It brought down the house, but Tommy got very red and murmured in Bobbie's ear that "They might think it was funny, but _he_ didn't," which Bobbie Green did not understand in the least. "That's all," and Launcelot gave a sigh of relief, as Mary and Jimmie made their bows amid uproarious applause. He had been stage manager as well as actor, and he was tired. "No, no," whispered Judy, as she came on the stage dressed as a fishermaid, and dragging a great net behind her. "No, no. Dr. Grennell is going to read 'Break, break, break.' I sha'n't need any change of scene. Just leave the big picture, and put this net and the shells around, and smooth out that sand to look like the beach." She was making a rock out of two boxes covered with a gray mackintosh as she spoke. "Now, if you could just whistle like the wind," she said. "Do you think you could, Launcelot?" "I'll try," and he did whistle, so effectively, that he did not get his breath for five minutes. Judy had read the poem one day when she was helping Anne to plan the pictures, and it had, like all songs of the sea, sung itself into her heart. Again the big picture with its stretch of sea made the background, and Judy sat on the rock looking at it. The plaid lining of her mackintosh showed, and the wind sounded wheezy, but the pathos in Judy's face, the tragedy in her eyes as the third verse was read: "And the stately ships go on, To the haven under the hill, But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!" made the Judge wipe his eyes, and Mrs. Batcheller say hurriedly, "She should not have done it. She should not." And behind the dropped curtain Judy was saying to Dr. Grennell, "I want to go back to the sea. I hate the country. I want to go back to the wind and waves. I can't stand it here." But the doctor put his hand on her shoulder and looked down into her troubled face with grave eyes. "Not now," he said, quietly, "not while your grandfather needs you, Judy." Judy drew a long breath, then she put out her hand as if to make him a promise. "No, not while grandfather needs me," she said, "not while he needs me, Doctor." CHAPTER XII LORDLY LAUNCELOT The children of the town of Fairfax never forgot that afternoon at Judge Jameson's. For years they had peeped through the hedge at the fascinating Cupid of the Fountain, but never had one of them put foot in the old garden, with its mysterious nooks and formal paths, which lay in the shadow of the Great House. But to-day with its gipsy band playing wild music, with its gaily decorated tables, its awe-inspiring Perkins,--who with his satellites offered food fit for the gods,--with its riot of spring color, it was beyond their wildest dreams.