"She come." "Which direction?" "Along the road, trotting along all by herself." "Then I'll take her back. Seems to me she is uncommon like one of a pair I sometimes see--beauties, both of them; though how the mischief----Come with me, missy," he wheedled, stooping and holding out his arms. "Out to tea," said Judy. "Yes, so you are. You been out to tea, ain't you?" he sympathised. And Judy, satisfied, holding out her arms, allowed herself to be annexed. But she was not carried off without a little scene. In the policeman's arms a sudden recollection of her "manners" flashed across her mind. "Bye, bye," she said, holding out one hand in a dignified fashion to the potman. With the other she still retained the bun. "Bye, bye, missy," he responded, much gratified. "Bye, bye," Judy repeated; and then, her vivid face all dimpling into smiles, she flung herself forward and clasped her arms round his neck. What to Judy were dirt and knobbliness? Both were fascinating, both were associated with the delight of having her own way. With a fervid embrace and a wet kiss Judy bestowed her gratitude. There was weeping and wringing of hands and the rush of petticoats up and down and in and out, and flying figures darting about, when the policeman, with Judy in charge, arrived at the gates of Mount Royal. Judy's father had just come from the train, and was trying to find out from his agitated household what was the matter, when the tall, dark figure with the little pink one in his arms appeared. "Oh, Judy!" reproached nurse, pallid to her lips, snatching her charge from the policeman's arms and agitatedly examining all her limbs. "Such a disgrace!" she exclaimed, looking angrily at the policeman. "I thought I knew her, miss," he said politely, grinning. Nurse had haughtily snubbed him once or twice in her walks. [Illustration: "Bye, bye," she said.] "Out to tea," Judy said triumphantly, as she was caught up into her father's embrace. * * * * * Christopher, breaking away from nurse's attentions, on his return home, stamped loudly round the nursery floor to attract the envious attention of Judy. Judy's attire had been remodelled throughout, as a prelude to the hour in the drawing-room before bed-time; and she was now sitting on the window seat in a mood of subdued and passive triumph. "Go agen," she had murmured softly two or three times to herself, too much occupied with the sweets of memory to heed, as she otherwise would have done, Punch's aggravations. Stamping round being deprived of its attraction, Punch paused and approached his sister. "Poor Doody," he said pityingly. Judy's eyes flashed in the manner which always made Punch conscious of wonder that he had felt called upon to speak. He hastened to appease her. "Punch's boots a-comin' off," he said. "Doody don't want no boots," she said shrilly; "never don't want no boots, Doody don't."