"It is lovely not to have anything to do," said Anne. "That is, it is nice in a way, but do you know, Perkins, I sometimes just wish there were some rooms to dust or something, but you and the maids keep everything so clean," and Anne sighed a sigh that came from the depths of her housewifely soul. "You might dip these cups in hot water and wipe them as I gets them finished," suggested Perkins, handing her several quaint little mugs, which he had placed in a row in front of him. "Aren't they dear," Anne said, enthusiastically. "Why this one says 'Judith.' Is it Judy's, Perkins?" "No, Miss, that was her great-grand-mother's, and that one with 'John' on it is the Judge's, and the one with 'Philip' is Miss Judy's father's--they are christening cups, Miss--six generations of them." "Oh, how lovely," said Anne, and she handled them lovingly, dipping them into clear hot water, and polishing them until they shone. "Judy never speaks of her father, lately," she said, as she placed the "Philip" cup on the sideboard. "No, Miss, but she thinks of him a lot," said Perkins, with a shake of his old head. "I saw her this morning, Miss, standing in front of his picture in the hall, and there were tears in her eyes, Miss, and then all at once she whirled around and ran away, and her face had a wild look on it, Miss." "Do you know, Perkins," said little Anne, stopping work for a minute and speaking earnestly, "do you know that I think Judy would be different if she only knew something about him. The uncertainty makes her unhappy, and then she does reckless things just to get away from herself." "Yes, Miss," said Perkins, "and there ain't a morning that she don't put fresh flowers in front of that there picture, and there ain't a night that she don't kiss her hand to it from the top of the stairs." "I know," sighed Anne. "Poor Judy." "When will the Judge be back?" she asked after awhile. But at that Perkins shut up like a clam. "I don't know, Miss," he snapped. "It's best for you not to ask too many questions, Miss." Anne flushed. "Oh, of course I won't, Perkins," she said, "if you don't like to have me--" and she was very quiet, until the old butler, with a glance at her troubled face, said, "I don't care how many questions you axes, Miss, but the Judge might." And Anne smiled at him, with radiant forgiveness. "Isn't all this silver a lot of care, Perkins?" she asked, to clear the air. "It is that," answered Perkins, "and yet there isn't half as much of it as there is at the Judge's in Fairfax. Only the Judge keeps his locked up in a safe, all except the things we uses every day. But here they just puts it on the sideboard, where it is a temptation to burglars--with them long windows opening out on the porch, and the curtains drawn back half the time. I don't call it safe, Miss, I surely don't." "But there aren't any burglars around here, are there, Perkins?" and Anne stopped rubbing the cups to look at him anxiously.