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Blue Bonnet in Boston; or, Boarding-School Days at Miss North's

by Caroline Elliott Hoogs Jacobs · English · Gutenberg #23916 · 508,634 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Blue Bonnet in Boston; or, Boarding-School Days at Miss North's

Author: Caroline Elliott Hoogs Jacobs
        Lela Horn Richards

Illustrator: John Goss


        
Release date: December 19, 2007 [eBook #23916]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23916

Credits: Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Jacqueline Jeremy
        and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
        http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON; OR, BOARDING-SCHOOL DAYS AT MISS NORTH'S ***




Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Jacqueline Jeremy
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net










BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON

OR, BOARDING-SCHOOL DAYS AT MISS NORTH'S


[Illustration: "SHE WRENCHED THE WHIP FROM ALEC'S HAND." (_See page
308._)]


    The Blue Bonnet Series

    BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON
    Or, Boarding-school Days at Miss North's

    BY CAROLINE E. JACOBS
    AND
    LELA H. RICHARDS

    A SEQUEL TO
    A TEXAS BLUE BONNET
    AND
    BLUE BONNET'S RANCH PARTY

    _Illustrated by_ JOHN GOSS

    THE PAGE COMPANY BOSTON: PUBLISHERS


    _Copyright, 1914_
    BY THE PAGE COMPANY

    _Entered at Stationers' Hall, London_
    _All rights reserved_
    Made in U. S. A.

    First Impression, August, 1914
    Second Impression, November, 1914
    Third Impression, March, 1915
    Fourth Impression, August, 1915
    Fifth Impression, May, 1916
    Sixth Impression, April, 1917
    Seventh Impression, March, 1918
    Eighth Impression, February, 1919
    Ninth Impression, April, 1919
    Tenth Impression, March, 1920
    Eleventh Impression, September, 1921

    PRINTED BY C. H. SIMONDS COMPANY
    BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A.




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER                               PAGE

    I. THE WAIL OF THE WE ARE SEVENS         1
    II. A WEEK-END                          20
    III. IN BOSTON                          40
    IV. A SURPRISE                          54
    V. BOARDING-SCHOOL                      74
    VI. NEW FRIENDS                         98
    VII. IN TROUBLE                        117
    VIII. PENANCE                          134
    IX. WOODFORD                           153
    X. UNDER A CLOUD                       172
    XI. THE CLOUD LIFTS                    191
    XII. INITIATED                         208
    XIII. SUNDAY                           227
    XIV. SETTLEMENT WORK                   239
    XV. A HARVARD TEA                      255
    XVI. ANTICIPATIONS                     274
    XVII. THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS       294
    XVIII. KITTY'S COTILLION               313
    XIX. A SURPRISE PARTY                  333
    XX. THE JUNIOR SPREAD                  344
    XXI. THE LAMBS' FROLIC                 359
    XXII. COMMENCEMENT                     377




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                       PAGE

    "SHE WRENCHED THE WHIP FROM ALEC'S HAND"
    (_See page 308_)                              _Frontispiece_

    "BLUE BONNET TOOK THE MIRROR AND LOOKED AT
    HERSELF FROM ALL ANGLES"                            140

    "THE GHOST IN THE CENTRE OF THE GROUP ROSE"         216

    "GABRIEL LOOKED UP IN DISDAIN"                      245

    "SHE WAS HOLDING ON TO UNCLE CLIFF'S COAT
    LAPELS"                                             288

    "SHE WAS OONAH, THE BEWITCHING LITTLE IRISH
    MAIDEN"                                             357




Blue Bonnet in Boston

CHAPTER I

THE WAIL OF THE WE ARE SEVENS


Blue Bonnet raised the blind of the car window, which had been drawn all
the afternoon to shut out the blazing sun, and took a view of the flying
landscape. Then she consulted the tiny watch at her wrist and sat up
with a start.

"Grandmother!" she said excitedly, "we'll soon be in Woodford; that is,
in just an hour. We're on time, you know. Hadn't we better be getting
our things together?"

Mrs. Clyde straightened up from the pillows, which Blue Bonnet had
arranged comfortably for her afternoon nap, and peered out at the
rolling hills and green meadow-lands.

"I think we have plenty of time, Blue Bonnet," she said, smiling into
the girl's eager face. "But perhaps we would better freshen up a bit.
You are sure we are on time?"

"Yes, I asked the conductor when I went back to see Solomon at the last
station. Four-twenty sharp, at Woodford, he told Solomon, and Solomon
licked his hand with joy. Poor doggie! I don't believe he appreciates
the value of travel, even if he has seen Texas and New York and Boston.
He loathes the baggage-car, though I must say the men all along the way
have been perfectly splendid to him. But then, any one would fall in
love with Solomon, he's such a dear."

Mrs. Clyde recalled the five dollar bill she had witnessed Mr. Ashe pass
to the baggage-man at the beginning of the journey, and the money she
had given by his instruction along the way, and wondered how much
Solomon's real worth had contributed to his care.

"I'm so glad we're arriving in the afternoon," Blue Bonnet said, as she
gathered up magazines and various other articles that littered the
section. "There's something so flat about getting anywhere in the
morning--nothing to do but sit round waiting for trunks that have been
delayed, and wander about the house. I wonder if Aunt Lucinda told the
girls we were coming?"

Mrs. Clyde fancied not. A quiet home-coming after so strenuous a summer
was much to be desired.

Blue Bonnet and the We Are Sevens had parted company in New York several
weeks before, the girls going on to Woodford in care of the General, in
order not to miss the first week of school.

The stay in New York had been particularly gratifying to Blue Bonnet,
for there had been ample time while waiting for Aunt Lucinda to arrive
from her summer's outing in Europe, to do some of the things left undone
on her last visit. A day at the Metropolitan Museum proved a delight;
the shops fascinating--especially Tiffany's, where Blue Bonnet spent
hours over shining trays, mysterious designs in monograms, and antique
gold settings, leaving an order that quite amazed Grandmother Clyde,
until she learned that the purchase was for Uncle Cliff.

Then there had been a delightful week with the Boston relatives, Aunt
Lucinda going straight to Woodford to open the house and make things
comfortable for her mother's arrival.

Cousin Tracy, as on that other memorable visit, had proved an ideal
host. To be sure, a motor car had been substituted for the sightseeing
bus so dear to Blue Bonnet's heart, but she found it, on the whole,
quite as enjoyable, and confided to Cousin Tracy as they sped through
the crooked little streets or walked through the beloved Common, that
she liked Boston ever so much better than New York, it seemed so nice
and countrified. There was a second visit to Bunker Hill and the
Library, to which Blue Bonnet brought fresh enthusiasm, more stories of
Cousin Tracy's coins and medals, and so the days passed all too swiftly.

"Well, at last!" Blue Bonnet exclaimed, as the train began to slacken
speed and the familiar "Next stop Woodford" echoed through the car.
"Here we are, Grandmother, home again!" She was at the door before the
car came to a standstill.

"Doesn't look as exciting as it did when Uncle Cliff and I arrived in
the Wanderer, does it?" Blue Bonnet's eyes swept the almost deserted
station.

Miss Clyde stood at the end of the long platform, her eyes turned
expectantly toward the rear Pullman, with Denham, the coachman, at a
respectful distance.

Blue Bonnet sprang from the car steps, greeted Aunt Lucinda
affectionately, shook hands with Denham and rushed for the baggage-car
to release Solomon.

"He's perfectly wild to see you, Aunt Lucinda," she called back, as she
ran toward the car--a compliment which Solomon himself verified a moment
later with joyful leaps and yelps and much wagging of tail.

"My, but it seems nice to get home," Blue Bonnet said as she sank back
cosily in the carriage and heaved a sigh of content. The sigh shamed her
a little. It seemed, somehow, disloyal to Uncle Cliff and Texas. She sat
up straight and turned her head away from the houses with their trim
orderly dooryards and well-kept hedges, and, for a moment, fixed her
mind with passionate loyalty on the lonely wind-swept stretches of her
native state; the battered and weatherbeaten ranch-house, Benita--But
only for a moment. The green rolling hills, the giant arching elms,
Grandmother's stately house just coming into view, proved too alluring,
and salving her conscience with the thought that it was her own dear
mother's country she had at last learned to love, gave herself up to the
full enjoyment of her surroundings.

Katie and faithful Delia were awaiting the arrival of the family on the
veranda, their joy at the reunion showing in every line of their happy
faces. Blue Bonnet shook hands with them cordially, deposited a load of
magazines and wraps in Delia's willing arms and ran in to the house.

In the sitting-room tea was ready to be served. Blue Bonnet curled up in
one of the deep armchairs and eyed the table appreciatively. How good it
looked--the thin slices of bread and butter, the fresh marmalade, the
wonderful Clyde cookies. She leaned back and smiled contentedly.

"Come, Blue Bonnet," Miss Clyde said, entering the room followed by
Delia with a brass kettle of steaming water, "make yourself tidy
quickly. Tea is all ready."

"All right, Aunt Lucinda, I sha'n't be a minute, I'm quite famished,"
and to prove the fact Blue Bonnet helped herself to a handful of
cookies on her way out of the room.

Aunt Lucinda cast an inquiring glance in her mother's direction.

"I fear you will find Blue Bonnet a bit spoiled, Lucinda," Mrs. Clyde
said with some hesitancy. "But we must not be too severe with her. The
girls have led a wild, carefree existence all summer. I have done my
best to look after them carefully, but I found seven rather a handful."

Something in Mrs. Clyde's tone made her daughter turn and look at her
closely. Was it imagination, or did she seem unusually fatigued? Miss
Clyde had often wondered during the summer if the responsibility of so
many girls had not been too much of a tax on her mother's strength and
patience, but her letters had been so cheerful, so uncomplaining, that
she had tried to put the thought out of her mind, attributing it to
overanxiety.

Blue Bonnet's entrance prevented further questioning.

"I think, if you don't mind, Grandmother, I'll run over and see the
General a minute. I promised Alec to look after him," Blue Bonnet said,
putting down her tea-cup.

"That would be very nice, Blue Bonnet," Mrs. Clyde answered with a nod
and a smile. "The General is going to miss Alec very much this winter."

As Blue Bonnet passed her Grandmother she stooped and putting her arm
round her shoulder gave her a gentle hug. Mrs. Clyde reached up and
patted the girl's face tenderly. Whatever had been her care, love had
lightened the burden, there could be no doubt of that.

"You can't think what a trump she's been, Aunt Lucinda," Blue Bonnet
said, straightening the bow at her grandmother's neck. "A regular brick!
Why, she's had all the girls at her feet this blessed summer."

"It would have been more to the point if I had had them in hand," her
grandmother replied; making haste to add, as she met Blue Bonnet's
puzzled eyes, "not but that they were good girls, very good girls
indeed."

Blue Bonnet whistled to Solomon and went out of the front door, banging
it carelessly. Miss Clyde looked annoyed.

"I am afraid we are going to have to begin all over again with Blue
Bonnet," she said with some concern. "She seems so hoydenish. I noticed
it immediately."

"It is a good deal the exuberance of youth, Lucinda. Surplus energy has
to be worked off somehow. We must be patient with her."

"I have been thinking," Miss Clyde replied, "that it would be wise not
to enter Blue Bonnet in the Boston school immediately. If we could keep
her with us until after the holidays we could perhaps interest her in
some home duties--the girls will all be in school, and we could have her
more to ourselves, and, perhaps, smooth down some of these rough
corners."

Mrs. Clyde looked wistful.

"I shall miss the dear child so," she said. "I wish we might keep her
with us a bit longer. Boarding-school will be the beginning of a long
break, I fear."

"It is because of the association that I particularly wish her to enter
Miss North's school. She will meet refined girls from some of our old
New England families, and the influence cannot fail to be helpful. I
hope she will not be tempted to tell them that her grandmother is a
brick," Miss Clyde added as an afterthought, but her smile was indulgent
rather than critical.

"Girls are much the same the world over," her mother answered with the
wisdom of experience. "Blue Bonnet is very like her mother. She was a
great romp, but she passed the hoydenish period in safety, so will Blue
Bonnet; never fear."

"She must be taught order and system; and a little domestic science
under Katie might not come amiss, since she will some day be at the head
of a household," Miss Clyde went on, and her mother signified approval.
"Then there is mending and darning. On the whole, I think the next
three months might be made very profitable to Blue Bonnet right here at
home. I am not at all sure but that too much emphasis is given to the
cultural side of education, and too little to the domestic these days. A
girl to be well educated should be well rounded."

After dinner, when the fire in the grate had been lighted--for the
autumn evenings were beginning to bring chill to the air--and the family
gathered for an hour's chat before bed, Miss Clyde broached the subject
to Blue Bonnet.

"How would you like to continue your vacation for three months longer,
Blue Bonnet, to stay on here with Grandmother and me until after the
holidays?"

"And have no studies at all?" Blue Bonnet interrupted, her eyes widening
with surprise. "What a lark!"

"Well, there would be duties," Miss Clyde admitted. "One could not be
altogether idle and keep happy."

"We should like you to be our dear home girl for a while longer, Blue
Bonnet," Mrs. Clyde said gently. "It is going to be very hard to give
you up."

"But I shall be at home for the week-ends."

"We hope so, dear, if it does not interfere too much with your studies.
Sometimes there is distraction in change of scene and habit. When you
enter Miss North's school, you will be under her supervision, not
ours--subject to her approval."

A little pucker wrinkled Blue Bonnet's brow.

"Shall I? Oh, dear, I do so hate being supervised. I mean by strangers,
Grandmother. Will she be terribly strict, and--interfering?"

"Not any more than will be for your interest and welfare."

"Well, I reckon it will be all right. I want to do what you think best
for me."

Mrs. Clyde could not withheld the triumphant look that she turned toward
her daughter. It said plainer than words, "you see how amenable she is,
how sweet her nature."

"And I could see a lot of the girls, even if they are in school. Perhaps
the Club could meet oftener."

Miss Clyde was silent. Discretion and diplomacy often availed where hard
and fast rules failed with Blue Bonnet. She could be led, easily--never
driven.

Miss Clyde's silence puzzled Blue Bonnet more than the unexpected news
that she was to remain in Woodford another three months had done. She
was unusually keen and alert, intuitive to a degree, and while Aunt
Lucinda's manner was all that could be desired, she felt that she had
been a disappointment in some way. She rose a little wearily and going
to the piano ran her fingers over the keys.

"Let us have a little music, dear, before we retire. It will seem good
to hear you play again," Mrs. Clyde said.

Blue Bonnet drifted into one air after another listlessly, as if her
thoughts were miles away from the keyboard over which her hands wandered
so prettily. The familiar melodies floated plaintively through the still
room. She played half through an old favorite, then rose suddenly. When
she turned to her grandmother for her usual goodnight kiss her eyes were
a little dim with tears. She struggled to hide them, and, excusing
herself on the pretext of unpacking her trunks, started for the stairs.

Miss Clyde had risen from her chair as Blue Bonnet rose from the piano.
She waited until Blue Bonnet had said good night to her grandmother,
then she put her arm affectionately over the girl's shoulder and patted
her reassuringly.

"I hope our little girl is not going to be homesick," she said. "There
will be much to do in the next three months--much that is pleasant. Some
day soon you and I will run up to Boston and have a look at Miss North's
school and find out something about its requirements. We shall have a
good deal of shopping to do, too. Suitable frocks play as important a
part at boarding-school as elsewhere."

Miss Clyde smiled one of her rare sweet smiles, and Blue Bonnet felt as
if a weight had been lifted from her heart.

"Aunt Lucinda is a good deal of a dear," she said to herself, as she
perched on the window-seat in her bedroom and looked out into the
moonlight. "She wants me to be happy. I suppose she doesn't always
understand me, any more than I do her. I reckon we'll have to sort of
take each other on faith." And lightly humming a little tune she jumped
up from the window-seat and plunged madly into the unpacking.

"As long as this is Saturday, would you mind, Grandmother, if I had the
girls in this afternoon?" Blue Bonnet inquired at the breakfast-table
next morning. And Mrs. Clyde replied:

"Not at all, dear. They will be so busy in school during the week. I
will see what Katie has planned for to-day, and, if she can manage it,
you might ask them to lunch."

A visit to the kitchen resulted favorably.

"Oh, you're such a duck, Grandmother," Blue Bonnet assured her. "I'll
'phone them right up," an operation which consumed the better part of an
hour, since there was so much to relate after a separation of several
weeks.

"I'll just run down to the barn and give Chula a lump of sugar and feed
Solomon the first thing," Blue Bonnet said as she turned from the
telephone.

"Have you made your room tidy?" Miss Clyde inquired, coming out in to
the hall at that moment.

"Oh, dear, history repeats itself, doesn't it, Aunt Lucinda?" Blue
Bonnet's good-natured laugh was contagious. Miss Clyde smiled in spite
of herself.

"I haven't made my bed yet, Aunt Lucinda, if that's what you mean. I
hate making it up warm--it's not sanitary, is it? You've said so
yourself, often."

Miss Clyde's smile deepened. Blue Bonnet's sudden conversion to the laws
of hygiene was too amusing.

"I fancy two hours of this autumn air will have restored its freshness,"
she said. "Have you finished your unpacking?"

Blue Bonnet recalled the piles of fluffy whiteness that covered chairs
and window-seat, and, turning, went up-stairs quickly.

It took some time to get the room in proper order. It might, not have
taken so long if the view from the south window had not been so
pleasant. Out in the garden the dahlias and coreopsis nodded and
beckoned coaxingly, the soft wind stirred the leaves in the apple-trees,
and Solomon frisked and rolled with glee in the sunshine.

At last it was finished, at least the furniture had been relieved of its
burdens, and the bed made in the most approved fashion. Blue Bonnet was
free to join Solomon, and to gather a great bunch of the golden-hued
coreopsis to adorn the lunch table. She was thinking of a little plan,
as she cut the long stems and arranged the flowers with taste and
precision; a little plan she had barely time to execute before Kitty
Clark's familiar, "Ooh-hoo, Ooh-hoo!" echoed from somewhere in the
vicinity of the front gate.

"I suppose I'm loads too early, but I could hardly wait to see you, Blue
Bonnet," was her cheery greeting. "We've all been pining away for you.
New York must have been fascinating to have kept you so long."

Blue Bonnet admitted that it was. She even opened her lips to tell of
some of its enchantments, but Kitty went on irrelevantly:

"You've missed a heap at school. I suppose you can catch up, but you'll
have to dig in, I can tell you. The Czar"--Kitty's name for Mr.
Hunt--"isn't bestowing any more favors than usual."

Blue Bonnet's first impulse was to tell Kitty that she would not be back
in school with the We Are Sevens this year, but she thought better of it
and waited.

Kitty rambled on.

"Latin's a perfect fright and--oh, Blue Bonnet, what, do you think? Miss
Rankin's engaged! Yes, she is, honest, truly. She's got a ring, a
beauty! She wore it turned in the first two weeks, but now she's picked
up courage and turned it round so everybody can see it. She's going to
quit after Christmas. They're going to live in Boston. He's a
lawyer--Sarah Blake's father knows him, and says he's right nice."

Kitty's patronizing air nettled Blue Bonnet as much as it amused her.

"Why shouldn't he be nice?" she inquired a bit sharply. "Miss Rankin's
nice herself."

The remark went over Kitty's head, and the appearance of Sarah Blake
down the roadway put a stop to the gossip.

It was the gayest kind of a little party that made the rafters in Mrs.
Clyde's dining-room ring with laughter an hour later. Blue Bonnet had
insisted upon Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda lunching with them, so Mrs.
Clyde sat at one end of the broad board and Miss Clyde at the other.

Blue Bonnet's coreopsis had been rearranged, and put in a charming brown
basket. From beneath the basket, and quite concealed from sight, were
seven little boxes attached to yellow ribbons which ran to each of the
We Are Sevens' plates.

Blue Bonnet could scarcely wait for the dessert to be cleared away
before she told the girls to pull the ribbons.

When the boxes came in view there was a scream of delight.

Nimble-fingered Kitty was the first to open hers, and the rest were not
long following suit, revealing to the enraptured gaze quaint and oddly
designed gold rings, the monogram of the We Are Sevens forming a seal.

There was a rush for Blue Bonnet's side of the table, where that young
person was deluged with caresses and many expressions of gratitude.

"It's Uncle Cliff--he did it," Blue Bonnet managed to say when she could
extricate herself. "That is, he suggested it--gave me the money--and I
had them made at Tiffany's."

There was a chorus of praise for Uncle Cliff, which must have made his
ears ring to the point of deafness, even in far-off Texas.

Amanda made a suggestion.

"Let's go up-stairs in the clubroom and organize a Sorority. W. A. S.
looks kind of Greeky in a monogram. We can have rings instead of pins
for our insignia."

The idea met with instant favor. There was another rush for the stairs,
and a few moments later the Club members were comfortably settled in
their quarters with Amanda in the Chair.

Amanda was not quite clear as to the manner of procedure, but she
gracefully waved a tack hammer found on the window-sill, in lieu of a
gavel, and demanded order.

When quiet at last descended upon the disturbed and noisy assemblage,
Blue Bonnet asked if she might have the floor. She looked appealingly at
the Chair.

Debby rose to a point of order.

"We've got to elect officers," she said. "Amanda hasn't been elected. I
move that Blue Bonnet Ashe be our chairman."

This Was the very opportunity Blue Bonnet wanted for her announcement.
She made Debby a profound bow, pushing Amanda out of the way
unceremoniously.

"I thank you all for this very great honor," she began, clearing her
throat in the most professional manner. She had once attended a woman's
club with Miss Clyde in Boston. "But owing to my absence from the city
the coming winter I--"

There was a roar of protest from the Club members, en masse.

"I shall be leaving you about the first of January--"

This announcement prevented the further order of business. Cries of
"What for? Where to? For how long?" assailed Blue Bonnet.

She made her plans and prospects clear to them.

At first the girls seemed stunned. Joy turned to lamentation. There
arose a chorus of wails, plaintive and doleful. They kept it up for some
time--in concert--with Sarah Blake looking on in awed silence, forlorn
and tearful, as if a real tragedy had descended upon her.

Blue Bonnet took the tack hammer from Amanda's apathetic hand and rapped
for order.

"I neglected to state," she said, "that I shall be at home for the
week-ends--at least I hope to be. I see no reason why the Club can't go
on. I'm sure Grandmother would love to let you have this room when I'm
not here. Let's go on with the business. I nominate Sarah Blake for
president. It takes brains and dignity to be the president of a
Sorority. Sarah has both."

"Well, I like that!" Kitty exclaimed with some feeling. "I suppose the
rest of us have neither."

"Now, don't get stuffy, Kitty. You know I'm never personal. I meant no
reflection on anybody."

"We can't organize a Sorority, anyhow," Kitty objected. "They only have
them in colleges and high schools."

"I guess we can have one of our own if we want to," Amanda broke in. "We
can originate one, can't we? Everything has to have a beginning, doesn't
it?"

"Oh, I suppose you can call it what you like," Kitty said with a toss of
her head.

There was some discussion, but Sarah finally received the majority vote
and went in with flying colors.

That evening, from her accustomed seat on the hearth rug before a
glowing fire, Blue Bonnet told her grandmother of the afternoon's
experiences.

"The girls seem sorry to have me go away this winter," she said. "And,
oh, Grandmother, you should have heard them wail when I told them."

She leaned her head against her grandmother's knee and a little smile
wrinkled the corners of her mouth.

"I hate to leave them, too," she said. "They're such fun."

Mrs. Clyde smoothed the girl's hair gently as she answered:

"I want you to be happy, dear, but it can't all be fun. Aunt Lucinda has
a plan for you, which I think we will begin with Monday. You are
entering your seventeenth year, now, Blue Bonnet, and there are duties
and responsibilities which you can no longer evade."

Blue Bonnet sighed unconsciously.

"I suppose there are, Grandmother," she said, "but--couldn't we just put
them off until--well--until Monday?"




CHAPTER II

A WEEK-END


Blue Bonnet came down to breakfast Monday morning a trifle uncertain as
to whether the day was to be pleasant or profitable to her. She had a
very clear conviction that it could not be both. In her experience
profitable things were stupid--invariably!

It was raining--a condition of weather Miss Clyde hailed with delight.

"Just the very day to go through the linen closet," she said to Blue
Bonnet as they rose from the table. "I think we will begin there this
morning."

Blue Bonnet looked out at the lowering clouds and followed her aunt
meekly. She, too, was glad that it was raining; otherwise she should
have longed to be galloping over the country roads on Chula.

Mrs. Clyde's linen closet was a joy to behold; a room of itself, light
and airy, with the smoothest of cedar shelves and deep cavernous drawers
for blankets and down comforts.

Blue Bonnet had been in the room occasionally, when she had been sent
for sheets for an unexpected guest. She had brought away the refreshing
odor of sweet lavender in her nostrils, and a vision of the neatly piled
linen before her eyes.

To-day she watched her aunt as she opened drawers, took the white covers
from blankets and comforts, inspected sheets and patch-work quilts with
an eye to necessary darning.

What a dreadful waste of time to have cut up all those little patches
and have sewn them together, Blue Bonnet thought, as her aunt folded a
quilt and returned it to its particular place on the shelf. She felt
sure that Aunt Lucinda could have bought much prettier quilts with less
bother.

"It seems almost like a sanctuary, here," she said at last, leaning
against the window and watching the proceedings with interest. "It's so
beautifully clean, and I adore that lavender smell. Where does it come
from?"

Miss Clyde reached under a sheet and brought forth a small bag made of
white tarlatan filled with dried flowers and leaves.

Blue Bonnet buried her nose in it.

"Oh, I love it," she said. "I must get some and send it to Benita.
Benita is very particular about our beds. She says my mother was."

"She could not have been a Clyde and escaped that, my dear. It is a
passion with all of us--linen and fine china."

Blue Bonnet nodded brightly.

"When I have a home I shall have a linen closet just like this," she
said, glancing about admiringly.

"Then you cannot begin too soon to learn how to take care of it. Few
things require closer supervision than a linen closet, in any home. You
must learn to mend; not ordinary mending, but fine darning."

Miss Clyde cast her eye over a pile of sheets. She opened one and handed
it to Blue Bonnet, directing her attention to a rent which had been
skillfully repaired in one corner.

Blue Bonnet noted the stitches of gossamer fineness with absorbed
interest. Then she folded the sheet carefully and handed it back with a
sigh.

"I never could do it, Aunt Lucinda. Never, in a thousand years. I know I
couldn't. I hate sewing."

"Then I fear you could never have a linen closet like this, Blue Bonnet.
Mending represents but a small part of the detail and system necessary
to good housekeeping."

"But, maybe, perhaps I could hire some one. Couldn't I, don't you
think?"

"You certainly could not instruct servants if you did not know how to
work, yourself. That would be quite impossible. Could your teachers have
imparted their knowledge to you if they, themselves, had not been
students?"

The argument seemed plausible. Blue Bonnet's sigh deepened.

"I shall employ a trained housekeeper," she said, as if that settled the
question.

"Then you will miss the joy that comes through laboring with your own
hands--the joy of accomplishment, Blue Bonnet. I hope you will change
your mind."

Miss Clyde took a careful survey of a shelf where sheets were piled, and
from it she filled her mending basket.

"Delia has overlooked these in my absence," she said, almost
apologetically. "Linen should always be mended carefully before it is
put away."

She straightened the window blinds to a correct line, closed all drawers
carefully, and ushering Blue Bonnet into the hall, locked the door
behind them.

In the sitting-room the rain beat furiously at the window-panes, a cold
east wind rattled the casements, but a glowing fire in the grate offset
the gloom.

Miss Clyde drew a chair up to the fire and took a piece from the basket.

"Bring up a small chair, Blue Bonnet. One without arms will be best."
Blue Bonnet drew the chair up slowly.

Miss Clyde found her thimble and selected a proper needle.

"Go up and get your work-basket, Blue Bonnet."

When Blue Bonnet came down with her basket her aunt was holding a sheet
up to the light.

"It is growing thin in places," she said, laying it on Blue Bonnet's
knee, "but a few stitches will preserve it for some time yet."

The next hour was one not soon to be forgotten by Blue Bonnet. Threads
knotted at the most impossible places; stitches were too long, sometimes
too short. Her hands grew hot and sticky. At the end of an hour her
cheeks were flushed and her head ached.

Miss Clyde took the work from the tired and clumsy fingers and smoothed
the hair back from the warm brow.

"I think you have done very well for the first time, Blue Bonnet. Next
time it will come easier. You would better rest now, and perhaps
Grandmother will read to us until lunch time."

"Yes," Mrs. Clyde said, "I will indeed. What shall it be, Blue Bonnet?"

Blue Bonnet thought a minute, then she clapped her hands softly.

"I know, Grandmother. Thoreau! I read something of his this summer on
the ranch, and I liked it."

Mrs. Clyde went into the library, coming back presently with Robert
Louis Stevenson's "Men and Books."

"Perhaps you would like to know something of Thoreau's life, Blue
Bonnet. Mr. Stevenson gives a fair glimpse of him. At least he does not
spare his eccentricities. We view him from all quarters."

The lunch bell rang long before Blue Bonnet thought it time.

"Mark the place, Grandmother," she said, as they went into the
dining-room. "I want to hear it all. I don't think I should have liked
Thoreau personally, but there certainly is a nice streak in him--the way
he loved animals and nature--isn't there?"

About four o'clock in the afternoon the clouds began to break, and Blue
Bonnet in stout shoes and raincoat started off with Solomon for a run.

Her grandmother and aunt watched her as she turned her steps in the
direction of the schoolhouse.

"Blue Bonnet is a gregarious soul," Miss Clyde said, turning away from
the window. "She loves companionship. She likes to move in flocks."

"Most girls do, Lucinda. I often wondered how her mother ever endured
the loneliness of a Texas ranch, with her disposition. She seemed to
find room in her heart for all the world. But it is not a bad trait,"
Mrs. Clyde added. "It is a part of the impulsive temperament."

The next few days passed much as Monday had, except that the duties, not
to become too irksome, were varied. There was a morning in the kitchen,
when Blue Bonnet was instructed into the mysteries of breadmaking and
the preparing of vegetables.

It was on this particular morning that Mrs. Clyde, going to the kitchen
door to speak with Katie, found Blue Bonnet, apron covered, standing
before the immaculate white sink, her hands encased in rubber gloves,
with a potato, which she was endeavoring to peel, poised on the extreme
end of a fork.

For the first time in nearly twenty years of service, Katie permitted
herself the familiarity of a wink in her mistress's direction, and Mrs.
Clyde slipped away noiselessly, wearing a very broad smile.

But, if the mornings were tiresome, the afternoons more than
compensated. There were long rides on Chula; afternoons when Blue Bonnet
came in looking as rosy as one of the late peonies in her grandmother's
garden.

"Grandmother!" she would call, dashing up the side drive and halting
Chula at the door. "Grandmother, come and look at us!"

Mrs. Clyde would hasten to the door to find Blue Bonnet decked from hat
brim to stirrups with trailing vines in gorgeous hues, goldenrod and
chrysanthemums tied in huge bunches to her saddle.

Nor was Chula neglected. Often she sported a flaming wreath--her mane
bunches of flowers.

"Take all the flowers in," Blue Bonnet would call to Delia. "This week
will see the very last of them. The man at the Dalton farm says there is
sure to be frost most any night."

When the mail came on Saturday morning there was a pleasant diversion.
Miss Clyde sorted the letters and handed a pamphlet to Blue Bonnet. It
proved to be a catalogue of Miss North's school, and interested Blue
Bonnet greatly. She seated herself in her favorite chair in the
sitting-room and turned the pages eagerly.

"Oh, Aunt Lucinda, it's quite expensive, isn't it? A thousand two
hundred dollars a year; and that doesn't include--let's see--'use of
piano, seat in church, laundry, doctor's bills, music lessons, fencing
and riding'--but then I wouldn't have to have all the extras. I could
cut out the fencing and riding, of course, and the seat in church--"

"Elizabeth!"

Blue Bonnet turned quickly. It was the first time she had heard her
baptismal name in months.

"I beg your pardon, Aunt Lucinda. I didn't think. Please excuse me."

"Certainly, Blue Bonnet. But remember that it is very bad taste to be
irreverent."

Blue Bonnet brought the catalogue over to Miss Clyde, and together they
looked through it.

"It seems just the place for you, Blue Bonnet," Miss Clyde said. "The
location on Commonwealth Avenue is ideal. It is within walking distance
of most of the places where you will want to go. This is a great
advantage."

Blue Bonnet curled herself up comfortably in the deep chair and looked
out through the window dreamily. Slowly a smile wreathed her lips.

"Aunt Lucinda," she said after a moment, "do you know what I'd just love
to do? I've been thinking of how much more I have than most girls, and I
wish I could pass some of the good things along. Now, there's Carita
Judson. Wouldn't she just adore a year in Boston? Why couldn't I ask her
to go with me to Miss North's? There's that great big room I'm to have
with a bath, and all those advantages--" Blue Bonnet paused.

Miss Clyde was silent for a moment. Blue Bonnet's impulses bewildered
her sometimes, they were so stupendous.

Blue Bonnet was insistent.

"There's all that money coming to me that my father left," she went on,
"and Uncle Cliff says that some day there will be more--from him. What
ever am I going to do with it? Carita Judson has an awfully poor sort of
a time, Aunt Lucinda, awfully poor. She mothers all those small children
in the family--"

"I daresay for that very reason she could not well be spared."

Miss Clyde was more than half in sympathy with Blue Bonnet's idea; she
knew through her mother of Carita's fine father, of the girl's
sweetness and refinement in spite of her restricted means and
surroundings, but she did not wish to encourage Blue Bonnet in what
seemed an impossibility.

Blue Bonnet jumped up from her chair.

"I'm going to write to Uncle Cliff about it this very minute," she said,
moving toward the door. "I know he'll think it is a perfectly splendid
idea."

"Would it not be better to wait until we have visited the school?" her
aunt inquired tactfully. "There might not be room for Carita. The number
of pupils is limited, you know. Suppose you wait until Uncle Cliff comes
at Christmas. You could consult him then. It would be very unwise to get
Carita's hopes up and then disappoint her."

Blue Bonnet had not thought of this.

"But I shall ask him the minute he comes," she assured her aunt as she
left the room, taking the catalogue with her. "Just the very minute! I
know what he'll say, too, Aunt Lucinda. He'll say that happiness is the
best interest one can get out of an investment. I've heard him, no end
of times!"

The week ended delightfully for Blue Bonnet.

"It's a sort of reward of merit for working so hard all these mornings,"
she said, as her grandmother granted permission to follow out a plan of
Amanda Parker's.

Amanda's aunt had the second time invited the We Are Sevens for a
week-end at the farm.

The girls were to take the street car as far as it would carry them--to
be met at that point by a hay wagon.

Blue Bonnet was in high glee. A natural lover of the country, visions of
a glorious time rose before her eyes.

She appeared at the corner drug store, where the girls were to take the
interurban, a few minutes late. Aunt Lucinda had so many instructions at
the last moment that she had been delayed.

The girls were all gathered, looking anxiously down the street. When
Blue Bonnet appeared in the snowiest of white sweaters and
tam-o'-shanter, as jaunty and blooming as if she were out for an
afternoon walk, they immediately protested.

"For ever more, why didn't you wear your old clothes, Blue Bonnet?"
Kitty Clark inquired. "That sweater will be pot black before you go a
mile, and you'll be as freckled as a turkey egg without some shade for
your face."

"The sweater will wash, thank you, that's why I wore it, and I'm not the
freckly kind."

The shot was unintentional, but Kitty colored to the roots of her red
gold hair.

"You are fortunate," she said. "I am."

"That's the penalty you pay for having such a peach of a complexion,"
Blue Bonnet retorted, and the breach was healed.

At the end of the car line the hay-rack was waiting. The girls climbed
on.

"Wait," Blue Bonnet shouted, jumping off quickly, "I almost forgot I
want a picture of you."

While she adjusted the camera, the girls struck fantastic poses, Debby
perching herself airily on the end gate of the wagon.

There was a warning cry from the girls, which the staid and sober farm
horses misinterpreted. Off they started at a mad gallop, leaving the
bewildered Debby a crumpled heap in the roadway.

She was on her feet before Blue Bonnet reached her, laughing and crying
in a breath.

"How stupid," she panted. "I might have known that gate would fly open.
I guess I'm not hurt any."

Blue Bonnet felt Debby's arms and limbs and made her stretch herself.
Then they fell in each other's arms and laughed until they were weak and
hysterical.

"It's a good thing the roads are a bit soft," Blue Bonnet assured her,
when she could get her breath. "You're something of a sight with all
that mud on you, but it broke your fall."

"Praise be!" Debby murmured, struggling to remove some of the dirt that
insisted upon clinging to her skirts. "I'll take mud to a broken limb,
any day."

The rest of the journey was made in safety. Once the wagon halted for
Sarah Blake to change her seat. Sitting just over the wheel was not
altogether desirable. Sarah's stomach rebelled. The whiteness of her
lips spoke louder than words. Blue Bonnet changed places with her
cheerfully, keeping strangely silent after the first half mile.

"What makes Blue Bonnet so still?" Kitty inquired, surprised.

"Take this seat and find out, Little Miss Why," Blue Bonnet retorted
with an effort. "Maybe you haven't as much regard for your tongue as I
have. I want to keep mine whole."

The low, rambling farmhouse surrounded by green hills and ancient oaks,
with cattle grazing peacefully on the gentle slopes, and the farm dog
yelping frantically at the big gates, gave Blue Bonnet the worst pang of
homesickness she had felt since she left the ranch.

Wreaths of blue smoke curled upward lazily from the kitchen chimney, and
from the dooryard came the most tantalizing odors of chicken frying,
coffee boiling, and fresh doughnuts.

Blue Bonnet jumped from the wagon and filled her lungs with the
delicious fragrance.

"Girls," she cried, "just smell! It's chicken and coffee and--"

"Doughnuts," Amanda finished with rapture. "Wait until you taste them!
Aunt Priscilla is a wonder at cooking. She has the best things you ever
ate in your life."

Aunt Priscilla appeared in the doorway at that moment, a wholesome
sweet-faced woman of middle age, and took the girls in to the spare
bedroom to lay off their things and wash before supper.

Blue Bonnet took off her cap and sweater and laid them lightly on the
high feather bed with its wonderful patch-work quilt--the "rising sun"
pattern running riot through it.

"It's so clean I hate to muss it up with my things," she said, casting
about for a chair.

"I speak for this bed," Kitty said, depositing her things carelessly. "I
slept in it the last time we came. It's as good as a toboggan. You keep
going down and down and--"

"We're going to draw for it," Amanda announced from the wash-stand where
she was wrestling with Debby's mud. "It will hold four; the other three
girls will have to go in the next room."

"Why couldn't we bring the other bed in here--I mean the springs and
mattress?" Debby suggested. "Do you think your aunt would care, Amanda?"

Amanda volunteered to ask.

Blue Bonnet took her turn at the wash basin and then wandered into the
parlor. She looked about wonderingly. Family portraits done in crayon
adorned the walls. A queer little piano, short half an octave, occupied
one corner of the room, a marble-topped table, the other. A plush
photograph album, a Bible and a copy of Pilgrim's Progress lay on the
table. The carpet was green, bold with red roses; roses so vivid in
coloring that they seemed to vie with the scarlet geraniums that filled
the south window to overflowing.

But over it all a spirit of peace and contentment rested--a homey
atmosphere, unmistakable and refreshing. Blue Bonnet gazed through the
one unobstructed window of the little room wistfully. Twilight was
closing in. Somewhere out in the field a cow bell tinkled, and a boy's
voice called to the cattle. How familiar it all was.

Amanda's voice broke the stillness.

"Why, Blue Bonnet Ashe," she said, coming in the room followed by her
aunt with a lamp, "what are you doing in here all alone? You look as if
you had seen a ghost. Come right out in the kitchen. Aunt Priscilla has
supper all on the table."

And such a supper as it was!

The chicken, and there seemed an endless amount, was piled high on an
old blue platter that Blue Bonnet fancied her grandmother would have
paid almost any price for. Fluffy potatoes, flakey biscuits, golden
cream and butter, preserves in variety--everything from a farmhouse
larder that could tempt the appetite and gratify the taste.

"I feel as if I never could eat another mouthful as long as I live,"
Blue Bonnet declared as she rose from the table.

"That's just the way I used to feel last summer on the ranch after one
of old Gertrudis' meals," Kitty said.

Amanda's aunt suggested a run down the lane.

Down the lane they ran, laughing and calling; old Shep, stirred from his
usual calm, barking and bounding at their heels.

It was too dark for a walk, so the girls soon retraced their steps,
settling themselves in the parlor for a visit with the family before
going to bed.

"Do any of you play?" inquired Amanda's aunt, looking toward the odd
little piano.

"Blue Bonnet does," Kitty announced promptly. "Come, 'little Tommy
Tucker must sing for his supper.'"

Blue Bonnet went over to the piano. Kitty's remark served as a reminder.
She was glad to repay Amanda's aunt for some of her kindness.

The piano was sadly out of tune, but it is doubtful if Amanda's
relatives would have enjoyed a symphony concert as much as Blue Bonnet's
simple ballads--the familiar little airs which she gave unsparingly.

After she had quite exhausted her stock, there were clamors for
repetition, until Blue Bonnet felt that she had wiped out the debt of
the entire "We Are Sevens."

Amanda's aunt was found to be quite reasonable about transferring the
bed from the back room. Amanda and the small son of the household
undertook its removal, Kitty giving orders.

"Anybody would think you were going to sleep in it, Kitty, you're so
particular," Amanda objected. "Get busy and help some."

"I spoke for the big bed," Kitty reminded.

"Yes, and it was selfish of you. We're going to draw for the big bed. I
told you that before."

There was a shout of laughter a minute later when Kitty pulled the short
slip for the bed on the floor.

Sarah Blake offered to change with her, but the others objected.

"You're an obliging dear, Sarah," Kitty said appreciatively, "but I will
stay where I'm put. I don't want to take your place."

Later in the night Sarah wished that she had. She wondered as she shrank
to the edge of the bed and tried to make herself as small as possible,
if three persons to a bed on the floor, wouldn't have been preferable to
the rail which fell to her lot.

It was long past midnight when the last joke was told, the last giggle
suppressed. The fun might have gone on indefinitely if, from somewhere
in the house, Amanda's uncle's boot hadn't fallen ominously, and
Amanda's aunt cleared her throat audibly.

Morning found them up with the larks. There was a stroll down the shady
lane before breakfast, and afterward, when the dishes were cleared away
and the bedrooms restored to proper order, Amanda's uncle insisted upon
piling them all in the big farm wagon and taking them to church.

"It seems to me that it is so much easier to be good--that is, to be
religious, in the country," Blue Bonnet said as they neared the
meeting-house, and the bell in the small tower rang out slowly. "There's
something comes over you when you hear the bell calling, and see the
people gathering--"

    "'A sort of holy and calm delight,'"

Kitty quoted.

Blue Bonnet nodded.

"I reckon so--that's as near as you can come to it. There are feelings
there aren't any words for, you know, Kitty--kind of indescribable."

The sight of seven pretty, attractive girls--city girls--in one pew,
occasioned some comment in church; otherwise there was scarcely a ripple
to disturb the calm that rested upon the congregation.

"Unless some one will kindly volunteer to play the organ to-day," the
minister said, rising in the pulpit, "we shall have to sing without
music. Our organist is sick."

Blue Bonnet glanced about her. No one seemed inclined to offer services.
There was a silence of several seconds. The minister waited. Then
Amanda's aunt leaned over and whispered something in Blue Bonnet's ear.

Blue Bonnet rose instantly and went to the organ.

She was a little nervous. She knew that organs differed somewhat from
pianos, and she wasn't familiar with them, but it never occurred to her
to hesitate when she seemed to be needed. She found the hymn and started
out bravely. Sometimes the music weakened a little when Blue Bonnet,
absorbed in the notes, forgot to use the pedals, but, on the whole, it
was not bad, and the minister's hearty handshake and radiant smile after
the service more than compensated for any embarrassment she had
suffered.

"It has been perfectly glorious," Blue Bonnet declared to Amanda's aunt
as they parted with her at daybreak Monday morning. "We've just loved
every minute of our visit here, and would you mind--all of you--I want
the whole family--standing out there by the big gate while I get a
picture of you? I couldn't possibly forget you after the perfectly
lovely time you've given us, but I'd like the picture to show to
Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda."

"Oh, Blue Bonnet," Kitty complained, "haven't you enough pictures yet?
You've been taking them for a year--and more!"

Blue Bonnet quite ignored the remark as she proceeded to line up
Amanda's aunt and her family. She got several snaps, and as she put away
her kodak she promised to remember the group with pictures--a promise
fulfilled, much to the delight of the farm people, later.




CHAPTER III

IN BOSTON


"I think," Miss Clyde said to her mother one morning late in November,
as she put the last article in her suitcase and snapped it shut, "that
Blue Bonnet and I will go to a hotel this time. We shall be out shopping
all day and making arrangements for Blue Bonnet at school, so that there
will be little time for visiting. If you should need me for anything you
might wire the Copley Plaza."

"Are you not afraid Honora and Augusta will feel hurt?" Mrs. Clyde
remonstrated. "They enjoy Blue Bonnet so much, it seems a pity not to
let them see all they can of her."

"They will have plenty of visits with her later on, Mother. I feel sure
they will understand. If you keep well, and everything is all right
here, we might extend our visit over Sunday. In that case we should go
to them, of course."

Blue Bonnet embraced her grandmother affectionately.

"Don't get lonesome, that's a duck," she exclaimed, bestowing an extra
kiss.

"Blue Bonnet, please address your grandmother less familiarly. Those
expressions you have acquired are not respectful. I cannot tolerate them
any longer," Miss Clyde spoke a trifle sharply.

Blue Bonnet looked surprised.

"I didn't mean it for disrespect, Aunt Lucinda. I only meant it for
love; but I won't do it again if it annoys you."

"It does annoy me very much, dear. Stop and think of the word you used
just now. A duck! In what possible way could your grandmother resemble a
duck?"

"I didn't say she resembled one, Aunt Lucinda. I said--"

But any shade of distinction was too much for Miss Clyde's patience.

"We will not argue the question, Blue Bonnet. Please eliminate the word
from your vocabulary. It is inelegant as well as inexpressive."

Blue Bonnet looked a little rebellious as she waved to her grandmother
and followed Miss Clyde to the carriage. She wished Aunt Lucinda would
grant her a little leeway in her mode of expression--it was so
troublesome to always pick and choose words. Besides, she had her own
opinion as to the expressiveness of slang. Grandmother _was_ a duck, a
perfect--

"Take good care of yourself, dearie," the gentle voice was at that
moment calling, "and if you stay over Sunday, send Grandmother a
postal."

Blue Bonnet promised, Denham touched the whip to the horses, and she
and Aunt Lucinda were off.

The first visit of the afternoon was to the school. Miss Clyde
telephoned Miss North for an appointment, which was made for five
o'clock. Miss North also hoped, the maid said, that it would be
convenient for Miss Clyde and her niece to dine with her at six, and see
something of the school and the girls.

Blue Bonnet was delighted. She had been formally entered in the school
some weeks before, her tuition paid, her room engaged for the first of
January. This had been necessary on account of limited accommodations.

Miss North was awaiting her guests in her living-room at the head of the
first flight of stairs. She took Blue Bonnet's hand cordially, and held
it for a moment in a friendly grasp.

"And this is the new member of our family," she said with a pleasant
smile, as she brought forth chairs.

Blue Bonnet looked about while her aunt and Miss North chatted.

The room pleased her, it was in such exquisite taste. Soft rugs carpeted
the polished floor; beautiful pictures graced the walls; old mahogany
lent its air of elegance, and books abounded everywhere.

Miss North pressed a button on her desk after a moment and a neat maid
entered.

"Ask Mrs. Goodwin to come here, Martha, please."

Mrs. Goodwin must have been in waiting, for she made her appearance
quickly; a motherly looking woman with an alert, cheerful countenance.

"Our house-mother, Mrs. Goodwin, Miss Clyde--Miss Ashe. Miss Clyde would
like to see the room we have reserved for her niece, Mrs. Goodwin."

Mrs. Goodwin led the way up a second flight of stairs.

"I am sorry, Miss Clyde, that we could not give Miss Ashe a room alone
as you desired, but entering so late it is quite impossible. I am sure
she will enjoy her room-mate however, a Miss Cross from Bangor, Maine.
We think it a wise plan to put an Eastern and a Western girl together
when possible--the influence is wholesome to both."

She rapped softly on a door at the front of the building.

"May we come in, Miss Joy?" she said to the girl who opened the door
slowly, book in hand.

"Certainly," she answered, far from cordially, and, acknowledging the
introductions, went over to the window where she resumed her reading.

The room was large and airy--a corner room with four windows. Mrs.
Goodwin threw up the blinds of the south windows.

"The view is beautiful from here," she said.

She crossed the room and opened a door, disclosing a small hall.

"The bathroom and closets are here."

Between the large west windows were two single beds, and in a corner a
grate with an open fire gave a homey touch. There was a desk in the room
too. Blue Bonnet supposed it was to be used jointly. She looked about;
there was plenty of room for another. She would ask Aunt Lucinda to buy
one for her; and a bookcase to hold some of her favorite volumes.

Blue Bonnet was exceedingly quiet during the rest of the tour through
the building, and at dinner. When she was alone with her aunt in the
street she burst forth:

"I just can't do it, Aunt Lucinda. I never in this world can room with
that girl and be happy. Joy Cross! Who ever heard of such a name? It's
plain to be seen which she'll be. A cross, all right!"

Miss Clyde looked at Blue Bonnet in amazement.

"Anybody would know to look at her she couldn't be a joy! Did you notice
how she shook hands, Aunt Lucinda?"

"That will do, Blue Bonnet. It is very unjust to criticize people you
don't know. Appearances are often deceiving. Miss Cross may prove a
delightful companion--"

"Oh, no, Aunt Lucinda. She couldn't--not with that nose. It's the long
thin kind--the kind that pokes into everything. And her eyes! Did you
notice her eyes? They're that awfully light kind of blue--they look so
cold and unfeeling; and she was so--so--un-cordial when Mrs. Goodwin
said I was to room with her. She wasn't even polite. She didn't say she
was glad, or that would be nice or--she didn't say anything--"

"There wasn't time to say much," Miss Clyde answered.

"Grandmother says there is always time for courtesy," Blue Bonnet
flashed, and Miss Clyde knew that her niece had the best of the
argument.

"Nothing can be done at present, Blue Bonnet. You heard Mrs. Goodwin say
that all the rooms are taken. Perhaps some change can be made later--but
now--"

"Now, I shall just have to take up my cross and bear it, of course; but
I sha'n't cling to it a minute longer than I have to, you may be sure of
that."

Despite the seeming irreverence, Miss Clyde smiled. Blue Bonnet's
tempestuous little outbursts were often entertaining if they were
reprehensible. They sometimes reminded Miss Clyde of a Fourth of July
sky-rocket. They glowed in brilliancy and ended in--nothing! Likely
enough Blue Bonnet would finish the term quite adoring her room-mate.
She ventured to suggest this.

Blue Bonnet scorned the idea. She was sure that she should just hate
her!

Blue Bonnet was up early the next morning, ready for the shopping
expedition which promised to be of more than ordinary interest. Aunt
Lucinda seemed inclined to be almost extravagant, Blue Bonnet thought,
as together they made out the shopping list and pored over the
advertisements in the papers.

"Let's begin at Hollander's, Aunt Lucinda," Blue Bonnet said. "I love
Hollander's. We could get the Peter Thompsons there, and my evening
dresses and slippers and things."

The "evening dresses" amused Miss Clyde.

"I am afraid you did not read the school catalogue very carefully, Blue
Bonnet. It especially requested simplicity of dress."

"I know it did, Aunt Lucinda, but you saw how sweetly the girls were
gowned at dinner. Perhaps the dresses _were_ simple, but they looked
expensive and--dressy," she added for want of a better word. "That
pretty dark girl that sat next me had on the darlingest pink organdy
with a Dutch neck. Oh, it was so dear. I wonder where she got it?"

She had not long to wonder. The Boston shops seemed to have anticipated
the needs of girls all over the country. Blue Bonnet stood entranced
before cases of the daintiest frocks that could be imagined.

"Oh, Aunt Lucinda," she exclaimed, holding up two that attracted her, "I
can't make up my mind which of these is the prettier. I adore this blue
crepe with these sweet buttons, but the white organdy is such a love
with that white fixing--and, oh, will you look at that yellow chiffon! I
suppose I couldn't have chiffon, could I? It looks too partified."

Miss Clyde thought not.

"But you might try on the white, and the blue gown," she said.

They fitted admirably with a few alterations, and to Blue Bonnet's great
joy Miss Clyde took both--and yet another; a sheer white linen lawn with
a pink silk slip, which called forth all the adjectives Blue Bonnet
could muster.

Then came an exciting moment when slippers and hose were selected;
dainty but serviceable underwear, and the little accessories that count
for so much in a girl's wardrobe.

"I feel exactly as if I were getting a trousseau," Blue Bonnet said, as
they started for a tailor's, where she was to be measured for suits.
"And, Aunt Lucinda, there's just one more thing I want--two things! A
desk and some books. You saw that desk in the room I am to have. Well,
the cross--I mean Miss Cross--had her things in it. I saw them. I don't
want to share it with her. We'd be forever getting mixed up and fussing.
I'd like to avoid that."

Miss Clyde remembered the check Mr. Ashe had sent--the half of which had
not yet been spent, and the instructions that everything was to be
provided for Blue Bonnet's happiness and comfort. Had she a right to
refuse? She, too, wanted Blue Bonnet to be happy and comfortable, but
her New England training from youth up made the lavish spending of money
almost an impossibility. She greatly feared that the increased allowance
Mr. Ashe had insisted upon giving Blue Bonnet for her private use at
boarding-school, would inculcate habits of extravagance.

After they left the tailor's a desk was soon found, suitable in every
particular--mahogany, of course, since the other furniture in the room
was.

Coming out of the furniture store Miss Clyde and Blue Bonnet passed a
floral shop. Blue Bonnet gave a little cry of surprise.

"Look, Aunt Lucinda, there's Cousin Tracy!"

She slipped up to him quietly, putting her arm through his. He turned in
a dazed sort of fashion.

"Well, well," he said. "Where did you come from?"

"Woodford."

"When, pray?"

"Yesterday."

Mr. Winthrop seemed surprised, and Miss Clyde made haste to explain.

"Look here," he said, putting his hands on Blue Bonnet's shoulders and
turning her toward the florist's window.

A miniature football game was being shown in gorgeous crimson and gold
settings. The field was outlined in flowers and the little men in caps
and sweaters were most fascinating.

Blue Bonnet gave his arm a squeeze.

"It's the Harvard-Yale game, isn't it,--to-morrow? I'm crazy about it.
Oh, I do hope Harvard wins! My father was a Harvard man. So are you, I
remember."

"Want to see it?" Cousin Tracy asked, as if seeing a Harvard-Yale game
were the simplest thing possible.

Blue Bonnet fairly jumped for joy.

"Could I? Could we get tickets?"

Cousin Tracy nodded and touched his breast pocket significantly.

"I have two. Right by the cheering section."

She crossed her hands in an ecstatic little fashion that expressed the
greatest excitement and joy.

"You wouldn't mind, would you, Aunt Lucinda? Why, the We Are Sevens
wouldn't get over it in a week. It seems too good to be true."

Before Miss Clyde and Blue Bonnet parted with Mr. Winthrop all
arrangements had been completed, and Blue Bonnet walked away as if she
were treading on air.

That night the following letter found its way into the Boston mail:

    "COPLEY PLAZA HOTEL, BOSTON, MASS.,
    "November 28th, 19--.

    "DEAREST UNCLE CLIFF:--

    "Aunt Lucinda and I came up here yesterday to buy my clothes for
    school, and also to see what kind of a room I was to have when I
    come up for good the first of January.

    "Aunt Lucinda has been awfully nice about everything, letting me
    get most of the things I wanted. I have some loves of dresses,
    which I won't take time now to describe, as you will be in
    Woodford so soon for Christmas and will see them. They will be
    fresh, too, for Aunt Lucinda says I can't wear any of them until
    I am at Miss North's. Aunt Lucinda bought me a perfect treasure
    of a desk--mahogany, with the cunningest shelves underneath for
    books. She bought me some new books, too--some that I've wanted
    for a long time. There's 'The Life of Helen Keller;' grandmother
    has one, and I simply adore it; and Thoreau's 'Week on the
    Merrimac,' and one or two of Stevenson's--Robert Louis, you
    know--and a new 'Little Colonel,' my old one is worn to shreds.
    Oh, yes, and a beautiful new dictionary; it looks too full of
    information for anything, and there's a perfectly dear atlas
    with it besides. We got a copy of Helen Hunt's 'Ramona,' too. We
    don't know yet if Miss North will allow me to have any love
    stories; but, if she won't, Aunt Lucinda will keep it for me. I
    wouldn't part with it for anything. We had such fun getting the
    books; only Aunt Lucinda kept fussing about modern bookstores,
    and wishing that I might have seen the 'Old Corner Book Store,'
    where she used to come when she was a girl. She says she used to
    spend whole days there browsing around--she really said
    that--and poking under the counters and behind things for what
    she wanted. Just fancy! I think a nice polite clerk that comes
    up to you with a pleasant smile and says, 'What can I do for
    you, Madam?' is much nicer, don't you?

    "I've saved the worst of my news for the last. I hope it won't
    make you unhappy, for there will be some way out of it, I
    reckon. It's this: I hate the room-mate I've got to have. She's
    perfectly horrid--you wouldn't like her a bit, Uncle Cliff; and
    the way she shakes hands--well, it makes you feel as if you were
    going to have to support her until she got through with the
    ordeal--so limp, and lack-a-daisy. She's tall and thin, with
    straw-colored hair and white eyelashes and cold blue eyes, and
    she's from Bangor, Maine. I tried to talk with her for a minute
    while Aunt Lucinda and the house-mother were making
    arrangements about me, but all I could gather was that she was a
    Senior, and from the State of Maine. Why do you suppose these
    Easterners always say from the State of something? Seems so much
    easier to just say Maine.

    "There was another girl that I sat next to at dinner (we stayed
    to dinner) who was real nice and so pretty. Her name is Annabel
    Jackson, and she's from Tennessee. She had on such sweet
    clothes. I didn't talk to her much, for I couldn't get the other
    one off my mind--Joy Cross, from the State of Maine. Such a
    name! Joy! If it could only have been Patience or Hope or
    Faith--even Dolores, but I suppose it couldn't.

    "Uncle Cliff, I've been wishing so that Carita Judson could go
    to school here at Miss North's with me. She has such a hard time
    with all those babies to tend. I told Aunt Lucinda that I wished
    I could send her out of some of my money, but she said to wait
    until you got here and then talk it over. I don't know whether
    she could get a room now or not, the school is so full this
    year--that's why I have to have the cross. You could be thinking
    it over, couldn't you, Uncle Cliff, and let me know as soon as
    you come?

    "I reckon I've about got to the end of my news now, except that
    Cousin Tracy is going to take me to the Harvard-Yale game
    to-morrow. I'm so wild over it that I know I sha'n't sleep a
    wink to-night. I will write Alec about it when I get back to
    Woodford and tell him to give the letter to you and Uncle Joe to
    read.

    "Give my love to all the folks on the ranch. How's Benita? Did
    she like the lavender bags I sent for the sheets? I hope she
    uses them as I told her. I rather thought she might hang them
    around her neck or give them to Juanita. I know if the We Are
    Sevens were here they would send heaps of love. Aunt Lucinda
    sends her best regards. I am counting the days now until
    Christmas. I check off every day on the calendar until I see
    you.

    "With dearest love, I am,
        "Your affectionate niece,
            "BLUE BONNET ASHE.

    "P. S. Please tell Alec that Aunt Lucinda has promised to look
    after the General and Solomon when I'm gone. I am going to miss
    Chula awfully, but there is a riding-school where Miss North
    lets the girls get horses and ride with a teacher.

    "P. S. Miss North seems very nice, but you never can tell how
    people are going to be until you live with them, I hope for the
    best. B. B."




CHAPTER IV

A SURPRISE


"Well, to begin at the very beginning," Blue Bonnet said, looking into
the eager faces of the We Are Sevens, "we took an automobile from Cousin
Tracy's house, where we were staying over the week-end. Of course we
could have taken the Cambridge subway, but Cousin Tracy said we were to
have all the frills; and, anyway, the subway is so jammed on the day of
the game that it takes forever to get anywhere--especially home, after
everything is over. Why, Cousin Tracy says--"

"Yes, we know all about that," Kitty said, "get on to the game."

"Well, we took the automobile and went straight to the Stadium. You
never saw so many automobiles in all your life. They would reach from
here to--"

"Oh, Blue Bonnet, we don't care a rap about the automobiles," Kitty
declared impatiently. "What did you do when you got to the Stadium?"

"We took our seats. You see, we got to the Stadium about one o'clock,
and as the game didn't begin until two, we had a perfectly lovely time
watching the people gather. Cousin Tracy said there were about forty
thousand. The cheering section was just a solid mass of college men,
with a band at the bottom, and the most elastic lot of cheer leaders in
white sweaters you ever saw. This is the way they do it."

Blue Bonnet dug her elbows into her knees, supported her face in her
hands and yelled:

"'Har´-vard! Har´-vard! Har´-vard!'

"And Yale would yell out like the snapping of a whip:

"'Yale! Yale! Yale!'

"But the most exciting moment was when the Yale men came trotting out on
the field in white blankets and blue legs."

"In blue legs!" exclaimed Sarah Blake in surprise.

"Well, that was the impression. A few minutes later the Harvard team
came trotting on. They had black sweaters and red legs. They peeled off
the black sweaters though, showing crimson underneath. Then the game
began. I can see them yet."

Blue Bonnet closed her eyes and her lips curled in a smile.

"Then what? Go on!" said Debby.

"Then they played. And how they played, Kitty! And when it was over and
Harvard had won. Did you hear me?--_Harvard won_--twenty to nothing, and
for the first time in years, it was as if--well, as if pandemonium were
let loose."

The high tension of the We Are Sevens relaxed for a brief second.

"And then," Blue Bonnet went on, "then, the funniest thing happened. The
students jumped down from their seats and performed a serpentine dance
the entire length of the field. When they got to the goal posts they
threw their derbies over. It was too funny to see the black hats flying
thick and fast." Blue Bonnet laughed merrily.

"A man passed us afterward with the most pathetic-looking thing on his
head; it hardly resembled a hat, it was so crushed and battered; but he
was explaining to a friend that it would do to get him home. He looked
so silly; but he didn't seem to care a speck. Why, they all lost their
heads completely. Even Cousin Tracy--you know how terribly dignified he
is--got so excited that he began singing

    "'Fair Harvard, thy sons to thy jubilee throng,'

"at the top of his voice. Everybody went perfectly crazy."

"Then what happened?"

"Much, Amanda. We went up on top of the Stadium. It has a promenade all
round it, on top; the view is beautiful--the Charles River, and
Cambridge across it, and thousands and thousands of automobiles, and
the crowd moving in a solid mass--the people still cheering and
laughing--oh, it was great! I felt as if I wanted to stay on forever!"

"It must have been heavenly," Kitty murmured. "Did the girls look
pretty?"

"Pretty? Well, they certainly did. I was just going to tell you about
that. The Yale girls all wore big bunches of violets--a Yale emblem. The
Harvard girls wore dark red chrysanthemums. I had some, and a pennant,
which I waved madly. There were more pretty gowns than you ever saw at
one time in all your life. Great splashes of color all through the
crowd; and the furs--that reminds me: all of a sudden I realized that my
fur was gone. The white fox that Uncle Cliff gave me last Christmas. You
can imagine the sinking sensation of my heart."

"Oh, dear, you lost it?" Sarah murmured.

"Yes, but I found it. It had slipped off my back and dropped behind the
seat. You can believe I held on to it mighty tight after that."

Blue Bonnet sighed deeply as she recalled the averted tragedy.

"Did you go home then?"

"Go home? Well, I should say not. People never go home until they have
to, after a big game like that; they're too excited--they have to work
it off gradually. Cousin Tracy and I went to dinner where there were
loads of Harvard people dining. After dinner we went to a light opera,
and there--"

Again Blue Bonnet went off into peals of laughter.

"--a man came out and had the audacity to sing:

    "'I am so fond of violets.'

"Imagine! Why, the Harvard men didn't let him finish the first line
before they had him off the stage--"

"Mobbed him?" Sarah gasped.

"Call it what you like. I don't think they injured him, for he came back
and sang Harvard songs--nothing else; sang like an angel, too."

"Oh, but you were in luck, Blue Bonnet," Kitty sighed. "I could die
happy if I'd had your chance."

"It does make you feel that way, Kitty. I can see myself telling my
grandchildren about that game. It's almost like an inheritance,
something you can pass along. I've cut out all the notices from the
papers and kept the literature they passed around. Now, I think I've
told you every blessed thing. Would you all like to come up-stairs and
see my new clothes?"

There was an immediate rush for Blue Bonnet's room.

Miss Clyde wondered an hour later, when she rapped at the door and
glanced in, if the place would ever again take on its natural shape and
order. Bureau drawers yawned; furniture was pulled about; the
window-seat held a mass of underwear, shoes and dresses; but the faces
of the We Are Sevens reflected pride and approval.

"Aunt Lucinda," Blue Bonnet called, "Sarah says she will come over
Saturday and help sew the markers on my clothes. Isn't that lovely?"

"It is very kind of Sarah, I am sure."

"And, Aunt Lucinda, don't you think it would be nice to have a little
tea, or luncheon or something, and let all the girls help?"

"It would be nice to have the girls, Blue Bonnet, but--"

Miss Clyde hesitated. She had seen samples of the We Are Sevens' sewing,
and visions of Blue Bonnet's underwear after it had braved the first
wash, rose before her eyes.

"But what?"

"Marking clothes is rather a particular piece of work, you know."

Blue Bonnet glanced about quickly to see if this reflection had given
offence. None was visible. A relieved expression was rather more in
evidence.

"I think _I_ could help, perhaps, Miss Clyde," Sarah said, determined
not to have her one accomplishment thrust aside so lightly.

"I am sure you could, Sarah, and thank you very much; your work is
always beautiful. Perhaps you would do some of the handkerchiefs."

The next two weeks seemed to take wings--they flew along so fast. The
grey days had come; bleak, raw days when clouds hung over the hills,
threatening snow and ice.

"Only five days now until Uncle Cliff comes," Blue Bonnet said one
morning, pausing in her sewing--she was making bureau scarfs for her
room at school, taking the greatest pride and interest in them.

"Five days! I can hardly wait. Grandmother, did you ever think what
Uncle Cliff's been to me? Why, he's been father, mother, brother,
sister! Many's the time on the ranch when I'd get lonesome he'd play tag
with me, or marbles, or cut paper dolls and make me swings--anything to
make me happy. Seems like I'm only just beginning to understand how much
I owe him; always before I've just kind of taken everything for granted.
Sometimes I can hardly wait until I'm grown up to make a nice home for
him--to take care of him, and do the things--the little things men like
to have done for them."

Miss Clyde turned and scrutinized Blue Bonnet's face closely.

What was this child saying? This woman-child, who only yesterday was
romping through the house, indulging in childish dreams--childish
sports.

"I'm beginning to feel grown up, sometimes, Grandmother. Going
on seventeen is a pretty good age, isn't it? It won't be long
now until I'm twenty-one, and then I suppose I'll have to take
up responsibilities--learn how to run the ranch."

She sighed heavily.

"I fancy Uncle Cliff will stand back of you for some time yet, dear."

Blue Bonnet nodded confidently.

"Yes, and there's Alec. Pretty soon he'll know how to manage everything
on the ranch, too. Uncle Cliff's getting awfully fond of him. Maybe when
Alec is through school he'll make him manager of the whole place.
Wouldn't that be fine? I think Alec will always be better out in the
open. He can't stand city life, it's too cramped for him."

"It certainly would be fine for Alec."

"Yes, and for Uncle Cliff, too. He gets mighty tired of the
grind--that's what he calls it sometimes. Why, his little trips East are
about the only pleasure he has; and yet--I don't believe you could drive
him off the Blue Bonnet Ranch. He loves everything about it, from the
smallest yearling to each blade of grass. He says my father did too, and
_his_ father. It's a kind of a family trait."

She laughed softly.

"And you have inherited the feeling?" Grandmother asked.

"Oh, I love it," the girl answered. "Of course I love it--but I'm not
crazy to winter and summer on it."

Mrs. Clyde seemed satisfied. It would be easier to transplant Uncle
Cliff sometime in the future, she thought, than to sacrifice Blue Bonnet
to the Texas wilderness. The bond between herself and the child was
riveting so close that the thought of a possible separation often
appalled her. Yet she did not wish to be selfish; Blue Bonnet's
allegiance was to her uncle--there could be no doubt of that.

"By the way, Grandmother, did I tell you that the General has a new
picture of Alec? It's just fine. I'll run over and get it."

She was back in the shortest possible time, excited and breathless.

"There he is," she said, thrusting the picture in her grandmother's
hands. "Did you ever see anybody change so in your life? That shows what
Texas air will do for people. Why, he's fat, positively fat, for him,
isn't he?"

"He certainly seems to have grown stouter," Mrs. Clyde admitted.

"And those corduroys--don't they look good--and the sombrero?"

Blue Bonnet's face glowed.

"I don't think you like it," she said, after a moment, taking the
picture in her own hands and regarding it jealously.

"Why, yes, I do, dear. Only it seems a bit strange to see Alec in that
garb. It is cowboy style, is it not?"

"Yes, but it's cowboy dress, and cowboy life, and cowboy freedom that
has given Alec health. He'd never have got it here in Woodford in a
thousand years."

"That is true, Blue Bonnet. You are right. What did the General think of
the picture?"

"He loves it! I reckon it looked better to him than a West Point uniform
with nothing inside of it."

Mrs. Clyde smiled.

"I think the General got over that dream long ago, Blue Bonnet. He is
perfectly delighted with Alec's recovery."

Blue Bonnet put the picture on the mantel-shelf, and, folding her work
neatly, went to the window and looked out. She stood a moment lost in
thought.

"I think I'll go for a gallop, Grandmother," she said, turning suddenly.
"I've just time before dinner. I won't have many more chances."

"The clouds look heavy, dear."

"I know; that's why I want to go. I love the damp air in my face. It's
so refreshing."

But out among the hills where the clouds lay the thickest and the wind
blew the sharpest, the world seemed a little dreary to Blue Bonnet.

"You poor little things," she said to the sparrows hopping from fence
to tree forlornly. "The prospect of a New England winter is not as
alluring as it might be, is it? Why don't you try Texas? It's warm down
there--and sunshiny--and--

"What's the matter with me?" she said, pulling herself up in the saddle.
Then she laughed.

"I know. I'm homesick because I'm going away, and it's perfectly
ridiculous. Who ever heard of any one being homesick before they
started? I sha'n't stand for it!

"It's a good thing Aunt Lucinda didn't hear that, Chula. She'd be
horrified. What I mean is, I sha'n't let it creep in. If I do it will
make me miserable, and I can't afford to be miserable with Uncle Cliff
coming."

Blue Bonnet turned Chula sharply and headed toward home, forcing a
little tune to her lips, a smile to her eyes, with a determination that
would have done credit to a much older person.

"Why, dearie, you did not ride far, did you?" was Grandmother's cheery
welcome.

"No, it was bleaker than I thought. The wind was cold, too, but it was
refreshing just the same."

Mrs. Clyde eyed her lovingly.

Little tendrils from the fly-away hair strayed over her forehead and a
healthy red showed through the tan of her cheeks.

Her grandmother thought of a sweet wild rose just bursting into bloom
as she looked at her. There was something about Blue Bonnet that
breathed the spirit of all wild things--flowers and sweeping prairies,
broad expanses.

"There is a letter for you, Blue Bonnet. You must have known to have
hurried so."

"Why, it's from Uncle Cliff!"

Blue Bonnet tore the end off of the envelope hastily and began reading
aloud:

"'I fear I cannot reach Woodford the day before Christmas as I had
anticipated, Honey, because of a matter here which is delaying me, but I
will arrive sometime on Christmas Day. Go right on with any plans you
may have for that day, as trains are uncertain and I might get in very
late. If I am not there in time to say "Merry Christmas," remember that
I am saying it in my heart and wishing every happiness to the best
little girl in the world. I shall answer your letter in person; we will
discuss the room-mate at that time, and also the other matter which
seems to lie so close to your heart.'"

"He means Carita Judson," Blue Bonnet explained. "I told him how much I
wanted her to go with me to Miss North's school."

"'Remember me to your Grandmother and Miss Clyde, and tell them that I
am anticipating my coming visit with pleasure. Enclosed you will find a
little check for the Christmas shopping which I had hoped to enjoy with
you, but since I cannot you must enjoy it for us both.'"

"That's all. Isn't he a dear! Well, if he gets here on Christmas Day I
sha'n't complain."

Blue Bonnet handed the little pink slip of paper which had been enclosed
in the letter, to her grandmother.

"Take care of it for me, Grandmother. I don't need it any more than I do
a sore thumb, as Uncle Joe used to say."

Christmas week dawned bright and clear. Real Christmas weather, Blue
Bonnet thought one morning as she opened her window and looked out at
the trees in the apple orchard with their burden of glistening snow.

Christmas was to be celebrated rather differently from last year. Since
Uncle Cliff was not to arrive until Christmas morning, Blue Bonnet had
been permitted to spend the preceding days much as she pleased,
shopping, and enjoying the We Are Sevens' holidays with them.

Two days before Christmas she bounded in to her grandmother's presence
in a great state of excitement.

"Grandmother!" she exclaimed, "I've got the loveliest idea! I was just
over to Kitty Clark's, and the doctor is getting a Christmas tree ready
for the people out at the Poor Farm. They are going to have it at four
o'clock to-morrow afternoon, and he says that Kitty and I may go along
and help if we want to. I asked him what he was going to give them, and
he said not much, unfortunately, but a good time. He said he had hoped
to be able to collect enough money this year to buy those old ladies a
phonograph--you know--a Victrola--but everybody seems to feel so poor. I
thought of the check Uncle Cliff sent me and I told the doctor about it.
He didn't want to take it, but I said he just had to, and I ran home to
get it. Where is it, Grandmother?"

"But--Blue Bonnet, you couldn't get a phonograph here in Woodford. Not
the kind you would want--"

"No, of course not; but Doctor Clark said if you thought best for me to
give the money he could telephone to Boston this noon, and they could
get it here on the four-twenty train, without any doubt. Oh,
Grandmother, please don't say no. Seems to me I can't stand it if you
do. Don't you remember how old Mrs. Prior loved Alec's songs that day
she was here to see us? Why, she just seemed starved--"

Mrs. Clyde rose and went to the foot of the stairs.

"Lucinda," she called, "come down a minute, will you?"

Blue Bonnet did not give her grandmother time to explain, but laid her
plan before her aunt in a torrent of words.

At first, Miss Clyde seemed bewildered. Then a very tender, sympathetic
look passed between mother and daughter.

"I hardly think, Blue Bonnet, that your check would pay for the
Victrola," Miss Clyde said. "We should not want to get anything but the
best--something that would last; and records are very expensive."

Blue Bonnet looked woefully disappointed. Then she smiled delightedly.

"But, Aunt Lucinda, there's money left from what Uncle sent to buy my
clothes, you said so. Let's take that. Oh, please, Aunt Lucinda."

"I think it would be a beautiful thing to do, Lucinda," Mrs. Clyde said,
and Blue Bonnet flew to her grandmother and gave her a hug that nearly
took her off her feet.

"You know how little those poor people have to amuse them, and, as Blue
Bonnet says, Mrs. Prior seemed quite starved for music."

Miss Clyde never acted upon impulse. She thought for a few moments, then
turning, went up-stairs slowly. When she came down she handed Blue
Bonnet a check.

"I think this will buy the Victrola--and some records, too," she said.
"I would suggest that Doctor Clark get old-fashioned music--they would
like that best."

Mrs. Clyde and her daughter watched Blue Bonnet as she flew up the
street. When they turned from the window, there were tears in the eyes
of the elder woman.

"It was a generous impulse," she said; "like one of her mother's loving
deeds. I think perhaps--she knows--approves, Lucinda."

       *       *       *       *       *

When the We Are Sevens heard of what Blue Bonnet had done, they insisted
upon adding their mite to the occasion; so Doctor Clark suggested that
it be turned into a We Are Sevens' party--the girls helping to give the
occupants of the Farm a real Christmas. The rest of the day, therefore,
was spent in the making of cakes and cookies, fudge and pinoche--enough,
Doctor Clark said when he saw it, to keep him employed at the farm for
weeks to come.

The Victrola came in on schedule time. Blue Bonnet and the doctor were
at the train to meet it. It would have been hard to say which was the
happier. The doctor's kindly face beamed as the box was loaded on to an
express wagon and Blue Bonnet's joy found vent in laughter.

It was a merry procession that wended its way toward the Poor Farm a
little later. Doctor Clark and Kitty leading the way in the phaeton with
heavily laden baskets, old Denham and the rest of the We Are Sevens
following in the Clyde carriage.

It must be confessed that the Christmas tree celebration was a bit
disappointing to Blue Bonnet. The old ladies--and the men, who were
permitted to attend also--seemed awed into silence. Perhaps the
sparkling tree, bright with candles and tarlatan bags of sweets, brought
memories cruel in their poignancy; and the old-fashioned songs had
rather a depressing effect than otherwise.

Doctor Clark saw the shade of disappointment cross Blue Bonnet's face,
and hastened to reassure her.

"It will be a great source of happiness to them, later, when the keen
edge of memory has been dulled by frequent contact with the wonderful
invention," he said. "Come out sometime and see for yourself."

Blue Bonnet was rather silent as she rode home that afternoon, in spite
of the We Are Sevens' chatter.

"The world seems an awfully unequal sort of place, doesn't it?" she said
to Sarah Blake. "Some people don't have enough money to make them
comfortable, and others have so much they don't know how to spend it.
What do you suppose is the reason?"

The question was beyond even thoughtful Sarah's ken.

"I don't know," she said, with all the hopelessness of a poor minister's
daughter; "but I have heard Father say that if everybody could be
started out equal--begin all over again--the same ones would be on top
in no time, treading on those less fortunate. It seems to be the law of
things, Blue Bonnet."

"But it's not fair!" Blue Bonnet insisted vehemently. "It makes me feel
wicked to have so much more than others."

"But look at the good you can do--the people you can make happy. Maybe
that is why you have it."

The thought comforted Blue Bonnet.

"I _will_ do good," she said, and there was conviction in her tone. "I
_will_, Sarah Blake. Just you wait till I come of age. Maybe I'll have
an orphan asylum all my own. You'll see!"

As Blue Bonnet entered the house on her return from the Farm, she was
conscious of some sort of scurrying just inside the sitting-room. She
looked about wonderingly as she hung her hat and coat on the hall rack,
but could see nothing unusual. The hat, hung insecurely, fell off its
peg, and she turned from the sitting-room to pick it up. The next moment
a pair of strong arms enveloped her and a deep pleasant voice was
saying, "Merry Christmas, Blue Bonnet."

"Uncle Cliff--Uncle Cliff!" was all she could say. "How ever did you get
here? Why, it isn't Christmas yet!"

"Shall I go back and wait, Honey? It is only another day."

This time her arms were about him in a grip that left no doubt as to his
welcome.

"Well, I should say not! Only--you know you said--you thought it
wouldn't be possible to get here to-day. If I had known I wouldn't have
been away for anything. Come in to the fire this minute and tell me all
about the ranch and Uncle Joe and Benita and Alec--and everything."

By the fire they had their visit out, and then Uncle Cliff turned to
Grandmother.

"Do you think, Mrs. Clyde, that I might give Blue Bonnet the Christmas
present I brought for her? On the ranch we scarcely ever waited beyond
Christmas Eve for our gifts, did we, Honey?"

Blue Bonnet smiled broadly.

"Oh, do let him, Grandmother. There'll be plenty of things left for
to-morrow."

"Your Uncle is your legal guardian, dear. I think the privilege is his
without asking."

"What is the present? Where is it?" Blue Bonnet asked, her eyes shining.

"I think Grandmother took it up in your room. I suspect you might find
it there."

Mrs. Clyde nodded.

Blue Bonnet was out of the room and climbing the stairs in a twinkling.
A second later Grandmother and Uncle Cliff heard a shout of joy, then
laughter and animated conversation.

"She found it without much difficulty," Mr. Ashe said, smiling.

A moment later he was being smothered in caresses, and a voice was
saying between tears and laughter:

"Oh, Uncle Cliff, if you aren't the darlingest, best uncle anybody in
this world ever had!" While a slim, shy young girl with soft brown eyes
looked on with interest.

There was an explanation on Uncle Cliff's part, and then Blue Bonnet
took the girl's hand in her own affectionately.

"Carita," she said, "have you met the family? You remember Grandmother,
of course; and this is my aunt, Miss Clyde. Aunt Lucinda, this is Carita
Judson. She's come to go with me to Miss North's, and I'm the happiest
girl in Massachusetts!"




CHAPTER V

BOARDING-SCHOOL


The reception-room at Miss North's school was not elaborate. It had none
of the attractiveness of Miss North's own living-room. It looked cold,
business-like, and uninviting--at least so Blue Bonnet thought as she
sat waiting to say her last good-bys to Uncle Cliff and Aunt Lucinda.

The parting with Grandmother had been something of a wrench. Blue Bonnet
had managed to keep herself pretty well in hand, for Grandmother's sake;
but to-day it was different. Everything was so strange--so forbidding.
Even the presence of Carita seemed of small comfort. Carita was
lovely--but, after all, she couldn't fill Grandmother's place, nor Uncle
Cliff's, nor even Aunt Lucinda's.

Uncle Cliff rose from the stiff-backed chair he had been occupying for
the last half hour, and took Blue Bonnet's hand. Aunt Lucinda got up,
too.

A frightened, half panicky look came into Blue Bonnet's face. The
feeling that she was about to be left alone with strangers for the first
time in her life came over her in a great wave. She reached up and
taking hold of the lapels of her uncle's coat, held him fast.

"Must you go now--right this minute, Uncle Cliff?" she said, and he
could feel her trembling.

Mr. Ashe looked at his watch.

"I am afraid so, Honey. Trains don't wait, you know. I must be off
to-night, sure."

Blue Bonnet turned to Aunt Lucinda and kissed her with warmth; then she
walked between her uncle and aunt down the length of the long corridor
to the front door. Carita also clung to Uncle Cliff. At the door they
all paused.

"Now you have everything that you need, Blue Bonnet?" Aunt Lucinda
inquired. "You are quite sure? You can write immediately if anything has
been forgotten, remember--"

"Yes, you are to have whatever you need, Honey," Mr. Ashe interrupted.

"Yes, Aunt Lucinda, I won't forget. Yes, yes, Uncle Cliff, and you'll
write often, won't you? I'll be so lonesome just at first.
Good-by--good-by!" There was a droop to the last note of the second
good-by--a quaver that went straight to Uncle Cliff's heart and made him
turn round and take Blue Bonnet once more in his arms.

"Why, Honey!" he said, as the brown head went down on his breast, and
the quick sobs shook the slender form. "Now, now! What are you crying
for? Do you want to go back to Grandmother's? You only have to say so,
you know."

The head shook violently on the broad shoulder that sheltered it, but no
answer came.

"Do you want to go home with me--back to the ranch?"

Again the head shook--no!

Mr. Ashe unlocked the arms that had gone about his neck so lovingly, and
lifting the wet face looked into it tenderly.

"Don't, Honey," he said, and there was a catch in his own voice. "Don't,
please. Uncle Cliff can't bear to have you cry. He'll hear those sobs
every step of the way back to Texas--and long after."

Blue Bonnet straightened up and made a brave effort to smile through her
tears.

"Oh, no, you mustn't! I didn't mean to give way like that. I thought I
was going to be all right--and then--all at once--it just had to come.
It's homesickness. I've been fighting it for a month!"

"Remember you are responsible for Carita, too."

Mr. Ashe drew the solemn-eyed young girl who had been witnessing Blue
Bonnet's little outburst into the circle.

Blue Bonnet turned quickly and put her arms round Carita.

"If Carita dares act like this, I'll exert my authority and spank her,"
she said, giving that young person a warm hug. "I'm to mother her in
every particular. Isn't that right, Uncle Cliff?"

"You are never to forget that you are responsible for her being here,
Honey. You must make her happy and set her a good example at all times."

Blue Bonnet's merry laugh brought the smiles back into Uncle Cliff's
face.

"I'll try and not lead her into temptation, at any rate."

"That might be a good thing to remember, Blue Bonnet."

"And now, dear," Miss Clyde said, "perhaps you and Carita would better
go up to your rooms and get your things out of your trunks. Miss North
wanted them emptied as soon as possible, so that they could be taken to
the trunk-room."

"All right, Aunt Lucinda. Good-by then--good-by! No, Uncle Cliff, I'm
going to be good now. My love to everybody on the ranch--_everybody_,
remember." She continued to wave her good-bys heroically until the
corner was turned and Uncle Cliff and Miss Clyde lost to view.

"Now for the unpacking, Carita. Come along. I'll help you first. That's
a motherly spirit, I'm sure."

"Yes, begin by spoiling me--that's right!"

Blue Bonnet gave the hand in hers a little squeeze.

"A little spoiling won't hurt you a bit. I doubt if a great deal would.
There are some people you can't spoil."

"I wouldn't advise you to try too hard," Carita laughed.

They stopped first at Blue Bonnet's room, which was two floors below
Carita's.

"I don't like your being so far away from me, at all," Blue Bonnet said,
as she turned on the light and laid her coat and hat on the bed. "That's
a silly rule having the younger girls all together on one floor. They
need the older girls to keep them straight."

"I fancy Fraulein can do that," Carita said resignedly, remembering the
eagle-faced teacher in charge of the hall. "Mary Boyd says she's a
pill!"

"A--what?"

"A pill! I asked Mary what that meant, and she said a _dose_. You
know--something you have to take and don't like."

Blue Bonnet's eyes roamed ceiling-ward and a queer expression curled her
lips.

"You must introduce Mary to Aunt Lucinda, Carita. It would, perhaps,
make her appreciate my vocabulary."

"I think I'm going to like her just the same."

"Aunt Lucinda?"

"Oh, no! I mean--that is--I like _her_, of course. I meant Mary Boyd, my
room-mate. She's awfully jolly."

Carita had arrived at the school in the afternoon and had been shown to
her room immediately, while Blue Bonnet finished some shopping with
Uncle Cliff and Aunt Lucinda.

"I think I'd like to see Mary Boyd. Let's go up to your room now and get
your things out of the trunk."

"Yes, we will, only my things are out. Mary helped me this afternoon
while you were away. I'm all settled."

Nevertheless Blue Bonnet led the way to the floor above.

Mary Boyd opened the door herself. She was just coming out of the room,
pitcher in hand, on the way to the bathroom for some cold water. She had
on a gay little kimono and her hair was neatly brushed and braided for
the night.

"Back again?" she said to Carita, with a smile.

"Yes, and this is my friend, Blue Bonnet Ashe."

"How do you do?" Mary said, pausing a moment. "First year here, too?"

"Yes, my first year."

Mary waved her hand toward the room.

"Make yourselves at home," she said hospitably. "Everything is in a
muss, yet. I only got in myself this morning. I'll be back in a minute."

"Don't you think she's nice?" Carita asked with enthusiasm, as soon as
the door closed.

"She seems to be. You're in luck, Carita. I wish you could see _my_
cross!"

"We Freshies haven't any of the lugs you grown-ups sport," Mary said,
entering the room with her pitcher of water. "There's only one bathroom
on this floor for six girls. Fancy! Getting a bath is a regular Saturday
night affair."

"This is your first year here, too, then," Blue Bonnet said with some
surprise.

"No--second."

"And you are a Freshman?"

"Well, you see, I was out last year part of the time--typhoid
fever--and--oh, I'm no high-brow, anyway! Mother thought I'd best take
the year over again. She says I've plenty of time. I'm just fifteen."

She laughed good-naturedly, showing a set of teeth dazzling in their
perfection and whiteness.

"I'm working hard this year, though. You see, I want a room with a bath,
and you have to be a Sophomore to get it."

"I see. An incentive, isn't it?"

"This is a fairly good room, don't you think? It's the best on the
floor. Carita's lucky--that is, as far as the room goes. My room-mate
was called home three weeks before Christmas. Her mother died. Poor
little Nell!"

"I'm sorry for her," Carita said sympathetically, "but if she hadn't
gone I couldn't have entered the school this year, it was so crowded."

Somewhere down the length of the hall a gong sounded.

"What's that for?" Blue Bonnet asked.

"Bed. In a half hour another will ring and every light on this floor
will go off instantly."

Blue Bonnet looked at her watch.

"You mean to say you have to be in bed at half-past nine o'clock?"

Mary nodded.

"Well, I reckon I'd better run. I haven't unpacked yet."

"Oh, they aren't so awfully particular the first day. School doesn't
really begin until to-morrow."

Blue Bonnet started to say good night to Carita. As she bent to kiss her
she paused.

"Why don't you come down and stay with me to-night?" she said. "My
room-mate isn't back yet. I shouldn't be half so lonesome."

"All right--if--do you think they'd mind?"

Carita addressed Mary.

Mary took a look down the hall.

"Skip along," she said generously. "All's serene on the Potomac. You'd
better hurry though, while the coast's clear."

And hurry they did.

Blue Bonnet turned out the light in her room, which she had left
burning, and threw up the window blinds, letting in a stream of silver
light.

"I reckon we can undress by that," she said, "and I can get up an hour
earlier in the morning and unpack."

But the rising-bell had been sounding some seconds when Blue Bonnet
opened her eyes to the light the next morning. She sprang out of bed
with a bound, and dragged forth Carita, who still clung to her slumbers.

"Get up, Carita," she said. "That's some kind of a bell ringing for
something or other--goodness knows what! Maybe it's breakfast. I don't
know."

A look at her watch reassured her. Seven o'clock. Breakfast was at
seven-thirty--she remembered hearing that somewhere.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet, I could have slept twenty minutes yet," Carita wailed
sleepily. "I can dress for a party in ten minutes. Yes, I can,
honestly!"

"Maybe--in Texas! You're in Boston now. Boston means a cold bath with a
good rub, and getting into your clothes for the day--all of which takes
time."

At seven-thirty they were dressed, waiting for the breakfast-bell to
ring.

The dining-room at Miss North's was not large, but it was cheerful and
inviting. There were some five or six tables and at the head of each sat
a teacher.

Miss North met Blue Bonnet and Carita at the door and took them to her
own table. When the meal was over she assigned them to their regular
places, and again Blue Bonnet found to her dismay that she and Carita
were separated.

As they left the dining-room Mary Boyd came along and took Carita off
peremptorily.

"I'll take care of her," Mary announced, with a wave and a smile.
"She'll be in a lot of my classes." They passed on, arm in arm.

Blue Bonnet was feeling a bit forlorn and neglected when a voice, soft
and sweet, said at her elbow:

"Miss North has asked me to show you about this morning."

Blue Bonnet turned and looked into the face of the Southern girl she had
admired the first day she visited the school.

"Perhaps you don't remember me, but we were introduced. My name is
Annabel Jackson."

"Oh, I remember you--yes, indeed; and I'm Blue Bonnet Ashe."

"We have prayers the first thing," Annabel said, leading the way to the
chapel. "The gong will ring in five minutes. I reckon we won't be too
early if we go now."

"Dear me, do you have a gong to breathe by?" Blue Bonnet asked
laughingly. "Seems to me one rings every five minutes."

"Not quite; but that little electric hammer runs the school--with Miss
North behind it."

Miss North's school was supposed to be non-sectarian, so far as
religious government went; but in expression it was very much
Episcopalian.

Blue Bonnet listened to the prayers read in a pleasant monotone by one
of the teachers, taking part in the responses.

Prayers over, Annabel led the way up-stairs.

"We have a half hour to put our rooms in order," she said, leaving Blue
Bonnet at her own door. "I'll call for you in a little while. I'm just
down the hall--number fifteen--if you get through first, stop for me."

"I haven't unpacked yet. I think, if I have a minute, I had better take
my gowns out of the trunk," Blue Bonnet answered.

"You won't have much time now. Wait until this afternoon. We have from
four to five o'clock free. I'll help you then."

The rest of the morning was spent in the classroom. By noon Blue Bonnet
had met a number of the girls--including two of Annabel's most intimate
friends: Sue Hemphill, from somewhere in the Middle West, and Ruth
Biddle, a Pennsylvania girl. Ruth was Annabel's room-mate; a
plain-looking girl, but decidedly aristocratic--blue blood written in
every line of her delicate features and rather aloof bearing.

Sue Hemphill was the nicer, Blue Bonnet thought after a few moments'
conversation. She was much friendlier, and much prettier; with soft grey
eyes that twinkled mischievously, and a saucy little nose that inclined
upward, giving her face a piquant, merry expression, quite irresistible.

"Miss Ashe is a new girl--a Junior," Annabel explained to her friends.
"She's on our floor--in number ten, with Joy Cross."

Sue Hemphill crumpled up like a withered rose-leaf and leaned against a
blackboard for support.

"Oh, you poor thing! You must have been born for trouble--."

"Now, Sue, don't!" Annabel protested. "Just because you had her last
year and didn't like her--"

"Do you? Does Ruth? Does anybody?" Sue asked.

"Miss North does," Ruth replied; "and Mrs. Goodwin and Mrs. White and
Madame de Cartier and Professor Howe--"

"The entire Faculty, to say nothing of the janitor and maids," Sue
interrupted.

"You mean--that she's a sort of teacher's pet?" Blue Bonnet, asked
slowly.

"Well--'pet' would be going some, for Joy," Annabel laughed. "But
you're warm--very warm!"

"Or you will be, before many days. You'll be a regular barometer, going
up--going up--going up--"

Annabel put her hand over Sue's mouth.

"Stop, Sue! Don't mind her, Miss Ashe. She's an awful tease. Joy isn't
anything worse than a stick--a bore. If you have a nice disposition
you'll get on splendidly--Sue hasn't!"

"Oh, thanks," Sue said, bowing profoundly. "It is because of my long
association with you, then;" and with this good-natured banter she was
off to lunch.

At two-thirty in the afternoon there was a general exodus from the
classrooms, the recitations for the day being over. It had been rather a
strenuous period for Blue Bonnet--the continuous round from seven
o'clock in the morning. She was a little weary as she left the English
class, and filed out with the other girls who stopped to chat for a
minute as they put away their books.

Down the hall came Mary Boyd with Carita still in her train. Blue Bonnet
stopped them and inquired how Carita had got on during the day.

Carita was all enthusiasm.

"Oh, just fine, Blue Bonnet, thank you. Mary has been such an angel. We
are in the same Algebra class--and French, too. Isn't that nice? We can
get our lessons together."

Annabel Jackson came out of a classroom and joined the group.

"Hello, Sozie," she said to Mary, pinching her cheek affectionately.

Mary colored with the pleasure that comes from being noticed by one of
the older and evidently popular girls in the school.

"Hello, Annabel," she answered. "This is my new room-mate--Carita
Judson, from Texas."

Annabel acknowledged the introduction indifferently. Carita was too
young to be particularly interesting to her. Annabel was eighteen, and
considered herself quite a young lady.

Blue Bonnet and Annabel drifted on toward their rooms.

"What sort of a girl is Mary Boyd?" Blue Bonnet asked. "She's rooming
with a little friend of mine. Carita and I come from near the same place
in Texas."

"Mary? Oh, Mary is a dear. A little spoiled, I reckon. She's an only
child, I believe, and has a perfectly doting father. She's always just
as you see her--smiling or laughing. Did you ever see such teeth in your
life? The girls call her 'Sozie.' You know that picture, don't you?
Sozodont! Girl all smiles and teeth."

"What do we do now?" Blue Bonnet asked, pausing at her own door.

"Now we exercise--walk. Generally we go over to the Fenway. In the
spring and fall we play tennis."

"Do we all go? I mean all the girls together?"

"Yes, all of us--à la chain gang. The animals march out two by two."

"Alone?"

"Hardly. It's like the Charge of the Light Brigade--teacher to the right
of us--teacher to the left of us--teacher in front of us--"

"Really?"

"No, not really. Only to the back and front of us--usually. You'll have
fifteen minutes to get into a walking suit if you care to; if you don't,
just put on a big coat. It's raw out to-day."

Blue Bonnet preferred to freshen up. She brushed the tumbled hair,
bathed her face in cold water, and put on a very smart-looking little
grey suit with a Norfolk jacket and tam-o'-shanter to match.

She thought of Carita as she came out of her room, and started up-stairs
after her. A teacher stopped her.

"The young ladies meet for their walk in the reception-room
down-stairs," she said. "There is no visiting back and forth in the
rooms except between four and five o'clock."

Blue Bonnet found the girls, Carita among the rest.

"We will walk together, Carita," she said.

"All right, I have so much to tell you, Blue Bonnet."

A teacher overheard the remark.

"The younger girls usually walk together," she said, turning to Blue
Bonnet. "Have you no partner?"

"No. I only entered yesterday."

Mrs. White cast her eye over the waiting group. Each girl seemed
supplied with a companion.

"So many of the girls are not back yet. Perhaps you would walk with me,"
she said.

"Thank you," Blue Bonnet answered politely.

They took their places at the rear of the line, and the brisk walk
began. During that brief half hour, Blue Bonnet laid the foundation of a
friendship that was to prove invaluable to her throughout her school
year.

Mrs. Alicia White was a vocal teacher--_the_ vocal teacher of the school
it might be said, for there were several. She was in charge of the
department and most efficient.

There was just enough mystery surrounding Mrs. White to make her an
object of interest to the girls, and she had her full share of
popularity among them. An army officer's widow, she had been thrown upon
her own resources early in life, and having had exceptional musical
advantages, as well as a good voice, had taken up teaching as a means of
earning a livelihood.

She was a slight, fair woman, rather plain of features, but her face had
a way of lighting into something closely akin to beauty when she became
animated, and there was charm in her manner.

It had leaked out--probably without the slightest foundation--that Mrs.
White had been deserted by her army husband, and around this bare
incident all sorts of fantastic stories had been woven. At the hands of
the girls the poor man suffered all kinds of indignities. Sometimes he
was lured from the path of duty by a fascinating woman--at others drink,
or his terrible temper caused the separation; but whatever his sins,
they all redounded to the glory of Mrs. White, and deluged her with
sympathy.

To the gossip of the school Mrs. White was apparently oblivious--if not
oblivious, impervious. Her interest in the girls was rather indifferent,
except for a chosen few, upon whom she bestowed a good deal of
attention. Annabel Jackson was one of her special favorites.

Blue Bonnet found before the walk ended that Mrs. White had charge of
the floor upon which she roomed, and a number of other things incident
to school life and discipline.

Blue Bonnet had barely laid aside her things after returning from the
walk when a knock at the door startled her. She opened it, admitting
Annabel, Ruth, and Sue Hemphill.

"We came over to help you unpack," Annabel announced. "Three of us can
do it quickly, and then perhaps you will come over to my room for a cup
of tea. We have a whole hour to ourselves now."

Blue Bonnet was grateful, but a little embarrassed. She didn't
especially care to open her trunk and bare its contents to utter
strangers; but Sue was already tugging at the straps, and Ruth opening
bureau drawers preparatory to putting things away.

Blue Bonnet took the key from her purse and unlocked the trunk.

As the gowns and underwear, hats and shoes, tumbled forth, there were
exclamations of delight and approval.

"Oh, what a love of a hat! Do get out of the way, Ruth, so I can try it
on;" this from Annabel.

"And, oh, what a sweet organdy! Where did you get that white wool Peter
Thompson? I've searched the town for one."

Blue Bonnet turned from unwrapping something very dear to her to answer
Sue.

Annabel leaned over her shoulder, watching with interest the small
package in her hands.

"What is it?" she asked.

Blue Bonnet took off the last wrapping and disclosed to view a small
miniature.

The girls crowded round her.

"Oh, how lovely!" they exclaimed in a breath. "Who is it?"

Blue Bonnet hesitated a brief second, gazing lovingly at the picture.

"My mother," she answered softly.

"Isn't she beautiful! Is she in Texas?" Ruth inquired.

"No. She's--dead."

There was a hush for a moment.

"Where's your father--have you one of him?" It was Annabel this time.

Blue Bonnet made another dive in the trunk and brought forth a package.
From it she drew a photograph which she handed to Annabel.

"Is he in Texas--on the ranch you were telling us about?"

"No. He's dead--too."

There was a longer silence this time, and then it was Sue who put her
arm through Blue Bonnet's shyly.

"I know what it means," she said. "I have lost my mother, too. I still
have my father, though, thank Heaven, and Billy. You must know
Billy--he's my brother at Harvard--the best ever--why--"

Annabel lifted her hands in protest.

"Now, Sue's going to take the pulpit," she said, "and we'll get a
discourse on Billy! Billy the great! Billy the supreme--Billy--"

Ruth gave Annabel a push.

"You're jealous," she said, "because you haven't got such a brother
yourself. Billy's all right. He's everything Sue says he is."

In the midst of the banter that followed, the door opened, and Joy Cross
entered.

She put her suitcase down by the bed, and nodded to the girls
indifferently. They nodded back and went on with the inspection of Blue
Bonnet's wardrobe.

Blue Bonnet put the miniature carefully away in the bureau drawer, and,
with that instinct of politeness which is inborn, went over to Joy and
extended her hand.

Joy took it listlessly. The girls scarcely turned round.

When the clothes had all been put away, Annabel renewed her invitation
to tea. She did not include Joy, and Blue Bonnet felt rather indignant.
It seemed so rude.

"You girls certainly have it in for my room-mate," she said, as she
closed the door, and a wave of sympathy went back to Joy.

Ruth Biddle shrugged her shoulders and made a grimace.

"She isn't in our crowd," she said, as if that excluded her from the
right to exist--almost.

Annabel's room was a good deal like Annabel. It inclined to frills. It
was furnished charmingly in cretonnes--pink, with roses and trailing
vines. Pennants from Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Cornell, and many other
colleges adorned the walls. Everything in view--and there was
much--expressed Annabel. Ruth's personality--if she had any--was
entirely missing.

Annabel shook up a cushion and tucked it behind Blue Bonnet comfortably.
She had a hospitable manner that fitted pleasantly with the cosiness of
the room. Blue Bonnet looked about admiringly.

"I didn't know they allowed you to have so much in your room," she said,
surprised.

"They don't--ordinarily. I've been here a long time, and things
accumulate. Anyway, I told Miss North that if I couldn't have things the
way I wanted them this year, I'd go somewhere else. They'll do a good
deal to keep you after they once get you. You'll soon find that out."

"Oh, I don't know," Ruth said from her end of the room, where she was
operating a chafing dish, "they send you away fast enough if you don't
keep the rules. You remember that Fanny Price, last year."

"Oh, well,--_that_, of course. Fanny Price hadn't any business here in
the first place." Annabel began to arrange the tea cups.

"Will you have lemon in your tea?" she asked. "Do you mind if we call
you Blue Bonnet? It's something of a mouthful, but I like it."

"Please do. I should love it. I take lemon, thank you."

"It's a good thing you do. Cream is an unknown quantity in this room. We
did have some Eagle Brand, but Ruth spread the last of it on her
crackers yesterday."

"On crackers?"

"Yes. Ever try it?"

Blue Bonnet made a face.

"Oh, it's not so bad. You'll come to it--some day when you're starving."

"Starving? Don't you get enough to eat here?"

"Yes--but it's not the Copley Plaza--exactly. We manage to get fat,
anyway. That reminds me--where's Wee? Go get her, Sue, and ask her to
bring over some Nabiscos, if she happens to have any handy. Wee's a
regular life-saving station, usually."

Sue dashed out of the room and came back in a minute with a very large,
stout girl, whom she introduced as her room-mate, Deborah Watts--better
known as "Wee."

Good nature, affability--all the essentials of comradeship--fairly oozed
from Deborah Watts. She took Blue Bonnet's hand in a grip that hurt,
but Blue Bonnet felt its sincerity and squeezed back.

A bright girl in the school had once compared Deborah Watts to a family
horse. Not a pretty comparison, but apt, when one knew Deborah.

The girl said that Deborah was safe, gentle, and reliable. Safe enough
to be trusted with old people; gentle enough for children; and that she
could, at times, get up enough ginger to give the young people a fair
run. The comparison went even farther. The girl declared that
sometimes--oh, very occasionally, under pressure and high
living--Deborah could kick up her heels and light out with the best, and
that when she did, people held up their hands in horror and said: "What
ever in the world has got into Deborah Watts!"

Her room-mate and friends had beheld her in this enviable state a number
of times, and had pronounced her--in boarding-school vernacular--a
perfect circus.

"Can you cook things in your room?" Blue Bonnet inquired of Ruth, gazing
at the chafing dish with the water steaming in it.

"You can have a chafing dish, if that's what you mean; that is, you can
if you happen to be a Senior. Annabel and I graduate in June. Our menu
is limited, however. We seldom roast fowl, or boil coffee"--she winked
at Sue--"or try entrées, except--"

All three girls went off into peals of laughter. All but Wee Watts, who
remained as sober as a judge.

"Do we, Wee?"

"Wee do!" giggled Annabel.

No one offered to explain the joke and Blue Bonnet looked mystified.

"First year?" Deborah inquired of Blue Bonnet.

"First," Blue Bonnet said. "I have answered that question fifty times
to-day. I believe I'll have a placard printed and hang it round my
neck."

"It might save breath during the next few days," Sue remarked.
"Everybody you meet will ask you that. It sort of breaks the ice."

Blue Bonnet put down her tea cup and rose.

"It was awfully good of you girls to be so nice to me to-day. I
appreciate it ever so much. I think I must go now. Carita will be
looking for me. Come and see me, won't you? I'm in number ten"--she
nodded toward Deborah Watts. "Not being a Senior I can't make you tea,
but I might manage to have some crackers and Eagle milk. Good-by."




CHAPTER VI

NEW FRIENDS


Blue Bonnet found Carita up in her room, the centre of an admiring
group. Refreshments, here, as in the corridor below, seemed to be in
order.

Mary rose from a shoe-box which she was occupying, and offered it to
Blue Bonnet. Several other girls rose also and offered their chairs.

Blue Bonnet took the shoe-box and acknowledged the introductions. The
girls were all about Carita's own age--between fifteen and sixteen.

Carita reached over and touched the girl nearest her.

"Here's a girl as far away from home as we are, Blue Bonnet. She's from
California--Los Angeles."

Blue Bonnet turned her attention for a moment to the girl--Isabel
Brooks.

Isabel's eyes were red and swollen. She dropped her head as Blue Bonnet
looked at her, and her breast heaved.

"Now, now!" Mary Boyd said, springing up from the bed on which she had
perched. "Don't you cry any more. You'll be sick if you do, and they'll
put you in the Infirmary. Here, eat some more candy."

Isabel refused the candy and continued her sobbing. One or two others
around the room, moved by Isabel's weeping, commenced to cry also.

Mary seemed helpless.

"Oh, dear," she said, and her own lip began to quiver, "they always do
it--these new girls! They get us every last one started."

Blue Bonnet looked at Carita. Tears were in her eyes, and, even as Blue
Bonnet looked, her head went down in her hands and she, too, began to
sob.

Blue Bonnet rose to the occasion instantly. It was like a call to
arms--the sight of those lonely children.

She looked at her watch.

"We have twenty minutes yet, to visit. Let's play a game. I know a fine
one. Come on, everybody."

There was not the slightest response.

Mary Boyd took hold of Isabel and dragged her to her feet. Then she
roused the others.

"Come on," she said. "You've got to play, whether you want to or not.
How do you do it--Miss--"

"Call me Blue Bonnet."

The girls stood up listlessly--a sorry looking group.

"You can sit down," Blue Bonnet announced. "You don't have to
stand--just keep your eyes on me. You are each of you a musical
instrument."

She went round and whispered something in the ear of each girl.

"Now, I'm the drum. I stand here and beat. Rub-a-dub-dub!
Rub-a-dub-dub--like that. Everybody must try to represent her
instrument. Carita, you're a fiddle. Pretend to handle a bow. Isabel,
you're a piano. Run your hands up and down as if you were playing a
scale.

"Watch me. I beat the drum. When I stop beating and imitate one of your
instruments--suppose it is the fiddle--then you stop playing the fiddle,
Carita, and begin to beat the drum. If you don't stop instantly, and
begin to beat the drum before I call out fiddle, you have to stand up
here and take my place. See?"

Before five minutes had passed there was such hilarity in the room that
it took several knocks at the door to bring a response.

A thin angular form stood in the doorway, and a stern voice said:

"Young ladies, I haf you to report to Miss North if not this noise stop
instantly. _Instantly._ You understand? I speak not again!"

"Oh, isn't she too exasperating," remarked Peggy Austin, one of the
older girls, as Mary closed the door--a little quicker than might have
been thought compatible with good manners.

"I perfectly abominate her," Mary answered. "I am going to ask Miss
North if Fraulein can't be removed from this hall. I don't think it's
one bit fair for us to have her all the time. She's just too
interfering."

"It wouldn't do a particle of good to ask, Sozie," Peggy said. "Miss
North caters to Fraulein, herself. She says she is the finest German
teacher she ever saw. She imported her from Berlin at great expense and
personal sacrifice to the Empire. The nation's been in mourning ever
since she left!"

Mary giggled, and the new girls looked interested. Peggy's solemn face
carried conviction.

"Goodness me," Carita exclaimed, "couldn't the Germans afford to keep
her?"

Peggy shook her head.

"No," she declared, pretending to weep in her handkerchief, "it makes me
cry to think of their disappointment--the poor things!"

A gong sounded, but the girls lingered.

"I want to see you after dinner, Carita," Blue Bonnet said as she left
the room.

"We go down to the gymnasium and dance a while, after dinner," Mary
called out.

"All right. I engage the first three dances then, Carita. Don't forget."

Blue Bonnet went down to her room thoughtfully; a vision of those
homesick children before her eyes. She wondered what people meant by
sending such infants away from home. Why, there was one who seemed
scarcely old enough to comb her own hair. All of a sudden she felt
old--grown up; responsibility weighed on her--the responsibility of
Carita.

On her own hall she passed Mrs. White.

"What a serious face," the teacher said. "I hope it is not
homesickness."

Blue Bonnet smiled brightly.

"No, I think I've fought that all out."

"That's good! Youth is not the time for tears."

"But I have just come from a regular downpour."

"It sounded like a downfall. I was in Madame de Cartier's room, just
underneath. We thought the ceiling was coming through."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I am afraid it was my fault. Those children were so
horribly homesick that I suggested a game."

"That was very thoughtful, I am sure. Some of those young girls really
suffer terribly. Sometimes it makes them quite ill."

Blue Bonnet wondered why Fraulein could not have been so reasonable.
_She_ certainly was disagreeable. She wished Carita might be under Mrs.
White's wing. What a dear Mrs. White was, anyway.

Blue Bonnet opened her bedroom door, still lost in thought. The early
winter twilight filled the room, almost obscuring her room-mate who sat
near a window straining her eyes over a book.

Blue Bonnet snapped on the light.

"You'll ruin your eyes," she said pleasantly. "That's what my aunt
always says to me when I read in the twilight."

Joy forced a half smile and continued reading.

"I suppose we get dressed for dinner now?" Blue Bonnet, ventured,
beginning to unfasten her waist.

"Yes."

"Is dinner just at six?"

"Yes."

"What do we do in the meantime?"

"Study--or practise; or read, if you wish."

Blue Bonnet went into the bathroom and made as much of her toilet as was
possible. When she came out, Joy was still poring over her book.

"That must be a hard lesson you are getting," Blue Bonnet remarked.

"It's a book I'm reading."

"Oh!"

There was an interval of silence during which Blue Bonnet put the
finishing touches to her toilet. When she was quite dressed she stood
hesitatingly by one of the windows, gazing out over the brightly
lighted city. Suddenly she turned and flew down the hall, knocking
softly at number fifteen.

The door opened slightly and Annabel peered out.

"May I come in--please? I'm threatened with a terrible attack of--the
blues, I reckon."

Annabel pulled her in quickly.

"Surely," she said, "only hurry. This isn't strictly according to
Hoyle."

"You mean it's against the rules?"

Annabel nodded, her mouth full of pins.

"Then I'd better go."

"Nonsense, stay where you are! I was dying for some one to hook me up.
Ruth's in the tub--been there an hour. If you hear any one coming, step
in the closet."

"I shouldn't have come only I knew I was going to be homesick, and--"

"And Joy wasn't a very good antidote, was she?"

"Hardly. She won't talk."

Annabel laughed.

"You'll have to do what Sue did last year. That awful silence got on her
nerves. Not that she was so anxious to hear Joy talk, but she got tired
of putting forth all the effort. Well, she got somebody to make out a
list of subjects on a typewriter. She gave it to Joy. 'Now,' she said,
'for goodness sake, _talk_. Choose, in any order you like, but
_talk_!'"

Blue Bonnet laughed merrily.

"Ssh!" Annabel warned. "You mustn't do anything more than breathe during
this hour."

Blue Bonnet got up again.

Annabel pushed her back in the chair.

"Sit still," she said.

"What would they do if they found me?"

"That depends upon who found you. If it were the German lady above--"

"Fraulein?"

"Yes."

"Has she anything to do with this floor?"

"There isn't anything in the school that she hasn't something to do
with."

"And if it were Mrs. White?"

"Mrs. White would do her duty. She would send you to your room--and
you'd go--a heap quicker than you would for Fraulein."

"I think I'll go anyway. Oh, there's a knock!"

Annabel opened the door a crack.

"May I come in, Annabel?"

It was Mrs. White's voice, and Annabel was obliged to open the door.

Mrs. White looked at Blue Bonnet.

"I think I'll have to escort Miss Ashe to her room and show her the
rules," she said, smiling.

"I'm ready. I was just going."

"Very well. We'll 'kill two birds with one stone.' I was going to your
room to talk over your music."

Arm in arm they went down the corridor.

Mrs. White turned Blue Bonnet round after they had entered the room, and
drew her attention to a white placard on the wall near the door.

"There," she said, "you will find all the rules."

She ran her finger along the printed column until she came to the one
she wanted. Then she read aloud:

"'Visiting among students is forbidden except between the hours of four
and five in the afternoon, and two and six on Saturdays.'

"Didn't you see these rules, Miss Ashe?"

"Oh, yes, I saw them," Blue Bonnet answered with unconcern that amazed
Mrs. White. "I didn't read them. I hate rules!"

"But I am afraid you will have to read these--and obey them!"

"I suppose so."

Blue Bonnet sighed. "You see," she explained, "I've been brought up
rather differently from most girls--that is, up to a year and a half
ago. I lived on a big ranch in Texas with my uncle. Everything there was
as free as the air and water. We didn't have any restrictions. Boston
seems to be made up of 'em."

"We do have a good many conventions, that's true--especially here. It
would be chaos without them. You can see that, can't you?"

"Oh, yes."

"And you will try to keep the rules?"

"Of course I'll try. I shouldn't like to displease _you_."

The compliment was so naïvely given, and so evidently sincere, that Mrs.
White looked pleased.

"I appreciate that very much," she said, "but you must keep on equally
good terms with your _own_ conscience--have its approval, always."

       *       *       *       *       *

The building in which Miss North conducted her school for girls had
originally been a private mansion. It was interesting and attractive,
with many odd nooks and mysterious passages that lent charm and romance
to its young occupants. In recent years property adjoining had been
added for recitation and school purposes; two houses welded into one.

The entire basement of the annex had been remodeled into a well-equipped
gymnasium, and at the rear of the lot a swimming pool had been erected.

It was the custom of the girls to repair to the gymnasium after dinner
for a half hour's frolic. Usually they danced.

Blue Bonnet and Carita followed the other girls down-stairs and through
the narrow passage that connected the two buildings, a passage known as
the subway--or sub.

"Mercy, isn't this spooky?" Carita said, taking a better hold on Blue
Bonnet's arm.

"Oh, this isn't anything? Wait a minute."

Mary Boyd drew the girls over to a door at one side of the gymnasium and
flung it wide.

"That's a part of the furnace room," she said. "You can go through here
and follow another little dark hall--oh, much worse than this--and it
takes you to the kitchen and pantries. We went down one night last
year--"

"One night?"

Carita shuddered.

"Yes, it was loads of fun. There were five or six of us. We ate enough
apple sauce and fresh bread to kill us."

At the piano in the gymnasium a girl was playing a two-step.

"Let's sit here and talk," Blue Bonnet said to Carita, drawing her to a
secluded corner. "I feel as if I had hardly seen you."

Sue Hemphill passed, and, seeing Blue Bonnet, dropped into a seat beside
her.

"Well," she said, "how do you girls like it by this time?"

"The school, you mean?" Blue Bonnet asked.

"Yes."

"It's been rather strenuous to-day. I'm beginning to look forward to
bedtime. I'm tired."

"It is tiresome--getting adjusted."

"What do we do after this half hour? It's a regular merry-go-round,
isn't it? A continuous performance."

Sue laughed.

"We study the next hour. Sometimes--twice a week--we have a short
lecture on general culture. You'll be taught how to enter a room
properly, and how to leave it--"

"I know that already."

"Of course, but it has to be impressed."

"Then what?"

"Then we go to our rooms. Sometimes we settle down, and sometimes we
don't. It depends. Once in a while we have a feast. We'll invite you
next time."

Blue Bonnet looked interested.

"Where do you have it?"

"Oh, in our rooms sometimes--but it's risky. The sky parlor is the best
place. That's up in the attic--under the eaves. It's fine! There's no
teacher to bother. It's a little cold just now. They don't heat it, but
you can put on your bath-robe and be comfy. We're waiting now for Wee
Watts to get her clean clothes back from home. You see, she only lives
an hour or two out of the city, and she sends her things home to be
washed. When they come back, her mother always fills up the suitcase
with cakes and cookies and jam--well, not jam, any more. The last jar
she sent, broke, and spilled all over a new silk waist she was sending
Wee for a party. It was quite tragic."

"The loss of the jam--or the waist?"

"Both. It was hard on Wee, losing the waist. You see, she's so stout she
can't borrow much from the rest of us."

Annabel came up at that moment and asked Sue to dance, so Carita and
Blue Bonnet visited until the gong sounded.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the way up to the study hall, Miss North stopped Blue Bonnet.

"Will you come to my office a moment after study hour?" she said. "I
want to go over your program with you. The room is just beyond the
reception hall on the first floor."

Blue Bonnet found Miss North waiting when she entered the room an hour
later.

"You found your classes this morning, all right?" she began.

"Yes, thank you, Miss North."

"And decided upon your course?"

"Yes. Professor Howe thought I could enter the Junior class without any
trouble. I'm taking college preparatory. I don't know yet whether I'll
go to college or not, but my aunt wanted me to prepare."

There was a few moments' conversation relative to the work, and Miss
North rose.

"Good night," she said, holding out her hand. "I hope you are going to
be happy with us. You found the girls pleasant? Annabel Jackson is about
your age."

"I'm not seventeen yet," Blue Bonnet said. "I reckon my clothes make me
look older. I begged Aunt Lucinda to let me have them a little longer
than I've been wearing. Yes, I like the girls very much. Good night."

       *       *       *       *       *

In her own bed, under cover of darkness, Blue Bonnet had much to think
about that night. Opposite her, as still as the dead, Joy Cross
slumbered. Blue Bonnet's mind went back over the day. How full it had
been--and strange! She almost felt as if she had been transported to
another world. In the stress and excitement of the new surroundings her
old life faded like a dream. Even the We Are Sevens seemed remote and
indistinct in her tired brain.

She dozed off, finally, to dream of marching to gongs. Gongs that urged
and threatened; and of a certain German individual who lived in a
garret, and who growled like a savage beast if she made the slightest
sound as she passed her door.

The next two weeks fairly flew along, and Blue Bonnet was too busy to
be homesick. There were good long letters from home often; from the
faithful We Are Sevens, full of news and cheer; and from Uncle Cliff, in
far-off Texas.

Blue Bonnet found the course she had selected a hard one, with a good
deal of outside reading in English. Then there was her music, vocal and
instrumental. Practising took up a great deal of time.

The teacher of piano--Fraulein Schirmer--was very nice, Blue Bonnet
thought, and she was glad to tell her aunt that she liked her, since she
and Fraulein had been such good friends in Munich.

Because of Miss Clyde, Fraulein took much interest in Blue Bonnet,
discovering a good deal of musical ability, she wrote Miss Clyde.

Mrs. White still continued to be the joy she promised, and Blue Bonnet
looked forward to her vocal lessons with the keenest pleasure.

"Will I ever sing really well?" she asked Mrs. White one morning, and
Mrs. White had answered:

"That depends upon yourself, and how much you want to sing. You have a
good voice, plenty of excellent timbre in it. You have even more--the
greatest essential of all--temperament. You live--you feel--you have the
sympathetic quality that spells success--with work!"

Blue Bonnet went from her lesson feeling that she had the world almost
in her grasp.

Her English teacher, too, Professor Howe--- Blue Bonnet could not
understand why a woman should be called Professor--was delightful. A
storehouse of knowledge, she made the class work so interesting that the
forty-five minutes of recitation usually passed all too quickly.

Professor Howe was an unusually able woman, much looked up to by the
Faculty and pupils. She was middle-aged--past the fortieth milestone, at
any rate--and somewhat austere in manner. Those who knew her best
declared that her stern demeanor was a professional veneer, put on in
the classroom for the sake of discipline, and that underneath she was
intensely human and feminine. She had charge of the study hall and acted
as associate principal.

Professor Howe interested Blue Bonnet. She didn't mind the austere
manner at all. There was something behind it--a quick flash of the eye,
a sudden smile, limited usually to a brief second; an intense, keen
expression that acted like an electric battery to Blue Bonnet. It
stimulated her to effort. No matter what else had to be neglected,
English was invariably prepared.

And, as admiration usually begets admiration, Professor Howe was
attracted to Blue Bonnet.

"Miss Elizabeth Ashe," she said to Miss North at the end of the second
week, "promises to be a bright pupil. She has an unusually clear mind,
and good judgment. She's going to be quite a stimulus to the class."

Miss North seemed a little surprised.

"That's rather odd," she said. "Miss Root told me only a half hour ago
that Miss Ashe was very indifferent in her mathematics--absolutely
inattentive."

Professor Howe raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, but she made no
comment.

Blue Bonnet could have explained. If not to Miss North's satisfaction,
to her own, entirely. She hated Miss Root, and she hated mathematics,
which added fuel to fire.

At the end of the third week of school Blue Bonnet was summoned to Miss
North's office.

Miss North looked serious as she motioned Blue Bonnet to a seat and
opened the conversation.

"I am very sorry to find that you are not doing well in your
mathematics, Miss Ashe. What is the trouble?"

"I hate mathematics and I dislike Miss Root," Blue Bonnet replied with a
frankness that quite took Miss North's breath away.

"That is very disrespectful, Miss Ashe; I cannot have you speak of one
of your teachers in that way."

"But I don't like her, Miss North, not a bit!"

"That is not to the point. Why are you inattentive?"

"I'm not. I am only stupid!"

Miss North was obliged to smile.

"I can hardly think that," she said. "I have excellent reports from
other teachers regarding your work."

Blue Bonnet let the compliment pass without any show of pride or
pleasure.

"I meant stupid in mathematics. I always have been."

"Perhaps you haven't got hold of them properly. The difficulty often
begins in the primary grades."

"Perhaps that is it. I always had a tutor or a governess on the ranch. I
hated arithmetic, so we didn't bother much with it. When I entered
school in Woodford I just managed to slide through my mathematics. I
never got more than a passing grade."

Miss North looked at Blue Bonnet as if she were some new species of girl
with whom she was unfamiliar. Such honesty was quite without precedent.

"And Miss Root? Why do you dislike her?"

"Miss Root is too sarcastic. When I make a mistake she calls the
attention of the class to it."

Miss North looked stern.

"You may be excused, now, Miss Ashe," she said. "I will investigate this
matter."

A day or two later there seemed to be a change of atmosphere in Miss
Root's classroom. Miss Root was very nice to Blue Bonnet--even trying to
unravel hard knots, and Blue Bonnet gave strict attention. She stopped
Blue Bonnet one day at the end of a period.

"You see what you can do when you try, Miss Ashe," she said.

Blue Bonnet flushed a warm red.

"I tried all the time, Miss Root--but--I reckon--maybe we didn't just
understand each other."

The girl's sweet smile was more appealing than her words. Such
spontaneity was infectious. A faint pink crept into the teacher's
withered cheek, and for a moment the dull grey of her humdrum existence
changed to a startling blue. She held out her hand.

"I daresay that was just the trouble. You are very young to have so much
philosophy. If you are puzzled again, come to my room. I want you to
like mathematics--they are great mental gymnastics. You must learn to
get fun out of them."




CHAPTER VII

IN TROUBLE


It was Monday morning--the beginning of Blue Bonnet's fourth week at
Miss North's school. Prayers were just over and Blue Bonnet had come up
to her room to make her bed. She was drawing up the counterpane when
there was a rap at the door and Mary Boyd entered.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet," she said, her eyes wide with excitement; "Carita's
sick--real sick! Mrs. Goodwin just came to our room and took her to the
Infirmary."

Blue Bonnet looked at Mary in amazement.

"Sick?" she repeated. "Sick? Why, she was all right yesterday."

Mary shook her head.

"No, she wasn't. She hasn't been well for several days; but she begged
me so not to tell anybody that I didn't. I wish now I had. I'm awfully
frightened about her. She's had headache for a week. Goodness knows what
she's got! That's the way typhoid fever and a lot of things come. You
ache all over--"

"Mary," Blue Bonnet said sternly, "it was very wrong of you not to tell
me. I am responsible for Carita. If anything should happen to her
here--" she paused; the thought was too dreadful to contemplate.

Blue Bonnet started out the door.

Mary caught, and held her tightly.

"Where are you going, Blue Bonnet?"

"To the Infirmary, of course. Let me go."

"No, no, you can't! It's strictly against the rules. Carita's
quarantined. They've sent for the doctor."

The word quarantined sent a fresh chill to Blue Bonnet's heart.

"Rules or no rules, I'm going to Carita."

But Mary held her fast.

"Oh, no, Blue Bonnet, please, please don't! It will get you in trouble.
Go find Mrs. Goodwin. She's awfully nice, really she is. She'll tell you
all about it."

But Mrs. Goodwin was nowhere to be found.

"That settles it," Blue Bonnet said. "I shall go to the Infirmary." And
to the Infirmary she went.

The door was closed. Blue Bonnet opened it boldly.

Carita lay on one of the little hospital cots, her eyes closed, her face
almost as white as the sheet that was drawn up close about her.

"Carita--Carita, dear," Blue Bonnet said softly, kneeling down beside
her. "What's the matter? Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

The closed eyelids fluttered for a second, then opened wide with terror.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet, go out of here, quick! They don't know what I've got.
You might catch something!"

For answer Blue Bonnet smoothed the black hair from the white brow and
looked into the face eagerly.

"Please--please go, Blue Bonnet. I'm all right. Really I am! Please go
away; anyway until the doctor comes."

A little red spot began to glow in each of the white cheeks and Carita
tried to sit up in bed. She fell back limply.

Blue Bonnet was terror stricken.

"What do they mean by leaving you alone?" she said, clasping and
unclasping her hands. "It's outrageous!"

"I've only been alone a few minutes. Mrs. Goodwin just stepped out a
minute."

As Carita spoke the door opened and Mrs. Goodwin herself entered,
followed by a very professional looking man carrying a satchel.

Mrs. Goodwin looked at Blue Bonnet in surprise, and as the doctor went
over to Carita's bed, she took her to one side.

"You must go out of here at once, Miss Ashe; this is quite against the
rules."

Blue Bonnet caught Mrs. Goodwin by the arm impatiently.

"What is the matter with Carita? Is it anything very dreadful--a disease
like typhoid or anything?"

"We don't know yet," Mrs. Goodwin replied, opening the door and showing
Blue Bonnet out.

"Will you please let me know as soon--as soon as you know yourself, Mrs.
Goodwin?"

The alarm in the girl's face appealed to the kind house-mother and she
promised willingly: reiterating that Blue Bonnet must not come again to
the Infirmary without permission.

Blue Bonnet passed out of the room slowly, casting a lingering glance
toward Carita. The doctor had her hand, was feeling her pulse.

"I will come to your room, Mrs. Goodwin, after my English period, at
nine forty-five. May I? Perhaps you will know more then. May I, please?"

"Yes, Miss Ashe. And say nothing about this to any of the girls."

Blue Bonnet promised and went to her class reluctantly.

At nine forty-five she left the classroom and went straight to Mrs.
Goodwin's room, but Mrs. Goodwin was not in. She went on to the
Infirmary.

This time she knocked and stepped back well from the door.

Mrs. Goodwin came out, closing the door behind her. Her face looked
serious, though she tried to speak lightly.

"The doctor cannot tell for another forty-eight hours just what is the
matter with Miss Judson. He hopes it is nothing serious."

"Is it anything contagious--like a fever?"

"We don't know."

"May I see Carita a minute?"

"Not to-day."

"Will some one stay with her all the time? I should like her to have a
nurse."

"I will not leave Miss Judson, Miss Ashe. She will have every care.
Please do not come up on this floor again. I will keep you advised as to
her condition. Do not make yourself unhappy about it. I know that you
are very anxious."

"Oh, I am, Mrs. Goodwin. Awfully--awfully anxious! You see--" she
hesitated--"I am responsible for Carita's being here, and if there's
anything very much the matter, I ought to send for my aunt."

"That will all be attended to, Miss Ashe, at the proper time."

"But what did the doctor say?"

"He thinks Miss Judson may be getting acclimated. She has lived a very
free life in the open country, and this confinement, for a while, may
tell upon her. I really think it is nothing more than that."

Blue Bonnet decided to skip her French, and went to her own room to
think a little while. She had barely closed the door when there was a
knock.

Fraulein stood just outside the door, an inquisitive, disagreeable
expression on her face.

"Are you ill, Miss Ashe?" she said.

"No, Fraulein, I am not ill."

"Then why are you in your room at this hour? Have you not some class?
French?"

"Yes, I have French at this hour."

"And you go not to the lesson?"

There was surprise and indignation in Fraulein's expression.

"I shall haf to report you to Miss North."

Blue Bonnet picked up her French books and pushed past Fraulein.

"I will save you the trouble," she said. "I am going to Miss North now,
myself."

Fraulein stared after the flying figure.

"She is one impertinent young person," she said to herself, and followed
Blue Bonnet down the first flight of stairs to make sure that she really
went to Miss North's office.

Miss North was at her desk, busy with some papers.

"May I speak with you, Miss North?" Blue Bonnet said.

"What is it, Miss Ashe?"

"You know about Carita, Miss North?"

"Mrs. Goodwin has reported her illness."

"I think that my aunt should be notified at once."

Blue Bonnet did not realize in her excitement that her tone was a bit
dictatorial.

"We are responsible for Carita, and--"

"Miss Judson will have every attention, Miss Ashe. She is in no
immediate danger. I shall notify Miss Clyde as soon as I think it
necessary."

"You mean that you will not notify her to-day?"

"Hardly--to-day."

"Then I shall, Miss North! I want to report to you that I didn't go to
my French class this morning. You will probably hear of it from Fraulein
Herrmann, though I should have told you anyway."

She was out of the room and half way down the hall when Miss North
called her.

Blue Bonnet came back and took the chair to which Miss North pointed,
wonderingly.

"Why did you not go to your French class, Miss Ashe?"

"Because I was so worried about Carita. I knew I couldn't make any kind
of a recitation."

"That does not excuse you from going. You may report now to Madam de
Cartier. In regard to Miss Judson--" Miss North paused, as trying to
think of the best way to impress her authority upon the very determined
young girl before her.

"You will leave Miss Judson to the care of Mrs. Goodwin and Doctor Giles
for the present. As soon as there is the slightest cause for alarm your
aunt will be notified. You may go now."

In the hall Blue Bonnet met Mary Boyd.

"How's Carita?" Mary asked. "Have they found out what's the matter with
her?"

"No. The doctor can't tell yet."

"What doctor?"

"I think his name is Giles."

"Doctor Giles! Oh, mercy, they always get him, and he's slower than
molasses at Christmas. That's just the way he did when I was sick. First
he said it was cold--then it was grippe; then it looked like something
else. By the time they got my mother here I was so sick I didn't know
her."

"Mary," Blue Bonnet said, actually frightened, "is that really true?
Aren't you exaggerating?"

"No. You ask Peggy Austin. She'll tell you!"

But Blue Bonnet's mind was made up. She would take no chances. If she
had been a little older, a little more experienced, she would have taken
Mary's opinion of Doctor Giles for exactly what it was worth--the
prejudice of a spoiled child. But Blue Bonnet was very young herself,
and very much excited.

She went directly to Professor Howe's room, but Professor Howe was
teaching. So was Madam de Cartier. Blue Bonnet's next period was vacant,
so she went to the study hall and slipped into her seat quietly.

Fraulein Herrmann was in charge of the room. She looked at Blue Bonnet
suspiciously, and watched her as she got out her books.

Blue Bonnet opened her Latin, but the words danced before her eyes.
Study was out of the question. Her mind and heart centred upon Carita.
Poor little Carita, white and forlorn, miles and miles away from her
father, her mother, shut up in a room with a woman she scarcely knew,
the thought was intolerable.

For a few minutes she sat thinking. How could she get word to Aunt
Lucinda? There was the long distance telephone, but she hardly knew how
to manage that; there might be complications, and then any one could
hear, the telephone was so publicly placed.

Suddenly it flashed over her that she could get a letter--a special
delivery--to Woodford that afternoon. One of the day pupils would mail
it.

Unmindful of Fraulein's watchful eye, she leaned over and spoke to her
seat-mate, Ethel Merrill.

"Would you do me a favor, Ethel?" she asked.

"Surely," Ethel replied.

Blue Bonnet explained--a bit indefinitely. It was a letter--a very
important one--that must be mailed at noon.

Ethel promised to take it without fail.

Blue Bonnet got out some paper and began writing hastily.

    "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-eight hours,--"

"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.

"Think _now_, for a moment. Take the case of your 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, and I--"

"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 comes by
degrees; but we _do_ want you to believe that your _best_ interests 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 am _not_ sorry, 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 been none 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, and come 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.




CHAPTER VIII

PENANCE


Blue Bonnet went 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 morning that 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 of the 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 gets so tired of one's own things. Sue and I change all
the time."

"You mean _you_ do 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 wear this--"

"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, but she 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.

[Illustration: "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 so
funny--"

Sue came to the rescue.

"Nonsense. You'll get over that. You can't be 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. She knew
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 had
ice-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 over
there--"

Blue Bonnet turned to look at two pink roses on a table by the bed.

"--and Fraulein--"

"Fraulein!"

"Yes--and she was real nice--as nice as _she_ could 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 gone
away. 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 think maybe 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! How ever 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 West Point--"

"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 some clothes--"

"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 it _is_ better," 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.




CHAPTER IX

WOODFORD


"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 always finds 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 my
way--"

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 way _all_ those girls feel--Sue and
Wee, and Ruth--"

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 Boyd says--"

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 yellow dress--"

"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 Mary says," 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. There was 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, there _was_ a 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
exercise her--"

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 if they 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 coiled in 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 bringing _him_ back 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 temperament breathing
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 spent no
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 the book, 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 ha

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