It took all the next day for them to get things ready, but everything went beautifully. Dr. Grennel promised to read the poems. Perkins, though depressed at the prospect of more undignified gayety, gave permission to use the dining-room for the tableaux, and the little grandmother promised to spend all of Saturday with the Judge and his sister, thus giving Anne a crowning delight. And then, at the last minute, Anne spoiled everything! "I can't bear to think of poor Miss Mary," she sobbed, late on Saturday morning, when Judy found her crouched up in the window-seat overlooking the garden. "What?" "I can't bear to think about poor Miss Mary," repeated Anne, dabbing her eyes with her wet handkerchief. "What's the matter?" asked Launcelot, as Judy stood speechless. He was outside of the window, where he was helping Perkins place the tables and arrange the chairs in the garden. Anne's woebegone face bobbed up over the window-sill. "I can't bear to think of Miss Mary. All alone while we shall be having such a good time," she wailed. "I wish we could invite her." Judy stamped her foot. "Anne Batcheller," she cried, tempestuously, "you are too good to live," and she went out of the room like a whirlwind. She went straight to the Judge and Mrs. Batcheller, who were chatting together in the dimness and quiet of the great parlor. "I sha'n't have anything to do with the lawn party, grandfather," she blazed, after she had told her story, "if that teacher is to be invited!" But the Judge's eyes were dreamy. "Dear little tender-heart," he said. "She teaches us a lesson of forgiveness," said Mrs. Batcheller, who with the Judge had deeply resented the treatment accorded Anne on that fateful Monday morning. "Perhaps it would be best to ask Miss Mary," ventured the Judge. "If she would come," said Mrs. Batcheller, doubtfully. But Judy would not listen to reason or argument. "Do you think we ought to back down now," she demanded of Launcelot,