t her
own interference in the matter, "and--and--let's plan it, anyhow, and
Judy will have a good time when she gets there."

"Do you really think she will?" said the Judge, with the light coming
into his eyes.

"Yes," said Anne, "she will, and you'd better ask Nannie May and Amelia
Morrison."

"And Launcelot Bart?" asked the Judge. For a moment Anne hesitated,
then she answered with a sort of gentle decision.

"We can't have the picnic without Launcelot. He knows the nicest
places. You ask him, Judge, and--and--I'll tell Judy."

"We will have something different, too," planned the Judge. "I will
send to the city for some things--bonbons and all that. Perkins will
know what to order. I haven't done anything of this kind for so long
that I don't know the proper thing--but Perkins will know--he always
knows--"

"Anne, Anne," came Judy's voice from the top of the stairway.

Anne fluttered away, rewarded by the Judge's beaming face, but with
fear tugging at her heart. What would Judy say? Judy who hated
picnics and who hated boys?

"Don't you want to come down and take a walk?" she asked coaxingly,
from the foot of the stairs. It would be easier to break the news to
Judy out-of-doors, and then the Judge would be in the garden, a
substantial ally.

"I hate walks," said Imperiousness from the upper hall.

"Oh," murmured Faintheart from the lower hall, and sat down on the
bottom step.

"I won't tell her till we are ready for bed," was her sudden conclusion.

It was getting dark, but Judy hanging over the rail could just make out
the huddled blue gingham bunch.

"Aren't you coming up?" she asked, ominously.

"Yes," and with her courage all gone, Anne rose and began the long
climb up the stately stairway.

CHAPTER III

IN THE JUDGE'S GARDEN

The Judge's garden was not a place of flaming flower beds and smooth
clipped lawns open to the gaze of every passer-by.

It was a quiet spot. A place where old-fashioned flowers bloomed
modestly in retired corners, veiled from curious stares by a high hedge
of aromatic box.

There was a fountain in the Judge's garden, half-hidden by an
encircling border of gold and purple fleur-de-lis, where a marble cupid
rode gaily on the back of a bronze dolphin, from whose mouth spouted a
stream of limpid water.

There was, too, in summer, a tangled wilderness of
roses--hundred-leaved ones, and little yellow ones, and crimson ones
whose tall bushes topped the