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 shipwrecks, 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 shining 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 anticipate 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 balls of down as white as herself.

“Oh, the dear little pussy 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 cushion 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?”