The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Texas Blue Bonnet, by Caroline Emilia Jacobs This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: A Texas Blue Bonnet Caroline Emilia Jacobs Author: Caroline Emilia Jacobs Illustrator: John Goss Release Date: October 2, 2016 [EBook #53192] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TEXAS BLUE BONNET *** Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net A TEXAS BLUE BONNET Cover Frontispiece BLUE BONNET. A TEXAS BLUE BONNET BY CAROLINE EMILIA JACOBS (EMILIA ELLIOTT) Illustrated by JOHN GOSS Colophon THE PAGE COMPANY BOSTON—PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1910 By The Page Company All rights reserved Made in U.S.A. Twentieth Impression, November, 1925 Twenty-first Impression, September, 1926 Twenty-second Impression, October, 1927 Twenty-third Impression, June, 1928 Twenty-fourth Impression, March, 1930 Twenty-fifth Impression, August, 1933 Twenty-sixth Impression, December, 1935 Twenty-Seventh Impression, March, 1938 PRINTED BY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC. CLINTON, MASS., U.S.A. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Blue Bonnet 1 II. Elizabeth 16 III. To Meet Miss Elizabeth Ashe 34 IV. School 51 V. An Invitation 68 VI. Tea-party Number Two 84 VII. The Climax 100 VIII. Mr. Hunt 122 IX. Victor 140 X. Uncle Cliff 161 XI. My Lady Bountiful 184 XII. Señorita 208 XIII. Christmas Boxes and Other Matters 227 XIV. Christmas 248 XV. A Dare 268 XVI. Ladies’ Day 288 XVII. A Class Affair 312 XVIII. Coventry 333 XIX. The Boston Relatives 351 XX. Concerning the Sargent 374 XXI. The End of the Term 395 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE Blue Bonnet Frontispiece “‘Grandmother,’ she cried, ‘I’ve got a dog’” 32 “‘I reckon you think I’m a coward. Maybe you won’t want to be friends any more’” 106 “‘Isn’t it the nicest Christmas!’ Blue Bonnet cried, her lap full of treasures” 254 “‘Ladies’ Day at the Trent Rink’ proved a thorough success” 295 “‘But I thought,’ she said, ‘that it was a GIRL’S privilege to change her mind?’” 383 A Texas Blue Bonnet CHAPTER I BLUE BONNET Blue Bonnet came up the steps of the long, low ranch house, and threw herself listlessly back in one of the deep veranda chairs. “Tired, Honey?” Mr. Ashe asked, laying down his paper. “Yes, Uncle Cliff. I—hate walking!” “Then why not ride?” Blue Bonnet was smoothing the ears of Don, the big collie who had followed her up on to the veranda, and now stood resting his fine head on her knee. “I—didn’t want to,” she answered, slowly, without looking up. “See here, Honey,” said Mr. Ashe, leaning toward her, a note of inquiry in his deep, pleasant voice; “come to think of it, you haven’t been riding lately.” “No, Uncle Cliff.” Blue Bonnet’s eyes were turned now out over the wide stretch of prairie before the house. “Any reason, Honey?” The girl hesitated. “Yes, Uncle Cliff.” “Don’t you want to tell me it, Blue Bonnet?” “No,” Blue Bonnet answered, slowly, “I don’t want to tell it to you. I—it’s because I’m—afraid.” “Afraid! Blue Bonnet! That’s an odd word for an Ashe to use!” “I know, Uncle Cliff; I reckon I’m not an Ashe—clear through.” Blue Bonnet rose hurriedly and ran down the steps. Around the house she went, and in through the back way to her own room. There she brushed the hot tears from her eyes with an impatient movement. “Oh, it is true,” she said to herself, “and I can’t help it. Oh, if I could only go away— I hate it here! Hate it! Hate it!” Later, swinging in the hammock on the back veranda, she looked up suddenly as her uncle came to sit on the railing beside her. Something in his face and manner made her wonder. “Blue Bonnet,” he said, abruptly, “we might as well have it out—right here and now—it’ll be the best thing for us both.” Blue Bonnet sat up, pushing back her soft, thick hair. “Have it out?” she repeated. “Blue Bonnet,” he answered, bending nearer, “suppose you tell me just what it is you would like to do? It wouldn’t take much insight to see that you aren’t very happy nowadays; and—well, I reckon your father wouldn’t want things going on as they’ve been—lately.” The girl’s face changed swiftly. “Oh, I have been horrid, Uncle Cliff! But I—oh, I do so—hate it—here!” “Hate it here! Hate the Blue Bonnet Ranch—the finest bit of country in the whole state of Texas!” “I—hate the whole state of Texas!” “Blue Bonnet!” “I do. I want to go East to live. I—my mother was an Easterner. I want to live her life.” “But, Honey, your mother chose to come West. Why, child,”—there was a quick note of triumph in the man’s voice —“it was your mother who named you Blue Bonnet.” 1 2 3 “I wish she hadn’t. It’s a—ridiculous sort of name—I would like to have been called Elizabeth—it is my name, too.” “Elizabeth?” Mr. Ashe repeated. “It doesn’t seem to suit you nearly as well, Honey. All the same, if you like it. But Blue—Elizabeth, you know that this is your ranch, and that your father wanted you brought up to know all about it, so as to be able to manage things for yourself a bit—at a pinch.” “I shall sell—as soon as I come of age.” Mr. Ashe rose. “I reckon we’d best not talk any more now.” “Uncle Clifford.” Blue Bonnet looked up. “Uncle Clifford, please don’t think it’s just—temper. I mean it, truly—I sha’n’t ever make a Westerner. I’m sorry—on your account. Still, it’s true—I hate it all—now,—everything the life out here stands for—and I want to go East. I—I don’t see why I shouldn’t choose my own life—for myself.” Her uncle looked down into the upturned, eager face. “You seem to have gone over this pretty thoroughly in your own mind, Bl—Elizabeth.” “I have, Uncle Cliff.” “Well, you and I’ll talk things over another time; I’ve some business to see to now. I suppose things’ll have to go on, even if you do intend to sell—in six years.” “I wish you’d try to see my side of it, Uncle Cliff.” “I’m going to—after a while. Just now, I can’t get beyond the fact that you hate the Blue Bonnet Ranch. I hope your father doesn’t know it!” And Mr. Ashe turned away. Below the house, leaning against the low fence enclosing the oblong piece of ground called “the garden,” Mr. Ashe found Uncle Joe Terry, ranch foreman, and his chief adviser in the difficult task of bringing up his orphan niece. Uncle Joe was smoking placidly, his eyes on the wild riot of color which was one of the principal characteristics of Blue Bonnet’s garden. “Tell you what,” he said, as Mr. Ashe came up, “this here place needs weeding. Blue Bonnet ain’t been keeping an eye on Miguel lately.” Blue Bonnet’s uncle stood a moment looking down at the neglected garden. “Yes,” he said, “and it’s not only the garden, Joe, that’s been left to itself lately.” “She ain’t been out on Firefly this two weeks,” Uncle Joe commented. “What’s wrong, Cliff?” “She wants to go East.” “So that’s it? Well, I reckon it’s natural—wants to run with the other young folks, I suppose?” “But—Joe, she says she hates—the ranch.” Uncle Joe puffed at his pipe thoughtfully. “Hm—so she says that? She always was an outspoken little piece, Cliff.” “She says, too, that she means to sell.” “My lady must be a bit excited. Well, it won’t be to-morrow, Cliff, and a whole lot of things can happen in six years. You just give my lady her head; she’s looking to be crossed, and she’s all braced up to pull the other way. All you want to do is to go with her a bit.” “It’s a pretty big proposition—sending her East,” Mr. Ashe said. “Oh, she’ll pick up a lot of tomfool notions, most likely,” Uncle Joe admitted, “and a whole heap of others that’ll come in mighty handy one of these days. You just send her ’long back to those folks of her mother’s and quit worrying.” That night Mr. Ashe wrote a letter to Blue Bonnet’s grandmother. He said nothing to Blue Bonnet herself about it, however. Possibly Mrs. Clyde would not care to assume the charge of her granddaughter. In any case, it would be well to have the matter settled before mentioning it. Then one evening, not a fortnight later, Uncle Joe, coming home from the little post-office town, twenty miles away, tossed him several letters. “Postmarked Woodford,” the older man said. “Looks like sentence was about to be pronounced.” Five minutes more and Mr. Ashe knew how hard he had been hoping against hope these last two weeks. “Well?” Uncle Joe asked; and the other looked up to find him still sitting motionless in his saddle. 4 5 6 “They want her to come as soon as possible, so that she may be ready to start school at the beginning of the fall term.” “Pretty good school back there?” “Said to be—it’s the one her mother went to.” “I reckon they’re tickled to death to have her come?” “They seem pleased.” “Blue Bonnet’s out in the garden,” Uncle Joe suggested. Blue Bonnet was gathering nasturtiums when her uncle called to her from the gate at the upper end of the garden. He had two letters in his hand, and, as she reached him, he held them out. “They came to-night,” he explained. “They are in answer to one I wrote a short time ago.” Blue Bonnet took them wonderingly, and, sitting on the ground, the great bunch of gay-colored nasturtiums beside her, she opened one of them. As it happened, it was the one from her Aunt Lucinda—a short letter, perfectly kind and sincere, but very formal. On the whole, a rather depressing letter, in spite of the answer it brought to her great desire. Blue Bonnet refolded it rather soberly. “I wish,” she said, studying the firm, upright handwriting, “that I hadn’t read this one first. Grandmother’s must be different.” It certainly was. A letter overflowing with the joy the writer felt over the prospect of Blue Bonnet’s coming. Through its magic the girl was carried far away from the little garden, from all the old familiar scenes. Dimly remembered stories her mother used to tell her of the big white house standing amidst its tall trees came back to her, and the vague hopes and dreams that had been filling her thoughts for weeks past began to take definite form. And she was going there—back to her mother’s old home. She was to have the very room that had been her mother’s,—Grandmother had said so. It seemed too good to be true. She was glad, now, she had kept this letter to the last. And she would be going soon;—that thought, with its accompanying one of hurry and preparation, brought her back to the present. Picking up the letters, she ran up to the house. On the back steps she found Uncle Joe. “Seems like you was in a hurry,” he said. Blue Bonnet laughed, looking at him with shining eyes. “I’m going East!” “To-night?” he questioned. “No, not to-night; but very soon, I think.” Uncle Joe seemed neither surprised, nor impressed. “Humph,” he grunted, knocking the ashes from his pipe. “Well, I reckon it’s all right back East—for them that like it.” His reception of her news rather daunted Blue Bonnet, and she went at a slower pace through the wide center hall to the front veranda, where her uncle sat. “Uncle Cliff,” she asked, giving him the letters, “you mean—I’m to go?” Mr. Ashe shifted the letters from one hand to the other for a moment, without speaking; then he said gravely, “Yes, you’re to go, Elizabeth. When a girl hates the ranch, hates everything the life here stands for, and is afraid to ride, I don’t see that there’s anything left to do—but send her East.” Blue Bonnet dropped down on the upper step, the quick color flooding her face. To go East was one thing—but to be sent! She sat very still for a few moments, looking out over the broad, level prairie. Her uncle was the first to speak. “I suppose you’d best get started pretty soon; there’ll be some fixing up to do after you get there.” “Am I going alone?” Blue Bonnet asked. “I don’t see how I can leave home at present,” her uncle answered. “Perhaps I’ll hear of some one going East who’ll be willing to look after you.” “It’ll seem funny to go to school with other girls,” Blue Bonnet said. “I wonder how I’ll like going to school.” 7 8 9 “I reckon you’ll be learning a good many lessons of various kinds, Honey.” Mr. Ashe spoke a little wistfully. It was hard to realize that Blue Bonnet was going away. The girl looked up soberly; his words had somehow reminded her of Aunt Lucinda’s letter. A sudden dread of the writer of it seized her. “Uncle Cliff,” she asked, “what are they like—Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda?” “Suppose you wait and find out for yourself, Honey.” “I wish Aunt Lucinda hadn’t been so much older than Mamma. Uncle Cliff, have you ever been in Woodford?” “No, Honey; it’s a right pretty place, I reckon. You’ll have to write and tell me all about it.” “And you’ll answer, won’t you? You’ll write very often?” “Of course, Honey; but I don’t know what I’ll find to tell you—you won’t care about ranch talk.” “But you’ll write? You’ve promised—and you’ve never broken a promise to me,” Blue Bonnet said. And that night, lying awake and thinking of the new life to come, Blue Bonnet found the thought of those promised letters strangely comforting. “It—it can’t seem so far then,” she told herself. “Hurry, Benita!” Blue Bonnet urged, “I hear Uncle Joe coming.” The old woman gave a finishing touch to the waist she was laying in place in the big trunk standing in the center of Blue Bonnet’s room. “Si, Señorita,” she said, “all is ready.” She lifted the tray in place and closed down the lid, passing a hand admiringly over the surface of the trunk. “Señorita has the trunk of the Señora, is it not?” “Yes,” Blue Bonnet answered gravely. “I remember, as it were but yesterday, the coming of the Señora,” Benita said, “and the Señor calling ‘Benita! Oh, Benita! Here is your new mistress!’ She was but the young thing—that little Señora—not much older than you are now, Señorita mia, and with the face all bright and the eyes so expressive—like yours.” “Eighteen,” Blue Bonnet said, thoughtfully, “and I’m fifteen.” “It was I who unpacked the trunk—this and others, for there were many—and now I am packing it again for the going of the Señorita.” Benita’s voice was trembling. “And the Señorita goes to the home of her mother’s mother. Much would the Señora tell me of the home she had left, in those first days.” Blue Bonnet came to put an arm about the old woman, who, since her mother’s death ten years before, had mothered and looked after her to the best of her ability. “I wish you were going too, Benita,” she said. “Si, Señorita mia, it is the journey too long for old Benita.” “All the way from Texas to Massachusetts,” Blue Bonnet said. “I wonder who’ll look after me and do everything for me there, Benita.” “That thought troubles me much, also, Señorita.” “Oh, I’ll get along somehow,” Blue Bonnet laughed. She turned as Uncle Joe came down the hall, a coil of rope over his shoulder. “Ready!” she called. “This looks like business, for sure,” Uncle Joe said, slipping an end of the rope under Blue Bonnet’s trunk. She nodded rather soberly. She had worn a sober face a good deal of the time during the days of preparation. “Uncle Joe,”—she looked up a little wistfully into the kind, weather-beaten face,—“you—you’ll look after Uncle Cliff, won’t you?” “Sure I will, Blue Bonnet, same’s if he was an infant in arms.” “And you’ll write to me, too, sometimes—and tell me all about—everything?” “I ain’t much on letter-writing,” Uncle Joe answered, “but I’ll make a try at it now and then; and you’re going to be so busy doing the things you’re wanting to do that you won’t have much time to be pestered with the goings-on out 10 11 12 here.” “Please, Uncle Joe, you know that isn’t so.” “Ain’t it? There now, that’s roped to stay. Seems kind of hard to realize that come another twenty-four hours and the Blue Bonnet Ranch’ll be without its best and prettiest Blue Bonnet. Eh, Benita?” Benita shook her gray head sadly. “The sunshine goes with the going of the Señorita,” she said. “I reckon you’ll take to the doings back there all right, Blue Bonnet,” Uncle Joe began. “There! I’m always forgetting —just as if your uncle hadn’t explained how, seeing as everything was to be new, you wasn’t to be Blue Bonnet any more, but Elizabeth. It’s a fine name, Elizabeth, and it’s going to suit back East all right; but, if you was staying on here, I’m thinking you’d have to go on being Blue Bonnet. I doubt if the boys here on the ranch would stand for anything else —they’re sort of kicking now over your going.” “Yes,” Blue Bonnet said, “I’ve had to say such a lot of good-byes—I don’t see why they care so much.” And, after Uncle Joe had carried out the trunk, and Benita had gone, she sat quite still on the foot of her bed beside her half- packed hand-bag, trying to realize that in another twenty-four hours she would be travelling further and further from the Blue Bonnet Ranch. She and her uncle were to leave early the next morning, taking the long drive to the nearest railway station in the cool of the day. Mr. Ashe was to go the first hundred miles with her, and from there on she would be in charge of a friend of his who was going East. And she had never been fifty miles on the railway in her life! Blue Bonnet’s eyes brightened. She drew a quick breath of pleasure. To be fifteen, and setting out to the land of one’s heart’s desire! All the doubts, the regrets, the half-vague fears of the past ten days vanished. Hearing her uncle’s step on the veranda, she went out to meet him. He was looking down at the trunk; something of the same expression in his eyes that had been in old Benita’s. “Don’t you wish you were going, too?” the girl asked gaily. “Yes, Honey.” “Isn’t it a big trunk and doesn’t it look delightfully travellingified?” “Delightfully what?” Blue Bonnet laughed. Reaching up, she touched the little knot of dark blue, pea-like blossoms in her uncle’s buttonhole. “You won’t forget me while you have your blue bonnets,” she said. “I reckon I won’t forget you, Honey.” They went in to supper, Blue Bonnet talking and laughing excitedly; but afterwards, when she and her uncle went out to the front veranda as usual, her mood changed suddenly. It was so still, so peaceful, out there—and yet, already, so strangely alien. For a few moments she walked up and down restlessly, followed closely by Don. Don scented the coming change; he thoroughly disapproved of that roped trunk on the back veranda. “Uncle Cliff—” Blue Bonnet came at last to sit on the arm of her uncle’s chair, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Something had got to be put into words, which she had been trying to say in various other ways for a good many days past. “Uncle Cliff, I—truly—I am sorry—that I spoke the way I did—that night.” Mr. Ashe stroked the brown head gently. “That’s all right, Honey. And remember, Honey, if things go wrong, if you’re disappointed, or—anything like that, you’ve only to send word. This is your home,—and will be—for six years. And, Honey, you won’t forget,—what your father said,—that you were to try to live as he had taught you to ride— straight and true.” 13 14 15 CHAPTER II ELIZABETH Blue Bonnet gathered up her belongings; ten minutes more and they would be in, the porter had told her. Mr. Garner, her uncle’s friend, had brought her as far as New York; from there on she had travelled alone. Now that she was so near her journey’s end she almost wished she were not. Aunt Lucinda was to meet her in Boston. Blue Bonnet gave her hair a smoothing touch or two and pulled on her gloves; then the porter came to brush her off, smiling sympathetically over her evident nervousness, and assuring her that Boston was “a right fine place.” Very crowded, very confusing she thought it, during those first few moments. Inside the car, people were beginning to gather up bundles and wraps; outside, as the train drew into the great depot, pandemonium seemed the order of the day. Blue Bonnet felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to break away; to get somewhere—anywhere, where it was quiet. And then she saw Aunt Lucinda coming towards her. She knew instinctively that it was Aunt Lucinda the moment she caught sight of the tall, well-dressed woman threading her way down the crowded aisle. “This is Elizabeth?” she said, stopping before Blue Bonnet. The girl answered nervously that she supposed so. “You see,” she added, quickly, flushing over the ridiculousness of her reply, “I’m not used to being called anything but Blue Bonnet.” “Elizabeth, or Blue Bonnet, we are very glad you have come to us, my dear,” Miss Clyde answered, kissing her; “it must have seemed a long way.” “Yes, Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet said. At that moment Texas seemed a very, very long way off, indeed. She followed her aunt down the aisle and out on to the busy platform, feeling curiously small and lonely. During the short ride on the local train Blue Bonnet was very silent, but Miss Clyde thought her interested in the view from the car window and did not try to make conversation. She was rather glad of the opportunity to study the slender, bright-faced girl opposite. “How near everything is to everything else, Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet said at last. Miss Clyde smiled. “We don’t run much to space here, Elizabeth. There, that is our last stop before Woodford. You will be glad to have your long journey really over.” At Woodford the old family carriage was waiting. Denham, the coachman, smiled welcomingly at Blue Bonnet. “’Deed and I’m glad to see Miss Elizabeth’s girl,” he said. Blue Bonnet smiled back in friendly fashion. “Did he know Mamma, Aunt Lucinda?” she asked, wonderingly. “Denham has been with us for more than twenty years, Elizabeth,” Miss Clyde answered. There were not many passengers for the sleepy little station. Blue Bonnet felt herself the object of interest for the group of loungers gathered about the platform. To the girl the old tree-shaded village, with its air of quiet content, its one wide principal street, with pleasant by- ways straggling off at irregular intervals from it, was very attractive, and very interesting as well, when contrasted with the little bare prairie town at home. She quite enjoyed the slow, leisurely drive in the comfortable old carry-all; she could not imagine any one dashing up that sober quiet street. And when, at last, they turned into a broad, well-kept drive, and she caught sight, across the smooth stretch of green lawn, of the big white house, she drew a quick breath of content; it was all in such perfect keeping. Miss Clyde saw the look in Blue Bonnet’s eyes and an answering smile showed in her own. “Your mother was very fond of the old place, Elizabeth,” she said; “we are very glad to have her daughter come home to it.” On the steps Mrs. Clyde was waiting, and to her Blue Bonnet’s heart went out instantly. 16 17 18 19 “Ah, but you are like your mother, my dear!” Mrs. Clyde cried, holding the girl close. “It is very good of your uncle to spare you to us. I could hardly believe the good news when it came. But you are tired, dear; you shall go to your room at once.” “I am tired,” Blue Bonnet said; she wondered why it was she wanted to cry. And why in this first moment of coming —coming home, Aunt Lucinda had called it—her thoughts kept going back to the home she had left. She went with her aunt up the broad oak stairway and along the wide upper hall to a room at the lower end,—a big pleasant room,—the one that had been her mother’s. It was, indeed, a charming room, with its wide, cushioned window-seats, its deep, open fireplace, its pretty light furniture and delicate draperies. The windows looked off into orchard and garden, and, when Aunt Lucinda had gone downstairs again, Blue Bonnet went to kneel before the one overlooking the latter. In a moment she had forgotten how tired and dusty she was; forgotten how far she had journeyed since the morning she said good-bye to Uncle Joe and old Benita and Don; had forgotten everything but the garden lying, half in shade, half in sunshine, below,—the big, rambling, old-fashioned garden, of which the one at home was a faint reproduction. Beyond the garden was a tall row of trees, growing so closely together as to form a thick screen. Blue Bonnet wondered what was on the other side of that row? Did her grandmother’s land end on this side? Could there be neighbors so near? She wondered a good deal about it as she freshened herself up for supper. Her trunk had not come yet, but she had a fresh white waist in her suit-case. Presently she came slowly along the hall and downstairs to where Mrs. Clyde was sitting in the broad entrance hall. “It is very good to see a young person coming down those stairs again,” Mrs. Clyde said; “you come much more slowly than your mother used to, dear.” Blue Bonnet smiled. “It seems odd to be going up and coming down stairs at all. At home it is all on one floor.” She went to stand by the open front door. Across the lawn and the broad road beyond, she caught glimpses of other big white houses, behind their sheltering trees. “Oh,” she said, “if you only knew how delightful it seems to have real neighbors, Grandmother. At home our nearest neighbors were twenty miles away. I’ve been so hungry for people, and houses, and everything.” The next morning Blue Bonnet made her first acquaintance among her new neighbors. She had gone out to see for herself what lay beyond that tall screen of trees. Nothing at all mysterious, she found; merely another broad green lawn centering itself about an old creeper-covered brick house. Following the path beside the trees, she came to a low picket-fence, over which ran a stile. Blue Bonnet sat down on the upper step to survey at leisure this next-door place; and then she saw that from midway across the lawn some one was surveying her,—a boy of about her own age. “Good morning,” he said. “Good morning,” Blue Bonnet answered. “Do you live here?” “Yes.” “It’s a very pretty place.” The other turned to look back at the old house. “I suppose it is,” he admitted, “though I’ve never thought much about it.” He came nearer, whistling to a pair of fox-terrier puppies, who were worrying at something at the further end of the lawn. “Do you like dogs?” he asked. “I adore them,” Blue Bonnet answered. “Bob and Ben are pretty decent little chaps,” the boy said, and he brought the dogs up to be introduced. “They’re dears,” Blue Bonnet declared warmly, patting the two upturned heads. The puppies shook hands politely, wagging their stumps of tails eagerly. “We haven’t any dogs over here,” Blue Bonnet said regretfully. “I don’t know how I’m going to get on without any.” “We’ll go shares with mine.” The boy hesitated. “You’re—?” “Bl—Elizabeth Ashe.” 20 21 22 “And I’m Alec Trent. You’re from Texas?” “Yes,” Blue Bonnet answered. “How jolly!” Alec threw himself down on the lawn beside the stile. “You won’t mind my making myself comfortable while you tell me about Texas?” And suddenly Blue Bonnet noticed how thin were the hands clasped under his head, how big and bright the eyes in the delicate, sensitive face. She leaned forward, stirred by a quick impulse of pity. “I’ll tell you about the prairies.” She told him of the great open sea of prairie land, stretching away in wild, unbroken reaches all about her Texas home. Alec whistled. “And you had to come away and leave it all! What a shame!—but you’ve got it to go back to—I wish I had!” “Don’t you like it here in Woodford?” “It’s a poky old hole. You can’t throw a stone in any direction without breaking a window—or a tradition.” “Do you want to break—windows?” “Sometimes.” Blue Bonnet leaned forward, elbow on knee, chin in hand. “I wonder if you’d call it breaking windows—my wanting to come East.” “Did you want to come?” “Yes.” “Well!” Alec exclaimed; and she felt for the moment his approval of her lessen. “Here I’ve been feeling sorry for you all the time,” he said; then he smiled,—“I don’t know but that I’ll have to go on feeling so—because you wanted to come.” “I don’t mind,” Blue Bonnet said, “as long as you don’t show it too plainly.” “You’ve come to go to school?” the boy asked. “Yes; is it a nice school?” “It’s a good one.” “Do you go to it?” “Oh, all the Woodford boys and girls go to it, as their fathers and mothers did before them.” “I’ve never been to school.” “Then you’ve got a lot of new experiences coming your way, and they won’t all be pleasant ones. Going to school isn’t all joy, and neither is it all the other thing. You’ll get acquainted with a lot of girls that way.” “I shall like that. I want to know—oh, everybody here!” “I don’t,” Alec laughed. He got up. “Do you like horses? But of course you do,—a Texas girl.” “Yes, I love horses,” Blue Bonnet said slowly. “Come and see my horse, then; Grandfather gave him to me last birthday.” Alec led the way across the lawn to where a path branched off to the stable. It was a low brick building, matching the house in style. From their comfortable stalls the sober old carriage horses gazed placidly out. Blue Bonnet went to stroke them. “They’re just like Grandmother’s,” she laughed. “Oh, we’re a good deal alike here in Woodford,” Alec said, “we ‘first families,’ that is. Of course our horses aren’t all the same color, any more than our houses are; but they’ve all reached about the same state of lazy well-being. But look here!” He turned to another stall. 23 24 Blue Bonnet gave a quick exclamation of pleasure and reached out a hand to smooth the glossy head turned towards her. “Oh, he is a beauty!” she cried. “What’s his name?” “Victor,” Alec moved nearer, and the horse with a low whinny of welcome sniffed expectantly at his pocket. “I’ve your sugar, all right, old fellow,” the boy said, holding out a couple of lumps. “I reckon he goes well?” Blue Bonnet said. “Like the wind.” “You like that?” the girl asked. “I certainly do. I’d let you try him some day, only I don’t know whether he’d stand skirts—he’s got a pretty spirit of his own.” Blue Bonnet edged away. “I—think I’d better be going now; I’m afraid it’s late.” “It’s been a short morning, hasn’t it?” Alec said. “They’re rather long, sometimes.” “You’ll come over soon?” Blue Bonnet asked, as they reached the stile again. “Indeed I will,” Alec promised. “Good-bye,” Blue Bonnet called, as she ran across the lawn and through the garden to the side door. In the hall she met Aunt Lucinda. “My dear,” Miss Clyde said, something very like annoyance in her voice, “where have you been all the morning?” Blue Bonnet flushed. “Over to the next place most of the time, Aunt Lucinda.” “You have been with Alec Trent?” “Yes, Aunt Lucinda.” “You have not attended to your unpacking yet?” “No, Aunt Lucinda.” “Nor seen to your room?” Blue Bonnet looked surprised. “No, Aunt Lucinda; did you expect me to? I never did at home.” “Then it is quite time that you began, Elizabeth. If you will come upstairs with me you shall have your first lesson. I consider it most necessary that a young girl should be taught to depend on herself as much as possible.” Blue Bonnet followed silently. Her room was just as she had left it on going down to breakfast that morning. Now, with the noon sunshine flooding it, and with Aunt Lucinda looking about with grave disapproving eyes, it looked very untidy indeed. Blue Bonnet sighed longingly for Benita, as she picked up the dress she had worn the day before and carried it to the big empty closet. Then she turned to the open trunk, out of which she had hurriedly pulled various things needed in dressing, that morning. But Miss Clyde laid a detaining hand on her shoulder. “We will dispose of the things already out before unpacking further, Elizabeth.” The end of the next hour found Blue Bonnet far from at peace with all her particular world. “As if it really mattered,” she said to herself, sitting forlornly in a corner of one of the low window-seats, “which drawer you put things in; or whether the quilt is on just so. And I haven’t been idling my morning, I’ve been making a friend; and I don’t want to learn to keep house;—anyway, Benita wouldn’t let me keep house if I could.” She sat up at the sound of a light tap on her door; then the door opened and her grandmother came in. “I wanted to make sure you were really here, dear,” she said. “You vanished so mysteriously right after breakfast that it was hard to believe you had ever come.” Blue Bonnet had come forward instantly. “I didn’t mean to stay so,” she said; “I just ran out for a moment to see the garden—it was so good to get out after being shut up in the cars for so long. Then I got acquainted with the boy next door. He’s a very nice boy, Grandmother.” 25 26 27 “Alec is a nice boy, dear; but, I am afraid, a rather lonely one.” “Lonely! When there are so many people and houses all around?” Mrs. Clyde smiled. “One can be lonely in the midst of a crowd, dear.” She drew Blue Bonnet down on the lounge beside her. “I hope you like your room, Elizabeth. I superintended the arranging of it myself.” And Blue Bonnet, looking about the big, pleasant room, saw it with new understanding. “I—I love it,” she said; “I’ll —try to keep it nice, Grandmother.” “You have had a pleasant morning, dear?” Blue Bonnet hesitated. “It was nice—while I was out-of-doors. Grandmother,”—she looked up questioningly, —“have I got to do things every morning with Aunt Lucinda?” “Do things, Elizabeth!” “Why, going over my studies with her, and learning to do things about the house; and then my practising, too?” “What would you like to do with your mornings, Elizabeth?” “Nothing in particular, just be out-of-doors.” “Won’t the afternoons be long enough for that, dear?” “I’ve never found the whole day really long enough for it, Grandmother. I just love being out.” “But, Elizabeth, school will be beginning before very long; and I think we must try and tame you down a bit before then. As for your studies, your aunt is anxious to learn what your standing is. Suppose, however, we let lessons go for this week. How will that do?” “Thursday, Friday, Saturday,” Blue Bonnet counted, “besides this afternoon—I ought to get to know Woodford pretty well in that time, Grandmother.” “And when are we going to get to know you, Elizabeth?” “Why!” Blue Bonnet said, “I hadn’t thought of that; but there’ll be the evenings.” Mrs. Clyde smiled. “Remember, Elizabeth, that Woodford covers a fairly wide area; you mustn’t roam too far afield alone.” “Maybe Alec’ll go with me. I wish I had Don; he went everywhere at home with me. He’s the dearest dog, Grandmother.” “I rather think Don is happier where he is, dear; and now we must go down to dinner.” That afternoon Blue Bonnet was in her own room, just finishing a letter to her uncle, when Miss Clyde came to her door. “Elizabeth,” she said, “Sarah Blake has come to call upon you. She is the minister’s daughter, a most estimable young person. I sincerely hope you may become friends.” She scanned Blue Bonnet critically. “You would do well to change your gown and tidy your hair. Be as quick as possible; it is never good taste to keep a guest waiting.” Five minutes later, Blue Bonnet came slowly downstairs; pausing on the landing long enough to declare under her breath that she was perfectly sure she should hate Sarah Blake. Sarah was waiting in the darkened front parlor. She was short and fair; rather unimaginative and decidedly conscientious. She very much disliked calling upon strangers, and for that reason had chosen the earliest opportunity to come and see Blue Bonnet. “How do you do?” she said, as Blue Bonnet appeared. “Mrs. Clyde asked me to come and see you. I hope you will like Woodford.” “So do I,” Blue Bonnet answered. “Would you mind coming outside?” she added. “It’s much nicer.” They went out to the shady front piazza where Blue Bonnet drew forward a couple of wicker armchairs. “Now I can see what you look like,” she announced frankly; “it was so dark in there.” 28 29 30