"'A sort of holy and calm delight,'"
"'A sort of holy and calm delight,'"
Kitty quoted.
Blue Bonnet nodded.
"I reckon so—that's as near as you can come to it. There are feelings there aren't any words for, you know, Kitty—kind of indescribable."
The sight of seven pretty, attractive girls—city girls—in one pew, occasioned some comment in church; otherwise there was scarcely a ripple to disturb the calm that rested upon the congregation.
"Unless some one will kindly volunteer to playthe organ to-day," the minister said, rising in the pulpit, "we shall have to sing without music. Our organist is sick."
Blue Bonnet glanced about her. No one seemed inclined to offer services. There was a silence of several seconds. The minister waited. Then Amanda's aunt leaned over and whispered something in Blue Bonnet's ear.
Blue Bonnet rose instantly and went to the organ.
She was a little nervous. She knew that organs differed somewhat from pianos, and she wasn't familiar with them, but it never occurred to her to hesitate when she seemed to be needed. She found the hymn and started out bravely. Sometimes the music weakened a little when Blue Bonnet, absorbed in the notes, forgot to use the pedals, but, on the whole, it was not bad, and the minister's hearty handshake and radiant smile after the service more than compensated for any embarrassment she had suffered.
"It has been perfectly glorious," Blue Bonnet declared to Amanda's aunt as they parted with her at daybreak Monday morning. "We've just loved every minute of our visit here, and would you mind—all of you—I want the whole family—standing out there by the big gate while I get a picture of you? I couldn't possibly forget you after the perfectly lovely time you've given us, but I'd likethe picture to show to Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda."
"Oh, Blue Bonnet," Kitty complained, "haven't you enough pictures yet? You've been taking them for a year—and more!"
Blue Bonnet quite ignored the remark as she proceeded to line up Amanda's aunt and her family. She got several snaps, and as she put away her kodak she promised to remember the group with pictures—a promise fulfilled, much to the delight of the farm people, later.
Back to contents
"I think," Miss Clyde said to her mother one morning late in November, as she put the last article in her suitcase and snapped it shut, "that Blue Bonnet and I will go to a hotel this time. We shall be out shopping all day and making arrangements for Blue Bonnet at school, so that there will be little time for visiting. If you should need me for anything you might wire the Copley Plaza."
"Are you not afraid Honora and Augusta will feel hurt?" Mrs. Clyde remonstrated. "They enjoy Blue Bonnet so much, it seems a pity not to let them see all they can of her."
"They will have plenty of visits with her later on, Mother. I feel sure they will understand. If you keep well, and everything is all right here, we might extend our visit over Sunday. In that case we should go to them, of course."
Blue Bonnet embraced her grandmother affectionately.
"Don't get lonesome, that's a duck," she exclaimed, bestowing an extra kiss.
"Blue Bonnet, please address your grandmotherless familiarly. Those expressions you have acquired are not respectful. I cannot tolerate them any longer," Miss Clyde spoke a trifle sharply.
Blue Bonnet looked surprised.
"I didn't mean it for disrespect, Aunt Lucinda. I only meant it for love; but I won't do it again if it annoys you."
"It does annoy me very much, dear. Stop and think of the word you used just now. A duck! In what possible way could your grandmother resemble a duck?"
"I didn't say she resembled one, Aunt Lucinda. Isaid—"
But any shade of distinction was too much for Miss Clyde's patience.
"We will not argue the question, Blue Bonnet. Please eliminate the word from your vocabulary. It is inelegant as well as inexpressive."
Blue Bonnet looked a little rebellious as she waved to her grandmother and followed Miss Clyde to the carriage. She wished Aunt Lucinda would grant her a little leeway in her mode of expression—it was so troublesome to always pick and choose words. Besides, she had her own opinion as to the expressiveness of slang. Grandmotherwasa duck, a perfect—
"Take good care of yourself, dearie," the gentle voice was at that moment calling, "and if you stay over Sunday, send Grandmother a postal."
Blue Bonnet promised, Denham touched the whip to the horses, and she and Aunt Lucinda were off.
The first visit of the afternoon was to the school. Miss Clyde telephoned Miss North for an appointment, which was made for five o'clock. Miss North also hoped, the maid said, that it would be convenient for Miss Clyde and her niece to dine with her at six, and see something of the school and the girls.
Blue Bonnet was delighted. She had been formally entered in the school some weeks before, her tuition paid, her room engaged for the first of January. This had been necessary on account of limited accommodations.
Miss North was awaiting her guests in her living-room at the head of the first flight of stairs. She took Blue Bonnet's hand cordially, and held it for a moment in a friendly grasp.
"And this is the new member of our family," she said with a pleasant smile, as she brought forth chairs.
Blue Bonnet looked about while her aunt and Miss North chatted.
The room pleased her, it was in such exquisite taste. Soft rugs carpeted the polished floor; beautiful pictures graced the walls; old mahogany lent its air of elegance, and books abounded everywhere.
Miss North pressed a button on her desk after a moment and a neat maid entered.
"Ask Mrs. Goodwin to come here, Martha, please."
Mrs. Goodwin must have been in waiting, for she made her appearance quickly; a motherly looking woman with an alert, cheerful countenance.
"Our house-mother, Mrs. Goodwin, Miss Clyde—Miss Ashe. Miss Clyde would like to see the room we have reserved for her niece, Mrs. Goodwin."
Mrs. Goodwin led the way up a second flight of stairs.
"I am sorry, Miss Clyde, that we could not give Miss Ashe a room alone as you desired, but entering so late it is quite impossible. I am sure she will enjoy her room-mate however, a Miss Cross from Bangor, Maine. We think it a wise plan to put an Eastern and a Western girl together when possible—the influence is wholesome to both."
She rapped softly on a door at the front of the building.
"May we come in, Miss Joy?" she said to the girl who opened the door slowly, book in hand.
"Certainly," she answered, far from cordially, and, acknowledging the introductions, went over to the window where she resumed her reading.
The room was large and airy—a corner room with four windows. Mrs. Goodwin threw up the blinds of the south windows.
"The view is beautiful from here," she said.
She crossed the room and opened a door, disclosing a small hall.
"The bathroom and closets are here."
Between the large west windows were two single beds, and in a corner a grate with an open fire gave a homey touch. There was a desk in the room too. Blue Bonnet supposed it was to be used jointly. She looked about; there was plenty of room for another. She would ask Aunt Lucinda to buy one for her; and a bookcase to hold some of her favorite volumes.
Blue Bonnet was exceedingly quiet during the rest of the tour through the building, and at dinner. When she was alone with her aunt in the street she burst forth:
"I just can't do it, Aunt Lucinda. I never in this world can room with that girl and be happy. Joy Cross! Who ever heard of such a name? It's plain to be seen which she'll be. A cross, all right!"
Miss Clyde looked at Blue Bonnet in amazement.
"Anybody would know to look at her she couldn't be a joy! Did you notice how she shook hands, Aunt Lucinda?"
"That will do, Blue Bonnet. It is very unjust to criticize people you don't know. Appearances are often deceiving. Miss Cross may prove a delightfulcompanion—"
"Oh, no, Aunt Lucinda. She couldn't—not with that nose. It's the long thin kind—the kind that pokes into everything. And her eyes! Did you notice her eyes? They're that awfully light kind of blue—they look so cold and unfeeling; and she was so—so—un-cordial when Mrs. Goodwin said I was to room with her. She wasn't even polite. She didn't say she was glad, or that would be nice or—she didn't sayanything—"
"There wasn't time to say much," Miss Clyde answered.
"Grandmother says there is always time for courtesy," Blue Bonnet flashed, and Miss Clyde knew that her niece had the best of the argument.
"Nothing can be done at present, Blue Bonnet. You heard Mrs. Goodwin say that all the rooms are taken. Perhaps some change can be made later—butnow—"
"Now, I shall just have to take up my cross and bear it, of course; but I sha'n't cling to it a minute longer than I have to, you may be sure of that."
Despite the seeming irreverence, Miss Clyde smiled. Blue Bonnet's tempestuous little outbursts were often entertaining if they were reprehensible. They sometimes reminded Miss Clyde of a Fourth of July sky-rocket. They glowed in brilliancy and ended in—nothing! Likely enough Blue Bonnetwould finish the term quite adoring her room-mate. She ventured to suggest this.
Blue Bonnet scorned the idea. She was sure that she should just hate her!
Blue Bonnet was up early the next morning, ready for the shopping expedition which promised to be of more than ordinary interest. Aunt Lucinda seemed inclined to be almost extravagant, Blue Bonnet thought, as together they made out the shopping list and pored over the advertisements in the papers.
"Let's begin at Hollander's, Aunt Lucinda," Blue Bonnet said. "I love Hollander's. We could get the Peter Thompsons there, and my evening dresses and slippers and things."
The "evening dresses" amused Miss Clyde.
"I am afraid you did not read the school catalogue very carefully, Blue Bonnet. It especially requested simplicity of dress."
"I know it did, Aunt Lucinda, but you saw how sweetly the girls were gowned at dinner. Perhaps the dressesweresimple, but they looked expensive and—dressy," she added for want of a better word. "That pretty dark girl that sat next me had on the darlingest pink organdy with a Dutch neck. Oh, it was so dear. I wonder where she got it?"
She had not long to wonder. The Boston shops seemed to have anticipated the needs of girls all over the country. Blue Bonnet stood entrancedbefore cases of the daintiest frocks that could be imagined.
"Oh, Aunt Lucinda," she exclaimed, holding up two that attracted her, "I can't make up my mind which of these is the prettier. I adore this blue crepe with these sweet buttons, but the white organdy is such a love with that white fixing—and, oh, will you look at that yellow chiffon! I suppose I couldn't have chiffon, could I? It looks too partified."
Miss Clyde thought not.
"But you might try on the white, and the blue gown," she said.
They fitted admirably with a few alterations, and to Blue Bonnet's great joy Miss Clyde took both—and yet another; a sheer white linen lawn with a pink silk slip, which called forth all the adjectives Blue Bonnet could muster.
Then came an exciting moment when slippers and hose were selected; dainty but serviceable underwear, and the little accessories that count for so much in a girl's wardrobe.
"I feel exactly as if I were getting a trousseau," Blue Bonnet said, as they started for a tailor's, where she was to be measured for suits. "And, Aunt Lucinda, there's just one more thing I want—two things! A desk and some books. You saw that desk in the room I am to have. Well, the cross—I mean Miss Cross—had her things init. I saw them. I don't want to share it with her. We'd be forever getting mixed up and fussing. I'd like to avoid that."
Miss Clyde remembered the check Mr. Ashe had sent—the half of which had not yet been spent, and the instructions that everything was to be provided for Blue Bonnet's happiness and comfort. Had she a right to refuse? She, too, wanted Blue Bonnet to be happy and comfortable, but her New England training from youth up made the lavish spending of money almost an impossibility. She greatly feared that the increased allowance Mr. Ashe had insisted upon giving Blue Bonnet for her private use at boarding-school, would inculcate habits of extravagance.
After they left the tailor's a desk was soon found, suitable in every particular—mahogany, of course, since the other furniture in the room was.
Coming out of the furniture store Miss Clyde and Blue Bonnet passed a floral shop. Blue Bonnet gave a little cry of surprise.
"Look, Aunt Lucinda, there's Cousin Tracy!"
She slipped up to him quietly, putting her arm through his. He turned in a dazed sort of fashion.
"Well, well," he said. "Where did you come from?"
"Woodford."
"When, pray?"
"Yesterday."
Mr. Winthrop seemed surprised, and Miss Clyde made haste to explain.
"Look here," he said, putting his hands on Blue Bonnet's shoulders and turning her toward the florist's window.
A miniature football game was being shown in gorgeous crimson and gold settings. The field was outlined in flowers and the little men in caps and sweaters were most fascinating.
Blue Bonnet gave his arm a squeeze.
"It's the Harvard-Yale game, isn't it,—to-morrow? I'm crazy about it. Oh, I do hope Harvard wins! My father was a Harvard man. So are you, I remember."
"Want to see it?" Cousin Tracy asked, as if seeing a Harvard-Yale game were the simplest thing possible.
Blue Bonnet fairly jumped for joy.
"Could I? Could we get tickets?"
Cousin Tracy nodded and touched his breast pocket significantly.
"I have two. Right by the cheering section."
She crossed her hands in an ecstatic little fashion that expressed the greatest excitement and joy.
"You wouldn't mind, would you, Aunt Lucinda? Why, the We Are Sevens wouldn't get over it in a week. It seems too good to be true."
Before Miss Clyde and Blue Bonnet parted with Mr. Winthrop all arrangements had been completed,and Blue Bonnet walked away as if she were treading on air.
That night the following letter found its way into the Boston mail:
"Copley Plaza Hotel, Boston, Mass.,"November 28th, 19—."Dearest Uncle Cliff:—"Aunt Lucinda and I came up here yesterday to buy my clothes for school, and also to see what kind of a room I was to have when I come up for good the first of January."Aunt Lucinda has been awfully nice about everything, letting me get most of the things I wanted. I have some loves of dresses, which I won't take time now to describe, as you will be in Woodford so soon for Christmas and will see them. They will be fresh, too, for Aunt Lucinda says I can't wear any of them until I am at Miss North's. Aunt Lucinda bought me a perfect treasure of a desk—mahogany, with the cunningest shelves underneath for books. She bought me some new books, too—some that I've wanted for a long time. There's 'The Life of Helen Keller;' grandmother has one, and I simply adore it; and Thoreau's 'Week on the Merrimac,' and one or two of Stevenson's—Robert Louis, you know—and a new 'Little Colonel,' my old one is worn to shreds. Oh, yes, and a beautiful new dictionary;it looks too full of information for anything, and there's a perfectly dear atlas with it besides. We got a copy of Helen Hunt's 'Ramona,' too. We don't know yet if Miss North will allow me to have any love stories; but, if she won't, Aunt Lucinda will keep it for me. I wouldn't part with it for anything. We had such fun getting the books; only Aunt Lucinda kept fussing about modern bookstores, and wishing that I might have seen the 'Old Corner Book Store,' where she used to come when she was a girl. She says she used to spend whole days there browsing around—she really said that—and poking under the counters and behind things for what she wanted. Just fancy! I think a nice polite clerk that comes up to you with a pleasant smile and says, 'What can I do for you, Madam?' is much nicer, don't you?"I've saved the worst of my news for the last. I hope it won't make you unhappy, for there will be some way out of it, I reckon. It's this: I hate the room-mate I've got to have. She's perfectly horrid—you wouldn't like her a bit, Uncle Cliff; and the way she shakes hands—well, it makes you feel as if you were going to have to support her until she got through with the ordeal—so limp, and lack-a-daisy. She's tall and thin, with straw-colored hair and white eyelashes and cold blue eyes, and she's from Bangor, Maine. I tried to talk with her for a minute while Aunt Lucinda and the house-mother were making arrangements about me, but all I could gather was that she was a Senior, and from the State of Maine. Why do you suppose these Easterners always say from the State of something? Seems so much easier to just say Maine."There was another girl that I sat next to at dinner (we stayed to dinner) who was real nice and so pretty. Her name is Annabel Jackson, and she's from Tennessee. She had on such sweet clothes. I didn't talk to her much, for I couldn't get the other one off my mind—Joy Cross, from the State of Maine. Such a name! Joy! If it could only have been Patience or Hope or Faith—even Dolores, but I suppose it couldn't."Uncle Cliff, I've been wishing so that Carita Judson could go to school here at Miss North's with me. She has such a hard time with all those babies to tend. I told Aunt Lucinda that I wished I could send her out of some of my money, but she said to wait until you got here and then talk it over. I don't know whether she could get a room now or not, the school is so full this year—that's why I have to have the cross. You could be thinking it over, couldn't you, Uncle Cliff, and let me know as soon as you come?"I reckon I've about got to the end of my news now, except that Cousin Tracy is going to take me to the Harvard-Yale game to-morrow. I'm so wild over it that I know I sha'n't sleep a wink to-night.I will write Alec about it when I get back to Woodford and tell him to give the letter to you and Uncle Joe to read."Give my love to all the folks on the ranch. How's Benita? Did she like the lavender bags I sent for the sheets? I hope she uses them as I told her. I rather thought she might hang them around her neck or give them to Juanita. I know if the We Are Sevens were here they would send heaps of love. Aunt Lucinda sends her best regards. I am counting the days now until Christmas. I check off every day on the calendar until I see you."With dearest love, I am,"Your affectionate niece,Blue Bonnet Ashe."P. S. Please tell Alec that Aunt Lucinda has promised to look after the General and Solomon when I'm gone. I am going to miss Chula awfully, but there is a riding-school where Miss North lets the girls get horses and ride with a teacher."P. S. Miss North seems very nice, but you never can tell how people are going to be until you live with them, I hope for the best.B. B."
"Copley Plaza Hotel, Boston, Mass.,
"November 28th, 19—.
"Dearest Uncle Cliff:—
"Aunt Lucinda and I came up here yesterday to buy my clothes for school, and also to see what kind of a room I was to have when I come up for good the first of January.
"Aunt Lucinda has been awfully nice about everything, letting me get most of the things I wanted. I have some loves of dresses, which I won't take time now to describe, as you will be in Woodford so soon for Christmas and will see them. They will be fresh, too, for Aunt Lucinda says I can't wear any of them until I am at Miss North's. Aunt Lucinda bought me a perfect treasure of a desk—mahogany, with the cunningest shelves underneath for books. She bought me some new books, too—some that I've wanted for a long time. There's 'The Life of Helen Keller;' grandmother has one, and I simply adore it; and Thoreau's 'Week on the Merrimac,' and one or two of Stevenson's—Robert Louis, you know—and a new 'Little Colonel,' my old one is worn to shreds. Oh, yes, and a beautiful new dictionary;it looks too full of information for anything, and there's a perfectly dear atlas with it besides. We got a copy of Helen Hunt's 'Ramona,' too. We don't know yet if Miss North will allow me to have any love stories; but, if she won't, Aunt Lucinda will keep it for me. I wouldn't part with it for anything. We had such fun getting the books; only Aunt Lucinda kept fussing about modern bookstores, and wishing that I might have seen the 'Old Corner Book Store,' where she used to come when she was a girl. She says she used to spend whole days there browsing around—she really said that—and poking under the counters and behind things for what she wanted. Just fancy! I think a nice polite clerk that comes up to you with a pleasant smile and says, 'What can I do for you, Madam?' is much nicer, don't you?
"I've saved the worst of my news for the last. I hope it won't make you unhappy, for there will be some way out of it, I reckon. It's this: I hate the room-mate I've got to have. She's perfectly horrid—you wouldn't like her a bit, Uncle Cliff; and the way she shakes hands—well, it makes you feel as if you were going to have to support her until she got through with the ordeal—so limp, and lack-a-daisy. She's tall and thin, with straw-colored hair and white eyelashes and cold blue eyes, and she's from Bangor, Maine. I tried to talk with her for a minute while Aunt Lucinda and the house-mother were making arrangements about me, but all I could gather was that she was a Senior, and from the State of Maine. Why do you suppose these Easterners always say from the State of something? Seems so much easier to just say Maine.
"There was another girl that I sat next to at dinner (we stayed to dinner) who was real nice and so pretty. Her name is Annabel Jackson, and she's from Tennessee. She had on such sweet clothes. I didn't talk to her much, for I couldn't get the other one off my mind—Joy Cross, from the State of Maine. Such a name! Joy! If it could only have been Patience or Hope or Faith—even Dolores, but I suppose it couldn't.
"Uncle Cliff, I've been wishing so that Carita Judson could go to school here at Miss North's with me. She has such a hard time with all those babies to tend. I told Aunt Lucinda that I wished I could send her out of some of my money, but she said to wait until you got here and then talk it over. I don't know whether she could get a room now or not, the school is so full this year—that's why I have to have the cross. You could be thinking it over, couldn't you, Uncle Cliff, and let me know as soon as you come?
"I reckon I've about got to the end of my news now, except that Cousin Tracy is going to take me to the Harvard-Yale game to-morrow. I'm so wild over it that I know I sha'n't sleep a wink to-night.I will write Alec about it when I get back to Woodford and tell him to give the letter to you and Uncle Joe to read.
"Give my love to all the folks on the ranch. How's Benita? Did she like the lavender bags I sent for the sheets? I hope she uses them as I told her. I rather thought she might hang them around her neck or give them to Juanita. I know if the We Are Sevens were here they would send heaps of love. Aunt Lucinda sends her best regards. I am counting the days now until Christmas. I check off every day on the calendar until I see you.
"With dearest love, I am,"Your affectionate niece,Blue Bonnet Ashe.
"With dearest love, I am,"Your affectionate niece,Blue Bonnet Ashe.
"P. S. Please tell Alec that Aunt Lucinda has promised to look after the General and Solomon when I'm gone. I am going to miss Chula awfully, but there is a riding-school where Miss North lets the girls get horses and ride with a teacher.
"P. S. Miss North seems very nice, but you never can tell how people are going to be until you live with them, I hope for the best.B. B."
Back to contents
"Well, to begin at the very beginning," Blue Bonnet said, looking into the eager faces of the We Are Sevens, "we took an automobile from Cousin Tracy's house, where we were staying over the week-end. Of course we could have taken the Cambridge subway, but Cousin Tracy said we were to have all the frills; and, anyway, the subway is so jammed on the day of the game that it takes forever to get anywhere—especially home, after everything is over. Why, Cousin Tracysays—"
"Yes, we know all about that," Kitty said, "get on to the game."
"Well, we took the automobile and went straight to the Stadium. You never saw so many automobiles in all your life. They would reach from hereto—"
"Oh, Blue Bonnet, we don't care a rap about the automobiles," Kitty declared impatiently. "What did you do when you got to the Stadium?"
"We took our seats. You see, we got to the Stadium about one o'clock, and as the game didn't begin until two, we had a perfectly lovely timewatching the people gather. Cousin Tracy said there were about forty thousand. The cheering section was just a solid mass of college men, with a band at the bottom, and the most elastic lot of cheer leaders in white sweaters you ever saw. This is the way they do it."
Blue Bonnet dug her elbows into her knees, supported her face in her hands and yelled:
"'Har´-vard! Har´-vard! Har´-vard!'
"And Yale would yell out like the snapping of a whip:
"'Yale! Yale! Yale!'
"But the most exciting moment was when the Yale men came trotting out on the field in white blankets and blue legs."
"In blue legs!" exclaimed Sarah Blake in surprise.
"Well, that was the impression. A few minutes later the Harvard team came trotting on. They had black sweaters and red legs. They peeled off the black sweaters though, showing crimson underneath. Then the game began. I can see them yet."
Blue Bonnet closed her eyes and her lips curled in a smile.
"Then what? Go on!" said Debby.
"Then they played. And how they played, Kitty! And when it was over and Harvard had won. Did you hear me?—Harvard won—twenty to nothing, and for the first time in years,it was as if—well, as if pandemonium were let loose."
The high tension of the We Are Sevens relaxed for a brief second.
"And then," Blue Bonnet went on, "then, the funniest thing happened. The students jumped down from their seats and performed a serpentine dance the entire length of the field. When they got to the goal posts they threw their derbies over. It was too funny to see the black hats flying thick and fast." Blue Bonnet laughed merrily.
"A man passed us afterward with the most pathetic-looking thing on his head; it hardly resembled a hat, it was so crushed and battered; but he was explaining to a friend that it would do to get him home. He looked so silly; but he didn't seem to care a speck. Why, they all lost their heads completely. Even Cousin Tracy—you know how terribly dignified he is—got so excited that he began singing
"'Fair Harvard, thy sons to thy jubilee throng,'
"'Fair Harvard, thy sons to thy jubilee throng,'
"at the top of his voice. Everybody went perfectly crazy."
"Then what happened?"
"Much, Amanda. We went up on top of the Stadium. It has a promenade all round it, on top; the view is beautiful—the Charles River, and Cambridge across it, and thousands and thousandsof automobiles, and the crowd moving in a solid mass—the people still cheering and laughing—oh, it was great! I felt as if I wanted to stay on forever!"
"It must have been heavenly," Kitty murmured. "Did the girls look pretty?"
"Pretty? Well, they certainly did. I was just going to tell you about that. The Yale girls all wore big bunches of violets—a Yale emblem. The Harvard girls wore dark red chrysanthemums. I had some, and a pennant, which I waved madly. There were more pretty gowns than you ever saw at one time in all your life. Great splashes of color all through the crowd; and the furs—that reminds me: all of a sudden I realized that my fur was gone. The white fox that Uncle Cliff gave me last Christmas. You can imagine the sinking sensation of my heart."
"Oh, dear, you lost it?" Sarah murmured.
"Yes, but I found it. It had slipped off my back and dropped behind the seat. You can believe I held on to it mighty tight after that."
Blue Bonnet sighed deeply as she recalled the averted tragedy.
"Did you go home then?"
"Go home? Well, I should say not. People never go home until they have to, after a big game like that; they're too excited—they have to work it off gradually. Cousin Tracy and I went to dinner where there were loads of Harvard people dining. After dinner we went to a light opera, andthere—"
Again Blue Bonnet went off into peals of laughter.
"—a man came out and had the audacity to sing:
"'I am so fond of violets.'
"'I am so fond of violets.'
"Imagine! Why, the Harvard men didn't let him finish the first line before they had him off thestage—"
"Mobbed him?" Sarah gasped.
"Call it what you like. I don't think they injured him, for he came back and sang Harvard songs—nothing else; sang like an angel, too."
"Oh, but you were in luck, Blue Bonnet," Kitty sighed. "I could die happy if I'd had your chance."
"It does make you feel that way, Kitty. I can see myself telling my grandchildren about that game. It's almost like an inheritance, something you can pass along. I've cut out all the notices from the papers and kept the literature they passed around. Now, I think I've told you every blessed thing. Would you all like to come up-stairs and see my new clothes?"
There was an immediate rush for Blue Bonnet's room.
Miss Clyde wondered an hour later, when sherapped at the door and glanced in, if the place would ever again take on its natural shape and order. Bureau drawers yawned; furniture was pulled about; the window-seat held a mass of underwear, shoes and dresses; but the faces of the We Are Sevens reflected pride and approval.
"Aunt Lucinda," Blue Bonnet called, "Sarah says she will come over Saturday and help sew the markers on my clothes. Isn't that lovely?"
"It is very kind of Sarah, I am sure."
"And, Aunt Lucinda, don't you think it would be nice to have a little tea, or luncheon or something, and let all the girls help?"
"It would be nice to have the girls, Blue Bonnet,but—"
Miss Clyde hesitated. She had seen samples of the We Are Sevens' sewing, and visions of Blue Bonnet's underwear after it had braved the first wash, rose before her eyes.
"But what?"
"Marking clothes is rather a particular piece of work, you know."
Blue Bonnet glanced about quickly to see if this reflection had given offence. None was visible. A relieved expression was rather more in evidence.
"I thinkIcould help, perhaps, Miss Clyde," Sarah said, determined not to have her one accomplishment thrust aside so lightly.
"I am sure you could, Sarah, and thank you verymuch; your work is always beautiful. Perhaps you would do some of the handkerchiefs."
The next two weeks seemed to take wings—they flew along so fast. The grey days had come; bleak, raw days when clouds hung over the hills, threatening snow and ice.
"Only five days now until Uncle Cliff comes," Blue Bonnet said one morning, pausing in her sewing—she was making bureau scarfs for her room at school, taking the greatest pride and interest in them.
"Five days! I can hardly wait. Grandmother, did you ever think what Uncle Cliff's been to me? Why, he's been father, mother, brother, sister! Many's the time on the ranch when I'd get lonesome he'd play tag with me, or marbles, or cut paper dolls and make me swings—anything to make me happy. Seems like I'm only just beginning to understand how much I owe him; always before I've just kind of taken everything for granted. Sometimes I can hardly wait until I'm grown up to make a nice home for him—to take care of him, and do the things—the little things men like to have done for them."
Miss Clyde turned and scrutinized Blue Bonnet's face closely.
What was this child saying? This woman-child, who only yesterday was romping through the house, indulging in childish dreams—childish sports.
"I'm beginning to feel grown up, sometimes, Grandmother. Going on seventeen is a pretty good age, isn't it? It won't be long now until I'm twenty-one, and then I suppose I'll have to take up responsibilities—learn how to run the ranch."
She sighed heavily.
"I fancy Uncle Cliff will stand back of you for some time yet, dear."
Blue Bonnet nodded confidently.
"Yes, and there's Alec. Pretty soon he'll know how to manage everything on the ranch, too. Uncle Cliff's getting awfully fond of him. Maybe when Alec is through school he'll make him manager of the whole place. Wouldn't that be fine? I think Alec will always be better out in the open. He can't stand city life, it's too cramped for him."
"It certainly would be fine for Alec."
"Yes, and for Uncle Cliff, too. He gets mighty tired of the grind—that's what he calls it sometimes. Why, his little trips East are about the only pleasure he has; and yet—I don't believe you could drive him off the Blue Bonnet Ranch. He loves everything about it, from the smallest yearling to each blade of grass. He says my father did too, andhisfather. It's a kind of a family trait."
She laughed softly.
"And you have inherited the feeling?" Grandmother asked.
"Oh, I love it," the girl answered. "Of course I love it—but I'm not crazy to winter and summer on it."
Mrs. Clyde seemed satisfied. It would be easier to transplant Uncle Cliff sometime in the future, she thought, than to sacrifice Blue Bonnet to the Texas wilderness. The bond between herself and the child was riveting so close that the thought of a possible separation often appalled her. Yet she did not wish to be selfish; Blue Bonnet's allegiance was to her uncle—there could be no doubt of that.
"By the way, Grandmother, did I tell you that the General has a new picture of Alec? It's just fine. I'll run over and get it."
She was back in the shortest possible time, excited and breathless.
"There he is," she said, thrusting the picture in her grandmother's hands. "Did you ever see anybody change so in your life? That shows what Texas air will do for people. Why, he's fat, positively fat, for him, isn't he?"
"He certainly seems to have grown stouter," Mrs. Clyde admitted.
"And those corduroys—don't they look good—and the sombrero?"
Blue Bonnet's face glowed.
"I don't think you like it," she said, after a moment, taking the picture in her own hands and regarding it jealously.
"Why, yes, I do, dear. Only it seems a bit strange to see Alec in that garb. It is cowboy style, is it not?"
"Yes, but it's cowboy dress, and cowboy life, and cowboy freedom that has given Alec health. He'd never have got it here in Woodford in a thousand years."
"That is true, Blue Bonnet. You are right. What did the General think of the picture?"
"He loves it! I reckon it looked better to him than a West Point uniform with nothing inside of it."
Mrs. Clyde smiled.
"I think the General got over that dream long ago, Blue Bonnet. He is perfectly delighted with Alec's recovery."
Blue Bonnet put the picture on the mantel-shelf, and, folding her work neatly, went to the window and looked out. She stood a moment lost in thought.
"I think I'll go for a gallop, Grandmother," she said, turning suddenly. "I've just time before dinner. I won't have many more chances."
"The clouds look heavy, dear."
"I know; that's why I want to go. I love the damp air in my face. It's so refreshing."
But out among the hills where the clouds lay the thickest and the wind blew the sharpest, the world seemed a little dreary to Blue Bonnet.
"You poor little things," she said to the sparrows hopping from fence to tree forlornly. "The prospect of a New England winter is not as alluring as it might be, is it? Why don't you try Texas? It's warm down there—and sunshiny—and—
"What's the matter with me?" she said, pulling herself up in the saddle. Then she laughed.
"I know. I'm homesick because I'm going away, and it's perfectly ridiculous. Who ever heard of any one being homesick before they started? I sha'n't stand for it!
"It's a good thing Aunt Lucinda didn't hear that, Chula. She'd be horrified. What I mean is, I sha'n't let it creep in. If I do it will make me miserable, and I can't afford to be miserable with Uncle Cliff coming."
Blue Bonnet turned Chula sharply and headed toward home, forcing a little tune to her lips, a smile to her eyes, with a determination that would have done credit to a much older person.
"Why, dearie, you did not ride far, did you?" was Grandmother's cheery welcome.
"No, it was bleaker than I thought. The wind was cold, too, but it was refreshing just the same."
Mrs. Clyde eyed her lovingly.
Little tendrils from the fly-away hair strayed over her forehead and a healthy red showed through the tan of her cheeks.
Her grandmother thought of a sweet wild rose just bursting into bloom as she looked at her. There was something about Blue Bonnet that breathed the spirit of all wild things—flowers and sweeping prairies, broad expanses.
"There is a letter for you, Blue Bonnet. You must have known to have hurried so."
"Why, it's from Uncle Cliff!"
Blue Bonnet tore the end off of the envelope hastily and began reading aloud:
"'I fear I cannot reach Woodford the day before Christmas as I had anticipated, Honey, because of a matter here which is delaying me, but I will arrive sometime on Christmas Day. Go right on with any plans you may have for that day, as trains are uncertain and I might get in very late. If I am not there in time to say "Merry Christmas," remember that I am saying it in my heart and wishing every happiness to the best little girl in the world. I shall answer your letter in person; we will discuss the room-mate at that time, and also the other matter which seems to lie so close to your heart.'"
"He means Carita Judson," Blue Bonnet explained. "I told him how much I wanted her to go with me to Miss North's school."
"'Remember me to your Grandmother and Miss Clyde, and tell them that I am anticipating my coming visit with pleasure. Enclosed you will finda little check for the Christmas shopping which I had hoped to enjoy with you, but since I cannot you must enjoy it for us both.'"
"That's all. Isn't he a dear! Well, if he gets here on Christmas Day I sha'n't complain."
Blue Bonnet handed the little pink slip of paper which had been enclosed in the letter, to her grandmother.
"Take care of it for me, Grandmother. I don't need it any more than I do a sore thumb, as Uncle Joe used to say."
Christmas week dawned bright and clear. Real Christmas weather, Blue Bonnet thought one morning as she opened her window and looked out at the trees in the apple orchard with their burden of glistening snow.
Christmas was to be celebrated rather differently from last year. Since Uncle Cliff was not to arrive until Christmas morning, Blue Bonnet had been permitted to spend the preceding days much as she pleased, shopping, and enjoying the We Are Sevens' holidays with them.
Two days before Christmas she bounded in to her grandmother's presence in a great state of excitement.
"Grandmother!" she exclaimed, "I've got the loveliest idea! I was just over to Kitty Clark's, and the doctor is getting a Christmas tree ready for the people out at the Poor Farm. They aregoing to have it at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon, and he says that Kitty and I may go along and help if we want to. I asked him what he was going to give them, and he said not much, unfortunately, but a good time. He said he had hoped to be able to collect enough money this year to buy those old ladies a phonograph—you know—a Victrola—but everybody seems to feel so poor. I thought of the check Uncle Cliff sent me and I told the doctor about it. He didn't want to take it, but I said he just had to, and I ran home to get it. Where is it, Grandmother?"
"But—Blue Bonnet, you couldn't get a phonograph here in Woodford. Not the kind you wouldwant—"
"No, of course not; but Doctor Clark said if you thought best for me to give the money he could telephone to Boston this noon, and they could get it here on the four-twenty train, without any doubt. Oh, Grandmother, please don't say no. Seems to me I can't stand it if you do. Don't you remember how old Mrs. Prior loved Alec's songs that day she was here to see us? Why, she just seemedstarved—"
Mrs. Clyde rose and went to the foot of the stairs.
"Lucinda," she called, "come down a minute, will you?"
Blue Bonnet did not give her grandmother timeto explain, but laid her plan before her aunt in a torrent of words.
At first, Miss Clyde seemed bewildered. Then a very tender, sympathetic look passed between mother and daughter.
"I hardly think, Blue Bonnet, that your check would pay for the Victrola," Miss Clyde said. "We should not want to get anything but the best—something that would last; and records are very expensive."
Blue Bonnet looked woefully disappointed. Then she smiled delightedly.
"But, Aunt Lucinda, there's money left from what Uncle sent to buy my clothes, you said so. Let's take that. Oh, please, Aunt Lucinda."
"I think it would be a beautiful thing to do, Lucinda," Mrs. Clyde said, and Blue Bonnet flew to her grandmother and gave her a hug that nearly took her off her feet.
"You know how little those poor people have to amuse them, and, as Blue Bonnet says, Mrs. Prior seemed quite starved for music."
Miss Clyde never acted upon impulse. She thought for a few moments, then turning, went up-stairs slowly. When she came down she handed Blue Bonnet a check.
"I think this will buy the Victrola—and some records, too," she said. "I would suggest that Doctor Clark get old-fashioned music—they would like that best."
Mrs. Clyde and her daughter watched Blue Bonnet as she flew up the street. When they turned from the window, there were tears in the eyes of the elder woman.
"It was a generous impulse," she said; "like one of her mother's loving deeds. I think perhaps—she knows—approves, Lucinda."
When the We Are Sevens heard of what Blue Bonnet had done, they insisted upon adding their mite to the occasion; so Doctor Clark suggested that it be turned into a We Are Sevens' party—the girls helping to give the occupants of the Farm a real Christmas. The rest of the day, therefore, was spent in the making of cakes and cookies, fudge and pinoche—enough, Doctor Clark said when he saw it, to keep him employed at the farm for weeks to come.
The Victrola came in on schedule time. Blue Bonnet and the doctor were at the train to meet it. It would have been hard to say which was the happier. The doctor's kindly face beamed as the box was loaded on to an express wagon and Blue Bonnet's joy found vent in laughter.
It was a merry procession that wended its way toward the Poor Farm a little later. Doctor Clark and Kitty leading the way in the phaeton withheavily laden baskets, old Denham and the rest of the We Are Sevens following in the Clyde carriage.
It must be confessed that the Christmas tree celebration was a bit disappointing to Blue Bonnet. The old ladies—and the men, who were permitted to attend also—seemed awed into silence. Perhaps the sparkling tree, bright with candles and tarlatan bags of sweets, brought memories cruel in their poignancy; and the old-fashioned songs had rather a depressing effect than otherwise.
Doctor Clark saw the shade of disappointment cross Blue Bonnet's face, and hastened to reassure her.
"It will be a great source of happiness to them, later, when the keen edge of memory has been dulled by frequent contact with the wonderful invention," he said. "Come out sometime and see for yourself."
Blue Bonnet was rather silent as she rode home that afternoon, in spite of the We Are Sevens' chatter.
"The world seems an awfully unequal sort of place, doesn't it?" she said to Sarah Blake. "Some people don't have enough money to make them comfortable, and others have so much they don't know how to spend it. What do you suppose is the reason?"
The question was beyond even thoughtful Sarah's ken.
"I don't know," she said, with all the hopelessness of a poor minister's daughter; "but I have heard Father say that if everybody could be started out equal—begin all over again—the same ones would be on top in no time, treading on those less fortunate. It seems to be the law of things, Blue Bonnet."
"But it's not fair!" Blue Bonnet insisted vehemently. "It makes me feel wicked to have so much more than others."
"But look at the good you can do—the people you can make happy. Maybe that is why you have it."
The thought comforted Blue Bonnet.
"Iwilldo good," she said, and there was conviction in her tone. "Iwill, Sarah Blake. Just you wait till I come of age. Maybe I'll have an orphan asylum all my own. You'll see!"
As Blue Bonnet entered the house on her return from the Farm, she was conscious of some sort of scurrying just inside the sitting-room. She looked about wonderingly as she hung her hat and coat on the hall rack, but could see nothing unusual. The hat, hung insecurely, fell off its peg, and she turned from the sitting-room to pick it up. The next moment a pair of strong arms enveloped herand a deep pleasant voice was saying, "Merry Christmas, Blue Bonnet."
"Uncle Cliff—Uncle Cliff!" was all she could say. "How ever did you get here? Why, it isn't Christmas yet!"
"Shall I go back and wait, Honey? It is only another day."
This time her arms were about him in a grip that left no doubt as to his welcome.
"Well, I should say not! Only—you know you said—you thought it wouldn't be possible to get here to-day. If I had known I wouldn't have been away for anything. Come in to the fire this minute and tell me all about the ranch and Uncle Joe and Benita and Alec—and everything."
By the fire they had their visit out, and then Uncle Cliff turned to Grandmother.
"Do you think, Mrs. Clyde, that I might give Blue Bonnet the Christmas present I brought for her? On the ranch we scarcely ever waited beyond Christmas Eve for our gifts, did we, Honey?"
Blue Bonnet smiled broadly.
"Oh, do let him, Grandmother. There'll be plenty of things left for to-morrow."
"Your Uncle is your legal guardian, dear. I think the privilege is his without asking."
"What is the present? Where is it?" Blue Bonnet asked, her eyes shining.
"I think Grandmother took it up in your room. I suspect you might find it there."
Mrs. Clyde nodded.
Blue Bonnet was out of the room and climbing the stairs in a twinkling. A second later Grandmother and Uncle Cliff heard a shout of joy, then laughter and animated conversation.
"She found it without much difficulty," Mr. Ashe said, smiling.
A moment later he was being smothered in caresses, and a voice was saying between tears and laughter:
"Oh, Uncle Cliff, if you aren't the darlingest, best uncle anybody in this world ever had!" While a slim, shy young girl with soft brown eyes looked on with interest.
There was an explanation on Uncle Cliff's part, and then Blue Bonnet took the girl's hand in her own affectionately.
"Carita," she said, "have you met the family? You remember Grandmother, of course; and this is my aunt, Miss Clyde. Aunt Lucinda, this is Carita Judson. She's come to go with me to Miss North's, and I'm the happiest girl in Massachusetts!"
Back to contents
Thereception-room at Miss North's school was not elaborate. It had none of the attractiveness of Miss North's own living-room. It looked cold, business-like, and uninviting—at least so Blue Bonnet thought as she sat waiting to say her last good-bys to Uncle Cliff and Aunt Lucinda.
The parting with Grandmother had been something of a wrench. Blue Bonnet had managed to keep herself pretty well in hand, for Grandmother's sake; but to-day it was different. Everything was so strange—so forbidding. Even the presence of Carita seemed of small comfort. Carita was lovely—but, after all, she couldn't fill Grandmother's place, nor Uncle Cliff's, nor even Aunt Lucinda's.
Uncle Cliff rose from the stiff-backed chair he had been occupying for the last half hour, and took Blue Bonnet's hand. Aunt Lucinda got up, too.
A frightened, half panicky look came into Blue Bonnet's face. The feeling that she was about to be left alone with strangers for the first time inher life came over her in a great wave. She reached up and taking hold of the lapels of her uncle's coat, held him fast.
"Must you go now—right this minute, Uncle Cliff?" she said, and he could feel her trembling.
Mr. Ashe looked at his watch.
"I am afraid so, Honey. Trains don't wait, you know. I must be off to-night, sure."
Blue Bonnet turned to Aunt Lucinda and kissed her with warmth; then she walked between her uncle and aunt down the length of the long corridor to the front door. Carita also clung to Uncle Cliff. At the door they all paused.
"Now you have everything that you need, Blue Bonnet?" Aunt Lucinda inquired. "You are quite sure? You can write immediately if anything has been forgotten,remember—"
"Yes, you are to have whatever you need, Honey," Mr. Ashe interrupted.
"Yes, Aunt Lucinda, I won't forget. Yes, yes, Uncle Cliff, and you'll write often, won't you? I'll be so lonesome just at first. Good-by—good-by!" There was a droop to the last note of the second good-by—a quaver that went straight to Uncle Cliff's heart and made him turn round and take Blue Bonnet once more in his arms.
"Why, Honey!" he said, as the brown head went down on his breast, and the quick sobs shook the slender form. "Now, now! What are youcrying for? Do you want to go back to Grandmother's? You only have to say so, you know."
The head shook violently on the broad shoulder that sheltered it, but no answer came.
"Do you want to go home with me—back to the ranch?"
Again the head shook—no!
Mr. Ashe unlocked the arms that had gone about his neck so lovingly, and lifting the wet face looked into it tenderly.
"Don't, Honey," he said, and there was a catch in his own voice. "Don't, please. Uncle Cliff can't bear to have you cry. He'll hear those sobs every step of the way back to Texas—and long after."
Blue Bonnet straightened up and made a brave effort to smile through her tears.
"Oh, no, you mustn't! I didn't mean to give way like that. I thought I was going to be all right—and then—all at once—it just had to come. It's homesickness. I've been fighting it for a month!"
"Remember you are responsible for Carita, too."
Mr. Ashe drew the solemn-eyed young girl who had been witnessing Blue Bonnet's little outburst into the circle.
Blue Bonnet turned quickly and put her arms round Carita.
"If Carita dares act like this, I'll exert my authority and spank her," she said, giving that young person a warm hug. "I'm to mother her in every particular. Isn't that right, Uncle Cliff?"
"You are never to forget that you are responsible for her being here, Honey. You must make her happy and set her a good example at all times."
Blue Bonnet's merry laugh brought the smiles back into Uncle Cliff's face.
"I'll try and not lead her into temptation, at any rate."
"That might be a good thing to remember, Blue Bonnet."
"And now, dear," Miss Clyde said, "perhaps you and Carita would better go up to your rooms and get your things out of your trunks. Miss North wanted them emptied as soon as possible, so that they could be taken to the trunk-room."
"All right, Aunt Lucinda. Good-by then—good-by! No, Uncle Cliff, I'm going to be good now. My love to everybody on the ranch—everybody, remember." She continued to wave her good-bys heroically until the corner was turned and Uncle Cliff and Miss Clyde lost to view.
"Now for the unpacking, Carita. Come along. I'll help you first. That's a motherly spirit, I'm sure."
"Yes, begin by spoiling me—that's right!"
Blue Bonnet gave the hand in hers a little squeeze.
"A little spoiling won't hurt you a bit. I doubtif a great deal would. There are some people you can't spoil."
"I wouldn't advise you to try too hard," Carita laughed.
They stopped first at Blue Bonnet's room, which was two floors below Carita's.
"I don't like your being so far away from me, at all," Blue Bonnet said, as she turned on the light and laid her coat and hat on the bed. "That's a silly rule having the younger girls all together on one floor. They need the older girls to keep them straight."
"I fancy Fraulein can do that," Carita said resignedly, remembering the eagle-faced teacher in charge of the hall. "Mary Boyd says she's a pill!"
"A—what?"
"A pill! I asked Mary what that meant, and she said adose. You know—something you have to take and don't like."
Blue Bonnet's eyes roamed ceiling-ward and a queer expression curled her lips.
"You must introduce Mary to Aunt Lucinda, Carita. It would, perhaps, make her appreciate my vocabulary."
"I think I'm going to like her just the same."
"Aunt Lucinda?"
"Oh, no! I mean—that is—I likeher, of course. I meant Mary Boyd, my room-mate. She's awfully jolly."
Carita had arrived at the school in the afternoon and had been shown to her room immediately, while Blue Bonnet finished some shopping with Uncle Cliff and Aunt Lucinda.
"I think I'd like to see Mary Boyd. Let's go up to your room now and get your things out of the trunk."
"Yes, we will, only my things are out. Mary helped me this afternoon while you were away. I'm all settled."
Nevertheless Blue Bonnet led the way to the floor above.
Mary Boyd opened the door herself. She was just coming out of the room, pitcher in hand, on the way to the bathroom for some cold water. She had on a gay little kimono and her hair was neatly brushed and braided for the night.
"Back again?" she said to Carita, with a smile.
"Yes, and this is my friend, Blue Bonnet Ashe."
"How do you do?" Mary said, pausing a moment. "First year here, too?"
"Yes, my first year."
Mary waved her hand toward the room.
"Make yourselves at home," she said hospitably. "Everything is in a muss, yet. I only got in myself this morning. I'll be back in a minute."
"Don't you think she's nice?" Carita asked with enthusiasm, as soon as the door closed.
"She seems to be. You're in luck, Carita. I wish you could seemycross!"
"We Freshies haven't any of the lugs you grown-ups sport," Mary said, entering the room with her pitcher of water. "There's only one bathroom on this floor for six girls. Fancy! Getting a bath is a regular Saturday night affair."
"This is your first year here, too, then," Blue Bonnet said with some surprise.
"No—second."
"And you are a Freshman?"
"Well, you see, I was out last year part of the time—typhoid fever—and—oh, I'm no high-brow, anyway! Mother thought I'd best take the year over again. She says I've plenty of time. I'm just fifteen."
She laughed good-naturedly, showing a set of teeth dazzling in their perfection and whiteness.
"I'm working hard this year, though. You see, I want a room with a bath, and you have to be a Sophomore to get it."
"I see. An incentive, isn't it?"
"This is a fairly good room, don't you think? It's the best on the floor. Carita's lucky—that is, as far as the room goes. My room-mate was called home three weeks before Christmas. Her mother died. Poor little Nell!"
"I'm sorry for her," Carita said sympathetically, "but if she hadn't gone I couldn't have entered the school this year, it was so crowded."
Somewhere down the length of the hall a gong sounded.
"What's that for?" Blue Bonnet asked.
"Bed. In a half hour another will ring and every light on this floor will go off instantly."
Blue Bonnet looked at her watch.
"You mean to say you have to be in bed at half-past nine o'clock?"
Mary nodded.
"Well, I reckon I'd better run. I haven't unpacked yet."
"Oh, they aren't so awfully particular the first day. School doesn't really begin until to-morrow."
Blue Bonnet started to say good night to Carita. As she bent to kiss her she paused.
"Why don't you come down and stay with me to-night?" she said. "My room-mate isn't back yet. I shouldn't be half so lonesome."
"All right—if—do you think they'd mind?"
Carita addressed Mary.
Mary took a look down the hall.
"Skip along," she said generously. "All's serene on the Potomac. You'd better hurry though, while the coast's clear."
And hurry they did.
Blue Bonnet turned out the light in her room,which she had left burning, and threw up the window blinds, letting in a stream of silver light.
"I reckon we can undress by that," she said, "and I can get up an hour earlier in the morning and unpack."
But the rising-bell had been sounding some seconds when Blue Bonnet opened her eyes to the light the next morning. She sprang out of bed with a bound, and dragged forth Carita, who still clung to her slumbers.
"Get up, Carita," she said. "That's some kind of a bell ringing for something or other—goodness knows what! Maybe it's breakfast. I don't know."
A look at her watch reassured her. Seven o'clock. Breakfast was at seven-thirty—she remembered hearing that somewhere.
"Oh, Blue Bonnet, I could have slept twenty minutes yet," Carita wailed sleepily. "I can dress for a party in ten minutes. Yes, I can, honestly!"
"Maybe—in Texas! You're in Boston now. Boston means a cold bath with a good rub, and getting into your clothes for the day—all of which takes time."
At seven-thirty they were dressed, waiting for the breakfast-bell to ring.
The dining-room at Miss North's was not large,but it was cheerful and inviting. There were some five or six tables and at the head of each sat a teacher.
Miss North met Blue Bonnet and Carita at the door and took them to her own table. When the meal was over she assigned them to their regular places, and again Blue Bonnet found to her dismay that she and Carita were separated.
As they left the dining-room Mary Boyd came along and took Carita off peremptorily.
"I'll take care of her," Mary announced, with a wave and a smile. "She'll be in a lot of my classes." They passed on, arm in arm.
Blue Bonnet was feeling a bit forlorn and neglected when a voice, soft and sweet, said at her elbow:
"Miss North has asked me to show you about this morning."
Blue Bonnet turned and looked into the face of the Southern girl she had admired the first day she visited the school.
"Perhaps you don't remember me, but we were introduced. My name is Annabel Jackson."
"Oh, I remember you—yes, indeed; and I'm Blue Bonnet Ashe."
"We have prayers the first thing," Annabel said, leading the way to the chapel. "The gong will ring in five minutes. I reckon we won't be too early if we go now."
"Dear me, do you have a gong to breathe by?" Blue Bonnet asked laughingly. "Seems to me one rings every five minutes."
"Not quite; but that little electric hammer runs the school—with Miss North behind it."
Miss North's school was supposed to be non-sectarian, so far as religious government went; but in expression it was very much Episcopalian.
Blue Bonnet listened to the prayers read in a pleasant monotone by one of the teachers, taking part in the responses.
Prayers over, Annabel led the way up-stairs.
"We have a half hour to put our rooms in order," she said, leaving Blue Bonnet at her own door. "I'll call for you in a little while. I'm just down the hall—number fifteen—if you get through first, stop for me."
"I haven't unpacked yet. I think, if I have a minute, I had better take my gowns out of the trunk," Blue Bonnet answered.
"You won't have much time now. Wait until this afternoon. We have from four to five o'clock free. I'll help you then."
The rest of the morning was spent in the classroom. By noon Blue Bonnet had met a number of the girls—including two of Annabel's most intimate friends: Sue Hemphill, from somewhere in the Middle West, and Ruth Biddle, a Pennsylvania girl. Ruth was Annabel's room-mate; a plain-looking girl, but decidedly aristocratic—blue blood written in every line of her delicate features and rather aloof bearing.
Sue Hemphill was the nicer, Blue Bonnet thought after a few moments' conversation. She was much friendlier, and much prettier; with soft grey eyes that twinkled mischievously, and a saucy little nose that inclined upward, giving her face a piquant, merry expression, quite irresistible.
"Miss Ashe is a new girl—a Junior," Annabel explained to her friends. "She's on our floor—in number ten, with Joy Cross."
Sue Hemphill crumpled up like a withered rose-leaf and leaned against a blackboard for support.
"Oh, you poor thing! You must have been born for trouble—."
"Now, Sue, don't!" Annabel protested. "Just because you had her last year and didn't likeher—"
"Do you? Does Ruth? Does anybody?" Sue asked.
"Miss North does," Ruth replied; "and Mrs. Goodwin and Mrs. White and Madame de Cartier and ProfessorHowe—"
"The entire Faculty, to say nothing of the janitor and maids," Sue interrupted.
"You mean—that she's a sort of teacher's pet?" Blue Bonnet, asked slowly.
"Well—'pet' would be going some, for Joy," Annabel laughed. "But you're warm—very warm!"
"Or you will be, before many days. You'll be a regular barometer, going up—going up—goingup—"
Annabel put her hand over Sue's mouth.
"Stop, Sue! Don't mind her, Miss Ashe. She's an awful tease. Joy isn't anything worse than a stick—a bore. If you have a nice disposition you'll get on splendidly—Sue hasn't!"
"Oh, thanks," Sue said, bowing profoundly. "It is because of my long association with you, then;" and with this good-natured banter she was off to lunch.
At two-thirty in the afternoon there was a general exodus from the classrooms, the recitations for the day being over. It had been rather a strenuous period for Blue Bonnet—the continuous round from seven o'clock in the morning. She was a little weary as she left the English class, and filed out with the other girls who stopped to chat for a minute as they put away their books.
Down the hall came Mary Boyd with Carita still in her train. Blue Bonnet stopped them and inquired how Carita had got on during the day.
Carita was all enthusiasm.
"Oh, just fine, Blue Bonnet, thank you. Mary has been such an angel. We are in the same Algebra class—and French, too. Isn't that nice? We can get our lessons together."
Annabel Jackson came out of a classroom and joined the group.
"Hello, Sozie," she said to Mary, pinching her cheek affectionately.
Mary colored with the pleasure that comes from being noticed by one of the older and evidently popular girls in the school.
"Hello, Annabel," she answered. "This is my new room-mate—Carita Judson, from Texas."
Annabel acknowledged the introduction indifferently. Carita was too young to be particularly interesting to her. Annabel was eighteen, and considered herself quite a young lady.