CHAPTER IV
"YOUR GRANDMOTHER, MY DEAR"
Judy had reached the door of her room when the Judge called her.
"Come down," he said, "I want to talk to you."
"I'm tired," said Judy, in a stifled voice, and Anne, who had followed her, saw that she was crying.
"I know," the Judge's voice was gentle, "I know, but I won't keep you long. Come."
Judy went reluctantly, and he led the way to the garden bench.
It was very still out there in the garden—just the splash of the little fountain, and the drone of lazy insects. The moon hung low, a golden disk above the distant line of dark hills.
"Judy," began the Judge, "do you know, my dear, that you are very like your grandmother?"
Judy looked at him, surprised at the turn the conversation was taking.
"Am I?" she asked.