“Oh, well,” sighed Mrs. Batcheller, “if you look at it that way.  Now in my day, if a girl had a sweet temper and nice manners, that was all that was necessary.”

“Hum—­” mused the Judge.  “But I remember somebody in a little white gown with green sprigs, and a hat with pink roses under the brim.”

“Judith and I had them just alike,” smiled the blushing little grandmother.

“And you looked like two sweet old-fashioned roses,” said the old man, “and you knew it, too.  The world hasn’t changed so very much, or girl nature.”

“Perhaps not,” confessed the little grandmother, her eyes still bright with the memories of youthful vanities; “perhaps not, and you may have your way, Judge, only you mustn’t spoil my little girl.”

“She can’t be spoiled,” said the Judge promptly, and went away triumphant.

And so it came about that in the trunk on which Anne sat were five frocks—­two white linen ones like Judy’s; a soft gray for cool days, an organdie all strewn with little pink roses, and an enchanting pale blue mull for parties.

No wonder that Anne sat on that trunk!

It was a treasure casket of her dreams—­and with the knowledge of what it contained, she did not envy Cinderella her godmother, nor Aladdin his lamp!

“Amelia and Nannie are coming to say ‘good-bye,’” said Anne, as two figures appeared far up the road, “they’d better hurry.”

“Tommy is coming, too,” said Judy.  “I wish I could take them all with me.”

“Why not invite them all down to The Breakers,” suggested the Judge, who was eager to do anything for this fragile, big-eyed granddaughter, who was creeping into his heart by gentle ways and loving consideration, so that he sometimes wondered if the old, tempestuous Judy were gone for ever.

“Not now,” said Judy, thoughtfully.  “I just want you and Anne for a while, but I should love to have them some time—­and Launcelot, too.”

“Can you?” she asked Launcelot, as he came out of the baggage room with their checks in his hand, followed by Perkins with the bags.

“Can I what?” he asked, standing before her with his hat in his hand, a shabby figure in shabby corduroy, but a gentleman from the crown of his well-brushed head to the soles of his shining boots.

“Will you come down to The Breakers sometime?—­I am going to ask Amelia and Nannie and Tommy, and I want you, too—­”

“Will I come?  Well, I should say I would—­” but suddenly his smile faded.  “I am awfully afraid I can’t, though.  There is so much to do around our place, and father isn’t well.”

Now in spite of the affectionate dutifulness with which of late Judy treated her grandfather, she still showed her thorny side to Launcelot.

“Oh, well, of course, if you don’t want to come”—­she snapped, tartly, and went forward to meet the young people, who were hurrying up, Amelia puffing and out of breath, Nannie with her red curls flying, and Tommy laden with a parting gift of apples, an added burden for the martyred Perkins.