"Did you go to sea?" she asked, intensely. "I tried to." "How far did you get?" "To Baltimore." "And they wouldn't have you?" "No. And I had used up all my money, so I had to come back." "Have you ever been on the ocean?" "No. Have you?" "Yes. My father was in the navy." "Gee--" Tommy drew near to this fascinating stranger. "The next time you want to run away, you tell me," said Judy, and sank back on the hay, "and I'll help you." "But, Judy," said horrified little Anne, "he isn't going to run away any more--he is going to stay here, and please his father and go to school--aren't you, Tommy?" Tommy looked from the fair little girl to the dark thin one. Hitherto Anne had been his ideal of gentle girlhood, but in Judy he now found a kindred spirit, a girl with a daring that more than matched his own--a girl who loved the sea--who knew about the sea--who could tell him things. "Aw--I don't know," he said, uncertainly. "I guess I can run away if I want to, Anne." "No, you can't," cried Anne. "You ought not to encourage him, Judy." "I'm not encouraging him," said Judy, but there was a wicked sparkle in her eyes. Tommy saw it and swaggered a little. He had returned home in the spirit of the prodigal son. He was ready to be forgiven. To eat of the fatted calf--if he should be so lucky. If not, to eat humble pie. The sight of the familiar fields and roads had even brought tears to his eyes. But now--! "A fellow can't be tied to a little old place like this all his life," he said, toploftically, "you can't expect it, Anne." "I don't expect it," said little Anne, quietly, "but if you had seen