Part 42 (1/2)

And every one, except Terry, the dog, had a story to tell, and the story was one that was to become a cla.s.sic in the annals of Fairfax.

How Captain Jameson had been washed overboard in southern seas, how he had been rescued by natives and had lived among them; how he had been found by a party searching for gold; how he had started with them for home, had become ill as soon as they put to sea, and because of his illness had been the only one left when the s.h.i.+p caught on fire; how the fire had gone out, and he had floated on the deserted vessel until picked up by a fis.h.i.+ng-boat, and how he had been brought to Newfoundland and how Dr. Grennell had discovered him by means of the Spanish coins.

But in the eyes of the children of Fairfax his adventures paled before those of Tommy Tolliver. To a gaping audience that small boy talked of the things he had done--of s.h.i.+pwrecks, of desert islands, of hunger and thirst until the little girls gazed at him with tears in their eyes, although the effect was somewhat spoiled by Jimmie Jones' artless remark, ”But you were only away four days, Tommy!”

All Fairfax rejoiced with the Judge and Judy, but only little Anne knew what Judy really felt, for in the first moment that they were alone together after that eventful morning at The Breakers, Judy, with her eyes s.h.i.+ning like stars, had thrown her arms around the neck of her fair little friend, and had whispered, ”Oh, Anne, _Anne_, I don't deserve such happiness, but I am so thankful that I feel as if I should be good for the rest of my life.”

And no one but Anne knew why Judy put everything aside to be with her father, to antic.i.p.ate every desire of his, to cheer every solitary minute.

”I must try to take mother's place,” she confided to her sympathetic listener in the watches of the night. ”He misses her so--Anne.”

Anne went back to the little gray house, where the plums were purple on the tree in the orchard, and where Becky on her lookout limb was hidden by the thickness of the foliage. The robins were gone, and so was Belinda's occupation, but she had more important things on hand, and after the first joy of greetings, the little grandmother led Anne to a cozy corner of the little kitchen, where in a big basket, Belinda sang lullabies to four happy, sleepy b.a.l.l.s of down as white as herself.

”Oh, the dear little p.u.s.s.y cats,” gurgled Anne, as Belinda welcomed her with a gratified ”Purr-up,” ”what does Becky think of them, grandmother?”

”She takes care of them when Belinda goes out,” said the little grandmother. ”It's too funny to see them cuddle under her black wings.”

”I wonder if she will make friends with Terry, Judy's dog,” chatted Anne, as she cuddled the precious kittens. ”He's the dearest thing, and he took to Judy right away, and follows her around all the time.”

The little grandmother sat down in an old rocker with a red cus.h.i.+on and took off her spectacles with trembling hands. ”Belinda will have to get used to him, I guess,” she said.

”Of course,” said Anne, not looking up, ”Judy will bring him here when she comes.”

”I don't mean that,” said the little grandmother.

Something in the old voice made Anne look up.

”What's the matter, little grandmother?” she asked, anxiously.

”I mean that we are going to leave the little gray house, Anne, you and I and Belinda and Becky,” and with that the little grandmother put on her spectacles again, to see how Anne took the news.

Anne stared. ”Leave the little gray house,” she said, slowly. ”Why what do you mean, grandmother?”

”We are going to live at the Judge's,” and at that Anne's face changed from dismay to happiness, and she turned the kittens over to Belinda and flung her arms around the little old lady's neck.

”Oh, am I really going to live with Judy?” she shrieked joyfully, ”and you and Becky and Belinda--oh, it's too good to be true.”

”We really are,” said Mrs. Batch.e.l.ler. ”The Judge and I had a long talk together, the day he came down, and he wants you to go away to school with Judy, and have me come and help Aunt Patterson to manage his house. He says she is too feeble for so much care and that it will be an accommodation to him.”

But Mrs. Batch.e.l.ler did not tell how the Judge had argued for hours to break down the barriers of pride which she had raised, and that he had finally won, because of his insistence that Anne must have the opportunities due one of her name and race.

”You are to go to Mrs. French's school in Richmond, with Judy. She is a gentlewoman, a Southerner, and an old friend of the Judge's and mine, and we think it will be exactly the place for you two for a time.”

”It will be lovely,” cried little Anne, as the plans for her future were unfolded, but late that evening when she was ready to say ”good night” she stood for a moment with her cheek against her grandmother's soft old one.

”I shall miss you and the little gray house, grandmother,” she whispered, ”I was hungry for you at The Breakers, although it was lovely there, and every one was so kind.”

”I shall miss you too, dear heart,” said the little grandmother, but she did not say how much, for she wanted Anne to go away happily, and she felt that she must not be selfish.

It was wonderful the planning that went on after that. Anne spent many days at the big house in Fairfax, and each time she went it was a tenderer, dearer Judy that welcomed her.