And then they both laughed light-heartedly, and tripped down-stairs to find Amelia and Nannie and Tommy waiting for them.

“Launcelot couldn’t come,” explained Tommy.  “He had to go to Upper Fairfax, and he said he was awfully sorry, but he didn’t dare to take so much time away from the farm.”

“Poor fellow,” sighed tender-hearted little Anne.  “He is always so busy.”

“I don’t think he is to be pitied,” said Judy, with a scornful glance at Tommy.  “He has work to do and he does it, which is more than most people do.”

There was gold in the sunshine, and gold in the changing leaves, and gold in the ripened grain in the fields, and gold in the goldenrod which they had come to pick.

Tommy gathered great armfuls of the feathery bloom, and the girls made it into bunches, while Terry, who had come with them, whuffed at the chipmunks on the gray fence-rails.

“What do you want it for?” asked Tommy, sitting down beside the busy maidens and wiping his warm forehead.

“To-morrow is Judy’s birthday,” said Anne, “and we are going to decorate the house.”

“Oh, is it?” asked Amelia and Nannie together.

“Yes,” said Judy, “and I want you to come to dinner and spend the evening with us.  I am not going to have a party, because father isn’t feeling as if he wanted to join in any gay things yet, but we can have a nice time together, and it may be the last before Anne and I go away to school.”

“Go where?” gasped Nannie and Amelia and Tommy.

Judy explained.  “We leave the first week in September,” she ended.

“Oh, oh,” cried the stricken three, “what shall we do.  All winter—­and we can’t have any fun—­if Anne isn’t here, nor you, Judy, and we had planned so many things.”

“Will you really miss me?” Judy asked a little wistfully, and at that Nannie’s hand was laid on hers, as the little girl murmured, “We shall miss you awfly, Judy,” while Amelia sighed a great, gusty sigh, as she said, “Oh, dear, now everything’s spoiled!”

“Do you want me to come to your birthday dinner, too?” asked Tommy, anxiously, when the first shock of the coming separation was over, “or ain’t you goin’ to have any boys.”

“Yes, I want you and Launcelot,” said Judy, who had debated the question of being friendly with Tommy, for he hadn’t seemed worth it, but Anne had pleaded for him.  “He really means well, Judy,” she had protested, “and I think he is going to turn over a new leaf.”

“Well, I hope he will,” said Judy, and forgave him.

When the big gate was reached, Nannie and Amelia and Tommy went on, and as Judy and Anne went into the old garden, they found the Judge and the Captain, both still semi-invalids, sitting there, amid a riot of late summer blossoms.

As he greeted them, Captain Jameson’s eyes went from the rosy, fair face of little Anne to the pale but happy one of his daughter.  “Father is right,” he thought, “Anne does her good.”