"Them girls down at the Judge's in the big house. They wears white dresses, and one's got yaller hair and the other's got brown, and I was behin' the fence yustiddy when they was pickin' flowers, and that's how I foun' out they names--the dark one's Judy, and the light one's Anne--and the boy's named Launcelot. And that's how they got that fairy name--you look here," and she held up the note to her mother, "'Ju--ann--lot'--it's jes' them names strung together." "Well, now," said Mrs. McSwiggins, "if that ain' bright, honey. But I don't know's we ought to take all them things." "Sweetheart ain't goin' away from yer no more," said Mary, firmly, "and they'd feel mighty bad if we didn't take the other things." "Well, mebbe they would," said Mrs. McSwiggins, "and anyhow they's saved us from the po'house, and that's a fact, Mary, and don' you forgit it when you say yo' prayers." Far down the road the Mysterious Four gloated over their success. "Wasn't it fun?" gasped Anne. "Here's to the fairy Juannlot," cried Launcelot. "May she never cease to do good," cried Judy, beaming on her fellow conspirators. But Perkins merely nodded approval. For had not all the good ladies of the house of Jameson played the role of Lady Bountiful, and was not Judy thus proving herself worthy of their name and fame? CHAPTER XXVII THE SUMMER ENDS In the softened light of the candles, the big mirrors reflected that night four misty groups of happy people. A blur of pink down at one end, was Anne in rosy organdie, playing games with Tommy and Amelia and Nannie; a little fire flickered in the open grate, for the evening was cool, and one side of it sat the little grandmother and her old friend, the Judge, and on the other Dr. Grennell and Captain Jameson, engaged in an animated discussion; while in the window-seat, Judy and Launcelot gazed out upon the old garden. "I shall miss it awfully," said Judy, with a little sigh. Launcelot turned on her a startled glance. "Why?" he asked, "where are you going?" "Away to school," said Judy, "didn't Anne tell you?" "Oh, I say--oh, I say, you're not, really?" Launcelot's voice had a queer break in it, that made Judy say quickly: "We are coming back for Christmas." "Well, this is my finish," said Launcelot, moved to slang, by the intensity of his feelings. "I thought it was bad enough to be cut out of going to college, but if you and Anne go away, I will give up." "No, you won't," said Judy, quickly. "Why not?" "Because I should be so disappointed in you, Launcelot." For a moment they looked at each other in silence. The light wind came in through the open window and stirred the laces of Judy's dress, and blew a wisp of dark hair across her earnest eyes, which shone with a depth of feeling that Launcelot had never seen there before, and as he looked, the boy was suddenly possessed with the spirit that animated the knights of old who yearned to prove themselves worthy of their ladies.