"But people don't love you just because you are clever, and it isn't clever people that make others the happiest," and Judy dropped her book and gazed deep into the flames as if seeking there an answer to the problems of life. "People love you, Judy." "Sometimes they do, and some people--but my awful temper, Anne," and Judy sighed. "You don't flare up half as much as you used." Anne's tone was consoling. She had finished popping the corn, and she sat down on the floor beside the couch on which Judy lay, and munched the crisp kernels luxuriously. "No, I don't," confessed Judy, "but it's an awful fight, Anne. You have helped me a lot." "Me?" asked the rosy maiden in astonishment. "Why, how have I helped you, Judy?" "By your example, Annekins," said Judy, sitting up. "You're such a dear." At which praise the rosy maiden got rosier than ever, and shook her loosened hair over her happy eyes. The firelight flickered on the beautiful dark face on the cushions, and on the fair little one that rested against Judy's dress. "We are such friends, aren't we, Judy?" whispered Anne, as she reached up and curled her plump hand into Judy's slender fingers. "Almost like sisters, aren't we, Judy?" "Just like sisters, Annekins," said Judy, dreamily, with a responsive pressure. Outside the wind moaned and groaned, and the rain beat against the panes. "I have never seen such a rainy season," said Judy, as a blast shook the house. "But I rather like it when we are so cozy and warm and happy, Anne." The pop-corn was all eaten, and Anne was gazing into the fire, half asleep, when suddenly she started up. "What's that, Judy?" she cried. Judy raised her eyes from her book. "What?" she asked, abstractedly. "That sound at the window." "I didn't hear anything." "It was like a rap." "It was the rain." "Well, maybe it was," and Anne settled back again. Presently her hand slipped and dropped, and Judy, feeling the movement, looked down and smiled, for little Anne was asleep. Judy tucked a cushion behind the weary head, and was settling back for another quiet hour with her book, when all at once she sat up straight, listening. Then she rolled from the couch quickly, without waking Anne, and went to the window and peered out. She could see nothing but the driving rain, but as she turned to leave there came again the sound that had startled her. The window was a French one, opening outward. Very softly she unlatched it. "Who's there?" she asked, wondering if she should have called Perkins. "Come to the door," said a voice, and a dripping figure appeared within the circle of light. "Come out a minute. It's me--Tommy Tolliver." Anne slept on as Judy went out and closed the door behind her. "Why, Tommy," she said, trying to see him in the darkness, "how in the world did you get down here?" "I have run away again," said Tommy, defiantly, "and I've come to you to help me, Judy." "What!"