“We shall have a hard time to build a barge,” said Launcelot, with a shake of his head.

“But we must have that scene, Launcelot,” insisted Anne.

“Never mind,” said Judy, who believed that all difficulties could be surmounted in this line, “we will find something.  How many pictures shall we have for ‘Elaine,’ Anne?”

“We could have her giving him the ‘red sleeve broider’d with pearls,’ and then we could have him ill in the cave, and the scene in the garden, and at her window when he rides away, and then on the barge.”

“We’ll have to outline the story,” said Launcelot; “the poem would be too long.”

“But we could get in some of it, like the little song about Love and Death,” said Anne, anxiously, for being too young to know tragedy or love, she was yet enamoured by that which was beyond her comprehension.

It took all the next day for them to get things ready, but everything went beautifully.  Dr. Grennel promised to read the poems.  Perkins, though depressed at the prospect of more undignified gayety, gave permission to use the dining-room for the tableaux, and the little grandmother promised to spend all of Saturday with the Judge and his sister, thus giving Anne a crowning delight.

And then, at the last minute, Anne spoiled everything!

“I can’t bear to think of poor Miss Mary,” she sobbed, late on Saturday morning, when Judy found her crouched up in the window-seat overlooking the garden.

“What?”

“I can’t bear to think about poor Miss Mary,” repeated Anne, dabbing her eyes with her wet handkerchief.

“What’s the matter?” asked Launcelot, as Judy stood speechless.  He was outside of the window, where he was helping Perkins place the tables and arrange the chairs in the garden.

Anne’s woebegone face bobbed up over the window-sill.

“I can’t bear to think of Miss Mary.  All alone while we shall be having such a good time,” she wailed.  “I wish we could invite her.”

Judy stamped her foot.  “Anne Batcheller,” she cried, tempestuously, “you are too good to live,” and she went out of the room like a whirlwind.

She went straight to the Judge and Mrs. Batcheller, who were chatting together in the dimness and quiet of the great parlor.

“I sha’n’t have anything to do with the lawn party, grandfather,” she blazed, after she had told her story, “if that teacher is to be invited!”

But the Judge’s eyes were dreamy.  “Dear little tender-heart,” he said.

“She teaches us a lesson of forgiveness,” said Mrs. Batcheller, who with the Judge had deeply resented the treatment accorded Anne on that fateful Monday morning.

“Perhaps it would be best to ask Miss Mary,” ventured the Judge.

“If she would come,” said Mrs. Batcheller, doubtfully.

But Judy would not listen to reason or argument.

“Do you think we ought to back down now,” she demanded of Launcelot, who, with Anne, had followed her to the parlor to talk things over.