Jack burst into relieved laughter.

"Judith's a game little thing," he said to his mother later on; "I suppose we shouldn't have left them so soon, but she seemed to get the hang of it very quickly--she slid into that bank as neatly as an arrow--I'm mighty glad she isn't hurt."

Judith could hardly keep her eyes open at the dinner-table, and she was glad enough to accept Mrs. Nairn's suggestion that she go to bed early.

Nancy and Sally May perched on the foot of the bed ready to talk over the day's happenings, but found to their astonishment that Judy seemed asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. They tiptoed gently away, but they need not have been afraid of wakening her.

"Doesn't she look sweet?" whispered loyal Nancy to Sally May as she turned off the bedside lamp. Judith was smiling happily, for in her dreams she was flying, flying through sunlit skies, and Tim, of the grey eyes and the half friendly, half quizzical smile, was flying beside her.

CHAPTER VIII

CASTLES IN THE AIR

NEXT morning Judith could scarcely move; her limbs were stiff from the unaccustomed exercise and one shoulder was bruised and wrenched from her fall, so Mrs. Nairn kept her in bed all morning and gave her much petting and mothering.

The plans for the afternoon had included a skating party on the river, ending with a drive out to the Nairns' summer cottage, which had been opened in preparation for this week of winter sports. A neighbouring farmer's wife had promised to have a roaring fire ready for the skaters when they should appear about five o'clock, and the farmer himself was to meet them at the river with his big sleigh. Clearly Judith could not skate to-day, so other plans were made for her. Nancy, of course, must be with the skaters, since she was the hostess, but Sally May insisted on staying at home with Judith. Naturally this embarra.s.sed Judith, for she knew that Sally May loved skating, and an outdoor party of this kind would be a novelty to a Southerner. Finally Jack talked things over with his mother, and, as Judith declared that she was well enough to go, Mrs. Nairn agreed that she should drive with Jack to the cottage and he would leave her there with Mme. Berthier, while he rejoined the skaters on the river.

Tim, to Judith's disappointment, declared that he had an engagement and couldn't come.

"I can't think what's happening to Tim," grumbled Nancy as they changed into warm clothes for their long drive; "usually he's a dear about helping to entertain, but he's not a bit like himself, he looks so glum and 'grouchy.'"

"Oh, Nancy!" Judith protested, "I don't see how you can say such a thing! I think he looks just lovely!"

"Just lovely," Nancy laughed wickedly; "he'll be pleased when I tell him."

Poor Judith crimsoned.

"Oh, Nancy," she begged, "you wouldn't, surely you wouldn't. I just meant that he had nice eyes."

But Nancy would make no promises.

Promptly after an early lunch the skaters set off, and Jack appeared with a horse and a little old-fashioned cutter which he had borrowed from an uncle who scorned motors and still clung to his horse. Judith was tucked up in a fur robe in the cutter and off they went.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JUDITH WAS TUCKED UP IN A FUR ROBE IN THE CUTTER AND OFF THEY WENT]

"It's almost as good as skiing or flying," laughed Judith as the light sleigh flew over the snow and the bells on the horse jingled a merry accompaniment to their talk. It was another day of magical colouring--all blue and gold and dazzling white, and "Little Oaks" was reached all too soon in Judith's opinion. To their dismay there was no friendly column of smoke announcing the fire that Mme. Berthier had promised.

"It's a good thing the Berthiers are only a mile away," said Jack; "whatever can have happened?"

He came out of the little whitewashed cottage with a grave face.

"Jacques is away at the lumber camp and Toinette and the two younger children are down with flu--Toinette seems very ill; luckily Jeanne is old enough to do the nursing, but they need a doctor, and I'm afraid I'll have to go off at once. Nancy will be disappointed, but it can't be helped. We'll pin a note on the door for her as we go back--it would take too long to open the house and get a good fire going--and a wood fire wouldn't keep in all afternoon anyway--and I couldn't leave you alone--"

"Oh, please, please," begged Judith, "do let me stay--couldn't that small boy by the door be coaxed to stay with me for company--I couldn't bear to have Nancy's party spoilt."

Judith knew how to be very persuasive and Jack finally gave in. Little Pierre came with them to carry the wood, he was told.

Jack opened up the house, carried in the baskets of provisions, and lit a fire of blazing logs.

"I'll 'phone to you when I get in, and if you should need anything, or if you feel lonely, ring up Mother in the meantime."

"I shan't have a minute to spare for feelings," declared Judith, "Pierre and I have plenty to do."

She didn't quite realize how much was to be done when she watched Jack drive off. The living-room to be swept and dusted--that would come first--and no small task when one's arms and back are bruised and aching; then to the kitchen, and judge of her dismay when on opening the baskets she found that, though there were cakes and fruit and salad stuff in plenty, of bread there was only one small loaf. Whatever could--oh, here was a small bag of flour and a tin of baking powder.

Judith groaned as she remembered hearing Nancy tell Sally May that Mme.

Berthier was a splendid cook and had promised to make heaps of waffles and hot biscuits for them to eat with their baked beans and salad.

Twenty hungry skaters appearing in an hour and one small loaf to feed them! Judith had never made waffles, but she had made baking-powder biscuits once or twice, though only, of course, in small quant.i.ties. Her first thought was to walk to Mme. Berthier's cottage and ask for directions. No, that wouldn't do--the precious hour would be gone. And Nancy must _not_ be disappointed.

"Put on some more wood, Pierre, please. I want a good hot oven," she called to her little helper, and then as he looked blank she tried first her scanty stock of French words and then showed him what to do.

While she was thinking, she was rapidly unpacking the baskets and setting the table, disregarding meanwhile the twinges of pain from her hurt shoulders. At last everything was ready but the biscuits--she couldn't remember, try as she might, the proportion of baking-powder and flour and milk. A mistake would be such a tragedy! Then just as she had decided to make three or four batches and hope that one or two might be good, she suddenly thought of the telephone.

"Well, I am a silly, pet.i.t Pierre, now we'll be all right--Yes, Mrs.

Nairn, it's Judith--Jack will explain--please tell me how to make biscuits!"

The explanation must have been easy to follow, for when Nancy and her party arrived a little later three pans of beautifully browned fluffy tea-biscuits were ready to put on the table. Judith had never been as proud of anything in her life as of those same biscuits, and when later the company toasted her in hot cocoa and sang, "For she's a Jolly Good Fellow," with Nancy and Jack looking their special thanks, Judith decided she could never be any happier than she felt right then.

Mr. Nairn was as good as his word next day and took them on a sight-seeing tour ending with a delightful luncheon at the Chateau Frontenac. Judith had never lunched in such a big hotel and felt very important and grown-up. Jack and Tim refused to be instructed on historical matters, but were on hand for the luncheon.

"I guess you two have won Dad's hard heart and no mistake," Jack confided to Judith while they waited for Mr. Nairn, who was speaking to an acquaintance. "I see the favors are 'chien d'or' bonbon dishes,"

pointing to the quaint little china dishes. "He always presents a copy of 'The Golden Dog' to highly honored visitors."

"Your father has been telling us about it," said Judith, "and he promised me a copy when we get home."

"I'm coming back to sketch here some summer," announced Sally May; "Quebec's simply full of places wanting to be painted."

After the luncheon the boys took them home, and as Judith was still tired from her exertions of the last two days, they voted to spend the afternoon at home, and curled themselves up in comfortable chairs in the sitting-room prepared to discuss a box of chocolates and the universe in general.

"What're you going to do after school, Judy?" demanded Nancy; and then without waiting for an answer--"I believe Mother is going to let me train to be a nurse. I've just been crazy to be a nurse ever since I was about ten. Mother has laughed at me and said I would get over it, but she sees that I really mean it, and I think she is willing now. I don't know where I'll go. Florence Matthews says you can get the best training in New York, but Mother thinks New York is too far away, and anyway I have to take a Domestic Science course first."

"You'll look perfectly sweet in a uniform, Nancy," said Sally May; "I simply adore the kerchiefs the nurses wear in some of the hospitals.

It's too bad the war is over. Wouldn't it have been thrilling to nurse soldiers!"

"I'm going to be an artist," Sally May continued, "with a studio in New York. I'm going to buy all sorts of lovely embroidery and pottery in the East--I know a perfectly lovely shop in Shanghai--and I'll make a gorgeous room. I'm sure I could make it perfectly fascinating, full of atmosphere, you know," she continued vaguely. "I'll have afternoon tea every day and invite heaps of people, interesting people, who do out-of-the-ordinary things. Patricia Caldwell's cousin had the loveliest time. Patricia says her studio is just like an old-fashioned French salon."

"What about your pictures?" asked Judith slyly.

"Oh, of course I'll work hard," said Sally May happily. "I simply love to draw."

"What are you going to be, Judy?"

"I'm not sure," said Judith slowly, "but I think I'd like to be a teacher."