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—a 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 entrees, 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 naively 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.



"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?"