"How she loves them," said the wise old Judge. "That is the secret,
Judy."
Amelia had brought Anne a box of fudge, Nannie a handkerchief made by her own stubby and patient fingers, and Launcelot made her happy with a book of fairy-tales, worn as to cover, but with rich things within—a book of his that she had long coveted.
"By-by, little Anne," he said, with a brotherly pat on her shoulder. Then he shook hands with the Judge. "I hope you will have a fine time, sir," he said. Then as he and Judy stood together for a moment, he handed her something wrapped carefully in tissue-paper.
"These are for you," he said, a little awkwardly.
She unwound the paper and gave a little cry of delight.
"Violets, oh, Launcelot—how did you know I loved them?"
"Guessed it—you had them on your hat, and I liked that violet colored dress you wore."
"And they are so sweet and fragrant. Where could you get them this time of year?"
"In my little hothouse. I forced them for you."
But he did not tell her of the hours he had spent over them.