out the white sails of the little
boat, and they would fly, fly, and the goal for Tommy would be freedom.

"I'll do it," she said, suddenly. "I'll do it, Tommy. We Jamesons
never break a promise, and I'm not afraid."

They decided not to tell Anne.

"It would just worry her," said Judy, decidedly, "and I can get some
food and things out to you after Anne goes to bed, and you can sleep in
the boat-house. We can start in the morning."

It was a wild scheme, but before they had finished they felt quite
uplifted. In their youth and inexperience, they imagined that Tommy's
last dash for liberty was positively heroic, and Judy went in, feeling
like one dedicated to a cause.

She found Anne rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Why, have you been out, Judy?" she gasped, wide awake. "You are all
wet."

"It's fine on the porch," said Judy, putting her soaked hair back from
her face. "I--I was tired of the heat of the room, and--it was
stifling. Let's go to bed, Anne."

"Aren't you going to finish your book?" Anne asked, wondering, for Judy
was something of a night-owl, and hated early hours.

Judy picked up "Sesame and Lilies," which lay open on the couch, and
shut it with a bang.

"No," she said, shortly, "I am not going to finish it to-night--I don't
know whether I shall ever finish it, Anne. I'm not Ruskin's kind of
girl, Anne. I can't 'sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,' and I
don't think it is any use for me to try."

Anne stared at the change that had come over her. "Well, you are my
kind of girl," she said at last, and as they went up-stairs together,
she slipped her hand into Judy's arm. "I love you, dearly, Judy," she
said.

But Judy smiled down at her vaguely, for her mind was on Tommy,
crouched out there in the rain, and in imagination she was not Judy
Jameson, commonplace