“Oh, no, no, no,” protested Anne, all her grievances against Judy forgotten in the face of such a calamity.  “We can’t leave her behind.”

“She will leave herself behind,” said Launcelot, “for mother can’t miss the boat.  She has promised her friends that she will meet them.”

“But my dear,” protested gentle Mrs. Bart, “we can surely wait until the last minute.  Judy only intends it as a joke, and it is too bad to leave her.”

But Launcelot was in an explosive mood.  The morning had been a trying one for him.  He had hurried through a half-day’s work in an hour and a half, he had eaten hardly any breakfast for fear he should keep the girls waiting, and now—­to be treated like this!

“We can’t wait any longer,” he said, looking at his watch.  “I am sorry, Anne, but we shall just have to leave Judy behind.”

Again Anne started to protest, but the little grandmother shook her head.  “Judy deserves it,” she said.  “She is too old to be so childish.”

“Maybe she is waiting down the road somewhere,” said Anne, hopefully.  “I think she is trying to fool us.”

But Judy was not waiting down the road.  She was in the orchard behind the plum-tree.

“It won’t hurt Launcelot to wait,” she had, thought as she hid herself, “I will make him think I am not going—­”

But she had not dreamed that they would go without her, and when she saw Anne climb in and the carriage start off, she ran forward wildly.

“Wait,” she called, “wait for me.”

But the carriage whirled on in a cloud of dust, and her voice echoed on the empty air.

By the time Judy reached the house Mrs. Batcheller had gone in, and so the little girl ran down the road unseen.  “Perhaps they will stop for me,” she thought, and her eyes were strained after the flying vehicle.

But it did not stop, and at last warm and tired Judy dropped down by the roadside, a forlorn figure.

“I didn’t think they would leave me,” she thought disconsolately.

After a while she got up and started towards the house.  She dreaded to face Mrs. Batcheller, however, and she sat down again to decide upon a plan for spending the day.

She would not stay in the little gray cottage, that was a sure thing, and to go back to the Judge’s meant a dull day by herself.

As she mused, a cheery whistle sounded down the road.  “A Life on the Ocean Wave” was the tune and Judy started to her feet.

“Oh, Tommy Tolliver, Tommy Tolliver,” she called, “come here.”

Tommy rounded the curve in the road and stared at her.

“Say, I thought you were going with Anne,” he said.  “They just passed me down the road.”

“Did they?” asked Judy, indifferently.  “Well, at the last minute I thought I wouldn’t go.”

“Well, you missed it,” said Tommy, aggravatingly.  “Lake Limpid’s great—­and Launcelot can sail a boat like anything.”