"Dear Aunt Lucinda:—Will you please come up at once. Carita is sick. The doctor doesn't know yet what's the matter with her, he can't tell for forty-eighthours,—"
"Dear Aunt Lucinda:—Will you please come up at once. Carita is sick. The doctor doesn't know yet what's the matter with her, he can't tell for forty-eighthours,—"
"Miss Ashe!"
Fraulein's stentorian tones rang out sharply.
Blue Bonnet looked up, startled.
"What haf you there, Miss Ashe? This is a time for study, not for the writing of letters."
Blue Bonnet remained silent.
"You may bring the paper to the desk, Miss Ashe."
Blue Bonnet gathered up her books, picked up the letter which she had been writing and tore it into bits. Then she got up and started to leave the room.
Fraulein was white with anger.
"Come back to your seat, this instant, Miss Ashe," she demanded.
Blue Bonnet continued on her way out of the room.
Fraulein ran after her, insisting upon her return.
Blue Bonnet hurried to her room, and, entering, locked the door behind her. She dropped her books on the table, and for a moment sat staring out of the window. What should she do? She had defied several rules that morning. Perhaps they would expel her. Well, they could! She wasn't particularly anxious to remain in the school if Fraulein Herrmann did, anyway. The house hardly seemed large enough for both.
Suddenly she sat up with a start. There was Cousin Tracy! Why hadn't she thought of him before! She could telephone to him, and he could get Aunt Lucinda. The thought acted like magic, and she was scurrying down the hall to the telephone in less than a minute.
She got Cousin Honora, but Cousin Tracy was out. Cousin Honora was not even expecting him home to lunch, but she would try to locate him and send him out to the school. Was anything wrong?
Blue Bonnet admitted that there was, a bit reluctantly, and hung up the receiver, leaving Cousin Honora mystified and uneasy.
As she started back to her room she remembered that she had not yet reported to Professor Howe. She went back, and entered Professor Howe's office just as Fraulein Herrmann was leaving it.
Professor Howe looked serious as she motioned Blue Bonnet to a seat and closed the door quietly.
"I have a very unpleasant report of you, Miss Ashe," she said firmly, but gently. "I am surprised and sorry. What have you to say in the matter?"
The idea that she was to have a chance to explain, had not entered Blue Bonnet's head. Professor Howe's tendency to fairness changed her viewpoint instantly. She felt ashamed—humiliated in the presence of this clear-eyed, soft-voiced woman, whose glance fell upon her with an expression almost maternal in its interest.
Slowly—one by one—the tears gathered in Blue Bonnet's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. But for the ticking of the clock above the desk, there was absolute silence in the room.
Professor Howe reached over and took Blue Bonnet's hand in her own.
"Tell me about it," she said, "everything—from the beginning."
And Blue Bonnet did tell her, omitting not a single detail.
When she had finished Professor Howe was silent for a moment.
"Did you ever think, Miss Ashe," she said presently, "what a chaotic, unpleasant place this world would be without law, and order, and discipline?"
Blue Bonnet had to confess that she had not thought much about it.
"Thinknow, for a moment. Take the case ofyour friend, Carita. If there had been no rule against your going to the Infirmary this morning, and Carita had come down with a contagious disease, you, by your presence there for only a moment, might have carried the contagion to a dozen others. Would you have had the right to do that, do you think, simply because of your interest in your friend?"
Blue Bonnet shook her head slowly.
"And in regard to sending for your aunt. Could you not have trusted Miss North, my child? She has been operating this school successfully for many years. She has the interest of each and every pupil at heart—she knows their needs. She has perfect confidence in our physician."
"Yes, but Mary—one of the girls—said that he was awfully slow and old fashioned, andI—"
"Mary Boyd is only a silly little girl. She wouldn't know the qualifications of a good doctor if she were asked to give them. You should never rely on immature judgment. It is apt to be colored with prejudice."
Blue Bonnet got up.
"I reckon I have made a mistake, Professor Howe. I'm sorry. I was so awfully worried and upset about Carita."
"Of course you were. I can quite understand that. On the other hand, we do not expect you to love and trust us all at once. Confidence comesby degrees; but wedowant you to believe that yourbestinterests are considered here—always."
Blue Bonnet started to leave the room.
"One moment, Miss Ashe. Will you say to Fraulein Herrmann what you have just said to me—that you are sorry—sorry for what she deems an impertinence on your part in the study hall?"
Blue Bonnet flushed to the roots of her brown hair.
"But I amnotsorry, Professor Howe."
"Not sorry to have been rude, Miss Ashe?"
"I think Fraulein Herrmann was rude to me. She called to me before the whole room—she—"
"You were disobeying the rules, Miss Ashe. Fraulein was right. Study hour is not the time for letter writing. You will apologize, I am sure."
The little smile so rare and fleeting that Blue Bonnet loved appeared for a brief second. It won the girl as nothing else could.
"I will then—to please you," she answered, and went to find Fraulein immediately.
The day dragged on drearily. Blue Bonnet was unhappy and ill at ease. Although Professor Howe had been so kind, she felt that she was by no means out of the woods yet. There was still Miss North to reckon with, and Fraulein Herrmann had beennone too gracious about accepting her apology. Perhaps they might still expel her. There was that Fanny Price last year that the girls had spoken of. She had been sent away for breaking the rules. What a blow it would be to Grandmother and the We Are Sevens. They'd be disgraced forever—and Aunt Lucinda! The thought brought terror to her heart. Why, Aunt Lucinda wouldn't be able to hold up her head in Woodford.
It was getting on to four o'clock and still Cousin Tracy had not come. Evidently Cousin Honora had had difficulty in locating him.
There was no news from Carita, either. Mrs. Goodwin was not in her room, and Blue Bonnet was afraid to venture to the Infirmary.
At four o'clock there was a stir along the hall. The girls were visiting. Blue Bonnet decided to have a minute's chat with Annabel Jackson.
Annabel, as usual, had the chafing dish going. She was making cocoa, and hailed Blue Bonnet's presence with delight.
"Goodness," she said, after a moment, during which Blue Bonnet had not spoken, "what's the matter? You look like a funeral!"
Blue Bonnet tried to smile, but the effort was a failure.
"Got the blues?"
"No."
"Not homesick?"
Blue Bonnet shook her head, and a tear splashed down on her blouse.
"Why, Blue Bonnet, what is it, dear?" Annabel asked, really surprised.
Blue Bonnet struggled for self control. She sat up very straight, and made a remark about the cocoa.
"Never mind about the cocoa. What's happened?"
"Nothing—at least—I can't tell you, Annabel."
"Why can't you?"
"Because—I can't!"
Annabel slipped down on the couch beside Blue Bonnet and put an arm over her shoulder.
"Oh, please," she said. "Come, tell me. Maybe I can help."
It was at that identical moment that Sue Hemphill put her head in the door.
"Why, Blue Bonnet," she said, "Martha's been hunting everywhere for you. Miss North wants you in her office right away. There's a man with her—a dumpy—I beg your pardon—but a short, stout man with a bald head. I think it's your uncle, or cousin. Anyway, hurry! There's something doing. Miss North looks like a war cloud without a ghost of a silver lining. She was just laying it off to your—ah—em—relative. Do hurry. I'm simply wild to know what's up, andcome right back and tell us all about it. Don't forget!"
She gave Blue Bonnet a gentle push out into the hall and watched her as she descended the stairs slowly.
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Blue Bonnetwent down-stairs slowly; her heart in a tumult of conflicting emotions. As she passed the reception-room and neared Miss North's office, she heard Cousin Tracy's voice, gentle and patient, raised now a trifle in protest.
"I am sure," he was saying, "that Blue Bonnet meant no interference or harm in sending for me. It was a most natural impulse, which I hope you will find it possible to pardon."
Cousin Tracy was sitting stiffly on the edge of a chair, his cane and hat held tightly, as if he intended putting them in use at the earliest possible moment.
Miss North's position was also somewhat strained and alert. She motioned Blue Bonnet to a seat, and went on with the conversation.
"That is no doubt true, Mr. Winthrop; but it is not altogether to the point. Miss Ashe has been willful and disobedient in this matter. She has shown an absolute disregard of rules—a lack of faith in my word. I promised her this morningthat Miss Judson should have every attention and care, and that Miss Clyde should be notified at the proper time. You will understand, of course, Mr. Winthrop, that if each parent who has a daughter in this institution were to be notified the moment that child becomes indisposed, it would cause unnecessary alarm, as well as expense. It is a very common thing, at the beginning of the year, to have the Infirmary half full of girls who are suffering from colds, change of climate, homesickness; minor ills, insignificant and trivial. It is our habit to call our physician, Doctor Giles, immediately. We rely implicitly upon his judgment. Perhaps you may know of Doctor Giles? He has something of a reputation in the city."
"Yes," Mr. Winthrop said, "I know him very well indeed; in fact he is my physician—and friend."
Miss North cast a quick look in Blue Bonnet's direction.
"Then you know something of his skill," she said. "He has just left here—his second visit to-day. He finds Miss Judson much better, absolutely without temperature—in fact, quite normal. Her illness, superinduced by homesickness, has at no time been alarming. She has a bilious cold—always disagreeable—and some difficulty in adjusting herself to this climate after the fresh air of the prairie. This, I believe, is the history ofthe case. You see how simple it is—scarcely sufficient to cause this—teapot tempest!"
As Miss North spoke a change came over Blue Bonnet's countenance. She was gifted as few people are in this world, in that she had the ability to see herself as others saw her. At the present moment the vision was anything but pleasing or gratifying. Miss North's argument, clear and logical, spoke straight to her conscience. She realized all at once that she had been meddlesome and officious, and she longed to make amends.
There was silence for a full minute. Mr. Winthrop had no further defence in favor of Blue Bonnet—that was evident.
Miss North waited for him to speak. He cleared his throat audibly and opened his lips; but, before the words came, Blue Bonnet had leaned forward to the very edge of her chair and addressed Miss North.
"I see your point—perfectly—now," she said. "I didn't this morning. I'm terribly sorry that I've caused you all this annoyance. I reckon it was because—" she stopped, unwilling to allow herself the slightest loophole of escape through an explanation. "There is no excuse for me at all. I apologize, Miss North, and I'm willing to take my punishment—anything you think right—only I hope—it won't be expulsion. Grandmother could never stand that. It would most kill her!"
There was a grave, old-fashioned dignity about the way Blue Bonnet acknowledged her error. It appealed to Miss North. She was so frank, so evidently sincere, that almost without an instant's hesitation Miss North replied:
"I accept your apology, Miss Ashe. We try never to expel for mistakes—unless they are serious enough to be contaminating in influence. As to a punishment—we will discuss that later. You may come here—to my office, for a few minutes after study hour this evening."
Blue Bonnet shook hands with Mr. Winthrop, thanked him for coming, and went back up-stairs as slowly as she had come down ten minutes before.
In order to lose no time, or miss hearing all the details of the interview with Miss North, Annabel and Sue were waiting in Blue Bonnet's room.
As Blue Bonnet opened the door they made a rush for her.
"For goodness' sake, tell us what this is all about!" Sue said, dragging her over to the couch. "We're just dying to know!"
Blue Bonnet sat down with a sigh.
"There isn't much to tell," she said wearily. "I've been perfectly horrid about Carita being ill, that's all—she's sick, you know. They wouldn't let me see her this morning—that is, they kept me out of the Infirmary, so I sent for Cousin Tracy."
"You sent for your cousin!" Annabel exclaimed.
"Yes."
"How did you send for him?"
"Telephoned."
Sue went off in a gale of laughter.
"I adore your nerve," she said. "Oh, isn't this lovely!"
"Didn't you know that would get you in trouble?" Annabel asked.
"I didn't seem to care—this morning. I wish I had."
"Was Miss North—awful?"
"No, she was lovely."
"Didn't she take away your privileges?"
"I don't know yet—she's to tell me later."
"Well, she will, so cheer up," Sue comforted. "The worst is yet to come!"
"Oh, Sue, stop! She doesn't know anything about it, Blue Bonnet. I shouldn't worry. Come on over in my room and have some eats."
Annabel's tone was persuasive, but Blue Bonnet shook her head.
"Oh, come on! Sue wants to fix your hair. By the way, may I wear your white Peter Tom to-night? I'm wild for one."
Blue Bonnet got out the dress and handed it to Annabel.
"Thanks, awfully," Annabel said. "You are welcome to anything of mine, you know. One getsso tired of one's own things. Sue and I change all the time."
"You meanyoudo the changing," Sue said, laughing. "Annabel's worn out every pair of silk stockings I've got—honestly she has! I've got on a pair of Wee Watts' now, and they sag something awful. I think it's so inconsiderate of Wee to be fat. Nobody ever can borrow from her!"
She raised her skirt and the girls shrieked with laughter at the baggy stockings.
"Let's all change round to-night," Annabel suggested. "Blue Bonnet can wear my pink organdy, and I'll wearthis—"
"Where do I come in?" Sue interrupted.
"At the head of the procession, as usual, dearest," Annabel promised. "You can wear that sweet yellow gown of Blue Bonnet's. Can't she?"
"I reckon she can," Blue Bonnet said. "I've never worn it myself yet."
"Oh, that doesn't matter: she'll christen it."
Blue Bonnet got the dress from the closet.
Sue examined it closely, measuring it to her own length.
"I'm afraid it is a little long for me. Maybe I could take a tuck in it somewhere. Yes, I can; here! See?"
Blue Bonnet saw! She also had visions of Aunt Lucinda if the gown were torn or stepped on, butshe couldn't be disagreeable and selfish. She followed the girls on in to Annabel's room.
Sue pushed Blue Bonnet into a chair and began taking the bow off her hair.
"I've been wild to get at your hair ever since I first saw you. You're too old to wear it in a braid. Here, give this ribbon to Carita; she's in the infant class yet."
Annabel opened a box of chocolates and curled up comfortably on the couch, from which vantage she watched operations lazily.
"Part it, Sue," she said, studying Blue Bonnet's face. "She has a heavenly nose for it—real patrician. Didn't any one ever tell you that you ought to wear it parted?"
"No—I can't remember that any one ever did."
"How funny! Your face is made for it."
Sue brushed the soft fly-away hair, coiling it low over the ears and twisting it into a becoming knot on the neck.
Annabel clapped her hands with delight.
"Didn't I tell you?" she said. "Here, take this mirror. Isn't it splendid? Why, it makes you look all of twenty. You could go to a Harvard dance and get your program filled in two minutes with your hair like that!"
Blue Bonnet took the mirror and looked at herself from all angles.
"BLUE BONNET TOOK THE MIRROR AND LOOKED AT HERSELF FROM ALL ANGLES."
"It is rather nice," she said, and a rosy flush stole into her cheeks. "But Aunt Lucinda would never stand for it. I know she wouldn't!"
"Change it when you go home then. But you are too old for hair-ribbons—really you are. Isn't she, Sue?"
Sue thought so—decidedly.
Blue Bonnet picked up the ribbon Annabel had so scorned and smoothed out its wrinkles gently. She hated to give it up, somehow; it linked her to her childhood. She wasn't half as anxious to grow up as Annabel was. She didn't want to look twenty—yet! There was so much time to be a woman.
The five o'clock gong sounded.
Blue Bonnet picked up her things and started for her room.
"Wait—the dress," Annabel said. She got out the pink organdy.
Blue Bonnet glanced at it shyly.
"If you don't mind, I believe I'll wear my own."
Annabel looked hurt.
"All right, if you feel that way, of course. Then we won't wear yours." She handed Blue Bonnet the Peter Thompson.
"Oh, yes, you will—please do! You are quite welcome. I only thought—- I—you see, I have never worn anybody's clothes in my life. It seems sofunny—"
Sue came to the rescue.
"Nonsense. You'll get over that. You can'tbe so particular in boarding-school. Everybody does it. If Annabel doesn't care, why should you?"
Blue Bonnet took the dress and went to her room. When the gong sounded for dinner she emerged, radiant in the pink organdy. A critical observer might have thought the waist line a trifle too high, and the skirt a wee bit short. Of the becomingness, however, there could be no doubt. The gown was pretty, and it suited Blue Bonnet, bringing out the wild rose coloring in the face that glowed and dimpled above it.
Miss North bore the reputation in the school, with pupils and teachers, of being just. She was often accused of being severe—of being cross; of being too strict; but even those who cared for her the least had to acknowledge her general fairness.
Therefore, although it may have been in her heart to pardon Blue Bonnet unreservedly, she felt that a punishment was due her; and she proceeded to mete out that punishment in full accordance with the offence. Blue Bonnet's privileges were taken away for a week. That meant she could have no communication with the girls outside of school hours. She could not visit during the chatting hour; she was denied shopping expeditions—even the Friday afternoon Symphony concert; which was, perhaps, the hardest thing to bear, because Blue Bonnet loved music.
Severe? Yes, perhaps; but nothing could have served half so well to give the girl a proper regard for authority and self government. Blue Bonnet finished the week happier for having expiated her treason to school law—ready to begin the next week with the slate wiped clean.
The week slipped by quickly, too, as weeks have a habit of doing. There were other things beside visiting with the girls and dancing in the gymnasium after dinner. There was the half hour every day just after lunch when Miss North read to the girls in the study hall—a half hour Blue Bonnet always looked forward to eagerly. Miss North was an excellent reader, as well as a keen critic. She read from the poets usually,—Shakespeare, Tennyson, Browning,—though sometimes, by way of variety, an essay or modern drama was substituted.
Miss North felt the pulse of her audience by instinct. She could tell without so much as a glance who was giving attention and who was indifferent. She had a habit of pointing a long, slender finger at some particular girl, and asking for an explanation of what she had been reading.
Blue Bonnet's strict attention pleased her. She liked the girl's appreciation of good literature and her ability to fathom difficult passages.
"Give me the text of 'A Grammarian's Funeral,'" she said to Blue Bonnet one day during this week of penance, after finishing the poem. Sheknew that she was asking a difficult thing; but she wanted to test Blue Bonnet's perception—her mental acuteness.
"You mean tell what it is about?" Blue Bonnet asked.
"Exactly, Miss Ashe."
"Well—" Blue Bonnet halted lamely for a second, "I couldn't understand it—that is, all of it—but I think it's about some students taking the body of their teacher up a mountain to bury it—and singing as they went."
Miss North smiled and a laugh went round the room.
Blue Bonnet sank down in her seat, covered with confusion, totally unaware that she had said anything that might be regarded as funny. She looked up in surprise, her cheeks flaming.
Miss North explained.
"You have the idea, Miss Ashe. It amuses the class to think of students singing as they bury their teacher, though I daresay there might be more truth than poetry in it."
There was no sarcasm in her tones. She laughed with the rest. Blue Bonnet's attention had delighted her.
There had been another pleasure during the week, one that Blue Bonnet greatly appreciated. She was allowed ten minutes with Carita in the Infirmary.
Carita was sitting up—her long hair brushed and braided smartly; her face—still a bit white—wreathed in smiles.
Blue Bonnet hovered over her.
"Have you been awfully lonely, Carita?"
"No—not a bit."
"Really?"
"No, truly I haven't. Mrs. Goodwin is such a dear, Blue Bonnet. She makes me think of my mother. She read to me—and cooked things for me, herself: the best milk toast, with cream on it; and to-day I hadice-cream—"
"You did? Well, that's more than we had. This was heavenly hash day!"
"I've had visitors, too; Miss North—she brought me those flowers overthere—"
Blue Bonnet turned to look at two pink roses on a table by the bed.
"—andFraulein—"
"Fraulein!"
"Yes—and she was real nice—as nice asshecould be, you know. Mary sent me this by Mrs. Goodwin—look!"
Carita brought from beneath her pillow a large, handsome scrap book.
"Oh, a scrap book!"
"A memory book," Carita corrected. "You put everything in it, you know; things to remind you of the school after you have graduated or goneaway. I hope I'll get it awfully full. Oh, Blue Bonnet, I know I'm going to be so happy here—in the school. Everybody has been so good to me."
A little mantle of shame spread over Blue Bonnet's face and dyed it a glowing red.
"And I'm doing penance for trying to thrust attention on Carita which she didn't need," she thought.
But the penance—indeed, the mistake itself—had brought its reward: Blue Bonnet had learned her first lesson in faith.
Friday came, and Blue Bonnet watched the girls as they started for the Symphony concert. How pretty they looked!
Annabel had peeked in Blue Bonnet's room at the last minute, ostensibly to say good-by, but purposely to borrow the white fox muff and a pair of gloves. Annabel was an inveterate borrower; not from any lack of clothes, but because she loved dress extravagantly.
"So sorry you can't go, dear," she said. "It's just awfully too bad! There's to be a wonderful singer to-day—I can't seem to think of her name; it's one of those long Italian ones—but her clothes are perfect dreams. I'm dying to see her gown. If we get anywhere near Huyler's after the concert I'll bring you some candy. That's one reason I wanted your muff; it holds such oceans. I thinkmaybe we'll get into S. S. Pierce's too. If we do, I'll stock up. My allowance came this morning; I'm feeling particularly opulent."
With a nod and a wave she was off, and Blue Bonnet was left alone. She practised for a while, getting in a little extra time; it was a good chance with so many pianos idle.
She was deep in the intricacies of a sonata when the door of the practice-room opened, and Martha, Miss North's maid, entered.
"There's a gentleman to see you in the reception-room, Miss Ashe," she said. "Miss North says you may see him for fifteen minutes."
"A gentleman! To see me?"
"Yes, Miss Ashe."
"An old gentleman, Martha?"
"No—a young man."
Blue Bonnet looked puzzled.
"That's queer. Where's his card?"
"He didn't send one, Miss Ashe."
Blue Bonnet went to her room, took a sweeping glance in the mirror, gave her hair an extra brushing, got out a clean handkerchief and went down-stairs quickly.
A tall young man came forward eagerly as she entered the reception-room.
For a moment she stared in dumb amazement, then she gave a cry of delight:
"Alec! Oh, how glad I am to see you! However in the world did you happen to come? How's Uncle Cliff, and Uncle Joe, and everybody on the ranch? Have you been to Woodford or are you just going?"
"One question at a time—please. Let's see, the first—Oh, yes; I happened to come because I got my appointment to WestPoint—"
"You did? How perfectly splendid! When?"
"A couple of weeks ago. I came on immediately to prepare. Mr. Ashe is well, so is Uncle Joe. They sent you all sorts of messages. I have been in Woodford for several days. I came through here the first of the week, but I wasn't in shape to call—exactly—not on a young lady in a fashionable boarding-school. I'm afraid I wouldn't have been admitted. I had to have someclothes—"
"How awfully well you're looking," Blue Bonnet interrupted.
"Oh, I'm fine—can hold my own now, I think; thanks to Texas. That's a great country you've got down there."
Blue Bonnet beamed with pleasure.
"Isn't it, though! Is Benita well?"
"Fine."
"How's Uncle Joe's rheumatism?"
"Better, I guess. Haven't heard him complain."
"Then itisbetter," Blue Bonnet said. "And old Gertrudis—and Juanita? How are they?"
"Fine—all of them."
"Oh, how I should love to see them! When is Uncle Cliff coming to see me?"
"Along about Easter vacation, I think." Blue Bonnet fairly jumped with joy.
"He is? Really—aren't you joking, Alec? He hasn't said anything about it to me."
"Maybe I've let the cat out, then. Well—it's true just the same. That's the way he talks now. Hadn't we better sit down?"
"Oh, I'm awfully rude. Sit here."
She drew forth as comfortable a chair as the room afforded.
"You took me so by surprise that I forgot my manners."
"I expected to find you over-stocked on 'em, to tell the truth. My, but you look grown up! What have you been doing to your hair? Does Miss Clyde stand for that?"
"Aunt Lucinda hasn't seen it yet. It's something new."
"The We Are Sevens are still clinging to hair-ribbons. I saw Kitty Clark this morning. She was on her way to school."
"You did? I'm wild to see the girls. I'm going home next week to stay over Sunday. That is, I am, if I can manage to keep the rules. I'm doing penance this week."
Alec gave a low whistle.
"What have you been up to?" he asked.
"We'll talk of that another time. And you got your appointment! How pleased the General must be."
"Yes—rather! He's no end pleased. It's been his dream, you know. As far as I'm concerned I'd as lief take to ranching. I'm pretty much in love with that Texas of yours. Look at the brawn it's put on me."
He doubled up his arm to show the muscle, and Blue Bonnet nodded approvingly.
"It's certainly made you over," she said. "You look as if you could fight now. You'd have made a poor soldier before!"
The fifteen minutes passed with lightning rapidity.
Blue Bonnet got up first.
"It seems very—inhospitable," she said, "but I reckon I've got to ask you to go now."
"Go? Why, I've just come!"
"I know, but Miss North said you could stay fifteen minutes—that's all. I don't know how she ever happened to let me see you in the first place. I'm just a bit in disgrace this week."
"I had a very pressing note from your aunt, that's why, I fancy. I sent it on up before I saw you. Miss Clyde said I was to see you; she doesn't usually mince matters."
They both laughed.
"She certainly does not," Blue Bonnet admitted.
"Couldn't you ask to have the time extended?" Alec looked wistful. "Why, I haven't given you half the messages from the ranch yet."
"I might try. I'll see."
She came back in a few minutes with Miss North.
"Miss Ashe tells me that you have just come from her home in Texas," Miss North said. "I can quite appreciate how much you have to tell her of her friends. Perhaps you would stay and dine with us?"
Alec seemed a bit embarrassed. To dine among so many girls was not as alluring as it sounded.
"Oh, do, Alec—please!" Blue Bonnet insisted.
Blue Bonnet was invited to sit at Miss North's table for the occasion. The Seniors sat at Miss North's table, so Alec had Blue Bonnet next to him, and Annabel opposite—an embarrassment of riches.
The girls seemed overwhelmed with such unexpected good fortune. They acted as if they had suddenly been struck dumb. Miss North and Blue Bonnet took turns breaking the silence with trivial generalities.
To Alec it seemed as if the meal would never end. He answered the questions put to him mechanically, owing to his extreme embarrassment; but he found courage toward the end of the meal to cast a sly glance in Annabel's direction—a glance not unobserved by Annabel.
Out in the hall, away from Miss North's watchful eye, he said to Blue Bonnet:
"If you ever get me into a deal like that again, you'll know it! It was worse than busting my first broncho."
And, although it was January, and the thermometer registering freezing weather, he took out his pocket handkerchief and mopped the perspiration from his neck and brow.
He made his adieux to Miss North very charmingly, however, thanking her for her hospitality; and Blue Bonnet left him at the reception-room door, conscious that broncho busting, and other things incident to ranch life, had not made any serious inroads on his native good breeding.
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"Now, Carita, tell me all of it—everything you heard. Come on, I think I ought to know."
Blue Bonnet and Carita had been interrupted in the packing of their suitcases for a week-end at Woodford, by Annabel Jackson, who had stepped in Blue Bonnet's room to return a dress. Her presence had caused Carita to let slip a bit of gossip prevalent in the school.
Carita squeezed a waist into the last bit of space her suitcase afforded, and turned to Blue Bonnet.
"Oh, what do you ask me for, Blue Bonnet? I don't like to tell you—really I don't! What's the use? Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't dropped that hint. I didn't mean to—it just slipped out."
"Go on. Tell me."
Carita sighed deeply.
"It's just gossip. Like enough there isn't a word of truth in it."
"Never mind. Tell me."
"All right, then: Mary Boyd says that Annabel Jackson is a perfect little toady—that she alwaysfinds out if a girl has money and nice clothes and things, before she has anything to do with her. She says Annabel has found out that you have a great deal of money, and that's one reason she's so nice to you."
"But I haven't a great deal of money—not to spend here, anyway. I haven't any bigger allowance than Annabel has—or Sue, for that matter!"
"Yes, but it's got out about your ranch; that you have a lot coming to you some day—and—and that you brought me here—that you're paying myway—"
Blue Bonnet turned sharply.
"Who told that? That's my business and Uncle Cliff's—entirely!"
"You said something about being responsible for me when I was sick. I reckon the girls put two and two together and started the story. I can't think how else it got out."
Blue Bonnet put her arms round Carita and gave her a swift hug.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Carita. It must make you feel—horrid!"
"Not a bit," Carita answered cheerfully. "Everybody knows that a poor clergyman's daughter would never get in a school like this without some help. It was splendid of you to do it. I don't mind any one's knowing. Honestly I don't, Blue Bonnet. Don't be angry."
Blue Bonnet sat down limply in a chair and covered her face with her hands.
"Oh, Blue Bonnet! Why did you make me tell you? I knew it would only make you unhappy. What difference does it make, anyway?"
"Just this difference: I like Annabel—for herself—and she likes me for what I've got. I suppose that's the wayallthose girls feel—Sue and Wee, andRuth—"
Carita was down at Blue Bonnet's side in an instant, her arms about her.
"You know that isn't true, Blue Bonnet. Everybody loves you for yourself. Why, I have the loveliest 'trade last' for you, right this minute. I'll give it to you now, and you can save mine till you hear it. Mary Boydsays—"
Blue Bonnet shrank away, and shook her head.
"Never mind," she said, "it isn't compliments I want. It's friends!"
"Well, you've got 'em—loads! Look at the We Are Sevens! They perfectly adore you. Now, don't they?"
"Well, I reckon they like me," Blue Bonnet acknowledged, and her face brightened.
"I shouldn't have told you all this, Blue Bonnet, only you made me. I wouldn't have dropped the hint about Annabel, only I think she's so awful nervy about wearing your clothes. Why, your Peter Tom's a sight—and that yellowdress—"
"Oh, I don't care about the clothes, Carita. Uncle Cliff will get me some more. Annabel hasn't hurt them any. The Peter Tom will clean. You know how white wool soils, yourself."
Indeed there was no excuse that Blue Bonnet would not have made for Annabel. She had grown very fond of the little Southern girl in the five weeks past. Annabel had a way of ingratiating herself into the affections of her associates. She had the charm that is an inheritance of the South; the musical softness of speech, the daintiness of person, the warmth of heart; and—although Blue Bonnet had it yet to learn—a genius for friendship.
In Annabel Jackson's veins flowed the bluest of Southern blood. Her grandfather—the old General, known throughout the length and breadth of Tennessee—was an aristocrat of the old school. He boasted of an ancestry that defied criticism. Annabel was not a snob—but she was a sybarite; she loved the soft things of life, the luxuries, the pleasures: she turned toward them as naturally as a flower turns to the sun. This tendency had earned for her the reputation of "toady" by those who did not understand her, or were inclined to judge from the surface. She gave—was in a position to give—- as much as she got, always, and her affections were sincere and lasting.
Blue Bonnet finished packing her suitcase.
"Well, I'm not going to worry over what Marysays," she announced after a few minutes' deliberation. "I think Mary is apt to take snap judgment. She put me on the wrong track altogether about Doctor Giles. She said he was a regular old fogy—too slow for words, and—why, he's a man with a big reputation—Cousin Tracy's own doctor."
"Mary is a dear, though," Carita said loyally. "She's apt to be a little opinionated, maybe. Peggy Austin thinks she is—though Peggy dotes on her."
"Most smart people are," Blue Bonnet admitted. "Mary is as sharp as tacks. We've just three-quarters of an hour to get the train. I wonder if Mrs. White is ready to take us to the station."
A thick glittering mantle of snow lay over Woodford. Blue Bonnet had never before arrived in the winter, and the snow was not as inviting as the green hills and leafy swaying elms of the early autumn; but the sight of old Denham, with Solomon at his heels, put aside all thought of gloom.
Denham was pacing up and down the platform swinging his arms back and forth briskly to ward off the cold. Solomon paced with him, alert and expectant.
Miss Clyde had not ventured to the station because of the cold; but she and Grandmother were at the parlor window when the carriage drove up, watching for the visitors.
It was, as always, a happy home-coming. There was no gloom inside the stately old house. Cheerful fires blazed on the hearths, the little brass kettle steamed and sang on the tea-table, and Grandmother's eyes shone with joy. She held Blue Bonnet in a close embrace, while she scanned her face for any change that five weeks might have brought there.
"Why, how well you look, dear," she said, turning her to the light. "How very well! You are as plump as can be. You have rounded out wonderfully."
Blue Bonnet laughed and patted her Grandmother's cheek affectionately.
"Yes, that's the only difficulty, Grandmother. Boarding-school has a tendency to round people out—too much! I wish you could see Wee Watts—one of the girls. She's huge! Poor Wee, she hates it so."
Mrs. Clyde was small and thin, and she never could understand why any one objected to being stout. In her eyes flesh was becoming.
Nor was Carita forgotten. She shared with Blue Bonnet in Grandmother's caresses and attention. Mrs. Clyde's warm heart went out to the slender, pale young girl, so far from her own relatives and friends.
Miss Clyde was busy serving tea, but she cast covert glances in Blue Bonnet's direction. Therewas something beside the "rounding out" that interested her. There was a different air, a decided improvement in her niece. What was it? Not poise—yet! It was too soon to expect that.
Blue Bonnet and Carita chatted as they drank their tea.
Miss Clyde listened attentively. Yes, therewasa change. Blue Bonnet was growing up. But what made such a difference? Suddenly she knew! It was Blue Bonnet's hair. It was put up.
"How long have you been putting up your hair, Blue Bonnet?" she asked.
Blue Bonnet started and colored.
"Not so very long, Aunt Lucinda. The girls made so much fun of hair-ribbons—the girls I go with. They thought I was much too old to wear them, and after I took them off, it was so hard to go back to them again. Don't you like it this way? The girls liked it parted. They said—they seemed to think my nose suited it."
Aunt Lucinda could not resist a smile. She hesitated before she spoke—she was eminently truthful. Much as she disliked the idea of Blue Bonnet's putting up her hair, she could not deny the becomingness of it.
"It's very pretty," she said slowly. "I don't think you need to cover your ears so completely, do you? The style is too old for you, though. You look—much older."
Blue Bonnet drew a sigh of relief. This was so mild to what she had expected. She glanced in Grandmother's direction.
There was a far-away expression in Mrs. Clyde's eyes, as if she were looking beyond Blue Bonnet—back into the shadowy past. She was: Blue Bonnet with her brown hair coiled low, curling about her neck and brow, was her mother over again—a perfect replica.
Miss Clyde noticed it, also, and when Blue Bonnet and Carita went up-stairs she spoke of it.
"How Blue Bonnet grows to resemble her mother. Do you remember, Elizabeth wore her hair that way when she first began putting it up? The child grows to be more of a Clyde every day."
"We're going out to see Chula," Blue Bonnet announced, coming back after she had put her things away.
"Chula? Why, dear, didn't Aunt Lucinda write you that Chula is out at pasture? She was eating her head off in the barn, and with no one to exerciseher—"
Blue Bonnet looked disappointed.
"Of course," she said, "she must have just gorged. I can quite fancy; but I did want to see her."
She laid the apples she had begged from Katie on the tea-table.
"Suppose you take Solomon for a run over to the General's," Mrs. Clyde suggested. "Alec is at home. You must make the best of your visit; he is leaving on Monday."
"Where's he going?"
"To Washington, to school. He prepares there for West Point. He has a trying period before him, and much hard work. Be sure to put on rubbers and big coats. It is very cold to-day."
Blue Bonnet and Carita were off in a trice.
Alec met them at the stile.
"Was just coming over to see you," he said, shaking hands.
"All right. We'll go back."
"No, come along. Grandfather is expecting this visit."
The General was comfortably ensconced before the fire. He greeted the girls with real delight. Blue Bonnet was one of his special favorites.
It was dinner-time before Blue Bonnet had finished with half her news of school, and she seemed surprised when she looked at her watch.
"Oh, my, we must run," she said, flying out the door and pulling Carita after her. "Aunt Lucinda will be serving dinner. Come over, Alec—to-night if you can."
"Perhaps," he called after her. "I'm up to my ears in work just now. Preparing for the Point's no joke, you know."
Aunt Lucinda was serving dinner, and the girls scrambled into their places hastily.
"I wish we could see the We Are Sevens to-night," Blue Bonnet said as she began the meal. "It seems like a year since I last saw them. Sometimes I can hardly remember how they look."
"You will have plenty of time to refresh your memory," Miss Clyde promised. "They have planned for every hour of your visit—almost."
After dinner there was a cosy chat around the fire. There was so much that Aunt Lucinda and Grandmother wanted to know about the school, and so much to tell.
About eight o'clock there was a terrific pull at the door bell—then another—and still another!
Blue Bonnet looked startled. Then she jumped up from her chair.
"It's the We Are Sevens," she said. "I know it is! I'll go."
She opened the door to admit—not only the We Are Sevens, but a number of the We Are Sevens' friends, boys, mostly—Alec in the lead.
"Oh, it's a party! A surprise party! Come quick, Carita."
There was a great stamping of snow from many pairs of feet, glad greetings of welcome, mingled with shouts of laughter. The old house rang with merriment.
Mrs. Clyde and her daughter did not act as ifthey were greatly surprised. Indeed they had been taken into the secret some days before. So had Katie, who at that moment was preparing all sorts of good things in the kitchen, to be served the young people later.
Blue Bonnet gave each of the We Are Sevens an extra hug, and looked into their faces long and eagerly.
"Why, you haven't changed a bit!" she remarked.
One might have thought the separation had covered five years, rather than five weeks.
"But you have, Blue Bonnet—lots! What is it?" Kitty asked.
"It's her hair," Debby discovered. "She's put it up! And her dresses are longer, too."
There was a general inspection, during which the boys looked on disinterestedly.
The evening passed like a dream to Blue Bonnet. It was so good to be at home again, among one's friends; people who loved you for yourself.
"Haven't we had a heavenly time to-night, Carita," Blue Bonnet asked between yawns, after they had retired. "Didn't Kitty Clark look pretty? I'm going to get after her hair to-morrow and do it like mine. Won't it be sweet? She has such loads."
By noon the next day, each of the We Are Sevens were wearing their locks parted, and coiledin a knot—regardless of the adaptability of noses.
Saturday was quite as busy as Friday had been. There was another gathering at Alec's in the evening; a farewell party, for very soon Woodford was to know Alec no more.
The General seemed a bit sad as he watched the young people in their frolics. He was facing a long separation from his grandson: the old home was going to be very lonely without him. Many times he had wished that Boyd Trent's record would permit of his bringinghimback again, but fresh grievances had followed in Boyd's wake, and reports of him were disappointing in the extreme. And yet the General was happy—very happy. Alec's health had been restored, and he had his appointment; two things for which the General was devoutly thankful.
Sunday there was the service in the little church. Blue Bonnet did not have to be urged to go as on that first occasion. She and Carita were dressed and waiting when Denham drove round, exactly at a quarter before eleven, as he had been in the habit of doing for almost a quarter of a century.
"That was a very nice sermon," Blue Bonnet remarked on the way home. "I think Doctor Blake is growing. Don't you, Aunt Lucinda?"
Miss Clyde smiled.
"Or Blue Bonnet is," she said quickly.
"Perhaps that is it, Aunt Lucinda. Anyway he's more interesting."
It was five o'clock on the Friday afternoon that Blue Bonnet and Carita had left for Woodford, that Joy Cross entered the room which she and Blue Bonnet occupied jointly. She glanced about, a look closely akin to joy lighting her plain features. Joy Cross was a recluse by nature, and the thought of having the room solely to herself for three days gave her infinite pleasure.
She laid an armful of books on the table by the window, then drew up a comfortable chair and sat for awhile looking out into the gathering twilight. The pleased expression which she had worn when she entered the room gradually died from her face, and in its place came one of discontent.
Between Blue Bonnet Ashe and Joy Cross there was no love lost. They disliked each other with the utmost cordiality. Blue Bonnet disliked Joy on general principles—possibly because she could not approach her, understand her; and Joy disliked Blue Bonnet because Blue Bonnet stood for everything that she herself wanted to stand for, and couldn't.
This evening as she sat looking out into the dusk, her figure, usually so apathetic and lifeless, took on an animated line, and stiffened into something that suggested a smothered, half-dead temperamentbreathing into life. She took her arms from the back of her neck, where they had been supporting her head, and digging her elbows into her knees made a place for her chin to rest in the palms of her hands. She sat this way for a long time, thinking, and her thoughts, for the most part, were occupied with her room-mate.
She wished she could get rid of her—be alone. She was tired of the running in of the girls who had taken Blue Bonnet up; their incessant gabble; their whispered conversations during the visiting hour. To be sure, Blue Bonnet had tried, time and time again, to draw her into these conversations, but she had no desire to be drawn in. She hated Annabel Jackson—the little snob—and Ruth Biddle's impertinences were beyond endurance. These girls had snubbed her since her entrance as a Sophomore, three years before, leaving her out of their festivities,—ignoring, scorning her, just as on the other hand they had taken up this new room-mate, deluging her with devotion, showering their gifts and attentions upon her.
Joy Cross was a scholar—so reputed, and justly; but one of life's most important lessons had passed her by. She had never learned that to receive, one must give; to be loved, one must love; to attain, one must reach out. It never occurred to her to weigh her own shortcomings and throw them into the balance with those of her enemies. She spentno time in introspection, self examination. She set a high standard on her own virtues, and, like most persons of this character, was oblivious to her faults.
Her three years in the school had been marked by no serious difficulties. She had been able to hide most of the unpleasant things in her nature, by her very aloofness. She had no close friends. She was judged by her work, her attention to duty, her obedience to rules; all of which were apparently beyond criticism. Her teachers, though they respected her, never grew fond of her. She led her classes through assiduous application, rather than brilliancy of mind.
She was an omnivorous reader. The only rule she ever thought of breaking, was to rise in the dead of night, when the house was still, and taking a secreted candle, lock herself in the bathroom—which had an outside window to give back no tell-tale reflection—and read until the dawn.
She changed her position after awhile, and getting up went to the door and locked it, listening for footsteps down the hall. None passed, evidently, for she went over to her bed and turning back the mattress brought out a book which had been carefully hidden. Then she drew up the comfortable chair again, placing it by a table which stood near Blue Bonnet's bureau. Adjusting the reading lamp to a proper angle, she was soon lost in thebook, the leaves of which she turned with eager haste.
She had been reading but a short time when a knock at the door startled her. Reaching over, she pulled out one of Blue Bonnet's bureau drawers stealthily, and laid the book inside, carefully covering it with some underwear. Then she opened the door.
Miss Martin, assistant to the house-mother, stood outside.
"I began to think you were not here, Miss Cross," she said. "May I come in?"
Joy opened the door.
"I was busy," she answered, dropping her eyes. "I came as quickly as I could."
Miss Martin was not long in making her business known.
"I am inspecting drawers, and I am late to-day. Things seem to have piled up so this week. Shall I begin with yours? It is quite unnecessary; they are always immaculate—but rules are rules."
She smiled pleasantly, and glancing through the drawers found them neat and orderly. She then turned to Blue Bonnet's bureau.
Under the usual pallor of Joy Cross's face a dull red mounted, dying out quickly, leaving it whiter than before.
"Miss Ashe is away, isn't she? Gone home for the week-end. She seems to be an unusually sweet,attractive girl—so unaffected and genuine. You must count yourself very lucky, Miss Cross—Why, what is this?"
She drew from its hiding-place the book that had been placed there only a moment before, and held it closer to the light.
"To whom does this belong, Miss Cross, do you know? I am amazed to find such a book in this room. French literature of this kind is expressly forbidden."
Joy shook her head slowly. Her lips refused to speak.
"You have never seen it before?"
Again the head shook slowly.
"Have you seen Miss Ashe reading it at any time?"
"No, Miss Martin."
"This is her drawer, is it not?"
"Yes—it is her drawer."
Miss Martin finished the inspection of the bureau rather hurriedly, and book in hand, left the room.
Joy went over to the window and stood looking out. The color had come back into her face, but her hand trembled as she put it up to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
She had not really meant to incriminate Blue Bonnet Ashe, but circumstances were against her. It had all happened so quickly—she hadn't had time to think clearly. There had been but onethought in her mind; she, a Senior, could not afford to be found with a book of that character in her possession. It might mean defeat after three years' struggle—struggle to graduate with the highest honor. She had been cheated out of so much in Miss North's school—thatshould not escape her, now! No, her record must go on, clear to the end.
She took a few steps round the room and then came back to the window. She was frightened. Her heart beat like a trip hammer and her face was hot, burning, as if with fever. She threw the window open and let the cold air fan her face—her hot hands. What should she do? Whatcouldshe do, without bringing down upon herself the gravest consequences?
A Senior in Miss North's school stood for something—was supposed to stand forallthat was honorable, above board. She was trusted, looked up to—privileged. Anything that touched her honor touched the school,—lowered the standard of the class. A Senior stood as an example—a pattern for juniors and younger girls, and she ... well, she had blundered—terribly! If it became known that she was the owner of the book—that she had lied to Miss Martin—
Visions of her father—old, silent, unforgiving—passed before her eyes; her mother—patient, long-suffering—who had made one sacrifice after another to keep her in this school, far beyond hermeans. The vision of those faces settled Joy's mind—made a coward of her. Her disgrace should not touch them. She would not acknowledge the book, no matter what came! Blue Bonnet Ashe could disclaim any knowledge of it. She was innocent—could prove that she was. If she, herself, kept still, the storm would soon blow over. No one could prove the book was hers. No one had seen it in her possession. She could not explain—now. She had incriminated herself by telling an untruth. A lie, in the eyes of Miss North, was a serious offence, and in a Senior—intolerable—unforgivable—a malicious, willful lie that injured another....
The gong sounded for dinner. Joy hesitated. She hated to meet Miss Martin, at whose table she sat. She thought she would not go to dinner. On second thought she knew she must—that she was in a difficult position and must play the game to the end.
She went into the bathroom and bathed her flushed face in cold water, straightened her tumbled hair, resumed her usual attitude of indifference to the world in general, and going down to the dining-room slipped into her place quietly.
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