As her eyes swept over the table, they were arrested by the platter of fish.  In spite of Perkins’ overplentiful border of cress and sliced lemon—­put on to hide deficiencies, the four fish looked pitifully inadequate.

“I caught four myself,” said Amelia, heavily, pointing an accusing finger at the platter, “and Anne caught three and Nan three—­there were ten.”

Launcelot groaned.  “I wish you weren’t quite so good at arithmetic, Amelia,” he said, “we shall have to confess—­we burned the rest up—­and please ma’am, we are awfully sorry.”

They all laughed at the funny figure he made as he dropped on his knees before the stolid Amelia—­but into Judy’s cheeks crept a little flush—­“I—­” she began, with a tremble in her voice; but Launcelot interrupted; “we will never do it again,” he promised, and then as they laughed again, he rose and stood at Judy’s side.

“Don’t you dare tell them that you did it,” he whispered, and once more she felt the masterfulness of his tone.  “I should have watched the fire—­it was as much my fault as yours,” and with that he picked up a pile of cushions, and went to arrange a place for her at the head of the table.

Amelia ate steadily through the menu.  She was not overawed by Perkins, nor was her attention distracted by the laughter and fun of the others.  It was not until the ice-cream was served—­pink and luscious, with a wreath of rosy strawberries encircling each plate—­that she spoke.

“Well,” she said, “I don’t know’s I mind now about those fish being burned,” with which oracular remark, she helped herself to two slices of cake, and ate up her ice in silence.

Nannie May was thirteen and looked about eleven.  She was red-haired and fiery-tempered, and she loved Anne with all the strength of her loyal heart.  As yet she did not like Judy.  It was all very well to look like a princess, but that was no reason why one should be as stiff as a poker.  She hoped Anne would not love Judy better than she did her, and she noted jealously the rapt attention with which Anne observed the newcomer and listened to all she said.

Judy was telling the episode of the ice-box.  She told it well, and in spite of herself Nannie had to laugh.

“When I went in there were salads to right of me, cold tongue to the left of me, and roast chicken in front of me,” said Judy, gesticulating dramatically, “and I was so hungry that it seemed too good to be true that Perkins should have provided all of those things.  And just then the door slammed and my match went out—­and there I was in the cold and the dark—­and I just screamed for Anne.”

“Why didn’t you put the latch up when you went in?” asked Nannie, scornfully.  “It seems to me ’most anybody would have thought of that.”

Anne came eagerly to her friend’s defence.

“Neither of us knew it was a spring latch,” she said, “and I was as surprised as Judy was.”