LAUNCELOT BUYS A COW
Never had Fairfax seen so many interesting arrivals as during that
second week in August.
On Monday came Dr. Grennell, mysterious and smiling; on Tuesday, Judge
Jameson, pale but radiant; on Wednesday, Tommy and Launcelot, bursting
with important news; on Thursday, Captain Jameson, with a joyful dark
maiden on one side of him, and a joyful fair maiden on the other; on
Friday, Perkins, beaming with the baggage, and on Saturday, the
Terry-dog, resignedly, in a crate.
And every one, except Terry, the dog, had a story to tell, and the
story was one that was to become a classic in the annals of Fairfax.
How Captain Jameson had been washed overboard in southern seas, how he
had been rescued by natives and had lived among them; how he had been
found by a party searching for gold; how he had started with them for
home, had become ill as soon as they put to sea, and because of his
illness had been the only one left when the ship caught on fire; how
the fire had gone out, and he had floated on the deserted vessel until
picked up by a fishing-boat, and how he had been brought to
Newfoundland and how Dr. Grennell had discovered him by means of the
Spanish coins.
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?"
"We are going to live at the Judge's," and at that Anne's face changed
from dismay to happiness, and she turned the kittens over to Belinda
and flung her arms around the little old lady's neck.
"Oh, am I really going to live with Judy?" she shrieked joyfully, "and
you and Becky and Belinda--oh, it's too good to be true."
"We really are," said Mrs. Batcheller. "The Judge and I had a long
talk together, the day he came down, and he wants you to go away to
school with Judy, and have me come and help Aunt Patterson to manage
his house. He says she is too feeble for so much care and that it will
be an accommodation to him."
But Mrs. Batcheller did not tell how the Judge had argued for hours to
break down the barriers of pride which she had raised, and that he had
finally won, because of his insistence that Anne must have the
opportunities due one of her name and race.
"You are to go to Mrs. French's school in Richmond, with Judy. She is
a gentlewoman, a Southerner, and an old friend of the Judge's and mine,
and we think it will be exactly the place for you two for a time."
"It will be lovely," cried little Anne, as the plans for her future
were unfolded, but late that evening when she was ready to say "good
night" she stood for a moment with her cheek against her grandmother's
soft old one.
"I shall miss you and the little gray house, grandmother," she
whispered, "I was hungry for you at The Breakers, although it was
lovely there, and every one was so kind."
"I shall miss you too, dear heart," said the little grandmother, but
she did not say how much, for she wanted Anne to go away happily, and
she felt that she must not be selfish.
It was wonderful the planning that went on after that. Anne spent many
days at the big house in Fairfax, and each time she went it was a
tenderer, dearer Judy that welcomed her.
"Father will stay with grandfather this winter. I begged to stay, too,
but they both think the schools here are not what I need, and so I am
to go away," she explained one morning as she and Anne were getting
ready to go with a party of young people to pick goldenrod.
"Yes," said Anne, putting her red reefer over her white dress, and
admiring the effect.
"I hate school," began Judy, sticking in a hat-pin viciously, then she
stopped and laughed, "No, I don't, either. I don't hate anything since
father came back."
"Not even cats?" asked Anne, demurely.
"No. You know I love Belinda."
"Nor picnics?"
"Not Fairfax ones."
"Nor books?"
"I just love 'em--thanks to you."
"Nor--nor boys--?" mischievously.
"Oh, do stop your questions," and Judy put her hands over her ears.
But Anne persisted, "Nor boys, Judy?"
"I like Launcelot Bart--and--little Jimmie Jones, but I am not sure
about Tommy Tolliver, Anne."
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."
"Isn't it lovely here," said Judy, dropping her great golden bunch with
a sigh as she sat down on the bench under the lilac bush. "It's so
cool."
"What a lot of goldenrod," said the Judge. "Aren't you tired?"
"A little," said Judy, as she took off her hat.
"Launcelot couldn't go," Anne started to explain, when Terry, who had
been investigating the hedge, barked.
"What's the matter with him?" asked Judy, as the small dog growled in
what might be called a perfunctory fashion, for he was so good natured
that he was in a chronic state of being at peace with the world.
She went to the gate and looked over.
"Why, it's a cow," she cried, "a beautiful little brown-eyed cow."
Terry barked again, and then a voice outside the hedge said: "Yes, and
I've just bought her."
"Launcelot," screamed both of the girls, delightedly, and opened the
gate wide.