"The presence of Miss Blue Bonnet Ashe is demanded at twelve o'clock to-night, February the nineteenth, at number fifteen Fifth Avenue: the said Miss Ashe to appear in a winding sheet, noiseless shoes and a bath-robe. Miss Ashe has the privilege of bringing refreshments with her if inclined; the committee suggesting that they be in keeping with the shades of night: skeleton salad, ghost sandwiches, assorted spooks or witches' delight. A roasted hobgoblin will be served soon after the meeting opens. Please be on time, and hold your honorable body in readiness for this or any other sacrifice that may be demanded by the Order.
"The presence of Miss Blue Bonnet Ashe is demanded at twelve o'clock to-night, February the nineteenth, at number fifteen Fifth Avenue: the said Miss Ashe to appear in a winding sheet, noiseless shoes and a bath-robe. Miss Ashe has the privilege of bringing refreshments with her if inclined; the committee suggesting that they be in keeping with the shades of night: skeleton salad, ghost sandwiches, assorted spooks or witches' delight. A roasted hobgoblin will be served soon after the meeting opens. Please be on time, and hold your honorable body in readiness for this or any other sacrifice that may be demanded by the Order.
"Fraternally yours,Committee on Initiation."
"Fraternally yours,Committee on Initiation."
Blue Bonnet laughed as she folded up the invitation and put it back in the desk. Her mind reverted to the time, a day or two back, when Sue Hemphill had fastened a little enameled sprig ofmint—the pin of the Order—on her dress with the remark:
"This means that you are now pledged to our Order. Mint is our emblem. You'll get the roast at the initiation."
She stood for a moment looking out the window, her thoughts on the event before her. She wondered about the little golden lamb at the top of the note-paper—what its significance was. In regard to the refreshments she wished she had known about those sooner. If she could have had a day's notice, Huyler's could have prepared a witches' delight—ghost sandwiches that the girls would not have forgotten in a week. She remembered some April fool's candy Kitty Clark once got—the most delectable looking stuff imaginable—but, ugh! Her mouth burned yet when she thought of it.
She ran across the hall and knocked softly at Annabel's door. Annabel was some time in answering. When she did, she poked her head out the tiniest bit, and Blue Bonnet saw a flash of white sheets which seemed, from her brief glance, to cover the room.
"Sorry to be inhospitable, Blue Bonnet, but I can't let you in. You see you aren't expected until to-night. At twelve, remember; and, for goodness' sake, take a look down the hall before you venture out. We don't want Fraulein to spoil things. Ireckon Sue had better fix up your pillow before you come."
"Fix up my pillow!" Blue Bonnet said, a bit mystified.
"Yes. She'll show you. She's an artist at it."
Blue Bonnet's amazement deepened and Annabel explained.
"She'll get some of Wee Watts' hair. She's got a Jane, and a switch, too—it's about the color of yours—and she'll pin it on your pillow—fix it up so that if Fraulein suspects anything and takes a peek in your room she'll swear you're sleeping like a baby."
Blue Bonnet fairly gasped.
"Oh, we haven't been here three years for nothing, let me tell you," Annabel confessed. "You need all your wits."
"How am I going to wake up?" Blue Bonnet asked. "I know I never can without an alarm of some kind. I'm an awfully good sleeper."
"That's easy. Tie a string round your wrist and put the string outside the transom—let it hang down the wall. Nobody will see it after the lights are out. Some of us will pull it and waken you about a quarter to twelve. Don't wake Joy. She might go to Miss North, or do something."
"No, she wouldn't. Joy isn't so bad as we all thought, Annabel. I want to tell you about hersometime. We must try to be nicer to her if she stays here."
"Oh, she'll stay, never fear. They aren't expelling any graduates—especially a student like Joy Cross. She's made a wonderful record. Miss North's got to admit that, whatever else Joy's done. Good-by. See you later. I'm in an awful hurry. You'll excuse me, won't you?"
About five minutes before time for the lights to be put out, there was a gentle knock at Blue Bonnet's door. Sue Hemphill put her head in and glanced round.
"Where's Joy?" she asked, drawing something in after her.
"In the bathroom."
"Good! Here, turn down your bed quick, Blue Bonnet."
Blue Bonnet complied, and Sue swiftly deposited a pillow underneath the sheet, leaving only a brown head gracefully exposed to view.
Blue Bonnet clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent a shriek. The thing so resembled a human head that it convulsed her for a moment.
"Sue! How ever did you do it? Why, from the back it looks just like me. I always braid my hair that way at night. It's wonderful!"
"Practice makes perfect. Get in on the other side and don't disturb it. Cover it up a bit more till Joy gets to bed. Don't forget the string onyour arm, and, whatever you do, don't get scared and scream when I yank it. Remember! Good night."
She was off before Blue Bonnet could say a word, even ask a question.
Blue Bonnet got out her night-dress and threw it over the brown head on the pillow, loitering about her undressing. Joy finished her toilet and got into bed quickly. A moment more and the lights were off.
Blue Bonnet tied the string to her arm, but she had to wait until Joy fell asleep before she could put it through the transom, and Joy was unusually wakeful. Blue Bonnet heard her tumble and toss upon her bed while she tried to ward off sleep herself. She gave up in despair finally. It would never do to get up on a chair and put the string through with Joy awake. She fell into a doze thinking what she should do, and the next thing she knew she was being shaken rudely while a voice in her ear whispered:
"Get up, quickly! You're late. We couldn't find the string anywhere."
Blue Bonnet got into the sheet and bath-robe and sped across the hall to number fifteen.
Number fifteen presented a weird appearance. Heavy black cloth had been tacked over the transom to shut out all light and two or three candles burned about the room dimly. On the wide couch sixghostly figures rocked back and forth mumbling an incantation.
"Is the candidate ready for initiation?" a voice from the couch asked. "If so, let her speak."
Blue Bonnet nodded.
"The master of ceremonies will then conduct her to the middle of the room and blindfold her."
The ghost in the centre of the group rose, and stretching out her arms, gave forth an edict of some kind in a stage whisper. Blue Bonnet couldn't catch it all—it was purposely jumbled—but it began:
"Oh, spirits of all departed lambs, attend! attend!Hear me call! Hear me call!"
"Oh, spirits of all departed lambs, attend! attend!Hear me call! Hear me call!"
When the last note of the incantation had faded into silence, a strange stillness settled upon the room. This lasted for several minutes. Blue Bonnet stood quietly, wondering what was to happen next. She had not long to wait. A slender little ghost slid from the couch and pattering about the room softly, extinguished each light. Then came a command.
"Conductor, advance the candidate. Let her extend the hand of fellowship to her sister lambs."
Blue Bonnet was marched forward a few steps. She extended her hand. The thing that met hers caused her to drop it instantly, and the cold chills passed up and down her spine. If she had only known that it was but a rubber glove filled with cold water, she could have breathed more easily. She stifled a cry.
"THE GHOST IN THE CENTRE OF THE GROUP ROSE.""THE GHOST IN THE CENTRE OF THE GROUP ROSE."
"The candidate is warned not to scream," came a stern voice from out the darkness, and Blue Bonnet struggled for better self control. Something soft and woolly was next thrust into her arms—something that said "bah-bah" a bit mechanically, and Blue Bonnet cuddled it warmly. It was suspiciously like the old Teddy bear that she used to take to bed with her on lonely nights at the ranch. Somebody proclaimed it a mascot.
Then followed a succession of pranks numerous and frivolous; and when the fun grew too riotous for discretion the master of ceremonies requested order.
"Is the candidate now ready to take the oath of allegiance?" was asked the conductor, who stood guard over Blue Bonnet.
"She is ready," the guard answered.
It would hardly be fair to go too deeply into the ritual of a secret organization. It is sufficient, therefore, to say that during the next fifteen minutes Blue Bonnet learned more of the character and habits of the girls she had chosen as friends than she had dreamed of in two months' association. She learned, among other things, that the lamb which they had chosen as their emblem, signified sacrifice: that these girls gave one-tenth of their allowances monthly for settlement work. Shefound a new meaning in friendship; a new impetus for service.
It was after the serious part of the ceremony that the real fun began. The bandage, which had been removed for a little time, was again bound about Blue Bonnet's eyes securely, and she stumbled forth into the darkness, upheld by two ghosts who shook with suppressed mirth as they guided her uncertain footsteps. Blue Bonnet had a suspicion that she was being led over the same ground times without number as the journey progressed, but she went forward without a murmur. When they had at last reached the sky parlor, where the feast was to be held, the bandage was once more removed and congratulations were in order, Annabel was the first to extend them.
"Welcome, sister lamb," she said, squeezing Blue Bonnet's hand. "You're game, my dear. Our hats are off to you. You didn't balk once."
The sheets were quickly changed for heavy bath-robes, for the sky parlor was cold and draughty. Japanese fashion the girls sat on the floor around the food, which had been gathered from different quarters for several days. Deborah Watts' suitcase had, as usual, played an important part. Delicious cake, home-made bread, generous slices of ham for sandwiches, testified gloriously to her mother's housekeeping. The other girls had added their full quota. One might have imagined that Huyler'sand Pierce's had been raided, from the candies and other delicacies that greeted the eye; but the initiation of the Lambs was always an "Occasion."
"Remember the time the Proctortoise caught us up here?" Sue Hemphill asked, helping herself to her sixth sandwich. "Proctortoise" was one of Fraulein's many appellations. "I never was so scared in my life. That was my first midnight feast, and I thought for some time it would be my last."
"I reckon I do remember," Annabel said. "I lost my privileges for a month because I owned I got it up. It was the time Mother sent me that huge box of good things on my birthday. Wasn't that the grandest box, Wee? Remember how sick you got from eating so much of Mammy Jane's fruit cake and mince pie?" Mammy Jane was Annabel's old nurse, who regarded Annabel as the apple of her eye.
Wee rolled her eyes heavenward and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly.
"Remember! Well, I guess I do. I've never touched a piece of fruit cake since."
"I'm the same way about lemon pie," Sue admitted. "I ate a whole one up here at a feast once, and I've never been able to stand the sight of one since."
"This old room could tell some great tales if it could speak, couldn't it?" Patty Paine said, lookingabout. "It's a barren hole, but I adore it. I've had some great times here. Remember the night we thought we heard some one coming and we got into the trunks? That was the time Angela fell down-stairs and had hysterics. It was initiation night, too, wasn't it? My, but wasn't Miss North furious! I thought she'd freeze into an icicle. It took her weeks to thaw out."
"Had you a suspicion that shehadthawed out?" Ruth inquired.
"Oh, she isn't so bad, Ruth," Patty defended. "I've got a right soft spot in my heart for MissNorth—"
"Girls! what was that noise?" Angela Dare interrupted in a whisper. "I'm sure I heard some one walking."
A hush fell over the room. The girls strained their ears.
"Oh, Angela! You're always hearing things. Your imagination is worse than your conscience. They're both ingrowing," Ruth declared. "I don't think you heard a blessed thing!"
"Yes, she did, Ruth," Blue Bonnet insisted. "I heard it, too."
"You did?"
"Yes—shh—there! You heard it then, didn't you?"
All admitted that they did hear some sort of a sound and sat with bated breath.
"It's a rat or a mouse! Oh, see—there it goes—look, behind that big brown trunk!"
The appearance of Fraulein accompanied by Miss North could scarcely have caused greater confusion. The girls scattered in every direction. Wee Watts made an attempt to climb the wall in her anxiety to escape, turning over an old chair that fell with dreadful clatter.
"Wee Watts," Annabel said sternly, "stop acting so silly. Get down off that old box instantly. It's going to break with you. We'll every one be caught here in another minute. Exercise some sense!"
But Wee, her limbs shaking with fright, clung helplessly to the rough beams in the old attic wall, beseeching the girls to let her alone.
"I'll faint if it comes near me—I know I shall," she wailed, her teeth chattering. "Oh—oh—there it goes again—oh, oh, don't scare it this way—don't—don't, Annabel! Please—please—"
Blue Bonnet climbed up beside Wee and put her hand over her mouth.
"Hush!" she said. "Do you want to get us all in trouble? I thought you had such courage—met big things sowell—"
"Oh, I do, Blue Bonnet—I really do—but this is a little thing—such a horrid little thing—oh, oh—it's under this box—oh—" A piercing scream rent the air.
At the same instant seven girls darted for thedoor. They tumbled over each other in a mad effort to escape. Blue Bonnet found herself alone in a dark hall not knowing which way to turn. She stood still a moment, her heart beating violently. It was not a pleasant situation. The other girls knew the building perfectly—every nook and cranny—just where to go. She felt against the wall and a knob met her fingers. A second later she was in a room lit by a dim moon. Feeling her way along the wall to the window she threw up the blind. In the nearest corner a form huddled.
"Who is in this room?" Blue Bonnet whispered.
"Oh, Blue Bonnet," came the answer, "is it you? I was going back to find you. I thought you'd be scared to death. Isn't this the worst ever? Who would have thought Wee could have been such a fool! Take hold of my hand; I know every step of the way."
"Do you think any of the girls have been caught, Annabel?"
"I don't know. If they haven't it's good luck, not good management. Look out—there ought to be a step here—yes, there is, walk carefully. No sprained ankles to-night."
Just how they reached their rooms Blue Bonnet never quite knew. She trusted Annabel and followed meekly as a newly born lamb should. When they parted at Blue Bonnet's door Annabel gave Blue Bonnet a swift hug.
"You're game clear through," she said. "I think everything is all right. I can't hear a sound anywhere."
Somewhere down the length of the hall a clock struck. Annabel and Blue Bonnet both counted: one—two—three!
"Three o'clock and all is well!" Annabel said. "Good night. Don't worry."
It was at breakfast the next morning that Madam de Cartier remarked to one of the girls at the French table:
"I fancied I heard a scream last night—or this morning, rather. It sounded down Commonwealth Avenue. A piercing scream, as though some one were in great distress. Did any one else hear it?"
"Yes, Madam de Cartier," Sue Hemphill said, equal to the occasion. "It was dreadful, wasn't it? As if some one were horribly frightened. It was about three o'clock, I think. I was awake and heard the clock striking on the lower corridor. What could it have been?"
"I really don't know, Miss Hemphill, though I have a theory. I may be quite wrong, however. It seems strange, doesn't it? This street is so eminently respectable and quiet."
Sue met Madam de Cartier's eye unflinchingly. There was an unfathomable twinkle in Madam's that meant much or little. Madam was naturallymerry. Nevertheless, Sue, for all her bravado, was worried. She changed the subject immediately.
"Sue's perfectly furious at Deborah," Annabel said, catching up with Blue Bonnet on the way to chapel. "She won't speak to her this morning. I ran in to borrow a tie a minute before breakfast, and Wee had been crying. Poor old Wee! I feel sorry for her. She's such a good sport generally. I reckon she can't help being afraid of mice. Some people are, you know—awfully!"
"Do you think anybody knows about what happened?" Blue Bonnet asked.
Annabel laughed.
"I don't know. Miss North acted awfully queer this morning. One of the girls asked if anybody heard that scream in the night, and the funniest look came over Miss North's face. To tell the truth, I think the teachers know all about it and the joke's on us. I haven't been so scared in an age. It's pretty risky for a Senior to be up to such high jinks."
"Will Miss North do anything about it, do you think?"
"No—I hardly think so. She's pretty lenient to the 'Lambs.' We help support her pet charity. She's terribly interested in settlement work. Anyway, I don't believe she half minds a little innocent fun; but, of course, she couldn't sanction it openly." Annabel stifled a yawn. "I'm so sleepy I don'tknow how I'm ever going to get through this day. I scarcely slept a wink all night. I got to worrying about that candle we left burning in the sky parlor; and finally, after numerous and painful visions of the building burning down at my own personal expense, I got up, felt my way along those dark halls, and put it out."
"You went back alone!" Blue Bonnet gasped.
"I did. I think myself I deserve a medal—don't you?"
"You deserve several, Annabel. It was too plucky for anything. Why didn't Ruth go with you?"
"Oh, Ruth was asleep. It seemed a pity to wake her. I didn't mind much. I never was afraid of the dark."
It was late in the afternoon that Sue Hemphill, coming into her room, found the following note pinned to her pincushion with her best hatpin:
"Dear old Roomy:"Please forgive me for being such a silly goose last night. I couldn't help it—truly I couldn't, Sue. I have always gotten perfectly panicky over those little beasts ever since I can remember. I can't bear to have you angry with me. I know I feel worse than you do about it, for I must have seemed such an awful fool. It was all the worsebecause I had boasted about my courage the other day. I never will again. I am going to see if Miss North will let me take Mrs. White and the 'Lambs' to see Maude Adams next Saturday afternoon—my treat. I have a birthday check coming and I'd love to spend it that way.
"Dear old Roomy:
"Please forgive me for being such a silly goose last night. I couldn't help it—truly I couldn't, Sue. I have always gotten perfectly panicky over those little beasts ever since I can remember. I can't bear to have you angry with me. I know I feel worse than you do about it, for I must have seemed such an awful fool. It was all the worsebecause I had boasted about my courage the other day. I never will again. I am going to see if Miss North will let me take Mrs. White and the 'Lambs' to see Maude Adams next Saturday afternoon—my treat. I have a birthday check coming and I'd love to spend it that way.
"Your loving pal,Wee."
"Your loving pal,Wee."
"Dear old Wee," Sue said, as she read the note through twice and then carefully pinned it in her memory book. "She's got the biggest heart. Nobody could stay angry at her two minutes—I can't anyway. And," she added, philosophically, "I suppose if she's afraid of mice, she'safraid—and that's all there is to it."
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Littlehas been said about the living-room at Miss North's; one of the pleasantest places in the building. The approach to it was by the way of a rather unusual stairway, and this stairway had a peculiar significance in the school life. It parted on a landing just before it reached the living and dining-room floor, dividing into two separate avenues. One side was claimed by the Seniors; the other by the Juniors. A Senior never thought of coming down the Junior side; and the Juniors were quite as particular. Each class had its own "stair song" and on festive occasions the stairs played an important part.
The living-room was just across the hall from the dining-room; and when classes entertained—as they did often—the rooms were thrown open and used as one.
But it was on Sunday that the living-room appeared at its best. A beautiful fire of hickory logs always blazed on the ample hearth, casting a rosy glow over the polished oak beams in the ceiling,dancing and flickering on the handsome rugs and old mahogany furniture which had come down with generations of Norths.
At the extreme end of the room were placed three chairs—similar to bishops' chairs in design. The centre one belonged to Miss North. From it on Sunday morning, and often on Sunday evening, she read to the girls; and the girls loved this quiet hour more than almost any other thing that came into their lives. It was a diversion to come into the living-room's warmth and cheer directly after breakfast on Sunday morning, rather than file into chapel. It was delightful to relax after the strain and discipline of the week; to gather in groups and chat intimately; to sit where one pleased—even on the hearth rug, if one desired, while listening to the reading.
It was Miss North's desire to make this place as much a home living-room as possible; to get far away from institutional life.
There was always a little time in which to chat after the girls gathered on Sunday morning; then Miss North took her seat and the exercises began. There were a few hymns and the lesson for the day from the Scriptures. Miss North was an excellent Bible student, and she interested and held the girls in these readings and talks through her knowledge and ability to impart what she knew in a fascinating manner. Thus a quiet and peaceful hour was spent,which meant much in the general culture and up-building of the girls' characters. Many a young woman looking back in after years felt grateful for the high ideals put before her at that time.
"I adore these Sunday mornings," Blue Bonnet said, linking her arm through Annabel Jackson's as they left the room after an especially helpful talk. "I think Miss North is wonderful. She never preaches at you; but what she says sticks. I'd a lot rather hear her talk than Sarah Blake's father—our minister at home. Aunt Lucinda says Mr. Blake is very spiritual, but he's terribly prosy. I have the awfullest time trying to keep awake when he talks—it's dreadful!"
"Well, you'll have a treat to-day at Trinity, Blue Bonnet. The Bishop is going to preach. I adore him. He's terribly good to look at, too, with all his fixings—his cross and ring and beautiful robes. I had a letter to him when I came here, and he called one day. He wasn't nearly so handsome without his robes; but he was perfectly dear—and quite jolly. I expected to be awed by him; but I wasn't, a bit. I almost caught myself telling him everything I'd done since I arrived here; but I checked myself in time."
Blue Bonnet looked at Annabel with new respect.
"It must have been a beautiful experience," she said.
Annabel paused at Blue Bonnet's door.
"We've just time to do our rooms before we dress. Help me make my bed and I'll return the compliment."
Blue Bonnet complied willingly. Then they went back to her room.
"What are you going to wear to-day, Blue Bonnet?" Annabel asked, her eyes straying toward Blue Bonnet's closet. "I haven't a thing! I've just got to have some new clothes."
Blue Bonnet laughed.
"Poor little 'Flora McFlimsey,'" she said. "'Nothing but your new tailored suit and your velvet hat and your silk waist,' to say nothingof—"
"But I'm tired of them all! I'd so love a change."
Blue Bonnet opened her closet door.
"Choose," she said generously. "Only leave me my muff, to-day. I perish by the wayside in this climate. I'd give—oh, most anything, for a streak of Texas sunshine!"
Almost unconsciously a sigh escaped her. There were days when a vision of the Texas prairie obliterated every other sight.
"Oh, thank you, dear! You're so good about your things. I'll take your black fur hat, if you don't mind—and the blue waist. I'm quite mad about blue just now. I never used to think I could wear it."
Blue Bonnet got out the waist, and Annabel held it against her face, trying the effect.
"I don't know about this 'Alice' shade. What do you think? Can I wear it all right?"
"You look beautiful in anything to me, Annabel—yes, I think it is very becoming. Will you walk with me to-day?"
"Surely; though I suppose Ruth will pout—but no matter! Reckon we had better hurry a little."
Blue Bonnet always declared that there was something about Trinity Church that put her in a pious mood. She felt it first when she came in sight of the splendid edifice. She loved its majesty—- its vast impressive central tower; the quaint cloisters; the rich Galilee porch and the ivy-clad walls; and once inside she could never keep her eyes from straying to the wonderful Tiffany stained glass memorial windows; the famous frescoes, of which "Jesus and the Woman of Samaria" was her favorite. She loved the service, too. Loved it because amid all the grandeur it was simple and impressive, and she could have a part in it.
It was a pretty sight to see the girls from Miss North's school march in to the church, and it spoke well for Miss North's training that they were always dignified and attentive. They took an active part in the service and sang for the very joy of singing. Blue Bonnet's strong, sweet soprano oftenrang above her fellows, clear and true, and her face reflected the glow that stirred her heart.
"Thatwasa wonderful sermon, Annabel," she said as they left the church. "Dear me, how I do wish Mr. Blake could sit under the Bishop for a while. I wonder if he ever heard him. I daresay he hasn't. He's what Grandmother calls a 'dyed in the wool Presbyterian.'"
She sighed, regretful of Mr. Blake's lost opportunities.
"Cheer up! You don't have to listen to him often," Annabel said consolingly.
"No, that's true. Butthinkof Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda! They've been listening to him for most twenty years."
"Oh, well, 'habit's a cable,'" Annabel quoted glibly. "It jerks us along and we get into the way of thinking we like things whether we do or not. I daresay your aunt dotes on him."
"Aunt Lucinda isn't—well—she isn't just the doting kind, Annabel; but I don't suppose she'd trade Mr. Blake for the Bishop if she could. Loyalty's the backbone of Aunt Lucinda. She's very fond of Sarah, too. By the way, did I tell you that Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda are coming up to spend a few days of the spring vacation with me? Aunt Lucinda has a lot of shopping to do, and Grandmother loves a little change. They've asked Sarah Blake to come with them. I wish therest of the girls could come. Wouldn't it be fun if the Lambs could meet the We Are Sevens?"
"Oh, lovely, Blue Bonnet! I'm quite wild to see Kitty Clark. I'm real jealous of her. She's your best friend, isn't she?"
Blue Bonnet hedged.
"Kitty's a dear," she said; "and the prettiest girl you almost ever saw—but I'm fond of all the girls."
Silence fell between them as they walked homeward. Suddenly Blue Bonnet gave a little joyful cry.
"Annabel! I know what I'm going to do! Alec said that Uncle Cliff was coming at Easter. I'll write to him this very afternoon and ask him to invite the We Are Sevens up here for a day or two just before vacation begins—just the day before—and give us, the Lambs and the We Are Sevens, a party. Maybe a matinee party with a dinner at the Copley Plaza afterward."
"Oh, Blue Bonnet!Doyou think he would? That would be heavenly."
"He'd adore to do it. I am sure."
Sunday afternoon at Miss North's was given over almost entirely to letter writing, and Blue Bonnet was not long in getting a note off to Uncle Cliff. She was a little ashamed of its scrappiness as she read it over; but what it lacked in news and length was more than made up in affection. Itfairly throbbed with love and anxiety to see him, and she had plead the cause of the We Are Sevens with the eloquence of a young Webster.
"He'll never be able to resist that plea," she said to Annabel, who had brought her writing materials into Blue Bonnet's room. "He'll justhaveto come when he gets this. I shouldn't wonder if it didn't bring him sooner than he expected."
She sealed the letter and pounded the stamp on with enthusiasm. To think was ever to act with Blue Bonnet, and the next half hour was given over to planning for the coming event—"the gathering of the clans."
"Don't you think that a matinee party with tea afterward at the hotel would be lovely, Annabel? Then dinner about seven o'clock. We might do something in the evening, too."
Annabel thought it would be well to consult the Lambs on so important a subject, which necessitated an impromptu meeting in the "Angels' Retreat." The tea bell had sounded before the meeting adjourned.
Sunday evening tea was another delight at Miss North's. There was a pleasant informality about it. It consisted of hot rolls and cocoa, a salad and cake, with marshmallows which were to be toasted later in the living-room at the big fireplace.
For an hour after tea the girls sat in the firelight, visiting. Often a speaker was provided for the evening's entertainment—a celebrity, if possible. The best in the way of culture for her girls was Miss North's rule.
To-night the girls were all present. They had dressed with care in compliment to an expected guest; a noted traveler who was to tell them of foreign lands and customs. Miss North viewed them with pleasure. They were her children—a family to be proud of.
A pleasanter scene could scarcely be imagined. The girls stood in groups chatting; on the hearth rug; in the deep chairs—a picture of youthful loveliness.
"Will you look at Joy Cross!" Ruth Biddle said to Sue Hemphill. "What has got into her? She's been fixed up that way for several days; blue bow—haircurled—"
The close proximity of Joy at that moment stopped the sentence. Blue Bonnet Ashe was bringing her into the group and Annabel held Joy in animated conversation.
"Let's all sit together," Blue Bonnet said, and Joy sat down with the rest. Although but two weeks had passed since Joy's trouble, she was much changed. A little spot of color burned in her usually pale cheeks; and—there was no doubt about it—the blue bowwasbecoming. It brought out unsuspected possibilities in the white skin, and casta deeper tone to the faded eyes. Joy was happy; and the happiness showed in every change of expression.
It had not been an easy thing for Blue Bonnet and Annabel Jackson to show Joy the many little kindnesses which they had shown her, without becoming patronizing; but they had—somehow—to their credit; and Joy, for the first time in her life, was beginning to taste the sweets of companionship.
Annabel Jackson was a born leader. When she put the stamp of approval on anything, it went; and when she began to stop Joy in halls and recitation rooms for a moment's chat—a bit of advice on lessons—Joy's stock took sudden flight. If Annabel thought her worth while, she surely must be; and Blue Bonnet's interest, added to Annabel's, was the needed touch to bring Joy into the social life of the school.
Not until there was an exodus toward the pipe organ, about which the girls gathered to sing, did Ruth have a chance to express her opinion of Joy's sudden popularity.
"Idon't intend to take her up," she said haughtily, lagging behind with Sue. "She isn't our kind at all. I don't know what's got into Annabel lately. She's perfectly crazy about Blue Bonnet Ashe—completely under her thumb."
"Lots of us in the same boat, Ruth. I'm quite crazy about her myself."
"Well, she needn't think she can run the school. She's behind this Joy Cross vogue. She's not going to ram her down my throat. The Biddles usually choose their own society."
Sue looked at Ruth sharply.
"You've sort of got an idea that name gives you special dispensation, haven't you, Ruth—kind of a free passport to the upper realms? Well, forget it! It hasn't. It wouldn't get you any farther with folks that count than Cross, or Ashe, or Hemphill. It's what you bring to your name; not what it brings to you. It's like what Miss North said the other day about life. It isn't what you get out of it, but what you put into it that counts."
Ruth's lip curled. It takes more than a rebuke to make a democrat out of an aristocrat.
"Nevertheless I shall retain the privilege of choosing my associates and not having them thrust upon me."
"That's all right, Ruth, but when you get lonesome, come on back into the fold. I've an idea that Joy Cross is going to make a place for herself in the school whether you like it or not. Blue Bonnet seems to have got at her in some way lately, and she says she's really quite likable! She says Joy makes her think of the late chrysanthemums in her grandmother's garden. They never get ready to bloom until everything else is gone; but you appreciate them all the more after they've weathered thefrost and come out brave and brilliant. Funny idea, isn't it? Blue Bonnet has such queer ideas. I think she's very unusual."
Ruth, still annoyed, found a place by the organ, while Sue slipped over by Joy, and putting her arm through hers carelessly, joined in the hymns with interest and fervor.
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Blue Bonnethad been a pupil at Miss North's school a little over three months now, and although she had had her share of fun and frolic, the greater portion of the time had been spent in serious work.
She excelled in her music, and the report that went home from the music department monthly pleased Miss Clyde very much. Blue Bonnet was living up to her aunt's expectations in this part of her work, and Miss Clyde, like many others, was not averse to having her dreams come true. Grandmother was pleased also, and counted the days until she should hear for herself just how much real improvement Blue Bonnet had made. The rigorous New England winter had prevented Mrs. Clyde from visiting Boston as much as she would have liked, and as Miss North objected to many week-ends at Woodford, her visits with Blue Bonnet had been of necessity limited.
Miss Clyde had been more fortunate, and running up to the city often, returned with splendid reports of Blue Bonnet.
"And her manners, Mother, are almost unbelievably improved. I really had quite a shock the other day," she confessed after her last visit. "Several teachers told me that Blue Bonnet would undoubtedly have received the medal for the greatest general improvement at the end of the year had she entered in September. I wish you might have seen her enter the reception-room. Her whole bearing is changed. She has dropped that hoydenish, tomboyish manner that was so offensive when she returned from the ranch. She neither waved, nor called to me from the head of the stairs as she came down, but positively glided into the room with ease and distinction."
"Blue Bonnet is growing into a young woman now," Mrs. Clyde answered. "She is leaving the hoydenish period. She will emerge, butterfly-like, from her chrysalis. I have never doubted it for a moment. There is a time for all things."
"Something else pleased me, too," Miss Clyde went on. "Blue Bonnet seems to have made desirable friends among teachers and pupils. They all like her—even that odd room-mate, whom, you remember, she was predestined to hate. I confess I thought her rather impossible, myself; but Miss Cross seems to have blossomed out suddenly, and Blue Bonnet says—to use her own expression, 'she is not half bad.'"
"Does Blue Bonnet still call her 'the cross?'" Mrs. Clyde asked, smiling broadly.
"Yes, and declares that she has taken up 'her cross' and is 'bearing it cheerfully'—whatever that may mean. Blue Bonnet loves figures of speech. Her comparisons are really very amusing sometimes. I hardly know what to make of her sudden tolerance of this girl; whether it is a case of propinquity, duty, or over-generousness on Blue Bonnet's part. At any rate, she seems to have espoused the cause of the cross, nobly."
"Bless her dear heart," Mrs. Clyde murmured Softly. "The world will never end for Blue Bonnet at her own doorstep. She has a real genius for friendship. I am glad she finds her room-mate pleasant. I feared from her letters that she never would."
"Something has happened to change her mind," Miss Clyde said shrewdly. "The girl's personality never appealed to Blue Bonnet. I rather suspect that Blue Bonnet feels that she needs friends. She has been very unpopular, I understand."
Miss Clyde, unconsciously, had put her finger upon the exact cause of Blue Bonnet's sudden conversion. Joy did need friends. To Blue Bonnet, this need was tragic—pathetic; and she straightway set about bringing Joy into the charmed circle where she, herself, had been welcomed with open arms. It had not been easy work; perhaps she would not have accomplished her aim had she not taken Mrs. White into her confidence. Mrs. Whitewas executive as well as musical. She was tactful, too, and under her guidance Joy was gradually steered into a port that became a haven; a refuge from her old self, her youthful environment.
Another interest had come into Blue Bonnet's life. One that bade fair to rival all others, and pave the way for future usefulness. It was the Settlement work which the "Lambs" engaged in. Her first visit to the poorer districts filled her with horror. She had never known anything about real poverty. A kind fate had lifted her above all that; and when she went for the first time into a day nursery, a free kindergarten, and was told something of the homes the children came from, their limitation, their actual needs, tears blinded her eyes and her throat ached with the lumps that rose there. For a moment she was speechless.
It was the home for crippled children that interested her most. The girls at Miss North's took turns going there to amuse the children. They cut paper dolls, carried toys, and made themselves generally useful during the brief hour they spent within the wards. Blue Bonnet soon began to look forward to these visits, and begged Miss North to allow her to go as often as possible.
It was on her second visit that she was attracted to a small cot, from which a pinched little face with wondrous brown eyes looked up appealingly.
"How do you do?" Blue Bonnet said, droppingdown beside the cot and taking the thin hand on the coverlet in her own.
"How doyoudo?" came the laconic answer.
"Nicely, thank you."
"Did you bring paper dolls?"
"Yes."
A look of keen disappointment came over the wan face on the pillow.
"I hate 'em! I hoped maybe you had soldiers. Everything here's for girls!"
"Now, isn't that strange," Blue Bonnet said, untying a parcel with haste. "I brought things for girls last time—seemed sort of natural to buy dolls and dishes, being a girl, but this time I brought the very things you wanted. Soldiers!"
The brown eyes grew round with delight.
"For me? All for me?"
The little hands went out eagerly.
"You may play with them all you like. Perhaps you will want to pass them on to some other little boy when you tire of them."
"I sha'n't never tire of 'em. I just love 'em. Oh, ain't they grand! Why, there's a whole lot, ain't they?"
"A regiment," Blue Bonnet said, delighted with the child's enthusiasm. "And horses! Soldiers must be well mounted, of course!"
The boy was upright in bed now, his face aglow with excitement.
Blue Bonnet made a pillow into a background and put the soldiers in a row before the child. The next moment he was oblivious of her presence.
"Horses!" he said. "Horses! Gee!"
A laugh, utterly out of proportion to the wasted little body from which it emerged, rang through the ward.
"I'm afraid you are getting too excited," Blue Bonnet cautioned. "I'll have to take them away if you make yourself ill with them."
The boy caught up as many of the soldiers and horses as he could, and held to them tightly.
"You can't get 'em," he said, and the brown eyes flashed. "I wouldn't give 'em up to nobody."
"You don't have to give them up. You mustn't get excited, that's all. It's bad for sick people; it gives them fever."
"Aw—I gets fever anyway. I'm used to it. I'm 'bercular! It's in my knee."
"A tubercular knee?"
The boy nodded, and thrusting a pitifully thin leg from beneath the covers, showed a knee carefully bandaged. Blue Bonnet hastily covered it, asking his name by way of changing the subject.
"Gabriel," came the quick answer.
"Gabriel! What a beautiful name! Gabriel—what?"
"You couldn't say all of it if I tell you. It's Jewish."