"It isn't always easy for Anne," said the little grandmother.
"Isn't it?" with astonishment.
"No, indeed. Anne has fought out many little fights of temper and wilfulness right here in this little room—she is a dear child."
"Indeed she is," agreed Judy, glancing at the serene face on the pillow.
"But Anne has learned to think for others. That is the secret, dearie. Think of your grandfather, think of your friends, and it will be wonderful how little time you will have to think of Judy Jameson."
"If I had my mother." Judy's lip quivered.
The little grandmother laid her old cheek against the flushed one.
"Dear heart," she said, "I can't take her place, but if you will try to talk to me as Anne does, maybe I can help—"
"I will," said Judy, and kissed her; but when the little grandmother had gone away, Judy could not sleep, and finally she got up and put on her red dressing-gown and sat by the window and looked out upon the waking world.
The robins were up and out on the dewy lawn, safe for once from
Belinda, who was curled up sound asleep on the foot of Anne's bed.
Becky with her head under her wing was on top of the little bookcase,
and the house was very quiet.