“I don’t have to join the Church, I’m in it,” said Anne, puzzled. “You’re old enough when you understand. And I do understand. Sister Annunciata says I understand enough to make me dreadful ’sponsible if I don’t try to be worthy. Though you can’t really be, you know. It’ll be next month, Corpus Christi; it comes early. Sister says it’s often later, but it has to come when Easter makes it. But it’s sure to be warm, she says. We’ll have white dresses and veils, all alike, so if a girl is kind of not able to get a fancy one, nobody’ll know which she is. Anyway, mother says pure white and quite simple is the way we ought to look. It is the happiest day of all my life. No matter what other day I have, presents, or parties, or--no matter what--that’s the happiest. How can I wait?” She threw back her head and lifted toward heaven a rapt, ecstatic little face. “Do you think it’s possible she will feel that is true? Isn’t it dangerous to tell her this? I’d be afraid of a disappointment and a disastrous after effect,” said Richard to Anne Dallas. “Oh, no, I think not. Joan would tell us there was no danger. Little Anne’s faith is strong. She cannot understand how happy she is to be an innocent child, but later on she will look back to this day and realize that she was one, and that, in very truth, her First Communion day was the happiest one of her life,” said Anne, softly. Little Anne jumped down from the arm of Richard’s chair and flew to take Anne Dallas around the neck in a tempestuous embrace. “Don’t be sorry you are grown up, my darling,” she cried. “You’re not so very much grown up. And you are good! I love you. I’m going to pray for all my dear ones on my First Communion day. You’re one! Sister says Our Lord will love to give me what I ask for them. I’m going to ask to be kept a little girl inside me always. Some people are. It’s very hot--warm, isn’t it? And I see Kit Carrington coming along with a handsome, elegant lady. She’s _awfully_ handsome! They’re turning in here.” “Do you mind being caught, Mr. Latham? Anne is right; they are coming here. You have time to escape,” suggested Anne Dallas. “I don’t mind. I like Kit Carrington, and the magnificence of the lady as conveyed by little Anne ought to be enjoyable, even to a blind man. All right, Stetson. Ask them to come in here--or, no, show them into the garden; we’ll go there. It _is_ warm, little Anne!” Richard Latham, Anne, and little Anne stepped out from one of the long French windows which gave on the garden from the dining room. Helen Abercrombie and Kit had already reached one of the curved benches beneath the elms which interlaced their sweeping boughs over the turf of the upper end of the fine old garden.