I. The Judge
II. Anne goes to town
III. In the Judge’s garden
IV. “Your grandmother, my dear”
V. Too many cooks
VI. A rain and A runaway
VII. Tommy Tolliver: Seaman
VIII. A white Sunday
IX. A blue Monday
X. Mistress Mary
XI. The princess and the lily maid
XII. Lordly Launcelot
XIII. A fortune and A fright
XIV. A precious pussy cat
XV. The Spanish coins
XVI. The wind and the waves
XVII. Moods and models
XVIII. Judy keeps A promise
XIX. Perkins cleans the silver
XX. Anne hears A burglar
XXI. Captain Judy
XXII. The CASTAWAYS
XXIII. In A silver boat
XXIV. “Home is the sailor from the sea”
XXV. Launcelot Buys A cow
XXVI. Judy plays lady Bountiful
XXVII. The summer ends
THE JUDGE AND JUDY
There was a plum-tree in the orchard, all snow and ebony against a sky of sapphire.
Becky Sharp, perched among the fragrant blossoms, crooned soft nothings to herself. Under the tree little Anne lay at full length on the tender green sod and dreamed daydreams.
“Belinda,” she said to her great white cat, “Belinda, if we could fly like Becky Sharp, we would all go to Egypt and eat our lunch on the top of the pyramids.”
Belinda, keeping a wary eye on a rusty red robin on a near-by stump, waved her tail conversationally.
“They used to worship cats in Egypt, Belinda,” Anne went on, drowsily, “and when they died they preserved them in sweet spices and made mummies of them—”
But Belinda had lost interest. The rusty red robin was busy with a worm, and she saw her chance.
As she sneaked across the grass, Anne sat up, “I’m ashamed of you, Belinda,” she said. “Becky, go bring her back!”
The tame crow fluttered from the tree with a squawk and straddled awkwardly to the stump, scaring the robin into flight, and beating an inky wing against Belinda’s whiteness.
Belinda hit back viciously, but Becky flew over her head, and by several well-delivered nips sent the white cat mewing to the shelter of her mistress’ arms.
“I suppose you can’t help it, Belinda,” said Anne, as she cuddled her, “but it’s horrid of you to catch birds, horrid, Belinda.”
Belinda curled down into Anne’s blue gingham lap, and Becky Sharp climbed once more to the limb of the plum-tree, from which she presently sounded a discordant note.
Anne raised her head. “There is some one coming,” she said, and rolled Belinda out of her lap and stood up. “Who is it, Becky?”
But Becky, having given the alarm, blinked solemnly down at her mistress, and said nothing.