life.

"People love you, Judy."

"Sometimes they do, and some people--but my awful temper, Anne," and
Judy sighed.

"You don't flare up half as much as you used." Anne's tone was
consoling. She had finished popping the corn, and she sat down on the
floor beside the couch on which Judy lay, and munched the crisp kernels
luxuriously.

"No, I don't," confessed Judy, "but it's an awful fight, Anne. You
have helped me a lot."

"Me?" asked the rosy maiden in astonishment. "Why, how have I helped
you, Judy?"

"By your example, Annekins," said Judy, sitting up. "You're such a
dear."

At which praise the rosy maiden got rosier than ever, and shook her
loosened hair over her happy eyes.

The firelight flickered on the beautiful dark face on the cushions, and
on the fair little one that rested against Judy's dress.

"We are such friends, aren't we, Judy?" whispered Anne, as she reached
up and curled her plump hand into Judy's slender fingers. "Almost like
sisters, aren't we, Judy?"

"Just like sisters, Annekins," said Judy, dreamily, with a responsive
pressure.

Outside the wind moaned and groaned, and the rain beat against the
panes. "I have never seen such a rainy season," said Judy, as a blast
shook the house. "But I rather like it when we are so cozy and warm
and happy, Anne."

The pop-corn was all eaten, and Anne was gazing into the fire, half
asleep, when suddenly she started up.

"What's that, Judy?" she cried.

Judy raised her eyes from her book.

"What?" she asked, abstractedly.

"That sound at the window."

"I didn't hear anything."

"It was like a rap."

"It was the rain."

"Well, maybe it was," and Anne settled back again. Presently her hand
slipped and dropped, and Judy, feeling the movement, looked down and
smiled, for little Anne was asleep.

Judy tucked a cushion behind the weary head, and was settling back for
another quiet hour with her book, when all at once she sat up straight,
listening.

Then she rolled from the couch quickly, without waking Anne, and went
to the window and peered out. She could see nothing but the driving
rain, but as she turned to leave there came again the sound that had
startled her.

The window was a French one, opening outward. Very softly she
unlatched it.

"Who's there?" she asked, wondering if she should have called Perkins.

"Come to the door," said a voice, and a dripping figure appeared within
the circle of light. "Come out a minu