Belinda," she said. "Becky, go bring her back!"

The tame crow fluttered from the tree with a squawk and straddled
awkwardly to the stump, scaring the robin into flight, and beating an
inky wing against Belinda's whiteness.

Belinda hit back viciously, but Becky flew over her head, and by
several well-delivered nips sent the white cat mewing to the shelter of
her mistress' arms.

"I suppose you can't help it, Belinda," said Anne, as she cuddled her,
"but it's horrid of you to catch birds, horrid, Belinda."

Belinda curled down into Anne's blue gingham lap, and Becky Sharp
climbed once more to the limb of the plum-tree, from which she
presently sounded a discordant note.

Anne raised her head. "There is some one coming," she said, and rolled
Belinda out of her lap and stood up. "Who is it, Becky?"

But Becky, having given the alarm, blinked solemnly down at her
mistress, and said nothing.

"It's Judge Jameson's horse," Anne informed her pets, "and there's a
girl with him, with a white hat on, and they'll stay to lunch, and
there isn't a thing but bread and milk, and little grandmother is
cleaning the attic."

She picked up her hat and flew through the orchard with Belinda a white
streak behind her, and Becky Sharp in the rear, a pursuing black shadow.

"Little grandmother, little grandmother," called Anne, when she reached
a small gray house at the edge of the orchard.

At a tiny window set in the angle of the slanting roof, a head
appeared--a head tied up just now in a clean white cloth, which framed
a rosy, wrinkled face.

"Little grandmother," cried Anne, breathlessly, "Judge Jameson is
coming, and there isn't anything for lunch."

"There's plenty of fresh bread and milk," said the little grandmother
calmly.

"But we can't give the Judge just that," said Anne.

"It isn't what you give, it's the spirit you offer it in," said the
little grandmother, reprovingly. "It won't be the first time that
Judge Jameson has eaten bread and milk at my table, Anne, and it won't
be the last," and with that the little grandmother untied the white
cloth, displaying a double row of soft gray curls that made her look
like a charming, if elderly, cherub.

"You go and meet him, Anne," she said "and I'll come right down."

So Anne and Belinda and Becky Sharp went down the path to meet the
carriage.

On each side of the path the spring blossoms were coming up, tulips and
crocuses and hyacinths. Against the backgrou