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HJDITH L-TOB5

A Story of the Sea

By ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL

PUBLISHED BY

DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING COMPANY

CHICAGO NEW YORK BOSTON

PUBLISHING HOUSE AND MAILING ROOMS, ELGIN, ILLINOIS

CopYiucaiT, 1906,
By David C. Cook Publishing Co.,

ELGIN, ILLINOIS.

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A Story of the Sea.

By ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL.

CHAPTER I.

IN TARPAULIN and oilskins she did not look like
a Judith. Easily she might have been a Joseph or
a James. So it was not really to be wondered at that
the little girl in the dainty clothes— the little girl from
The Hotel— should say, " Why!"

" What is your name ?" the Dainty One had asked.

" Judith Lynn," had answered the boy-one in oil-
skins.

" Why!" Then, as if catching herself up at the im-
politeness of such a little word in such a surprised
tone — " I mean, please excuse me for thinking you
were a boy," the little Dainty One had added, in con-
siderable embarrassment. And Judith had laughed—
Judith's laughs were rare, but the crisp, salty bright-
ness of the sea was always in them. The sea was in
everything about Judith.

"I don't wonder!" laughed Judith. "Me, with
these togs on ! But I guess you'd be a boy when you

J

4 Judith Lynn.

went out to your traps— you can't 'tend traps in skirts.
Blossom calls me Judas with these on!"

It was strange how suddenly the rather big voice—
a voice has to be big to compete with the voice of the
sea— grew soft and tender at the name of Blossom.

In Judith Lynn's rough, hard, salt-savored life
Blossom was the one thing sweet and beautiful. Blos-
som was the little frail wisp of a child that Judith
I loved. This other child, here on the sand, watching

\ her with friendly wonder, reminded her a little of

I Blossom. Anyway, they were both sweet and beau-

I tiful.

" Traps?" queried this other child, " I didn't know
I there were mice in the ocean 1— you were going out

on the ocean, weren't you?"

Again Judith's rare, bright laugh. Children were
such funny things '.—Blossom was, too.

" Lobster-traps," she explained, when the laugh had

laughed itself out. " I'm going out to mine to get the

lobsters. Out there where those little specks of white

are bobbing 'round on the water—don't you see?"

"I see some little specks— yes, they're a-bobbing!

Are those traps?"

" Mercy, no! The traps are sunk 'way down to the
bottom o' the sea ! Those are nothing but the little
wooden floats that tell me where the traps are. I
couldn't go hunting all over the bay, you know."

« No— oh, no, you couldn't go hunting all over the

"WHAT 13 YOUB NAME?"

6 Judith Lynn.

bay/' repeated the small, puzzled voice. The Dainty
One was distinctly interested. " I s pose, prob'ly, every
one of those little white specks has got a fish line to
it I hope they've all got bites. Oh, my snz ! Here
conies Elise. Elise is always a-coming!" with a long
sigh.

Elise was slender and tall, in cap and apron. She
walked with the stride of authority. A frown of dis-
pleasure was getting visibler and visibler on her face,
the child noticed with another sigh. Elise was 'most
always a- frowning.

" Good-by. I— I guess I'd better go and meet her,"
the Dainty One said hurriedly. " She isn't quite as
cross when you go and meet her. It helps."

But the child came back again to Judith Lynn. She
held out one little sun-browned, sea-browned hand.

" I'm happy to have seen you," she said, with soft
graciousness, as if Judith were a duchess in laces
instead of a boy-girl in fisherman's togs. " I'd be
pleased to see you some more. I like you."

"Oh!" stammered the boy-girl in fisherman's togs,
a flush of pleasure reddening her brown face. No
one had even said " I'd be pleased to see you," to her
before, though Blossom, of course, was always pleased.
No one but Blossom had ever said, " I like you," and
Blossom's way was, " I love you."

" I must go — she's 'most here," went on the child,
rather anxiously. " But first I wish you'd tell me

Judith Lynn. 7

who Blossom is. You spoke about Blossom, didn't
you ?"

Yes. She's my little sister. Her regular name is
Janet. It's only me calls her Blossom."

k Oh, but that's lots the prettiest name ! I'm going
to call her that, too. I'd be pleased to see Blossom.
Is she about my tallness?"

Judith's face had undergone one of its swift changes.
It had grown defensive and a little fierce. She should
not see Blossom! — this other child who could walk
away over the sand to meet Elises, whoever Elises
were. She should not see Blossom ! Blossom should
not see her !

But, maybe — prob'lv she's a baby — "
No, she's six. She'd be about as tall as you are,
if she was straightened — I mean if she could stand
up beside o' you. I guess you better go to that woman
in the cap or she'll scold, won't she?"

' Goodness, yes ! Elise always scolds. But I'd
rather be scolded than not hear about that little Blos-
som girl — "

" Mademoiselle !" called the woman in the cap
sharply. She came up puffing with her hurry.
' Mademoiselle has escape again — Mademoiselle is
ba-ad !" she scolded.

' I didn't ex-scape, either — I only walked. You
don't walk when you ex-scape. You sat and sat and
sat, and I wanted to walk."

8 Judith Lynn.

%

The child's voice was full of grievance. Sometimes
she dreaded Elise— when she saw her coming down
the beach— but she was never afraid of her " near to."

"But it is not for Mademoiselle to walk so far —
rvvhat is it the doctor say? Mademoiselle is ba-ad
when she walk so far!"

With a sudden gesture of defiance the Dainty One
sprang away across the sand, looking over her shoulder
willfully. "But it's so good to walk!" she cried.
" You'd walk if you was me, Elise— you'd walk and
walk and walk ! Like this— see me ! See me run— like

this !"

The eyes of the woman in the white nurse's cap met
for an instant the eyes of the boy-girl in the oilskins,
and Judith smiled. But Elise was gravely tender—
Elise's face could undergo swift changes, too.

" Yes, certainment I would," muttered Elise, look-
ing away to the naughty little figure. It was running

back now.

" And then you'd be goody again— see me!" chanted
the child. "And you'd go right straight back to
yriise—that would be me, if you were I— and you'd
put your arms round her, so, and say, ' 'Sense me/—

hear me !"

Judith Lynn got into the old brown dory and rowed
away to her lobster-traps. There was no laughter any
more in her eyes; they were fierce with longing and
envy. Not for herself— Judith was sixteen, but she

Judith Lynn. 9

had never been fierce or envious for herself. It had
always been — it would alwavs be — for Blossom, the
frail little wisp of a girl she loved.

She was thinking intensely, What if that were
Blossom, running down the beach? They were about
of a " tallness "—why shouldn't it be Blossom? Why
shouldn't Blossom run down the beach like that and
call "See me!"

She would walk and walk and walk — it would feel so
good to walk ! Once she had said to Judith — the great
oars stopped as Judith remembered — once Blossom
had said, " Oh, Judy, if I ever walk, I shall walk right
across the sea. You couldn't stop me !"

But Blossom would never walk. Judith bent to the
great oars again and toiled out into the bay. Her lips
were set in the old familiar lines of pain. In the
distance was just visible a fleck of white and a fleck
of blue — Elise and the Daintv One on the sands.

" I never want to set eyes on them again — not on
her, anyway I" thought Judith as she toiled. " What
did she want to speak to me for, in her nice little minc-
ing voice ! She belongs to hotels and I belong to the
— sea. Blossom and I — what has she got to do with
Blossom !"

But the little mincing voice had said, " I'd be pleased
to see you — I like yon." It had said, " I'd be pleased
to see Blossom."

1 She sha'n't ! I won't have her ! I won't have

10

Judith Lynn.

Blossom see her!" Judith stormed in her pain.

The picture of the little frail wisp of a child who
would never walk was so distinct to her— and this
other picture of the Dainty One who walked and
laughed, " See me !" The two little pictures, side by
side, were more than Judith could bear.

The traps were nearly empty. It was going to be
a poor lobster season. To hotels like that one down
the beach that would be a disappointment. To Judith,
who stood for fisher-folk, it would mean serious loss.
When the lobster season was a good one, more than
one little comfort and luxury found its way into more
than one humble fisher-home. And Blossom— Blos-
som would stirrer if the lobster-traps were empty. For
Judith and her mother had agreed to set apart enough
of the lobster-money to get Blossom a wheel-chair.
Judith had seen one once on a trip to the nearest town,
and ever since she had dreamed about a little wheel-
chair with Blossom in it. To wheel up and down the
smooth, hard sand, with Blossom laughing and crying,

M See me !"

" There's got to be lobsters!" Judith stormed, jerk-
ing up her traps one after the other. " There shall be

lobsters I"

But she rowed back with the old brown dory almost
as empty as when she had rowed it toilsomely out to

her traps.

There were but three Lynns in the small heme

Judith Lynn. 11

upshore. Two years ago there had been six, but father
and the boys, one day, had gone out of sight beyond
the bay and had never eotne into sight again. It is
the sad way with those " who go down to the sea in
ships."

Judith was the only man left to 'tend the traps and
fish in the safer waters of the bay. At fourteen one is
young to begin toil like that. Even at sixteen one is
not old. But Judith's heart was as strong as her pair
of brown, boy-muscled arms. She and the old dory
were well acquainted- with each other.

To-day Judith did not hurry homeward across the
stretch of bright water. She let the old dory lag along
almost at its own sweet will. For Judith dreaded to go
home with her news of the poor little " haul " of lob-
sters. She knew so well how mother would sigh and
how little Blossom would try to smile. Blossom always
tried to smile when the news was bad. That was the
BJossomness of her, Judith said fondly.

That's Lynn luck," mother would sigh. Poor
mother, who was too worn and sad to try to smile \

1 Never mind, Judy," Blossom's little, brave smile
would say. ''Never mind — who cares!" But Judy
knew who cared.

Strange fancies came sometimes to the fisherman-
girl in the great dory, out there on the bay. Alone,
with the sky above and the sea beneath, the girl let
her thoughts have loose rein and built her frail castles

12 Judith Lynn.

in the salt, sweet air. Out there, she had been a beau-
tiful princess in a fairy craft, going across seas to her
kingdom ; she had been a great explorer, traveling to
unknown worlds ; she had been a pirate— a millionaire
In his yacht— a sailor in a man-of-war. She had
always had a dream-Blossom with her, on her wonder-
trips, and sometimes they were altogether Blossom-
dreams. Like to-day— to-day it was a Blossom-dream,
a wistful little one with not much heart in it. They
seemed to be drifting home, away from something
beautiful behind them that they had wanted very much.
They had been sailing after it— in the dream— with
their hands stretched out to reach it. And it had
beckoned them on— and further on— with its golden
fingers, till at last it had vanished into the sunset,
down behind the sea, and left them empty-handed after
all They had had to turn back without it. And Blos-
som-the little dream-Blossom in the dream— had

tried to smile. .

" Never mind, Judy," she had said. " Never mind—
who cares !" But they had both cared so much !

Then quite suddenly Judith's fancy had changed the
dream from a sad one to a glad one. She had rested
lazily on her great black oars and painted another
picture on her canvas of sea and sky— this time of
Blossom riding way over a beautiful glimmery sea-
road in a little wheel-chair, soft-cushioned and beau-
tiful. She, Judith, followed in the old dory, and Bios-

.

Judith Lynn.

13

som laughed with delight and called back over her
shoulder, " See me ! See me !"

A whiff of night-breeze warned Judith that it was
growing late and the dream-fancies must stop. She
leaned over the side of the dory and pretended to drop
them, one at a time, into the sea. That was another
of her odd little whimsies.

" Good-by, sad dream— good-by, glad dream," she
said. " You will never go ashore. You will always
stay out here in the sea where I drop you— unless I
decide to dream you over again some day. If I do,
good-by till then." For Judith never dreamed her
day-dreams on land. They were a part of the sea and
the sea-sky and the old black dory.

She must make her trip to the Hotel with her poor
little haul of lobsters, for she had promised all she got
to Mrs. Ben. But for a wonder Judith's pride deserted
her, and she decided to tramp away clown the beach in
her fisherman-clothes. When had she done that be-
fore! When hadn't she walked the weary little dis-
tance inshore and back, to and from her home, for the
sake of going down the beach in her own girl-things.
But to-night—" Never mind, Judy— who cares !" she
said to herself, with a shrug. Let Mrs. Ben laugh-
let the fine people lounging about laugh— let every-
body laugh ! Who cared? To-night Judith was tired,
and the stout little heart had gone out of her.

"Land!" laughed Mrs. Ben, in her kitchen door.

14 Judith Lynn.

But the sober face under the old tarpaulin cheeked her.
Mrs. Hen's heart was tender.

" I shouldn't think I looked very landish," Judith
retorted. "And I guess you won't say 'land!' when
you see your lobsters. That's every one I got to-day,
Mrs. Ben P

But Mrs. Ben said " Land I" again. Then, with an
unexpected whirl of her big, comely person, she had
her hands on the boy-girl's shoulders and was gently
pushing her toward a chair by the window.

" You poor dear, you ! Never mind the lobsters.
Just you set there in that chair and eat some o' my
tarts! You look clean tuckered out."

" Not clean tuckered," laughed Judith rather trem-
ulously. It was good to be pushed about like that by
big, kind hands. And how good the tarts were ! She
sank into the chair with a grateful sigh.

" I don't suppose you can be expected to bring lob-
sters when there ain't any in the traps! All is, the
folks '11 have to eat tarts!" Mrs. Ben's folks were the
people who lounged about in gay summer clothes.
Judith could see them out of the window as she ate
her tarts.

Some ladies were sitting on the doorsteps very near
by, and their voices drifted in to Judith with intervals
of silence. She began to notice what the voices were
saying. They were talking about a little figure in
dainty white that was circling about not far away,

Judith Lynn. 15

and the little figure in white was Judith's acquaintance
of the beach.

One of the voices was a mother-voice — Judith was
sure of that from the tenderness in it. The other voice
was just a plain voice, Judith decided. It sounded
interested and curious, and it began to ask strange
questions about the dainty little figure. Judith grew
interested, too — then, very interested indeed.

Suddenly Judith caught her breath in an inarticulate
little cry. For she could hear what the mother-voice
was answering.

CHAPTER II.

44 IT SEEMS very wonderful," the cool, interested
I voice said, a little more interested, if anything.

" It seems glorious!" broke in the mother-voice ; and
the throb in it beat upon Judith's heart through the
waves of air between them. Judith's heart was throb-
bing, too.

"You can't think how it * seems.'— you don t know
anything about it!" the earnest, tremulous voice went
on " How can anyone know who never had a little

daughter?"

" I had one once." The other voice now was soft

and earnest.

"But she walked. Your little daughter walked.
How can anyone know whose little daughter always

walk — "

" She never walked." It was very soft now, and the
throb had crept into it that was in the mother-voice
and in Judith's heart. " I only had her a year."

They were both mother-voices! Judith could not
see, but she felt sure the two sat up a little nearer to
each other and their hands touched.

" Oh !— then you can know," the first voice said,

16

Judith Lynn.

17

after a tiny silence. " I will tell you all about it— there
have only been a few I have wanted to tell. It has
seemed almost too precious and — and — sacred."

" I know," the other said.

" But you must begin right at the beginning, with
me— at the time when my little daughter was a year
old, when the time came for her to learn to walk.
That is where my story begins."

" And mine ends. Go on."

" Well yon can see how I must have watched and
waited and planned."

" Oh, yes, and planned — / planned."

"You poor dear!" Another tiny silence-space,
while hand crept to hand again, Judith was sure.
Then the story went on.

" You say I ought to have known. Everybody says
I ought to have. They knew, they say, and I was the
baby's mother. The baby's mother ought to have
known. But that was just why. I was her mother—
I wouldn't know. I kept putting it off. 'Wait,' I
kept saying to myself. ' She isn't old enough to walk
yet ; when she is old enough, she will walk. Can't you
wait? And I waited. When they did not any of
them know, 1 kept trying to stand her on her poor little
legs— I wouldn't stop trying. When she was fifteen
months— sixteen months— seventeen, eighteen— when
she was two years old, I tried. I would not let them
talk to me. ' Some children are so late in walking,' I

18 Judith Lynn.

said. ' Her legs are such little ones V I would catch
her up from the floor and hug her fiercely. They
shan't hurry you, my darling. You shall take all the
time you want. Then, some day, you'll surprise mother.
won't you? You'll get up on your two little legs and
walk! And we'll take hold of hands and walk out
there to all those bad people that try to say things to
us. We'll show them!' But we never did. When
she was two and a half I began to believe it— perhaps
I had believed all along— and when she was three, I
gave it up. ' She will never walk,' I told them, and
they let me alone. There was no more need of talking

then."

Judith was leaning forward, straining her ears to
hear. She had forgotten Mrs. Ben's tarts— she had
forgotten everything but the story that was going on
out there, out of her sight. It was so much— oh. how
much it was like Blossom's story! When Blossom
was three, Judith had given up. too. But not till then.
She had kept on and on trying to teach the helpless
little legs to walk. Father and mother and the boys
had given up, but Judith had kept on. " She shall
walk !" she had said.

Sometimes she had taken Blossom down to the
beach, tugging her all the way in her own childish
arms, and selected the hardest, smoothest stretch of
sand. " Now we'll walk!" she had laughed, and Blos-
som had laughed, too. " Stand up all nice and straight,

Judith Lynn. 19

darling, and walk all beautiful to Judith!" But Blos-
som had never stood up all nice and straight ; she had
never walked all beautiful to Judith. And when she
was three, Judith had given up.

The story out there was going on : u After that I
never tried to make her walk again, poor little sweet !
We carried her round in our arms till we got her a
little wheel-chair that she could wheel a little herself.
She liked that so much— she called it ' walking.' It
would have broken your heart to hear her say, ' See
me walk, mamma! 1 "

' Oh, yes — yes, it would have," the other voice
responded gently. It had grown a very gentle voice
indeed. Judith wondered in the little Mash of thought

e could spare from Blossom, if the other mother
were not thinking there might be harder things even
than laying a little daughter away in a little white
casket.

b But when she was five " — sudden animation, joy
and a thrill of laughter had taken possession of the
voice that was telling the story — " a little more than
five — she's just six now — when she was a little more
than five, they told us she could walk! There was a
way ! It was not a very hard way, they said. A
splendid doctor, with a heart big enough to hold all
the little crippled children in the universe, would make
her walk. And so — this is the end of the story — we
took her across the sea to him, Look at her now !

j

20 Judith Lynn.

Where is she? Oh, there! Marie 1 Marie! Come

here to mother !" _

Judith slipped away. She was never quite definite
how she got there, but she found herself presently in
the old black dorv that was drawn up on the beach.
It was the best place to think, and Judith wanted to
think She wanted air enough and room enough to
think In— this Wonderful Thing took up so much
room ! It was so big— so wonderful !

She sat a long time with her brown chin in her
brown palms, her eyes on the splendid expanse of
shining, undulating sea before her. It reached mp
across to him— to that tender doctor who made little
children walk ! If one were to cross it— she and Blos-
som in the old black dory-and to find him somewhere
over across there and say to him— if one were to hold
out little Blossom and say-'" Here's Blossom ; oh,
please teach her little legs to walk !"-if one were to do

that — . ...

Judith sunk her brown chin deeper into the little

scoop of her brown, hard palms. Her eyes were begin-
ning to shine. She began to rock herself back and
forth and to hum a little song of joy, as if already it
had happened. The fancy took her that it had hap-
pened—that when she went up the beach, home, she
would come on Blossom walking to meet her ! " See
me !" Blossom would call out gayly.

The fancy faded by and by, as did all Judiths

Judith Lynn. 21

dreams. And Judith went plodding home alone— no
one came walking to meet her. But there was hope in
her heart. How it could ever be, she did not know—
she had not had time to get to that yet— but somehow
it would be. It should be !

"I won't tell mother—I'll tell Uncle Jem," she
decided. " Mother must not be worried— she must
be surprised!" Judith had decided that. Some day,
some way, Blossom must walk in on the worn, weary
little mother and surprise her.

" I'll ask Uncle Jem how," Judith nodded, as she
went. Uncle Jem was the old bed-ridden fisherman
that Judith loved and trusted and consulted. She had
always consulted Uncle Jem. He lived with Jem
Three in a tiny, weather-worn cabin near the Lynns.
Jem Three was Judith's age— Jem Two was dead.
" I'll go over to-night after supper," Judith said.
Uncle Jem lay in the cool, salt twilight, listening,
as he always did, to the sound of the waves. It was
his great comfort. He wouldn't swop his " par o'
ears," he said, for a mint o' mone\ — no, sir! Give
him them ears— Uncle Jem had never been to school—
an' he'd make out without legs nor arms nor head!
That was Uncle Jem's favorite joke.

" Judy ! I hear ye stompin' round out there. I'm
layin' low fur ye!" the cheerful voice called, as Judith
entered the little cabin.

" Is Jem Three here?" demanded Judith.

22

Judith Lynn. 23

"Here? — Jemmy Three! I guess you're failin' in
your mind, honey."

" Well, I'm glad he isn't. I don't want anybody but
you — Uncle Jem, how can I get Blossom across the

a?" Judith's eager face followed up this rather
astonishing speech. Uncle Jem turned to meet them
both.

"Wal, there's the old dory — or ye mought swim,"
he answered gravely. He was used to Judy's speeches.

" Because there's a great man over there that makes
lame little children walk — he can make Blossom.
There's a little child down at the hotel that he made
walk. I've got to take her across, Uncle Jem — I mean
Blossom. But 1 don't know -how."

" No, deary, no ; I do' know's I much wonder. It
would be consid'able great of a job fur ye. An' I allow

\ -ould take a mint o' money."

Strange Judith had not thought of the money!
Money was so very hard indeed to get, and a mini of
it—

" Not a mint — don't say a mint, Uncle Jem!" she
pleaded. She went up close to the bed and took one
of the gnarled old hands in hers and beat it with soft
impatience up and down on the quilt.

" Not a mint!" she repeated.

" Wal, deary, wal, we'll see," comforted the old man.
" You set down in that cheer there an' out with it, the
hull story ! Mind ye don't leave out none o' the fix-

24

Judith Lynn.

in s ! Ye can't rightly see things without ye have all
the nxin's by ye. Now, then, deary — "

Judith told the thrilling little story with all the
details at her command. At its end Uncle Jem's eyes
were shining as hers had shone.

" Judy I" he cried, " Judy, it's got to be did ! Ye've
got to do it!"

" Of course," Judy answered, with rapt little brown
face. ° I'm going to, Uncle Jem. But you must help
me find a way."

" Wal,"— slowly, as Uncle Jem thought with wrin-
kled brows— " Wal, I guess about the fust thing to do
is to go an' ask that hotel child's ma how much it cost
her to go acrost. Then we'll have that to go by. We
ain't got nothin' to go by now, deary."

"* No," Judith answered, dreamily. She was looking
out of the little, many-paned window across the distant
water. It looked like a very great way.

" I suppose it's— pretty far," she murmured wist-
fully.

" Oh, consid'able— consid'able," the old man agreed
vaguely. " Rut ye won't mind that. It won't be fur
co ntin' homer

The faith of the old child and the young was good
that this beautiful miracle could be brought about.
Judith went home with elastic step and lifted, trustful
face.

Judith Lynn. 25

Jem Three, scuffing barefoot through the sandy soil,
met this radiant dream-maiden with the exalted mien.
Jem Three was not of exalted mien, and he never
dreamed. He was brown up to the red rim of his hair,
and big and homely. But the freckles in line across
the brownness of his face spelled h-o-n-e-s-t-y. At
least, they always had before to Judith Lynn and all
the world. To-night Judith was to read them differ-
ently.

"Hullo, Jude!"

It is hard to come out of a beautiful dream, plump
upon a prosaic boy who says, " Hullo!" It is apt to
jolt one. It jolted Judith.

" Oh ! Oh, it's you I" she came out enough to say,
and then went back. The prosaic boy regarded her in
puzzled wonder. Head up, shoulders back, eyes look-
ing right through you — what kind of a Jude was this !
Was she walking in her sleep?

" Hullo, I said," he repeated. " If you've left your
manners to home — "

" Oh! — oh, hello, Jem! I guess I was busy think-
ing.

" Looked like it. Bad habit to get into. Better look
out! I never indulge, myself. Well, how's luck?"

" Luck ? Oh, you mean lobsters ?" Judith had not
been busy thinking of lobsters, but now her grievance
came back to her. " Oh, Jem ! I never got but three !
All my pains for three lobsters I And two of those just

26 Judith Lynn.

long enough not to be short. It means— I suppose it
means a bad season, doesn't it?"

Jem Three pursed his lips into a whistle. After-
ward, when Judith's evil thoughts had invaded her
mind she remembered that Jem Three had avoided
looking at her; yes, certainly he had shifted his bare
toes about in the sand. And when he spoke, his voice
had certainly sounded muttery.

" Guess somethin ails your traps,^ he had said.
" Warn't nothin the matter with mine."
" Did you get more than three?"
" Got a-plenty."

" Jemmy Three, how many's a-plenty?"
" 'Bout twenty-four."

Jemmy Three had got twenty-four ! Judith turned
away in bitterness and envy, and afterwards suspicion
There was nothing the matter with her traps. If
Jem Three got twenty-four lobsters in his, why did she
ff et only three in hers ? Twenty-four and three. What
kind of fairness was that ! She could set lobster-traps
as well as any Jem Three-or Jem Four-or Five-or

Six

There had always been good-natured rivalry between
the fisher-boy and the fisher-girl, and Judith had usu-
ally held her own jubilantly. There had never been
any such difference as this. ,

Suddenly was born the evil thought in Judith s bram.
It crept in slinkingly, after the way of evil things.

Judith Lynn. . 27

" How do you know but he helped himself out o' your
traps?" That was the whisper it whispered to Judith.
Then, well started, how it ran on ! When you and he
quarreled a while ago, didn't he say, 4 I'll pay you
back ' ?— didn't he ? You think if he didn't. 1 '

11 Oh, he did," groaned Judith.

■• Well, isn't helping himself to your lobsters paying
you back?"

" Yes — oh, yes, if he did. But Jemmy Three
never — "

" How do you know he never? Is twenty-four to
three a fair average? Is it? Is it?"
Xo, oh, no ! But I don't believe — "

" Oh, you needn't believe! Dorit believe. Go right
on rinding your traps empty and believing Jemmy
Three'd never ! I thought you were going to save your
lobster-money for Blossom."

u Oh, I was — I am going to! I'm going to save it
take her across the ocean to that doctor. It was
going to be a little wheel-chair, but now it's going to
be legs"

But supposing there isn't any lobster-money ? You
can't do much with three lobsters a day. If somebody
helps himself — "

St >p!" cried Judith angrily, and the evil thought
slunk away. But it came again — it kept coming. One
by one, little trivial circumstances built themselves into

>picions, until the little brown freckles on Jemmy

28 Judith Lynn.

Three's face came to spell " Dishonesty " to Judith
Lynn. If it had not been for the terrible need of
lobster-money— Judith would have fought harder
against the evil thing if it had not been for that.

" I've got to have it ! There's got to be lobsters in
the traps !" she cried to herself. " The doctor over
there might die! If he died before I could carry
Blossom to him, do you think I'd ever forgive Jemmy
Three ?"_which showed that the Evil Thing had done
its work. It might slink away now and stay.

It was a hard night for Judith. Joyful thoughts and
evil ones conflicted with each other, and among them
all she could not sleep. It was nearly morning before
she snuggled up against Blossom's little warm body
and shut her eves. Her plans were made, as far as she
could make them. To-morrow she would go down
and question the hotel mother, as Uncle Jem said.
To-morrow— she must not wait. And after that-
after that, heaven and earth and the waters of the sea
must help her. There must be no faithlessness or turn-
ing back. . ,
" You shall walk, little Blossom," Judith whispered

softlv.

How could she know how soon the sea would help ?

CHAPTER III.

» » 1 WANT to go, Judy — please, please!"

1 Blossom was up on her elbow, pleading ear-
nestly. Judith was dressing.

1 It's a Blossom day — you know it's a Blossom day !
And Jemmy Three'll carry me down. / know Jemmy
Three will ! I haven't been out a-dorying for such a
long time ; Judy — please !"

It was always hard work for Judith to refuse Blos-
som anything. Besides — Judith went to the window
and lifted the scant little curtain — yes, it certanly was
i " Blossom day." The sky was Blossom-blue, the sea
spread away out of sight, Blossom-smooth and shining.
And the little pleader there in the bed looked so eager
and longing — so Blossom-sweet! She should go
' a-dorying," decided Judith, but it would not be
Jemmy Three that carried her down to the sea.

You little tease, come on, then!" laughed Judith.
' I'll dress you in double-quick, for I've got to get out
to my traps,"

Judith had overslept, for a wonder. When had
Judith done a thing like that before ! For two hours
Blossom had been awake, lying very quietly for fear

of waking Judy; poor, tired Judy must not be dis-

20

30 Judith Lynn.

tttrbed. Downstairs mother had gone away to her
work at the beautiful summer cottage down-beach,
beyond the hotel. It was ironing-day at the cottage,
and all day mother would stand at the ironing-board,
ironing dainty summer skirts and gowns.

" I'll ride in front an' be a— a what'll I be, Judy?"

" A little bother of a Blossom in a pink dress,"
laughed Judith, as she buttoned the small garments
with the swift, deft fingers that had buttoned them for
six years.

" No, no! a— don't you know, the kind of a thing
that brings good luck ? You read it to me your own
self, Judy Lynn !"

" 1 guess you mean a mastif" Judith said slowly.
" Queer it sounds so much like a dog!— it didn't make
me think of a dog when I read it."

« M-m— yes, I'll be a mastif "—Blossom's voice was
doubtful; it hadn't reminded her so much of a dog,
either, at the time. " An' so you'll have good luck.
You'll find your traps brim-up full, Judy! Then I
guess you'll say. ' Oh, how thankful I am I brought

that child !' "

Judith caught the little crippled figure closer in a
loving hug. " I'm thankful a'ready!" she cried.

They hurried through the simple breakfast that
mother had left for them, and then Judith shouldered
the joyous child and tramped away over the half-mile
that separated them from the old black dory.

hi'ini Lynn,

31

Xo\v. Judy, now le's begin right off an' pretend !
Go ahead — you pretending?''

' I'm pretending. I'm a chariot and you're a fine
lady in pink ging — "

• < ling— !" scorned Blossom. " Silk, Judy— in pink

Dc, a-ridin' in the chariot. It's a very nice, easy

lariot an' doesn't joggle her hip— Oh, I forgot she

hasn't got any hips, of course! Well, here she. goes

a-riding and a-riding along, just as comfortable, but

iretty soon she says— we're coming to the beautiful

part now, Judy!— 'I guess I better get out an' walk

' she says. Now pretend she got out and walked,

Judy — you pretending?"

" I'm pretending," cried Judy, her clasp on the little

figure tightening and her eyes shining mysteriously.

metime the little fine lady should get out and walk!

:e should- — she should !

Xow she's walking— no, she isn't, either, she's rid-

and it isn't in a chariot, it's in her sister's arms, an'

3 Blossom. Don't le's pretend any more, Judy.

There's clays it's easy to an' there's days it's hard to—

s a hard-to day, I guess, to-day. Those days you

cant pretend get out and walk very well."

'Pretend I'm an elephant!" laughed Judy, though
the laugh trembled in her throat. " That's an easy-to-
pretend ! And you're an— Oh, an Arab, driving'me!
n must talk Arabese, Blossom I"
Blossom was gay again when they got to the don;

32 Judith Lynn.

and Judith dropped her into the bow, out of her own

weary arms. ,. « ,

"Now sav ' Heave-ho !-heave-ho ' !" commanded

Judith, " to help me drag her down, you know. Here

WC "f don't know the Arabese for ' heave-ho,' " laughed
little Blossom, mischievously. "I could say it m

"Say it in 'American,' then, you little rogue!"
panted' Judith, all her tough little muscles a-stretch for

the haul. , . _^„*.i„

Thev were presently out on the water, rocking gent >

With the gentle waves. And Blossom was presently

shouting with delight. Her little lean, sharp face was

keen with excitement.

.. Vow teml _ n ow, now, now ! It s easy to out
here i The fine lady's going abroad, Judy-do you
hear? She's going right straight over 'cross tins sea
in this han'some ship ! When she gets there she 11 step
out on the shore an' say what a beautiful voyage she s
had an' good-bv to the cap'n-you're the cap n Judy.
An' voull sav; ' Oh, my lady, sha'n't I help you
ashore?' An' 'she'll laugh right out. it s so ndiclousl
' Help me, my good man P she'll 'xclaim. I guess
vou must think I can't walk !'

Blossom's face was alive with the joy of the beau-
tiful " pretend." But Judith's face was sober
- Laugh, why don't you, Judy ?" cried the chdd.

Judith Lynn. 33

*" I'm laugh— I mean I will, dear. But I've got to
tow like everything now, so you must do the pretend-
ing for us both. We've got to get out there to those
traps before you can say ' scat ' !"
-cat!" shrilled Blossom.
It was Blossom's sharp eyes that discovered Jem
Three " out there." Judith was bending to her work.
There's Jemmy Three, Judy I True-honest, out
there a-trapping! He looks 's if he was coming away
xom our place— he is, Judy! He's got our lobsters,
to s'prise us, maybe."

It won't surprise me," muttered Judy, in the
clutch of the Evil Thought again. She was watching
he distant boat now keenly, her eyes hard with
>picion. Jem Three it surely was, and he was row-
ing slowly away from Judith's lobster " grounds/'
seemed to her his dory was deep in the water as if
ravily weighted. He had been— had been to her
traps again. He was whistling — Judith could hear
faint, sweet sound— but that didn't hide anything,
him whistle all he wanted to— she knew what he
had been up to !

' Ship aho-oy !" came across faintly to them, but
,vas only Blossom that answered.
Ahoy ! Ship ahoy I" she sent back clearly. Judith
bent over her toiling oars.

He's going away from us, we sha'n't meet him,"
-•in said in disappointment.
)f course he's going away — of course he won't
meet us," Judith retorted between her little white teeth.
u An I wanted to ' speak him,' the disappointed

34 Judith Lynn.

little voice ran on ; " I was going to call out, ' How's
the folks abroad? We're on our way 'cross, in the
Judiana B./— this is the Judiana B,, Judy, after both
of us.. B. stands for me."

" Funny way to spell me!" laughed Judith with an
effort. She must hide away her black suspicions.
Xot for the world would she have Blossom know !
Blossom was so fond of Jemmy Three, and she had
so few folks to be fond of.

A surprise was waiting for them " out there." The
traps were pretty well loaded ! Not full, any of them,
but not one of them empty. In all, there were seven-
teen great, full-grown, glistening, black fellows for

Blossom to shudder over as she never failed to do

Blossom was no part of a fisherman.

" He didn't dare to take them all," thought Judith,

refusing to let the Evil Thought get away from her

k Probably he saw us coming. If he'd let 'em alone

there might have been a lot more— perhaps there were

fifty!"

" One. two, three,"— counted Blossom slowly.
' Why, Judy, there's seventeen. You didn't s'pose
there 'd be as many as seventeen, did you? Isn't that
a splendid lot?"

' Not as splendid as fifty," answered Judy, assured
now that there had been as many as that.

1 Seventeen from fifty is thirty— thirtv-tvvo," whis-
pered the Evil Thing in her ear. Evil things cannot
be expected to be good in arithmetic or anything else.
"So he helped himself to thirty-two, did" he! ' Nice
haul! Thirty-two big fellows will brine him in—"

Judith Lynn. 35

Don't!" groaned Judith.

I don't wonder you say ' don't!' Thirty-two nice
wg iellows would have brought you in a pretty little
. You could have put it away in a stocking in
ur bureau drawer, for the Blossom-fund."
Oh, I was going to ! I was going to !"
Thought so— well, you'll have to get along with
eventeen. That conies of having boys like that for
friends!"

"He isn't my friend !" Judith cried sharply to the
Thing in her breast " He never will be again
It it wasn't for Uncle Jem I'd never look at him aeain
as long as I live!"

All this little dialogue had gone on unsuspected by

be little pink " mastif " in the bow of the little dory.

m had been busy edging out of the reach of the

.- things in the bottom of the boat. If Judith had

only edged away from her Ugly Thing!

Another surprise was even now on the way— a sur-
•ise so stupendous and unexpected that, beside it
lobster-surprise would dwindle away into insig-
mce and be quite forgotten for the rest of the
- And oddly enough, it was to be Blossom who
- ' '-ild be discoverer again.
u I'm going a little farther out and fish awhile,"
dith announced over her last trap. " I've got all
tackle aboard and maybe I can find something
rs Ben will want. You sit still as a mouse, Blossoia

I can't be watching you and fishing, too."
' I'll sit still as two mice. Needn't think o' me'"
answered the little one proudly. Did Judy think she

36 Judith Lynn.

was little like that? Just because she hadn't legs that
would go! They didn't need to go, did they, out here
in the middle of the sea!

1 What makes it look so ripply an 1 bubbly out
there?" .she questioned with grown-up dignity. Judy
should see she could sit still and talk like anybody.

' Where?" asked Judith absently. She did not take
the trouble to follow the little pointing finger with
her eyes.

There — why don't you look ? It's all pretty an'
ripply an' kind of queer. Doesn't look like plain water
'xactly. Look, Judy — why don't you ?"

" I am looking now — Oh, Oh. wait ! It looks like —
Blossom, I believe it's a school ! That's the way the
water always loo — Blossom, Blossom, do you hear me,
it's a school ! A school of mackerel — a school, I tell

" Well, you needn't keep on a-telling me," Blos-
som, anyway, was calm, ' I'm not deaf o' hearing,
am I? If it's a school, le's us go right straight out
there an' fish it up, Judy."

Judy was going right straight out there with all the
strength of her powerful young arms. She was not
calm ; her face was quivering with excitement and
joy. A school! A school! Oh, but that meant so
much for the Blossom-fund, to put away in the stock-
ing in the bureau drawer! If it should prove a big
school — but she and Blossom could not manage a big
one, never in the world. If Jemmy Thr — no, no, not
Jemmy Three ! This was not Jemmy Three's school —
what had he to do with it ?

" LOOK HEJRE! WHY DON'T YOU?"

37

38 Judith Lynn.

In all the stress and excitement of sending the old
dory out there where the water was rippling its news
to her, Judy had time to think of several things. She
had time to remember how she and Jem Three had
used, from the time they were little brown things in
pinafores, to plan about their first school o' mackerel
— what they would do with all the wealth it should
bring them, how they would share it together, how
they would pull in the silvery, glistening fellows, side
by side. What plans — what plans they had made!
They had practiced a shrill, piercing call that was to
summon the one of them who should happen to be
absent when the " school ' was descried out there in
the bay. Even lately, big and old as they had grown,
they had laughingly reviewed that call. Now — this
minute — if Judith were to utter it, piercing and far-
carrying and jubilant, perhaps Jemmy Three might
hear and come plowing through the waves to get his
share — had he any share ? Because when they were
little brown things they had made vows, did that give
him any rights now ?

Of course, if — if things had been different — lobster-
things — Judith might have pursed her lips into that
triumphant summons. But —

" Sit still! I'm going to swing her round!" called
Judith sharply. " I've got to go ashore for father's
old net. It's in the boat-house."

" You won't leave me, Judy — promise you'll take
me out with you!" pleaded Blossom, eagerly.

" I'll have to," Judith responded briefly. " There
isn't time to carry you home — I don't dare take time."

Judith Lynn.

39

e made her plans as she went in, and put out
again with the clumsy heap of netting towering at her
The thing she meant to do was stupendous for
a girl to attempt alone, but she was going to attempt
The shabby old net had lain in its corner, useless.
- two years. Now it should be used — she, Judith
Lynn would use it! She was glad as she pulled sea-
rard again that she had thrown in two scoops — per-
haps when the time came Blossom could make out to
use one a little.

The net was like a long — a very Jong — fence, with
er edge weighted heavily and its upper edge
provided with wooden floats, to insure its standing
erect under water. When in position properly it sur-
rounded the school of fish, completely fencing in the
darting, glimmering, silver fellows. Then the circle
could be gradually narrowed and the fish brought
ogether in a mass, when scoops could be used to dip
m up into the boat.

The school once located, Judith began to circle

slowly round it, " paying out " her fence of netting

with no small difficulty, but gradually Surrounding the

ispected fish, until at length she had them penned.

What did I tell you ! I told you I'd be the— the

mastif, Judy!" Blossom chattered. " I told you you'd

say how thankful you was you brought that child !"

1 How thankful I am !" chattered Judy. Then,

died into the thick of the arduous work, they both

into breathless silence and only worked. It was

not much Blossom could do, but she did her little

splendidly. And Judith toiled with all her strength.

40 Judith Lynn.

They stopped at last, not because there were no
more of the glistening, silver fellows about them, but
because the old black dory was weighted almost to the
water's edge. They had to stop. And then began
Judith's terrible hour. For the heavy boat must some-
how be worked back, a weary little at a time, to the
distant shore. Judith set herself to this new task gal-
lantly, but it was almost too much for her. Over and
over again it seemed to her she must give it up and
toss overboard part, at least, of her silver freight, to
lighten her load. But over and over again she nerved
herself to another spurt of strength.

She must do it! She could not give up! She
would shut her eves, like this, and row ten more
strokes — just ten more. Then she would row ten with
her eyes open. Ten, shut — ten, open. Perhaps that
would help. She tried it. She tried other poor little
devices — calling the strokes " eenie, meenie, minie,
mo," the way she and Jemmy Three had " counted
out ' for tag when they were little — brown — things.
Her strength — was surely — giving out — it shouldn't
give out !

Blossom, watching silently from her weary perch,
grew frightened at Judy's tense, set face and began
to sob. And then Judy must find breath enough to
laugh reassuringly and to nod over her shoulder at the
child.

They had gone out late — had been out a wearisome
time — and the journey back to land was measured off
by slow, laboring oar-strokes that scarcely seemed to
move the great boat. So it was late afternoon when

Judith Lynn. 41

length Judith's hard task was done. She seemed to

? but one desire—to rest. To get Blossom over

remaining half mile between her and home and

to tumble over on the bed and sleep— what more

; : : - - anyone wish than that?

But there would be more than that to do. She

: get food for tired little Blossom, if not for her-

And before this towered gigantically the two

feats of strength that faced her and seemed to

bngh at her with sardonic glee.

>ag me up on the beach— drag me up!" the old
*ck dory taunted her.

Tarn me home, Judy, I'm so tired!— carry me
Blossom pleaded, like a little wilted blossom,
did both things, but she never quite realized
:>\\ she could have done them. She remembered
herself she couldn't and then finding them
Of covering her load of mackerel with an old
blanket she was dimly conscious. It was not
she lay drowsing in utter exhaustion on her own
hat she thought of all of the rest that must be
that boat-load of precious freight Then she
sit up, with a cry of distress.
"I must go! I can't stay here! Or I shall lose—
lat shall I lose?" she groaned in her drowsiness
Something would happen if she did not
at once— she would lose something that she
1 lose. She must get up now, at once,
shall lose Blossom— no, I mean Blossom will
s, Blossom will lose her legs, if I don't get
e drowsed, and fell asleep.

CHAPTER IV.

I UDITH awoke with a bewildering sensation of
*J guilt and need of action. What had happened?
What had she done that she ought not to have done?
— or was it something that she ought to? Memory
struggled back to her dimly, then flashed upon her
in sudden clearness.

She had taken a school of mackerel — that was what
she had done that was praiseworthy. She had left
them down there in the old black dory, undressed and
unpacked — that was the thing she ought not to have
done. That was the awful thing ! For if they were not
dressed and packed at once- —

" Oh, I shall lose them! I shall lose them!" moaned
poor Judith, sitting up in bed and wringing her hands
in the keenness of her distress. " How could I have
let myself fall asleep! How could I have slept all
this time like a log!"

It was very dark, so it must be midnight or later.
There was no light anywhere, on land or sea, or in
Judith's troubled soul. To her remorseful mind all
her terrible labor and strain of body had been in vain ;
she had gone to sleep and spoiled everything, even-
thing!

Judith had never been so utterly tired out as when
she went to sleep ; she had never been so tired as she
was now. She fait lame in every joint and muscle of

42

<

Judith Lynn. 43

her body. But her conscience stood up before her in

he dark and arraigned her with pitiless, scathing-

orn, s

" Well, aren't you ashamed of yourself? See what
ouve done! All those beautiful fish lost, when vou
light have saved them— just by staying awake and
trending to them. A little thing like that ! And you
orked so hard to get them— I was proud of you for
lat. Ah-h, but I'm ashamed of you now!"
'Don't! don't— you hurt!" sighed Judith, "I'll get
now, this minute, and go down there. Don't you
ee me getting up? I've got one shoe on now."
Judith was not experienced in the dressing of many
1 at a time and the packing of them in barrels for
larket. At sixteen, how can one be— and one a girl?
she knew in a rather indefinite way the impor-
ce of having it done prom ptly. She remembered
rather s and the boys' last school of fish— how she had
ned down to the shore and watched the dory come
eping heavily in, how the boys had cheered, as
came, how father had let her help at the dress-
and mother had brought down hot coffee for
1 all and then " fallen to," herself and worked like
lan. How they all had worked to get the barrels
ked full of the shining layers in time for the
amer next morning!

All this Judith remembered as she crept silently

ay through the darkness and turned toward the

• spray that the wind tossed in her face. That had

n a phenomenally large school of mackerel— eigh-

barrels for market in the distant city. Judith was

44 Judith Lynn.

not quite sure, but she thought the check that came
back to father had been for a hundred and fifty dollars.
Mackerel had been in great demand then. A hundred
nd fifty dollars! Judith stopped short and caught
her breath.

1 But my school was just a little one;' she thought,
" and maybe people aren't very mackerel hungry
now." Still, a hundred dollars — or even fifty — fifty
dollars would go so far toward that doctor across the
sea! Supposing she had lost fifty dollars! She hur-
ried on through the black night, not knowing what
she should do when she got to her destination, but
eager to do something. The lantern she carried cast
a small glimmer into the great dark.

Judith was not afraid — how long had it been since
she was afraid of the dark? But a distant thrill shot
through her when she saw another faint glimmer
ahead of her. Then it seemed to divide into two glim-
mers — they blinked at her like evil eyes. They were
straight ahead; she was going toward them! She
must go toward them if she went to the old don
drawn up on the beach.

"And I'm going! 1 ' Judy said defiantly. " Blink
away, you old bad-y two-eyes! Wait till I get there
and fix you!" It helped to laugh a little and nod
defiance at the blinking eyes.

The salty spray increased to a gentle rain, buffeting
her cheeks. The steady boom of the breakers was in
her ears like the familiar voice of a friend. Judith
tramped on resolutely.

The lights were two lanterns, sheltered from the

" BUT BUT, I DON'T UNDERSTAND."

43

46 Judith Lynn.

wind, beside the old black dory. Judith came upon
them and cried out in astonishment For she had
come upon something else— a boy, dressing fish as if
his life depended on it!

"Jemmy Three!" she ejaculated shrilly.
The boy neither turned about nor stopped.
'Hullo! That you, Jude? Got a lantern? Take
that knife there an' go to work like chain lightnin',
I ve filled two barrels— there isn't any time to lose
now, I tell you! Steamer's due at seven."

I But— but— I don't understand—" faltered Judith.
Well, you needn't, till you get plenty o' time
Lnderstandim don't dress no fish." Jemmy Three
like Jem One had missed his rightful share of school-
ing. " What we got to do now is dress fish."

Judith went to work obedientlv, but the wonder
went on in her mind. What did it all mean? How
had Jemmy Three found out about the mackerel?
Why was he down here in the dead of night dressing
and packing them ?

By and by the boy saw fit to explain in little jerks
over his shoulder. Judith pieced them together into
a strange, beautiful story that made her thVoat throb.

' Saw you had a load here— saw 'twas mackerel-
knew they'd got to be 'tended to— 'tended to 'em,"
Jemmy Three slung over his shoulder, as he worked.

" Suspicioned you'd struck a school, and gone home
clean tuckered. Oh, but you're a smart one, Jude!
Couldn't no other girl 'a' done it, sir, this side o' the
Atlantic !"

He caught up the dressed fish and bent over a fresh

Judith Lynn. 47

barrel; his voice sounded muffled and hollow to
Judith.

" Knew there weren't no time to spare — nobody
hereabouts to help out— went at it myself all flyin',
— been down here since seven o'clock."

" Oh, Jemmy !" Judith trembled. The throb in her
throat hurt her. " What time is it now ?" she asked.

A grunt issued from the barrel depths. "Time!
Ain't any time now I I told you we'd got to fly !"

It was almost twelve. They worked on, for the
most part silently, until daylight began to redden the
east. One barrel after another was headed up by
Jemmy Three's tireless hands. Judith counted barrels
mechanically as she toiled.

" Four I" she cried. Then, " Five I" " Six !"

There'll be a good eight— you see," Jem Three

said, rolling a new one into position. " You'll get a

good fifty dollars, Jude; see if you don't! How's that

for one haul? Ain't any other girl could 'a' done it!"

'Oh, don't!" sobbed Judith suddenly. She let a
little silver fellow slip to the ground, half-dressed, and
went over to Jemmy Three.

' Don't say another word— don't dress another fish
—don't move till I tell you!" she cried. "I can't
stand it another minute! I— I thought you helped
yourself to my lobsters— I thought I thought it. And

you've been here all night working for me "

" Oh !" cried Jemmy Three softly. But he did not
stop working.

1 I thought that was why there were only three
yesterday— I thought there 'd* have been fifty to-day/'

48 Judith Lynn.

ran on Judith. The new daylight lighted her ashamed
face redly, like a blush.

There wouldn't 'a' been but five— " said Jemmy
Three, then caught himself up in confusion. The blush
was on his face now.

Judith's cry rang out above the sea-talk. "Then
you put some in!" she cried, " instead of helping your-
self. You put some in my traps, Jemmy Three— that's
what you did ! You put in twelve!"

* Guess there's somethin' the matter with your traps,
Jude." muttered the boy. " Guess they better be over-
hauled—guess a fellow's gotter right to ^o shares
ain't he?"

" Jemmy Three, I'm going to hug you!"
"Oh, oh— say, look out; I'm all scales!"
! I had scales on my eyes, but they've fallen off
now." laughed the girl tremulously. " It's worse to
have scales on your eyes than all over the rest o' you,
I can see things as plain as day now, and— and— yon
look perfectly beautiful !"

" Hold on — I'm dressin' fish ! The steamer's due
at seven — "

" I don't care if she's due this minute, I've got to
talk! If she was in plain sight — if I could see her
smokestack — I should have to talk, I tell you I can
see now, and you look splendid— splendid, and I look-
like a little black— blot. To think of my being up
home asleep, and you working down here, dressing
my fish — and me thinking those mean thoughts of
you! It makes me so ashamed I can't hold my
kn-knife."

Judith Lynn. 49

Judith was crying now in good earnest. She had

nk down on the sand, and her crouching figure with

the red glow from the east upon it looked oddlv

childish and small. Jemmy Three saw it over his

oulder.

" Look a-herc, Judy," he said gently, dropping his
:»\vn knife and going over to the rocking, sobbing
ire. " You look a-herc, I tell yon ! What you cry-
in' for, with eight barrels o' fish 'most packed an' a
good fifty dollars 'most in your pocket? You better
laugh! Come on, get up, and let's give a rouser !
Three cheers for the only girl in the land o' the free
an the home o' the brave that darst tackle a school
o* mack'rel alone ! Hip, hip — "
' Jemmy, Jemmy, don't!"

'Hooray! Now let's dress fish. You're all right—
lon't you worry about bein' a blot, when I tell you
you're a reg'lar brick! I'm proud o' you!"

It was the longest speech Jemmy Three had ever

lade, and the peroration surprised himself as much

it did Judith. He put up his hand and cleared

something away from his eyes— it couldn't have been

scales, for he left the scales there.

At five mother came hurrying down to find Judith,
'he scale-strewn beach and the scale-strewn children,
the barrels in orderly rows waiting to be rolled to the
little landing-place of the steamer, the heap of clumsy
wet netting— all told her the whole astonishing story.
And what they did not tell, Judith supplemented
eagerly.

1 I declare! I declare!" gasped mother in mingled

50

Judith Lynn.

pride and pity, " you two poor things, putting in like
this! You'll be tired to death— you'll be sick abed!"
'Guess we'll weather it," nodded Jemmy Three,
working steadily. " But if you think we ain't hungry
enough to eat a pine shing — "

" I'll go right home and boil some coffee and eggs
and bring 'em down, and then I'll go to work, too,"
cried mother energetically. " You poor starved
things!"

After a salt toilet in the surf, they ate a hurried
breakfast with keen relish. Judith had forgotten her
aching joints and lame muscles, and Jemmy Three had
forgotten his sleepless night. Victory lay just ahead
of them, and who cared for muscles or sleep!

This is the best bread V butter I ever ate," said
Judith between bites.

There proved to be the " good eight " barrels, when
they were done, and they were done by six o'clock, or
a very little after. By half-past six, 'the barrels had
been rolled down the slope of the beach to the little
wharf not far away. Then the tired two rested, and
remembered muscles and sleep.

They dropped in the soft, moist sand and rubbed
their aching arms.

" I'm proud o' you, Jemmy!" Judith said shyly, and
looked away over the water. Her repentance had
come back and lay heavily on her heart. She longed
unutterably to recall those evil thoughts— to have
another chance out there beyond to summon Jemmy
Three with the little shrill old signal. How she would
send it shrilling forth now !

Judith Lynn. 51

"Jemmy/; she said slowly, as they waited " vou
know our s jmal don't von? Ti, vv<tlLCU > y°ll

practice so nS.» > ^ ^ WC USed tG

onfa 0r crerr W V- JCnmiy - Three PUrSed his h P s and **
Ull[ a ciear carrying cry.

''Well. I vrish-don't you know what I wish?"

knew He ^T^" Jemmy Sakl fli PP ant 'y- bu * ^
ira2me„t g "" ^ *** h the Sand ~ a si ^ ° f
'I wish I'd called you out there at the school I"
an^ented Judith. " even if you couldn't have " d .
I msh-I wish-1 wish I'd called! If I ever strike
another school -Jemmv, I'd give you half o' thi one

" O' course not." agreed Jem Three vaguely He
did not at all know what Judith meant Gids had
queer ways of beginnin' things in the middle Ik t a

"}:z;L^ giri was (,rivi -' at - haif ** faS

;; What say?" Ain't that smoke out there?"
No. its a cloud. Jemmy Three. I'm goi'n- to tell

S"S5* l - Wmtt °- r '" ^'"^0 tdl yfu w a
that^ moneys gomg to do-you're listening, aren't

" With both ears — go ahead."

TemS'T' 1, h ' s r n S to be something so beautiful,
Jemmj ! I never knew till day before vesterdav t L

Zy^/°r ythin f S ° beai '' tif " 1 - 1 ^S a -

bod v ca tIT" dreamed " ' But > ° 1 ' ^-some-
Doily can ! There s a man can, Jemmy ! All you need

Judith Lynn.
mon^r t0 take , yOU aCr ° SS to him and-there's the

s " s v ;r ! h tL ha s tovvard the — ° ^

■•" vvere sinning* ike twin ctnrc ou i 1 r
gotten aches and lameness a^ ^ ** f ° r -

Jen, ThL L 'i e ed J T;'' h S,U:WCnt °" "^ M '

■sleep last t, s' ? m g ° ,3St m ^ t! B "t I went to
ask her to till g °" ,ff to - (1 ay-rm goina t „

ask ner to tell me jn.st exactly how to do it "

uownat? inquired Jem Three auiVtlv ' T, *

fcs-^*j*s 1-F~ a -s

in all the „ 1 ' 5",' '' ,"""''' -™» r " h » l»ve
— with ,_i ittle brotc| , ,™ ."""»» &»*», »„,,

J^^Er; ',5;;," t — ,™ vi>i '*

W ou kin t you answer i 1flt . * r K

went on the erl besiTl ' Jf**? Wa ' k With ' ? "

me ^in uesiue mm softlv " v™, i

would, Jemmy j / wo „i,i J I , ° u know - vo "
sav «U k ■- V everybody would You'd

say, I lie neantitu est thino- ;,, *-i, , ' 1 , xouci

'■"0 • J u ant to walk so much V And then

53

Judith Lynn.
supposing— are you sunoosino-? n r •
-and over you and ^Stt^ J""* ' 1er
you'd say then ? / k„ow-v -, . yOU kn ° w what

"j5L / eni ; iiy i eve ^°- 2v - M me! Judy '

-The ^ r^ryn arasrs

way, way out of sight He's <m;„ * there '

over Blossom. He wavJ i; g R Wave his vvail( l
8H «;„/ she walked It* Z7 *£**' !'' tt,e broke "
-I heard her Tl,-, V , w ■*** sa,d - ' See me !'

Jemmy." ^ S what tlle '»°»ey is going to do,

" pee!" breathed Jemmy so ftlv n
making poetry. ^ sottly. It was Ins way of

4^gSUpl on t : ate?^ afraicl

that womaTjuT^ 8 ° d ° Wn * ere a « fl >-' an' see

^^SJfcSSw/S* We "!- * "" to M «- Ben

"Can I see- 'd Ee^ ^ "** Mrs ' B ™-
^ can wah," JudS^: *St m0thCr Wh ° Se IMe
( ,^and! ejaculated Mrs. Ben

«• — J mean hylt * £»* £ <* -V waving
"iff another mother fvi m g < ' J heartl "er tell-
I could see that lady?" See ~ d ° - vo " s »PPose

" I Riiess I know who you mean t .
Jut one little girl here latel^" fr p C 5° * been

there ain't an v now TW» " Sa ' d ' " But

■ J " e > v e gone away."

CHAPTER V.

JUDITH went straight to Uncle Jem, sobbing all
™Jr T" V unconsciousl y ; she was not conscious of

f

anything but what Mrs. lien had said

They've gone away I— they've -one away!-

onoLfT aWay! ", !t reiU ' ratt ''' itse,f f " h <* !" dull
monotony . keepmg slow time with the throbbing pain
of her disappointment. * '

Uncle Jem heard her coming-in some surprise she
came so fast What was the child hurryingTke thai
for? What had happened? '

" I bear ye, child!" he called cheerily. The time-
worn little pleasantry did him service as usual " I'm
layin low for ye !"

She crossed the outer threshold and the little box of
a k.tchen without slackening her excited pace, and
appeared m the old man's doorway, breathless and

she ZlS ' at T S ' le gaSped " briefl - V - Then ' beca ^

orter n M°; ° r , t,n8 i ^ Unde *«» WaS her ~m-
2 r ° 0ld ' he \ 1eacl went down on the patchwork
imlt that covered his twisted old frame, and she cried
hke a grief-struck little child.

"There, there, deary!" he crooned, his twisted
fingers traveling across her hair. « jest you lav there
an cry it all out-don 't ye hurry an v. When ye get

a about*" tT? f ready '- te " Unde J« What » •
time " y0 " r t,nle • Httle Un - take y° ur

54

Judith Lynn. 55

The child was worn out in every thread of the over-
trained young body. The excitement and nervous
rack of I, e last twenty-four hours was having sway
now. and would not be put aside. And the keen dS
po.nt.nent that Mrs. Ben's words had brought" adX
to a the rest, had proved too much even for jtlitl!
Mnn She cried on. taking her time.

There now! that's right, storm's clearin'!" said

«mT Jeni :„ aS *V mgth the br0Wn head lift «' ^owly.
Now well pul] out o- harbor and get to work"

Which meant that now explanations were in order
Judith understood.

time T fn?'ir £?* 7 ay! " ShE SakI thickI >- Jt takes
tin e for tl robbmg throats to come back to their own

it s too late to find out. If I'd g 0ne vesterdav— »

She stopped hastily, on the verge of'fresh "tears "

to see°d ar S™ '' WCathel "' S * fitfle to ° thick >' ct
for'" p ! Whos g° ne away? What's it too late

stoo,! H eVe " / S ' le Sakl k ' U " cIe J e,n - too - «"oer-
more tin"" °" " ,th ° Ut wMa * to ^ ive J udit >'

"Hold on !— I can pull out o' the fog mvself That
mother o' that little cured un-she'/the one thafs
gone away, eh? You was too late to see her an' ask
vour queshons I see Well, now, I call that too bad.
1 iut tain t worth another crv, dean "

Tndirh e "» n 7°"'' °r an0ther 0ne> SO there '" c "ed
juaitn. Only — only —

other £T~3 knOW! r ^ g0t to slew off °" an-
other tack. You g,ve Uncle Jem time to think, Judv

Iheres a powerful lot o' thinkin'-time handy when

56 Judith Lynn.

you lay here on your back for a livin*. Jest you run
home an' let your ma put you to bed. I've heard all
about your goin's-on, an' I guess bed's the best place
for you ! I'll think it out while you're restin' up."

But to unlettered people who rarely get in touch
with what is going on in the thick of things, u think-
ing it out ' is no easy matter. Their one frail little
hold on the miracle that could make Blossom whole
had snapped when the hotel mother and child went
away. Where to turn next for information — what to
do next — was a puzzle that would not unravel for any
of them. In vain Uncle Jem wrestled with it, as he
lay through long, patient hours. And Judith wrestled
untiringly.

The mackerel-money came in due time, but the won-
drous little blue check that came out of the official-
looking envelope and lay outspread on Judith's
hard, brown palm had lost its power to give legs to
little Blossom, and Judith gazed at it resentfully.
What was the use of it now? A small part of it would
get the little wheel-chair, but it was not a wheel-chair
Judith longed for now. She put away the blue check
safely, and took up the wrestling again. She would
find the clue to the puzzle — she refused to give it up.

Then quite privately and uninvited, Jemmy Three
began to think. No one had thought of asking his
advice ; thinking had never been Jemmy Three's
stronghold.

He went into his grandfather's room one early
morning arrayed in his best clothes. Not much in the
way of a " best," but Jemmy had " pieced out " as

.

Judith Lynn. 57

well as possible with scraps of his dead father's best
that had been packed away. He looked unduly big
and plain and awkward in the unaccustomed finery,
but the freckles across the deep brown background of
his face spelled cl-e-t-e-r-m-i-n-a-t-i-o-n. Uncle Jem
spelled it out slowly. His astonished gaze wandered
downward, then, from " best " to " best."

" Well ?" he interrogated, and waited.
^ " I'm goin to the city, gran'father/' the boy said.
1 I've gotter, on a— a— errand. I thought I'd tell you."

"Good idea!" nodded the old head on the pillows.
The old eyes twinkled kindly. " I suppose ye want
me to go out to your traps, don't ye? An' do a little
trawlin' while I'm out? Jest speak the word!"

Uncle Jemmy said nothing about getting his own
dinner, but the boy had thought of that.

4 Judy's comin' in at noon," he explained. " I've
got everythin' cooked up. An' she's goin' to look at
my traps when she goes out to hers. ' I'll be back in
the night, sometime ; don't you lay awake for me, now,
gran'father!"

He went out, but presently appeared again, fum-
bling his best cap in palpable embarrassment.

1 I wish — I don't suppose — you wouldn't mind
wishin' me good luck, gran'father, would you?" he
stammered. " I'd kind of like to be wished good luck."

' Come here where I can reach ye," the old man
said cheerily, putting out his hand. " Wish ye luck?
I guess I will! Ye're a good boy, Jemmy. ' I don't
know what your arrant is, an' I don't need to know,
but here's good luck on it!"

5S Judith Lynn.

" I tell you what it is, if— if it succeeds," Jem Three
said, gripping the twisted old fingers warmly. " I
kind of thought I'd rather not tell first off. But I
can, of course."

" Off with ye, boy ! Ye distract me when I'm doin'
a bit of thin kin' for a lady ! When ye get good an'
ready, then will be time enough to do your tellin'.
Queer if I couldn't trust a Jem !"

The city was twenty miles inland from the little flag-
station, and the flag-station was ten miles away from
Jemmy Three. He trudged away with his precious
boots over his shoulder, to be put on at the little
station.

Once in the city, he went directly about his " arrant."
He chose a street set thick with dwelling-houses as
like one another as peas in a pod are like. He tramped
down one side of the street, up the other, till at last
he came upon what he sought. A smart sign hung
on that particular house, and Jem Three mounted the
high steps and rang the door-bell.

" Is this a doctor's house? There's a sign that
says — "

" The doctor isn't at home," the smart maid said
smartly. " Will you leave your address on the slate,
or will you call again at office hours — two till six."

" I'll call somewheres else," Jem Three said briefly.

He called at many doors in many rows of pea — of
houses. It was sometime before he succeeded in his
quest. When at length he found a doctor at home,
he was closeted with him for a brief space and then
drove away with him in a trim little gig to a great,

Judith Lynn. 59

many-windowed house where pale people were sun-
ning themselves in wheel-chairs about the doors. Jem
Inree made a call at the many-windowed house.

It was with considerable curiosity that two people
down by the sea awaited the boy's return from his
trip, but oddly enough it was neither Uncle Jem nor
Judith that he sought out at first. It was Judith's
mother, at her work down-beach at the summer' cot-
tage. Jemmy Three went straight to her. He had
got home earlier than he expected and mother had
worked later, so they walked back together in the cool
clear evening, talking all the way,

"Don't tell Judy/' the boy said the last thing, as
they parted. « I mean, not it It'll be splendid to
surprise her, Mis' Lynn!"

"If we can, Jemmy," the mother answered gently
If it succeeds. The more I think of it the more it
makes me tremble, Jemmy; but we'll do our best and
leave the part we can't do with the One who can do
it. I he gentle voice trembled into silence. Mother
could ' make poetry," too. Jemmy caught off his hat
suddenly, and the very act was a little prayer.

* ■

" Judy, are you awake ?"

Mother stood over the bed in her scant white night-
gown. When Judith answered, she sat down beside
her and telt for one of her calloused, oar-toughened
little hands.

" Judy, would it be— be all right to use some of the
mackerel-money ? Mother's got to go away for a

&r~

60 Judith Lynn.

little while— just a little while, Judy. Jemmy says he
talked with a man in the city who would give me
some work to do in his kitchen for a little while. But
—why, I thought I'd take Blossom, Judy, and of

course that would mean spending some money "

" Blossom !"

_ Judith sat straight up in bed, her eves like glints of
light in the darkness.

'Why, yes, dear; she's never been away from the
sea in her little life. You think of that, Judy ! You ve
been away twice. Blossom never saw a steam-car nor
a city, nor— nor heard a hand-organ ! Jemmy says he
heard three to-day. You think how pleased Blossom
would be to hear a hand-organ l"

"Sh! n cautioned Judith, "don't wake her, mother.
If— she's going, she mustn't know beforehand."

Blossom going away ! Not Blossom! Not put one
hand out, so, in the dark and feel her there beside you
—little warm Blossom ! Not dress her in the morning
and carry her downstairs— you the chariot and she
the fine lady ! Not hurry home to her from the traps '
Judith lay and thought about all that, after mother
went away. She put out her hand on the empty side
of the bed, where no Blossom was, and tried to get
used to the emptiness. She said stern things to her-
self.

" You, Judy, are you selfish as that?" she said. " To
go and begrudge your little Blossom a chance to go
away and see things and hear things ! Don't you want
her to hear a hand-organ ? And perhaps see a monkey?
When she's never been anywhere, nor heard anything,

Judith Lynn. gj

nor seen anything ! When mother's going, anyway
and can take her as well as not-vou JudyfyouS'
you Judy ! Oh, I can't sleep with you, rj 'J ashamed

They went at once, and Judith settled down to her
loneliness as best she could, and bore it as bravely
They were to be gone a month-perhaps two-perhaps
out e Blo S lr th - tW0 ' m ^~^' -aybe-witn-

Uncle Jem and Jemmy Three helped out-how
much they did help out! Then there were the rare
precious letters. Judith had never had letters from'
mother before ,n all her sixteen years. She was rather

o^T 1111 ™ ^ thC K re WerC "° bitS ° f ra ^ed, printed
ones from Blossom, but mother's letters had Blossom-
bulletins Mossom sent her love, Blossom had heard
two hand-organs-three hand-organs; Blossom said
tell Judy she loved her, oh, my I Blossom was very
patient and sweet. y

" She's always patient and sweet," wondered Judy
Queer mother put that in ! *'

JJZ I'"! 6 2™?' P f ient BIossom! " J«dith's heart
ened tenderly, " when I get you in my arms again-"

so W> r f T* C r C? Whv Were (1 ^ s made
so long? rwenty-four hours were too many— why

werent they made with only twenty?

" Uncle Jem why don't you tell me how to be sweet
an« Patient?' Judith said, folding up the Blossom-
ed recent." "*** l ° him - " Tdl me a

^

62 Judith Lynn.

" Well, deary — well, give me time," laughed the
cheery old voice. " I guess we can fix up somethin'
that will meet your case."

A very few weeks later Judith went wearily home-
ward to her lonely home. She had been out to her
traps and down to the hotel with the lobsters for Mrs.
Hen. Her body was weary, but her heart was wearier
still. It did seem, she was telling herself as she plodded
through the sand, as if she could not wait any longer
for mother and Blossom to come home.

Suddenly a clear little trill of laughter crept into
her ears and set her pulses throbbing. Then another
trill — then Blossom's voice, calling something that
thrilled her to her soul

"See me!" called the little triumphant voice of
Blossom. And Judy, lifting frightened eyes and hold-
ing her breath as she looked, saw. A small, swaying
figure was coming toward her very slowly, over the
hard sand. Blossom— it was Blossom ! She was sway-
ing unsteadily a step or two, but— she was walking!
" See me! See me!" cried Blossom. ' l I'm walking
Judy, don't you see? I came a-walkin' down to meet
you ! It's a s 'prise !"

Someone caught up the little figure and came leap-
ing down to Judith with great strides of triumph.

" That's enough to s'prise her— mustn't do much
of it at a time yet," Jemmy Three said gavlv. (t You've
got to begin easy. Yes!" in answer to Judy's speech-
less pleading, " yes, sir, she's goin' to be a reg'lar
walker, now, ain't you, Blossom? Yes, sir; no more
bein' toted — she's folks!"

IM WALKIN', JUDY! DON'T YOU SEE?"

63

64 Judith Lynn.

" Yes, yes, yes!" trilled Blossom exultantly. " They
pulled my legs out an' put 'em in over, where they
b'long. Only I've got to go easy till I'm uncasted."

" Till you're— what ? But never mind what ! You're
my Blossom, and you're home again, and you're walk-
ing!" Judith cried in her exceeding great joy. But by
and by Jemmy Three explained.

They put her legs in kind o' casts, you know, that
she can't have taken off yet awhile, but when they do
take 'em off — "

Then I'll run!" Blossom interrupted, radiantly.

Oh, oh — and to think we were going to surprise
mother, and you surprised me!" breathed Judy.
" But I thought — we were going across the ocean—"

You needn't have," Jemmy said. " That great
doctor's over there, but there's plenty o' second-great
ones over here that make children walk his way. That's
what I went to find out. I thought maybe — "

" You went to find out — you thought — oh, Jemmy,
what a boy you are !"

"See here — hold on — wait! Let Blossom do it!"
warded off Jemmy Three, backing away precipitately.
The beautiful secret was out. Judith had been
( s'prised." There were still months of uncertainty,
but Judith was not uncertain. She went about in a
cloud of rapture. At night she lay awake beside Blos-
som, and dreamed her rosy, happy dreams. And, in
truth, if she could have looked ahead into the certain
months, and beyond, she would have seen Blossom
walking steadily through all the years.

I

f

* L -

1

•

- -