“The first time I had a taste of your grandmother’s temper,” the Judge related, “we had had an argument about a gown.  We had been invited to a great dinner at the Governor’s, and she had nothing to wear.  She took me to the shop to see the stuff she wanted.  It was heavy blue satin with pink roses all over it, and there was real lace to trim it with.  It was beautiful and I wanted her to have it, but when they named the price it was more than I could pay—­I was a poor lawyer in those days, Judy—­so I said we would think it over, and we went home.  All the way there your grandmother was very quiet and very white, but when we reached home and I tried to explain, she simply would not listen.  She would not go to the Governor’s, she said, unless she could have that gown.  You can imagine the embarrassment it caused me—­it was as much as my career was worth to stay away from that dinner, and I couldn’t go without her.

“‘I won’t go.  I won’t go,’ she said over and over again, and when I had coaxed and coaxed to no effect, I sat down and looked at her helplessly, and troubled as I was, I could not help thinking that she was the loveliest creature in the world—­with her rose red cheeks and her flashing eyes.

“She said many cutting things to me, but suddenly she stopped and ran out of the room, and presently I saw her in the garden, this garden, my dear, and she was flying around the oval path, as if she were walking for a wager, her thin ruffles swirling around her, and the strings of her bonnet fluttering in the wind.

“Around and around she went, and I just sat there and stared.  When she started in there was a deep frown on her forehead, but as she walked I saw her face clear, and when she had completed the round a dozen times or more, I saw her throw back her head in a light-hearted way, and then she ran into the house.

“She came straight to me and threw her arms around my neck.  ‘John,’ she said, ‘John, dear,’ and there was the tenderest tremble in her voice, ‘John Jameson, I was a hateful thing.’  I tried to stop her, but she insisted.  ’Oh, yes, I was.  And I don’t want the dress, I will wear an old one—­and I’ll make you proud of me—­’

“Then all at once she began to sob, and her head dropped on my shoulder.  ‘Oh,’ she cried, ’how could I say such things to you—­how could I—?’

“‘What made you change, sweetheart?’ I asked, and she whispered, ’Oh, your face and the trouble in it.’

“’I made up my mind that I wouldn’t say another word until I could get control of my temper, and so I went into the garden and walked and walked, and do you know, John Jameson, that I walked around that oval sixteen times before I could give up that dress.’

“It wasn’t the last time she walked around that oval, Judy,” the Judge finished, with a reminiscent smile on his old face, “and so perfectly did she conquer herself, that when she left me, it was just an angel stepping from earth to the place where she belonged.”