"Will Miss North do anything about it, do you think?"

"No—I hardly think so. She's pretty lenient to the 'Lambs.' We help support her pet charity. She's terribly interested in settlement work. Anyway, I don't believe she half minds a little innocent fun; but, of course, she couldn't sanction it openly." Annabel stifled a yawn. "I'm so sleepy I don't know how I'm ever going to get through this day. I scarcely slept a wink all night. I got to worrying about that candle we left burning in the sky parlor; and finally, after numerous and painful visions of the building burning down at my own personal expense, I got up, felt my way along those dark halls, and put it out."

"You went back alone!" Blue Bonnet gasped.

"I did. I think myself I deserve a medal—don't you?"

"You deserve several, Annabel. It was too plucky for anything. Why didn't Ruth go with you?"

"Oh, Ruth was asleep. It seemed a pity to wake her. I didn't mind much. I never was afraid of the dark."

* * * * *

It was late in the afternoon that Sue Hemphill, coming into her room, found the following note pinned to her pincushion with her best hatpin:

"DEAR OLD ROOMY:

"Please forgive me for being such a silly goose last night. I couldn't help it—truly I couldn't, Sue. I have always gotten perfectly panicky over those little beasts ever since I can remember. I can't bear to have you angry with me. I know I feel worse than you do about it, for I must have seemed such an awful fool. It was all the worse because I had boasted about my courage the other day. I never will again. I am going to see if Miss North will let me take Mrs. White and the 'Lambs' to see Maude Adams next Saturday afternoon—my treat. I have a birthday check coming and I'd love to spend it that way.

"Your loving pal, "WEE."

"Dear old Wee," Sue said, as she read the note through twice and then carefully pinned it in her memory book. "She's got the biggest heart. Nobody could stay angry at her two minutes—I can't anyway. And," she added, philosophically, "I suppose if she's afraid of mice, she's afraid—and that's all there is to it."



CHAPTER XIII

SUNDAY

Little has been said about the living-room at Miss North's; one of the pleasantest places in the building. The approach to it was by the way of a rather unusual stairway, and this stairway had a peculiar significance in the school life. It parted on a landing just before it reached the living and dining-room floor, dividing into two separate avenues. One side was claimed by the Seniors; the other by the Juniors. A Senior never thought of coming down the Junior side; and the Juniors were quite as particular. Each class had its own "stair song" and on festive occasions the stairs played an important part.

The living-room was just across the hall from the dining-room; and when classes entertained—as they did often—the rooms were thrown open and used as one.

But it was on Sunday that the living-room appeared at its best. A beautiful fire of hickory logs always blazed on the ample hearth, casting a rosy glow over the polished oak beams in the ceiling, dancing and flickering on the handsome rugs and old mahogany furniture which had come down with generations of Norths.

At the extreme end of the room were placed three chairs—similar to bishops' chairs in design. The centre one belonged to Miss North. From it on Sunday morning, and often on Sunday evening, she read to the girls; and the girls loved this quiet hour more than almost any other thing that came into their lives. It was a diversion to come into the living-room's warmth and cheer directly after breakfast on Sunday morning, rather than file into chapel. It was delightful to relax after the strain and discipline of the week; to gather in groups and chat intimately; to sit where one pleased—even on the hearth rug, if one desired, while listening to the reading.

It was Miss North's desire to make this place as much a home living-room as possible; to get far away from institutional life.

There was always a little time in which to chat after the girls gathered on Sunday morning; then Miss North took her seat and the exercises began. There were a few hymns and the lesson for the day from the Scriptures. Miss North was an excellent Bible student, and she interested and held the girls in these readings and talks through her knowledge and ability to impart what she knew in a fascinating manner. Thus a quiet and peaceful hour was spent, which meant much in the general culture and up-building of the girls' characters. Many a young woman looking back in after years felt grateful for the high ideals put before her at that time.

"I adore these Sunday mornings," Blue Bonnet said, linking her arm through Annabel Jackson's as they left the room after an especially helpful talk. "I think Miss North is wonderful. She never preaches at you; but what she says sticks. I'd a lot rather hear her talk than Sarah Blake's father—our minister at home. Aunt Lucinda says Mr. Blake is very spiritual, but he's terribly prosy. I have the awfullest time trying to keep awake when he talks—it's dreadful!"

"Well, you'll have a treat to-day at Trinity, Blue Bonnet. The Bishop is going to preach. I adore him. He's terribly good to look at, too, with all his fixings—his cross and ring and beautiful robes. I had a letter to him when I came here, and he called one day. He wasn't nearly so handsome without his robes; but he was perfectly dear—and quite jolly. I expected to be awed by him; but I wasn't, a bit. I almost caught myself telling him everything I'd done since I arrived here; but I checked myself in time."

Blue Bonnet looked at Annabel with new respect.

"It must have been a beautiful experience," she said.

Annabel paused at Blue Bonnet's door.

"We've just time to do our rooms before we dress. Help me make my bed and I'll return the compliment."

Blue Bonnet complied willingly. Then they went back to her room.

"What are you going to wear to-day, Blue Bonnet?" Annabel asked, her eyes straying toward Blue Bonnet's closet. "I haven't a thing! I've just got to have some new clothes."

Blue Bonnet laughed.

"Poor little 'Flora McFlimsey,'" she said. "'Nothing but your new tailored suit and your velvet hat and your silk waist,' to say nothing of—"

"But I'm tired of them all! I'd so love a change."

Blue Bonnet opened her closet door.

"Choose," she said generously. "Only leave me my muff, to-day. I perish by the wayside in this climate. I'd give—oh, most anything, for a streak of Texas sunshine!"

Almost unconsciously a sigh escaped her. There were days when a vision of the Texas prairie obliterated every other sight.

"Oh, thank you, dear! You're so good about your things. I'll take your black fur hat, if you don't mind—and the blue waist. I'm quite mad about blue just now. I never used to think I could wear it."

Blue Bonnet got out the waist, and Annabel held it against her face, trying the effect.

"I don't know about this 'Alice' shade. What do you think? Can I wear it all right?"

"You look beautiful in anything to me, Annabel—yes, I think it is very becoming. Will you walk with me to-day?"

"Surely; though I suppose Ruth will pout—but no matter! Reckon we had better hurry a little."

Blue Bonnet always declared that there was something about Trinity Church that put her in a pious mood. She felt it first when she came in sight of the splendid edifice. She loved its majesty—- its vast impressive central tower; the quaint cloisters; the rich Galilee porch and the ivy-clad walls; and once inside she could never keep her eyes from straying to the wonderful Tiffany stained glass memorial windows; the famous frescoes, of which "Jesus and the Woman of Samaria" was her favorite. She loved the service, too. Loved it because amid all the grandeur it was simple and impressive, and she could have a part in it.

It was a pretty sight to see the girls from Miss North's school march in to the church, and it spoke well for Miss North's training that they were always dignified and attentive. They took an active part in the service and sang for the very joy of singing. Blue Bonnet's strong, sweet soprano often rang above her fellows, clear and true, and her face reflected the glow that stirred her heart.

"That was a wonderful sermon, Annabel," she said as they left the church. "Dear me, how I do wish Mr. Blake could sit under the Bishop for a while. I wonder if he ever heard him. I daresay he hasn't. He's what Grandmother calls a 'dyed in the wool Presbyterian.'"

She sighed, regretful of Mr. Blake's lost opportunities.

"Cheer up! You don't have to listen to him often," Annabel said consolingly.

"No, that's true. But think of Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda! They've been listening to him for most twenty years."

"Oh, well, 'habit's a cable,'" Annabel quoted glibly. "It jerks us along and we get into the way of thinking we like things whether we do or not. I daresay your aunt dotes on him."

"Aunt Lucinda isn't—well—she isn't just the doting kind, Annabel; but I don't suppose she'd trade Mr. Blake for the Bishop if she could. Loyalty's the backbone of Aunt Lucinda. She's very fond of Sarah, too. By the way, did I tell you that Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda are coming up to spend a few days of the spring vacation with me? Aunt Lucinda has a lot of shopping to do, and Grandmother loves a little change. They've asked Sarah Blake to come with them. I wish the rest of the girls could come. Wouldn't it be fun if the Lambs could meet the We Are Sevens?"

"Oh, lovely, Blue Bonnet! I'm quite wild to see Kitty Clark. I'm real jealous of her. She's your best friend, isn't she?"

Blue Bonnet hedged.

"Kitty's a dear," she said; "and the prettiest girl you almost ever saw—but I'm fond of all the girls."

Silence fell between them as they walked homeward. Suddenly Blue Bonnet gave a little joyful cry.

"Annabel! I know what I'm going to do! Alec said that Uncle Cliff was coming at Easter. I'll write to him this very afternoon and ask him to invite the We Are Sevens up here for a day or two just before vacation begins—just the day before—and give us, the Lambs and the We Are Sevens, a party. Maybe a matinee party with a dinner at the Copley Plaza afterward."

"Oh, Blue Bonnet! Do you think he would? That would be heavenly."

"He'd adore to do it. I am sure."

Sunday afternoon at Miss North's was given over almost entirely to letter writing, and Blue Bonnet was not long in getting a note off to Uncle Cliff. She was a little ashamed of its scrappiness as she read it over; but what it lacked in news and length was more than made up in affection. It fairly throbbed with love and anxiety to see him, and she had plead the cause of the We Are Sevens with the eloquence of a young Webster.

"He'll never be able to resist that plea," she said to Annabel, who had brought her writing materials into Blue Bonnet's room. "He'll just have to come when he gets this. I shouldn't wonder if it didn't bring him sooner than he expected."

She sealed the letter and pounded the stamp on with enthusiasm. To think was ever to act with Blue Bonnet, and the next half hour was given over to planning for the coming event—"the gathering of the clans."

"Don't you think that a matinee party with tea afterward at the hotel would be lovely, Annabel? Then dinner about seven o'clock. We might do something in the evening, too."

Annabel thought it would be well to consult the Lambs on so important a subject, which necessitated an impromptu meeting in the "Angels' Retreat." The tea bell had sounded before the meeting adjourned.

* * * * *

Sunday evening tea was another delight at Miss North's. There was a pleasant informality about it. It consisted of hot rolls and cocoa, a salad and cake, with marshmallows which were to be toasted later in the living-room at the big fireplace.

For an hour after tea the girls sat in the firelight, visiting. Often a speaker was provided for the evening's entertainment—a celebrity, if possible. The best in the way of culture for her girls was Miss North's rule.

To-night the girls were all present. They had dressed with care in compliment to an expected guest; a noted traveler who was to tell them of foreign lands and customs. Miss North viewed them with pleasure. They were her children—a family to be proud of.

A pleasanter scene could scarcely be imagined. The girls stood in groups chatting; on the hearth rug; in the deep chairs—a picture of youthful loveliness.

"Will you look at Joy Cross!" Ruth Biddle said to Sue Hemphill. "What has got into her? She's been fixed up that way for several days; blue bow—hair curled—"

The close proximity of Joy at that moment stopped the sentence. Blue Bonnet Ashe was bringing her into the group and Annabel held Joy in animated conversation.

"Let's all sit together," Blue Bonnet said, and Joy sat down with the rest. Although but two weeks had passed since Joy's trouble, she was much changed. A little spot of color burned in her usually pale cheeks; and—there was no doubt about it—the blue bow was becoming. It brought out unsuspected possibilities in the white skin, and cast a deeper tone to the faded eyes. Joy was happy; and the happiness showed in every change of expression.

It had not been an easy thing for Blue Bonnet and Annabel Jackson to show Joy the many little kindnesses which they had shown her, without becoming patronizing; but they had—somehow—to their credit; and Joy, for the first time in her life, was beginning to taste the sweets of companionship.

Annabel Jackson was a born leader. When she put the stamp of approval on anything, it went; and when she began to stop Joy in halls and recitation rooms for a moment's chat—a bit of advice on lessons—Joy's stock took sudden flight. If Annabel thought her worth while, she surely must be; and Blue Bonnet's interest, added to Annabel's, was the needed touch to bring Joy into the social life of the school.

Not until there was an exodus toward the pipe organ, about which the girls gathered to sing, did Ruth have a chance to express her opinion of Joy's sudden popularity.

"I don't intend to take her up," she said haughtily, lagging behind with Sue. "She isn't our kind at all. I don't know what's got into Annabel lately. She's perfectly crazy about Blue Bonnet Ashe—completely under her thumb."

"Lots of us in the same boat, Ruth. I'm quite crazy about her myself."

"Well, she needn't think she can run the school. She's behind this Joy Cross vogue. She's not going to ram her down my throat. The Biddles usually choose their own society."

Sue looked at Ruth sharply.

"You've sort of got an idea that name gives you special dispensation, haven't you, Ruth—kind of a free passport to the upper realms? Well, forget it! It hasn't. It wouldn't get you any farther with folks that count than Cross, or Ashe, or Hemphill. It's what you bring to your name; not what it brings to you. It's like what Miss North said the other day about life. It isn't what you get out of it, but what you put into it that counts."

Ruth's lip curled. It takes more than a rebuke to make a democrat out of an aristocrat.

"Nevertheless I shall retain the privilege of choosing my associates and not having them thrust upon me."

"That's all right, Ruth, but when you get lonesome, come on back into the fold. I've an idea that Joy Cross is going to make a place for herself in the school whether you like it or not. Blue Bonnet seems to have got at her in some way lately, and she says she's really quite likable! She says Joy makes her think of the late chrysanthemums in her grandmother's garden. They never get ready to bloom until everything else is gone; but you appreciate them all the more after they've weathered the frost and come out brave and brilliant. Funny idea, isn't it? Blue Bonnet has such queer ideas. I think she's very unusual."

Ruth, still annoyed, found a place by the organ, while Sue slipped over by Joy, and putting her arm through hers carelessly, joined in the hymns with interest and fervor.



CHAPTER XIV

SETTLEMENT WORK

Blue Bonnet had been a pupil at Miss North's school a little over three months now, and although she had had her share of fun and frolic, the greater portion of the time had been spent in serious work.

She excelled in her music, and the report that went home from the music department monthly pleased Miss Clyde very much. Blue Bonnet was living up to her aunt's expectations in this part of her work, and Miss Clyde, like many others, was not averse to having her dreams come true. Grandmother was pleased also, and counted the days until she should hear for herself just how much real improvement Blue Bonnet had made. The rigorous New England winter had prevented Mrs. Clyde from visiting Boston as much as she would have liked, and as Miss North objected to many week-ends at Woodford, her visits with Blue Bonnet had been of necessity limited.

Miss Clyde had been more fortunate, and running up to the city often, returned with splendid reports of Blue Bonnet.

"And her manners, Mother, are almost unbelievably improved. I really had quite a shock the other day," she confessed after her last visit. "Several teachers told me that Blue Bonnet would undoubtedly have received the medal for the greatest general improvement at the end of the year had she entered in September. I wish you might have seen her enter the reception-room. Her whole bearing is changed. She has dropped that hoydenish, tomboyish manner that was so offensive when she returned from the ranch. She neither waved, nor called to me from the head of the stairs as she came down, but positively glided into the room with ease and distinction."

"Blue Bonnet is growing into a young woman now," Mrs. Clyde answered. "She is leaving the hoydenish period. She will emerge, butterfly-like, from her chrysalis. I have never doubted it for a moment. There is a time for all things."

"Something else pleased me, too," Miss Clyde went on. "Blue Bonnet seems to have made desirable friends among teachers and pupils. They all like her—even that odd room-mate, whom, you remember, she was predestined to hate. I confess I thought her rather impossible, myself; but Miss Cross seems to have blossomed out suddenly, and Blue Bonnet says—to use her own expression, 'she is not half bad.'"

"Does Blue Bonnet still call her 'the cross?'" Mrs. Clyde asked, smiling broadly.

"Yes, and declares that she has taken up 'her cross' and is 'bearing it cheerfully'—whatever that may mean. Blue Bonnet loves figures of speech. Her comparisons are really very amusing sometimes. I hardly know what to make of her sudden tolerance of this girl; whether it is a case of propinquity, duty, or over-generousness on Blue Bonnet's part. At any rate, she seems to have espoused the cause of the cross, nobly."

"Bless her dear heart," Mrs. Clyde murmured Softly. "The world will never end for Blue Bonnet at her own doorstep. She has a real genius for friendship. I am glad she finds her room-mate pleasant. I feared from her letters that she never would."

"Something has happened to change her mind," Miss Clyde said shrewdly. "The girl's personality never appealed to Blue Bonnet. I rather suspect that Blue Bonnet feels that she needs friends. She has been very unpopular, I understand."

Miss Clyde, unconsciously, had put her finger upon the exact cause of Blue Bonnet's sudden conversion. Joy did need friends. To Blue Bonnet, this need was tragic—pathetic; and she straightway set about bringing Joy into the charmed circle where she, herself, had been welcomed with open arms. It had not been easy work; perhaps she would not have accomplished her aim had she not taken Mrs. White into her confidence. Mrs. White was executive as well as musical. She was tactful, too, and under her guidance Joy was gradually steered into a port that became a haven; a refuge from her old self, her youthful environment.

Another interest had come into Blue Bonnet's life. One that bade fair to rival all others, and pave the way for future usefulness. It was the Settlement work which the "Lambs" engaged in. Her first visit to the poorer districts filled her with horror. She had never known anything about real poverty. A kind fate had lifted her above all that; and when she went for the first time into a day nursery, a free kindergarten, and was told something of the homes the children came from, their limitation, their actual needs, tears blinded her eyes and her throat ached with the lumps that rose there. For a moment she was speechless.

It was the home for crippled children that interested her most. The girls at Miss North's took turns going there to amuse the children. They cut paper dolls, carried toys, and made themselves generally useful during the brief hour they spent within the wards. Blue Bonnet soon began to look forward to these visits, and begged Miss North to allow her to go as often as possible.

It was on her second visit that she was attracted to a small cot, from which a pinched little face with wondrous brown eyes looked up appealingly.

"How do you do?" Blue Bonnet said, dropping down beside the cot and taking the thin hand on the coverlet in her own.

"How do you do?" came the laconic answer.

"Nicely, thank you."

"Did you bring paper dolls?"

"Yes."

A look of keen disappointment came over the wan face on the pillow.

"I hate 'em! I hoped maybe you had soldiers. Everything here's for girls!"

"Now, isn't that strange," Blue Bonnet said, untying a parcel with haste. "I brought things for girls last time—seemed sort of natural to buy dolls and dishes, being a girl, but this time I brought the very things you wanted. Soldiers!"

The brown eyes grew round with delight.

"For me? All for me?"

The little hands went out eagerly.

"You may play with them all you like. Perhaps you will want to pass them on to some other little boy when you tire of them."

"I sha'n't never tire of 'em. I just love 'em. Oh, ain't they grand! Why, there's a whole lot, ain't they?"

"A regiment," Blue Bonnet said, delighted with the child's enthusiasm. "And horses! Soldiers must be well mounted, of course!"

The boy was upright in bed now, his face aglow with excitement.

Blue Bonnet made a pillow into a background and put the soldiers in a row before the child. The next moment he was oblivious of her presence.

"Horses!" he said. "Horses! Gee!"

A laugh, utterly out of proportion to the wasted little body from which it emerged, rang through the ward.

"I'm afraid you are getting too excited," Blue Bonnet cautioned. "I'll have to take them away if you make yourself ill with them."

The boy caught up as many of the soldiers and horses as he could, and held to them tightly.

"You can't get 'em," he said, and the brown eyes flashed. "I wouldn't give 'em up to nobody."

"You don't have to give them up. You mustn't get excited, that's all. It's bad for sick people; it gives them fever."

"Aw—I gets fever anyway. I'm used to it. I'm 'bercular! It's in my knee."

"A tubercular knee?"

The boy nodded, and thrusting a pitifully thin leg from beneath the covers, showed a knee carefully bandaged. Blue Bonnet hastily covered it, asking his name by way of changing the subject.

"Gabriel," came the quick answer.

"Gabriel! What a beautiful name! Gabriel—what?"

"You couldn't say all of it if I tell you. It's Jewish."



"Let me try. Perhaps I'll surprise you. Then I'll tell you mine. I have a queer name, too."

"Tell yours first."

"All right. It's Blue Bonnet. Blue Bonnet Ashe."

The child laughed again; less loudly this time.

"It's pretty, though. I like it."

"Why do you like it?"

The eyes half closed for a moment, straying away from the soldiers.

"I don't know. Kind of makes me think of flowers."

"It is the name of a flower," Blue Bonnet said, surprised at his intuition. "A very pretty flower that grows down in Texas."

But Texas meant nothing to Gabriel. He was busy again, lining up his soldiers for battle.

"They'll march this way," he said, half to himself—"and these this way. Then they'll fight."

"Oh, I wouldn't let them fight, if I were you. Soldiers don't fight any more—not here in America. This is a land of peace."

Gabriel looked up in disdain.

"Aw—quit yer kiddin'," he paid. "What's soldiers fer?"

Blue Bonnet was not ready with a reply. "You haven't told me your other name," she said. "You took advantage of me. I told you mine."

"It ain't pretty! The kids call me Gaby. That's enough. Call me that."

"How old are you?"

"Nine—comin' next August."

"August? My birthday is in August; the twenty-first."

"That's mine, too!"

Blue Bonnet looked incredulous.

"Really?" she said. "Aren't you mistaken? Certain it's the twenty-first?"

"Sure, I am. Ask her!"

He pointed to a nurse who had come to the foot of the bed.

"That's what he has always said," the nurse vouched.

"Well, we're sort of twins, aren't we, Gabriel? If I'm near Boston next summer we'll have to celebrate, won't we?"

The boy nodded. The soldiers were ready to advance upon the enemy now. Birthdays were of small importance.

"Come again some day," Gabriel called when Blue Bonnet took leave of him. "And bring some soldier books with you."

"If you please," the nurse finished for him. "Miss Ashe won't come again if you are not polite."

"If you please," the child repeated dutifully, and Blue Bonnet went back to school, treasuring the look of gratitude that had shone from eyes set like jewels in a wasted and world-old face; a face that belied claim to childhood, and spoke only of suffering and poverty.

The next week she was back again with some books. The soldiers were still lined up for battle. They looked as if they had seen hard service, but their commander eyed them with pride and pleasure.

"They been in battle more 'en fifty times since you was here," he announced. "They've licked everything in sight—the American army has. This is them on this side. I'd like some British fellers if you could get 'em. Did you know we licked the British, sure 'nough?" he asked, as if the war had just ended.

"We surely did," Blue Bonnet said, matching enthusiasm with his. It was strange to see a little Jewish emigrant espousing the cause of freedom so rapturously. "Showed them their proper place, didn't we?"

"Bet yer!" Gabriel said, doubling up his fist and aiming a blow at the pillow behind the soldiers. "Bet yer!"

A vivid crimson spot glowed in each cheek.

"You must hurry and get well, and perhaps some day you can go and see the soldiers. I have a friend who is going to be one. He'll be at West Point next year."

Gabriel was very much interested, and Blue Bonnet soon found that she was expected to give Alec's life history to the child.

And so this odd friendship between Blue Bonnet and an unfortunate little waif grew, cementing with each visit, reaching out into a future that meant much to the helpless lad; much to the young girl whose character was strengthened and broadened by the contact.

* * * * *

The advantages for culture offered on all sides in Boston were also of inestimable value to Blue Bonnet. The Symphony concerts were a delight, and wonderful and original descriptions went back to Uncle Cliff, Grandmother Clyde, and Aunt Lucinda of celebrities. Blue Bonnet was a discriminating critic—- if one so young could be called a critic. She had a gift for values. This instinct pleased her teachers immensely; especially Mrs. White and Fraulein Schirmer.

Carita, too, was growing and expanding under the new and favorable conditions, proving herself worthy in every particular of Blue Bonnet's friendship and aid. She had a reverence for Blue Bonnet that was akin to worship, and since she persisted in this attitude of affection, it was well that Blue Bonnet's example usually proved worthy of emulation.

It was a fad in Miss North's school, as in most of its kind, for a younger girl to attach herself to a Junior or a Senior; become her satellite, her abject slave if need be. Carita would have been all this, if Blue Bonnet had permitted it; but being of an independent nature Blue Bonnet required very little service from any one.

"Why don't you let me do more things for you, Blue Bonnet?" Carita would say when she was refused the pleasure of waiting upon her. "I don't believe Annabel Jackson has run a ribbon in her underwear this year. Mary Boyd always does it for her. She loves to do it. Peggy Austin waits on Sue Hemphill, hand and foot. Isabel Brooks is getting a terrible case on Wee Watts, too. By the way, Blue Bonnet, did I tell you? Isabel has the sweetest new way of spelling her name. Isobel! You say it quickly—like this—Isobel! Mary Boyd thought of it. I do wish I could find a new way to say Carita, but it seems hopeless."

"Carita! just you let me catch you changing it. Isobel! Why, that's perfectly absurd!"

"Not when you get used to it. Peggy thinks it's distinguished. I do too. Peggy has taken up her own middle name. We're all trying to call her by it, but it's awfully hard. She says she perfectly hated it when she was a child, but now she thinks it's quite stylish."

"What is it?"

"Jerusha! Priscilla Jerusha is the whole of it. It does sound dreadful, doesn't it? Peggy loathes it put together. She says her mother does too. She had to be named that for her grandmother because she's going to inherit her money some day. Isn't it splendid that there is such a rage for old-fashioned names now? Peggy says it will make an awful hit with her grandmother when she hears that she is being called Jerusha. She thinks it quite likely that she will do something nice for her. Peggy thinks that she will change the spelling of it though. She thought some of 'Jerrushia.' It is much more foreign sounding, isn't it?"

"It's much more ridiculous," Blue Bonnet said with some impatience. "You children must lie awake nights thinking up these weighty subjects. Jerrushia! Really, Carita, I am amazed at you!"

Which showed that Blue Bonnet was advancing, both in taste and wisdom. "Nearly seventeen" has its advantages over "only fifteen."

This conversation had taken place one afternoon in Blue Bonnet's room during chatting hour, and had been interrupted by the hasty entrance of Sue Hemphill, who was very much excited.

"Blue Bonnet! look here! See what just came in the mail! You have one, too, and so has Annabel! Oh, such a lark! Run down to the box quickly and get your letters!"

Carita was off in a twinkling to save Blue Bonnet the trouble.

Sue threw the letter into Blue Bonnet's lap.

"Read it," she said. "It's from Billy. We're invited to a tea at Harvard. Mrs. White is to chaperon us. It's to be next Friday afternoon, and the boys are coming for us in an automobile."

Blue Bonnet looked as if she didn't quite understand.

"But—Sue, can we go? Will Miss North let us?"

"Oh, yes—with Mrs. White. Why not? You're not doing penance for anything are you?"

"No, certainly not! But it seems quite unusual; going off with a lot of boys like that."

"A lot of boys! There's only Billy, and Hammie McVickar, and an escort for me—Billy doesn't say what his name is. I don't call that such a terrible lot; and Harvard is quite respectable. At least, it is supposed to be."

Sue made a funny little grimace that brought all her dimples into play.

"I think it would be glorious, Sue. I certainly hope Miss North will let us accept."

"She will," Sue said confidently. "She let us go last year. Such fun! It makes me laugh to think of it yet. We went to Billy's rooms. He had a caterer and a great spread. Tea and sandwiches; all kinds of cakes, candies—a huge box for each of us to carry home; and the most beautiful ice-cream with nuts in it. Um! I can taste it yet. Oh, but it was larky!"

"It must have been," Blue Bonnet admitted.

"This time, Billy says, it is to be very select. What he calls a close corporation! Just you and Annabel and I, and Mrs. White. They sent Mrs. White a separate invitation. Wasn't that clever of them, since we just had to have a chaperon? I'm going over to her room now to see if she'll accept. Come along."

Mrs. White evidently felt complimented by the invitation. She was looking it over when the girls entered.

"Of course you won't refuse, Mrs. White, will you?" Sue implored, arms about Mrs. White's shoulders. "Billy quite dotes on you, you know. He says in my note that you've just got to come. He and Hammie will accept no substitute. Billy would be so awfully disappointed if you didn't come."

Mrs. White smiled pleasantly.

"I wouldn't hurt Billy for the world, Susan," she said. The teachers always called Sue "Susan"—those who had known her since her entrance as a very young girl. "You know I never inflict unnecessary pain. I happen to know just how hard your friends would take my refusal. I will consult Miss North."

"Will you? Will you really? Oh, you are such a dear, Mrs. White. And try to show her how very necessary it is for us all to go. Billy does get so lonely without me—we're such chums. Father feels dreadfully to have us separated as we are."

Mrs. White promised to put the matter before Miss North as diplomatically as possible, and let the girls know her decision at the earliest possible moment.

"I think afternoon tea is the loveliest thing," Sue said, as they went back to Blue Bonnet's room for a brief visit. "There's something about it that makes one feel so grown up—so sort of lady-like! I've always said that when I keep house—I shall, you know, for father, as soon as I am through school—that I'll serve tea every afternoon, rain or shine, at five o'clock, and advertise the fact among all my friends."

"It's very hospitable," Blue Bonnet replied absently. "Do they have tea every afternoon at Harvard?"

Sue gave a shriek; then she went off into one of her infectious peals of laughter.

"Blue Bonnet! Oh, that's ripping! At Harvard. What do you take them for?"

"I don't know that that's such an awful faux pas," Blue Bonnet said with asperity. "They always have afternoon tea at Oxford. Alec Trent has a friend there and he told him so."

"Well—in England—that's different. It's so awfully English, you know."

"That's why I thought maybe they did it at Harvard. Because it is so awfully English, you know!"

Blue Bonnet's eyes twinkled mischievously.

A few hours later, as the girls were on their way to the gymnasium to dance, Mrs. White overtook Sue and stopped her for a moment.

"It is all right, Susan," she said. "Miss North is very glad to have you accept your brother's invitation for Friday afternoon, and I shall go with pleasure."

Sue's feet took wings as she caught up with Blue Bonnet and Annabel.

"We can go," she announced breathlessly. "Friday! Harvard! I just knew we could. Isn't it great? At two-thirty, remember! And girls! Don't forget—borrow everything you can, and look stunning!"



CHAPTER XV

A HARVARD TEA

Stillness reigned in the study hall: stillness save for the occasional rattle of a book, or the falling of a pen or pencil from careless fingers. The large clock at the back of the room ticked regularly, and its hands pointed to a quarter past one.

At the desk Fraulein Herrmann sat, her watchful eyes roaming over the assemblage in search of idleness or disorder. Only a moment before her stentorian tones had rung forth, much to the annoyance of two girls who came under her supervision.

"Emma-line and Jassa-mine Brown may report at the desk at the end of the period."

Emmalyn and Jassamine Brown, twins, were as much the bane of Fraulein's life as were Mary Boyd and Peggy Austin. Fraulein was not stupid. She had learned that to call forth these names, distorting them with almost unrecognizable inflection, brought its own punishment.

Emmalyn slammed down a book on her desk, her face flushed with mortification. She whispered something to her sister.

"You may say what you have to say to the room, Miss Emma-line," Fraulein invited.

Emmalyn paid not the slightest heed.

"Miss Brown! Answer when I speak! Why do you not answer?"

"I didn't know you were addressing me. My name is not Emma-line!" She drew out the "line" with provoking mimicry.

Fraulein reddened; but she held her peace. She had encountered Emmalyn Brown before. Sometimes disastrously.

At her desk Blue Bonnet worked busily, glancing often at the clock. She was writing a theme, and writing against time. At one-forty-five her paper must be in Professor Howe's hands. There was a strained expression in her eyes as, elbow on desk, she ran her fingers through her hair by way of inducement to thought.

"It's no use," she said in a whisper to Wee Watts, who occupied a seat with her, "I can't get my brain in working order to-day to save me. Have you a glimmer of an idea about Emerson's essay on 'Compensation?' I've got to write it up."

Wee's face looked as blank as a stone wall.

"Emerson! Heavens, no! He's as deep as the sea. Ask me something easy, Blue Bonnet. My grey matter's at your disposal—what's left of it. I think I've overtaxed it with my own theme. Do you know anything about hypnotism?"

"Hypnotism! I should say not. Look out! Fraulein's weather eye is turned this way.

"I think it's the tea we're going to this afternoon that's distracting me," Blue Bonnet confessed, when Fraulein had removed the weather eye. "I can't seem to get it out of my mind. I know we're going to have a perfectly wonderful time. I wish you were going, Wee."

"Yes—it would be lovely. I suppose Annabel has borrowed everything in sight. I've given her my Egyptian bracelet and my jade ring. Don't let her have your furs to-day. You look so pretty in them yourself."

"Oh, she doesn't want them," Blue Bonnet answered loyally. "I think she's going to get Angela's. They are white fox—almost like mine. Oh, bother! What on earth is 'compensation,' anyway? I've read this essay ten times and it's perfect Greek to me. Don't you know, Wee, really? This thing has got to be handed in in twenty minutes."

Wee searched through her desk for a dictionary.

"Look it up," she suggested, turning to the C's. "Sometimes you can get a start that way."

Blue Bonnet gathered up dictionary and papers and moved to a vacant seat.

"Thank you so much, Wee," she whispered in passing, "I've got to sit alone where I can think. You're nice, but you're too entertaining."

Again she plunged into her subject and for a few minutes worked diligently. A white scrap of paper rolled in a ball falling at her feet distracted her attention. She dropped her handkerchief over it in obedience to a slight cough from Sue Hemphill, and drew it into her lap. A second later it lay open in her book.

"Annabel's changed her mind," it read. "She's not going to wear her suit. She thinks she'll wear her new crepe de chine and borrow Patty's fur coat. Don't you think that will make us look out of place in just waists and suits? Answer."

Blue Bonnet crumpled the note in her hand and looked at the clock anxiously. She didn't give a rap what Annabel wore. It was half past one, and she had but three paragraphs written on her theme. She read them through again. They were utterly impossible. She tore the paper into bits and carried the pieces to the waste basket.

Going back to the seat with Wee Watts she put her books in order and awaited the ringing of the gong which signaled the beginning of the next period.

It was unfortunate—for Blue Bonnet at least—that something had happened to disturb Professor Howe's usual calmness of manner. She was irritated. Blue Bonnet felt it in the atmosphere the moment she entered the recitation-room.

"We will begin with Miss Ashe," she said, busying herself with some papers on her desk. "You may read what you have prepared on the Emerson work, Miss Ashe. Come to the front of the room, please."

Blue Bonnet half rose in her seat and her face flushed scarlet.

"I am not prepared, Professor Howe. I am sorry—but—"

"Have you been ill, Miss Ashe?"

"No, not ill, but—"

"Take your seat and remain after the class is dismissed, Miss Ashe."

"This afternoon, Professor Howe? Oh, I can't to-day. It is impossible—"

Professor Howe made no reply and passed on to the next pupil.

Blue Bonnet did some quick thinking during the next few minutes. How she was to write a theme and get ready to go to Cambridge by three o'clock, was beyond her ability to calculate. Professor Howe would surely excuse her when she explained; explained that she had tried to write the theme and failed—she felt sure of that. But Professor Howe for once was adamant. No explanation sufficed; no amount of pleading prevailed. Blue Bonnet remained after class and, cross and late, reached her room just as Sue and Annabel were leaving theirs, well groomed and immaculate.

"I reckon you'll have to go on without me," she said, her eyes filling with tears of vexation and disappointment. "Professor Howe's on a regular rampage to-day. She's kept me all this time over an old composition on Emerson. She's made me loathe Emerson for all time. I shall perfectly hate him from this hour forth. Go on, don't wait! I won't spoil everything for the rest of you."

"Nonsense," Annabel said, pushing Blue Bonnet into her room and taking out her clothes from the closet. "Just hurry a little. The boys aren't here yet. It won't hurt them to wait a few minutes anyway. It's no killing matter. Wash in a little cold water; it'll freshen you."

Blue Bonnet emerged presently from the bathroom, rosy and happy, gave her hair a vigorous brushing, and got into the becoming silk waist that Sue held ready for her.

"Thought you were going to wear your crepe de chine, Annabel. Sue said you were. Did you change your mind?"

"Yes, Sue made such a fuss; said you girls were going to wear your suits. I suppose it is more sensible. Here are your gloves. Lucky they're clean! Got a handkerchief? Come on."

Three more attractive girls it would be hard to find than Annabel, Sue and Blue Bonnet, as they made their way to the reception-room, where the boys were waiting.

Billy presented Sue's escort. A rather fine-looking young fellow by the name of Billings—Ben Billings. "An awfully common name," Sue sniffed to Blue Bonnet at her first opportunity. "Never could abide the name of 'Ben.'"

"Oh, I don't know, Sue," Blue Bonnet replied, "it's probably short for Benjamin. Benjamin Billings isn't so bad. I think it's quite high sounding."

But Benjamin Billings proved to have assets, if he did have a common name. It transpired that he lived in Boston, was a member of a well-known family. In fact the very elegant looking limousine which waited at the curb proved to be his property—or his mother's—and the party went forth in it, gaily.

The ride to Cambridge was delightful. The car just crowded enough to make every one merry and responsive. Blue Bonnet sat squeezed securely between Mrs. White and Billy Hemphill.

Arriving at the college, Billy, who seemed to be the master of ceremonies, went a little ahead of the party, and throwing open the door of his room hospitably ushered the guests in.

"This way," he said, leading them through the sitting-room to the bedroom beyond. "You'll want to take off your wraps."

A trim maid in a neat cap stood waiting to assist the girls with coats and rubbers.

"They're doing it up brown," Sue whispered as Billy left the room. "They've engaged this maid along with the caterer. Just wait! I do hope they haven't forgotten that heavenly ice-cream like they had before. The kind with the nuts! Oh, girls; look! Isn't that perfectly killing?"

Sue pointed to a vase of flowers on Billy's dresser. They were exquisite pale yellow roses, about which were tied—as stiffly and properly as Billy would have tied his own necktie—two shades of ribbon, green and white, the colors of the North school.

"Well, it's perfectly dear of him, anyway," Sue said, as the girls shook with laughter. "Of course the bows are funny, but the boys have done the best they knew how, and it's a pretty compliment, I think."

A pretty compliment it was, elaborated upon in the sitting-room. Vases stood in every available corner and space, and the same bows ornamented each bouquet. The girls were eloquent in praise of them.

"Why didn't you try a four-in-hand on this one, Billy?" Sue asked, pointing to a carefully arranged effect of the "string-tie" variety. "Or a—what you call it—an Ascot! An Ascot would be stunning on those orchids."

A laugh went round the room in which Billy joined good naturedly.

"See what you fellows escape by not having a sister," he said, nodding toward McVickar and Billings. His tone was severe, but the loving look that shot from his eyes to the dimpled face close to his own belied the words. Any fellow would have been proud to have had such a sister. Billy appreciated the fact.

"Anyway, I didn't tie the bows," he added. "McVickar did it. 'Fess up, old man. He's been at it all day—sluffed his classes to tie the bunch."

It was Sue's turn to become embarrassed.

"Really?" she said. "Well, they're perfectly lovely—and the idea's so new. I've never seen it used before. I think you should be congratulated, Mr. McVickar. It's a gift to be able to originate!"

Even Billy regarded Sue with admiration, but a knock at the door prevented further discussion.

"Pardon me," Billy said to Mrs. White on the way to open the door. "Surprising how many interruptions a fellow has in a place like this."

On the threshold stood a young man, groomed within an inch of his life; hair faultless; shoes immaculate; tie and scarf pin elaborate.

"Oh, a thousand pardons, Hemphill. Didn't dream you were entertaining. Just looking for a book—Calculus. Haven't seen it knocking about, have you? Fancied I left it here last night. No—No! Couldn't think of stopping. Oh, if you feel that way, old chap—"

Billy, by this time, had got the intruder inside the room and was presenting him to the guests. Mr. Williams looked about with apparent embarrassment and took a seat by Blue Bonnet.

"Fear I'm intruding. Awful bore—fellows running in like this. Didn't dream Hemphill was entertaining. From Boston, I presume, Miss—beg pardon, didn't quite catch the name."

"Ashe," Blue Bonnet said, casting a rather amused glance at the young man's elaborate afternoon toilet.

"Miss Ashe. Not the Ashes of Beacon Street? They're relatives of mine—distant, of course."

"No. I'm from Texas."

"Texas! You're rather a long way from home, aren't you? Texas seems farther away to me than Paris. Great country that—Texas. Lots of cattle and Indians and—"

"I don't know about Indians. We have cattle—lots! And cowboys. Maybe you're thinking of cowboys?"

But cowboys were farthest from Mr. Williams' mind. Translated his thoughts ran something like this: "Mighty pretty girl, blooming as a rose. Wonder how many of us the chaperon's going to stand for. Plague take it, why didn't Stuart give me a show—needn't have tread on my heels this way."

But Stuart, at the door, stopping only a half moment for a lost overcoat—so he said—was being presented to the ladies. And in Stuart's wake came others. It was amazing how many things had been lost oh the campus; or in Billy Hemphill and Hammie McVickar's rooms.

Mrs. White began to feel nervous. She was in a quandary. She could hardly take her charges away before tea, neither could she ask the young men to leave. She finally decided to settle down comfortably and close her eyes to any irregularities. After all there could be no real harm.

With the utmost cordiality Billy and his room-mate insisted upon their friends remaining to tea, and the men needed but little urging. They made themselves generally agreeable, assisting in the entertaining; passing tea and sandwiches with ease and aplomb.

Mr. Williams kept the seat next to Blue Bonnet and Hammie McVickar dropped down on the other side of her.

"First visit here?" Mr. Williams asked, trying to successfully balance his ice-cream and cake on one knee.

"Yes—that is, it's the first time I've been inside one of the buildings. I came to a ball game last autumn."

"Then you must have a look round before you go."

Blue Bonnet assured him of her willingness if Mrs. White and the others were agreeable.

"You have pleasant quarters here," she said, turning to Mr. McVickar. "If you were at Oxford you would call this room the 'sitter' and that the 'bedder,'" nodding toward the room where they had laid aside their coats.

"Yes—those are the Oxford terms. Know anybody there?"

"Just one man. I've only met him. He's a friend of a friend of mine. He told me about some of the customs. They interested me very much."

Over in her corner, between young Billings and the interloper, Stuart, Sue was having a beautiful time. She had felt free, since it was Billy's party—hence Billy's ice-cream—to permit herself a second helping. Sue was in her element. Billy and her favorite ice-cream—all in one day! It was almost too much.

Annabel, as usual, was the centre of attraction. She was surrounded by a number of "searchers for lost articles," and Blue Bonnet, as she glanced in her direction, could imagine how the men were enjoying her pretty Southern drawl, her always witty remarks. Billy, with great self-sacrifice, devoted himself to Mrs. White, but his glance strayed often to Annabel. Mrs. White must have noticed the anxious glances, for she got up after she had finished her tea and insisted upon talking to Mr. McVickar for a while.

The hour sped all too soon. Before the girls realized it, they had seen the interesting sights of the campus; the big dining-room in Memorial Hall, where twelve hundred students assembled daily; Sanders Theatre and the Fogg Art Museum.

"I'd love to come in here when the men were dining," Annabel remarked, gazing from the balcony down upon the dining-hall.

A quick glance passed between the men. They smiled in unison.

"What's the joke?" Annabel insisted.

"You'd have to come here at mealtime to find out," Billy informed her. "You see, we are a little averse to an audience, and the fellows act up considerably."

"What do they do?"

"Well," Hammie McVickar explained, "when any one enters this balcony every man down there begins pounding with his knife and fork, or anything that's handy, and raising such a din, that guests usually depart—quickly."

"I think that's very rude," Blue Bonnet said, and the men agreed with her politely.

"Wasn't it just like Billy to pick out the biggest bouquet for Mrs. White?" Sue whispered to Annabel, as they were finally leaving the campus. "She adores American beauties, too. Don't you really think he's a dear?"

"He's a diplomat, to say the least," Annabel replied, laughing. "And a charming host," she added, to palliate Sue's evident disappointment. "Perfectly charming."

"I'm so glad you think so, Annabel, and—do you know—I've a feeling that he likes you awfully, dear. Not from anything he says—but—well, just the way he looks at you sometimes!"

"How absurd, Sue!" Annabel replied, as she hurried to catch up with the rest of the party; but her eyes sparkled and a beautiful flush crimsoned her lovely face.

After the lights were out that night, Blue Bonnet, with utter disregard of rules, slipped into Annabel's room to talk things over. It was an excellent opportunity, as Ruth had left in the afternoon for a week-end at home.

Sue had already arrived and was comfortably ensconced on the couch in bath-robe and slippers.

"Good!" she cried, drawing Blue Bonnet down beside her while Annabel stirred the fire. "Now, we'll have a regular old-fashioned gossip." The fire, after some coaxing, broke into a ruddy glow, and Annabel, dropping before it on the rug, took down her hair and began brushing it systematically. Annabel never, under any circumstances, neglected her hair. It was one of her chief attractions, and its soft, glossy texture testified to this regular treatment.

"My, but you're enterprising," Blue Bonnet said, as Annabel brushed diligently, counting each stroke. "I couldn't brush my hair that way every night if my life depended upon it. Don't you ever feel too tired to do it?"

"Oh, yes—sometimes; but it doesn't pay to neglect it. Wasn't it glorious over at the college to-day? Didn't you just adore it?"

"Loved it!" Blue Bonnet said rapturously, while Sue clasped her arms about her knees and gazed into the fire dreamily. "I think it was perfectly dear of Sue's brother to have us; and weren't those nice men who drifted in? Do you think any of them had really lost anything?"

Annabel laughed.

"I told them that they ought to form a St. Anthony society. There's strength in union."

"Who's St. Anthony?"

"He's the saint that some people pray to when they've lost things. He helps find them."

"Annabel—that's sacrilegious!"

"I didn't mean it to be. The boys didn't take it that way, I'm sure."

"That Billings person was quite nice after all, wasn't he?" Sue wakened from her dream long enough to remark. "I rather liked him. He's awfully devoted to Billy. It was quite touching the way he talked about him."

Blue Bonnet and Annabel laughed outright.

Sue was indignant.

"I don't see anything to laugh at. What's the matter with him?"

"Nothing. I think he's fine," Annabel answered. "And so clever! Just think of any one being discerning enough to find the way into Sue's good graces by the Billy route!"

Sue got up and drawing her bath-robe closer about her started for the door.

"I think I'll say good night," she said. "I have a Latin exam to-morrow and I've set my alarm for five-thirty."

But Annabel, intercepting, drew her to the hearth-rug and began humble apologies.

"Don't be silly, there's an old dear. I was only teasing—you know that. You're not going for an hour yet. Come to think of it, you'll not go at all; you'll sleep in Ruth's bed. We've loads to discuss, loads! We haven't mentioned Hammie McVickar or that Mr. what's his name—Stuart, wasn't it? or the refreshments. Come to think of it, Blue Bonnet's going to stay, too. We'll roll the couch over here by the fire and give her my down comfort—or my bed, if she prefers it."

An invitation that was accepted after some protest by both.

"But I've simply got to get up early, Annabel," Sue insisted. "I don't want to wake you and Blue Bonnet."

"I'm rising with the dawn myself, thank you, my dear," and in a whisper Annabel sang:

"'There's going to be There's going to be There's going to be A Physics test. The girls will shiver round the hall, Waiting for the bell to call Them to the test. And the greasy grinds will murmur:

"'Every little molecule has a magnet all its own, Every little North Pole by its action may be known, And every feeling That comes stealing 'Round its being, Must be revealing Magnetic force lines, In some appealing Little action All its own.'"

"And you won't be disturbing me in the least, Sue," Blue Bonnet said, "for I'm with you both. I want to have a little 'heart-to-heart' session with Mr. Emerson in the morning on his compensation article. I believe that I can do it justice now that the tea is over."

"But I must get my clock, Annabel. If it should go off at daylight, and Wee found me missing, there'd be trouble."

"All right, trot along, Sue; but come back instantly."

Is it necessary to add that, after talking until the wee small hours of morning, daylight found three girls peacefully slumbering, utterly oblivious to the faithful alarm which trilled forth its summons to unheeding ears?

It was Blue Bonnet who first opened her eyes to the broad sunlight, and sat up with a start. It took her a full minute to get her bearings: then she rushed to Annabel's bed and shook that young person roundly.

"Annabel! Annabel! Sue! For goodness' sake, get up! It's seven-thirty this minute. I hear the girls now, going to breakfast. How am I ever to get into my own room for my clothes? Oh, I never should have stayed here last night—I knew that I shouldn't all the time."

But Sue, sitting up in Ruth's bed, rubbed her eyes vigorously and poured oil on the troubled waters.

"Don't get so excited, Blue Bonnet. It's no killing matter to be late to breakfast. You'll only get a mark in the 'Doomsday Book;' and thank your lucky stars the girls are going down to breakfast. When they're all gone you can slip out easily."

"Yes—but oh, my Emerson!"

"Emerson isn't a patching to a Latin exam!"

"And the two couldn't match up with a Physics test!" Annabel groaned, putting on her clothes with eager haste. "I have a vision of the mark I'll get!"

She went to the door and took a sweeping glance down the hall.

"Coast's clear," she announced. "Shoo—both of you."



CHAPTER XVI

ANTICIPATIONS

Spring had come at last. In Woodford, up among the hills, the We Are Sevens—or "Sixes," in the absence of Blue Bonnet—were celebrating its advent with a riding party.

It was Saturday afternoon, as might be suspected from the leisurely way the girls rode through the woods, stopping often to admire the maples and elms and the beautiful chestnuts, just beginning to feel the thrill of life after their long winter nap.

"Seems to me those leaves grow greener while you wait," Kitty Clark said, reining her horse beside a chuckling brook and pointing to a near-by birch grove. "I feel just like this water. I want to run as fast as I can, calling, 'Spring is here! Spring is here!' Don't you perfectly love this odor of growing things? Listen to that phoebe! Doesn't it sound as if he were saying, 'Spring's come! Spring's come!'"

She was off her horse before the other girls had time to answer, climbing the steep sides of the glen in search of the first hepaticas.

"Here they are!" she called back joyfully a moment later. Under the lichen-plastered rocks, among the damp leaves, the delicate blossoms peeped forth shyly. Kitty fell upon her knees and buried her nose in the delicious fragrance.

"Oh, the darlings!" Debby exclaimed, close behind. "Girls! Let's gather as many as we can find, and send a box of them to Blue Bonnet. Remember how she raved over them last year? She said they were almost as lovely as the blue bonnets that bloom in Texas about this time."

The suggestion met with instant approval, and for the next half hour six girls worked busily.

"Seems to me they're awfully early this year," Amanda said, searching under the mahogany colored leaves for the little furred heads. "I never knew them to come before April."

"Oh, you forget from year to year, Amanda," Kitty reminded. "Anyway, it's almost April. A week from to-day is the first. That's the day Blue Bonnet gets here. And, by the way, I have a letter from Blue Bonnet. It came just as I was leaving the house and I waited until we were all together to read it. Suppose we go up on the hill a little farther and get in a patch of sunshine. It's a trifle chilly in the shade, even if Mr. Phoebe does keep insisting that 'Spring's come!'"

"Humph! Short and sweet," Kitty commented, as she drew forth the letter. "Suppose it is because she will be with us so soon."

"DEAREST GIRLS:—

"This is a joint letter to-day. I am so busy with exams this week that I can't do much letter writing. The tests have been something awful. The girls say they grow stiffer all the time—- but no matter! I daresay you have troubles in this line of your own.

"I have the pleasure to inform you, girls, that Uncle Cliff will be in Boston the first day of April, and that he has written me to invite the We Are Sevens to be his guests at the Copley Plaza for three days, beginning on that date. This means that we shall all return to Woodford together for the rest of my vacation. I hope nothing will prevent your acceptance. Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda have been included in the invitation, so you will be well chaperoned. Please answer as soon as possible, so that Uncle Cliff can make his reservations at the hotel. I know that we are going to have a splendid time. Bring your prettiest clothes, as there will be something doing every minute. I can hardly wait to see you all, and to have the 'Lambs' meet you.

"Hoping to hear from you very soon, "I am, ever with dearest love, "BLUE BONNET."

There was an instant's silence after Kitty stopped reading, and then everybody broke forth at once.

"At the Copley Plaza! For three days! To visit Blue Bonnet!"

"Isn't it a blessing that our vacation begins on the first, too?" Debby said. "There ought not to be a thing to hinder our going."

"Nothing but—just one thing, Debby. It takes a lot of pretty clothes to stay in a place like the Copley Plaza. And those 'Lambs!' Blue Bonnet says they dress beautifully. Now, what have we got to wear in a crowd like that?"

"If they're going to like us just for our clothes, Kitty!" protested Amanda. "Besides, you have that new blue voile; you're a dream in it; and Sarah has her wine-colored henrietta. Maybe the rest of us could scrape up something; there's—let's see, four or five days yet."

"Maybe we could get something in Boston," Debby suggested. "Blue Bonnet says they have wonderful bargains. You know she got all her clothes for school ready made, and they were as stylish as could be."

"Perhaps we could; that's an idea, Debby," Kitty remarked thankfully. "It's time for spring clothes anyway. We shouldn't want Blue Bonnet to be ashamed of us."

Debby scoffed.

"Blue Bonnet wouldn't be ashamed of us—no matter what we wear. She's not that kind."

"But she'd like to be proud of us, nevertheless. Those 'Lambs' come from awfully rich families; they must, or they couldn't be in that school. It costs a small fortune to go there."

"Blue Bonnet says they are not a bit airy, though, Kitty; and you hardly ever hear a word about money. Blue Bonnet says Miss North is a regular stickler for simplicity, and that she's forever telling the girls where to place values in this world."

"Where does she place them—these values? What are values anyway?"

It was Sarah's turn to speak up quietly.

"I believe I know," she said. "That's one of father's hobbies. It means getting a true estimate of life. We should value things that are worth while, like education and refinement, honesty and courage. It's very vulgar to put value on money; gentle birth and good breeding count for much more."

"I guess our grandsires could measure up with anybody's," Amanda said proudly. "We're every one eligible to the Daughters of the Revolution."

"What's the matter with the We Are Sevens?" Kitty shouted, and the rest took up the cry:

"Who's all right? We're all right!"

Down the hill they ran merrily, and scrambled into saddles for a wild gallop home. Such news was too good to keep, and before the evening was half spent, arrangements were completed for the coming event, and a letter posted to Blue Bonnet.

And in Boston a young girl awaited the first of April with joy that knew no bounds.

"Only two days more until Uncle Cliff comes, now, Joy," she said, tearing a leaf off from the calendar. "Seems to me I just can't wait. I never was so anxious to see him in my life."

Joy smiled sympathetically.

"It will be lovely," she said. "And you have planned so many things to do, Blue Bonnet. I've been wondering if your uncle will wish to keep all these engagements."

Blue Bonnet turned toward Joy quickly.

"You don't know Uncle Cliff," she said gaily. "He'll have the time of his life. He wrote me that three days were at my disposal; to fill them any way I chose. Want to hear the program?"

"Love to," Joy answered.

"Well, Uncle Cliff gets here the morning of the first; that's Friday."

She went to her desk and taking out an engagement book, began turning the leaves hastily.

"Arrives at eight-fifteen. That ought to get him up here about nine, at the very latest."

"Oh, let the poor man get his breakfast first."

"He'll have that on the train, thank you. Then let me see; yes—here: Nine o'clock, visit with Uncle Cliff. Ten, shopping. Eleven o'clock, hospital. I have a little plan about that. One, luncheon. Two o'clock, matinee—or something; haven't planned that yet. Five, meet Aunt Lucinda and the girls from Woodford. Eight, theatre—"

"Mercy, Blue Bonnet, what a mad scramble! And after a five days' journey across the continent I should think your uncle would be dead!"

"I hadn't thought of that," Blue Bonnet said, contritely. "Perhaps we had better cut out the matinee. I shouldn't wonder if we had. It would be hard on Grandmother, too. But you have to do a lot, Joy! Three days slip away before you know it. Now that brings us up to Saturday, doesn't it? Saturday; let me see. Here it is! Saturday, A. M.: Nine o'clock, shopping. Have a little plan about that, too, if Uncle Cliff's willing; know he will be. One, lunch. Two, motor ride. Six o'clock, dinner for the Lambs and the We Are Sevens. You're in on that, too, Joy; you and Mrs. White. Eight, theatre. Sunday. Eleven o'clock, church at Trinity; hope the Bishop preaches. Two o'clock, visit with relatives. Seven, tea—at relatives, probably. Monday morning—Woodford. Sounds fascinating, doesn't it?"

"Alluring, Blue Bonnet. I hope you'll have a happy time."

"I shall, I'm sure, Joy. I've got to run up-stairs now a minute to talk things over with Carita. Carita goes with me to Woodford for the rest of the vacation."

"Begins to look like a holiday," Blue Bonnet thought as she went through the halls and noticed the trunks at each door. "Wonder if Carita is packing."

But Carita was not packing. She was sitting listlessly in a chair by the window, looking a bit forlorn.

"What's the matter, Carita?" Blue Bonnet inquired.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You look as if you had the blues."

"No—only—"

"Only what?"

Tears welled in Carita's eyes.

"Only what, dear?" Blue Bonnet's arms were round her.

"I reckon it's just a touch of homesickness. It's seeing the girls packing to go home. I want so to see mother—and Baby Joe. They says he's so darling now. Oh, my arms just ache to hold him sometimes, Blue Bonnet—and—and—Texas is so far away, isn't it?"

The tears were coming in a flood now, and Blue Bonnet got out her handkerchief to stop the flow.

"There! there!" she said. "Just think what a good time we're going to have with Uncle Cliff; and it's only a little while until the tenth of June. Why, the time will just fly after Easter, and—oh, my dear, be thankful that you have a mother to go to—suppose—"

But Carita had turned suddenly and gathered Blue Bonnet in a loving embrace.

"How selfish I am," she said, between sobs. "I didn't think, Blue Bonnet—really, I didn't."

"Of course you didn't. And I didn't mean to remind you; it just slipped out. Sometimes it does, when I see girls crying for their mothers and I remember that I shall—never—have mine. Now, don't cry—please don't. Where's Mary?"

Through her tears Carita smiled.

"She and Peg—Jerusha Austin are down in the office. Fraulein is after them again. Last night, when the trunks were brought up, Mary and Peggy waited until the lights were out and then they fixed up a tick-tack. They hid in the trunks and worked the thing for almost an hour. It was awfully spooky—nearly scared Fraulein to death. She's just furious at both of them."

"How did she find them?"

"Oh, Mary got the giggles! Mary would laugh at her own funeral. Peggy was so cross at her. Fraulein traced the giggles to Mary's trunk."

At that instant the door opened and Mary came in, followed by Peggy.

"What did you get this time, Mary?" Carita asked.

Mary, laughed sheepishly.

"You talk as if I'd been sentenced," she said, smiling, and showing every one of her beautiful teeth.

"Weren't you?"

"No, not this time. Miss North was so disgusted she didn't do a thing. She made us feel as if we were infants; said she thought smothering in a trunk for an hour was punishment enough for anybody. She just talked!"

"And—talked!" Peggy added.

"She said that we'd so wrecked Fraulein's nerves—Peg and I—that Fraulein was leaving the school—wasn't coming back after Easter."

"Really? Is that true, Peggy?"

"That we've wrecked her nerves? Hardly. That's just letting her down easy. Miss North's dead tired of her, herself."

"Who's going to take her place?"

"Miss North didn't take us into her confidence," Mary said flippantly. "But I shouldn't wonder if Joy Cross substituted until they get somebody. Joy's a whiz in German. She's had us two or three times lately when Fraulein was having one of her tantrums—beg pardon, nervous break-ups."

Blue Bonnet rose to go.

"Wait a minute, Blue Bonnet," Carita said. "I've some news for you. What do you think! Knight Judson's coming to Boston; my cousin, you know. He's coming with your Uncle Cliff. I've just had a letter."

"Knight Judson! What for?"

"He's always wanted to come, and now he has the opportunity. He's been wild to study engineering, saved his money for it for a long time. Well—he had a chance to come on and do a little work at the Massachusetts Tech. It's awfully late in the year, of course, to enter, but he wants to look up a lot of things and be ready to start in the fall. I'm so anxious to see him. He'll have so much news from home."

"And Sandy? Why didn't he come, too?"

"He will, next year."

"It will be fine to see Knight again," Blue Bonnet said. "Alec will be delighted to know he's coming. They were great friends in Texas."

"Yes, Knight is going to Washington first, then on to Woodford for a few days, with Alec."

"How splendid! Oh, Carita, everything is going so beautifully that it almost makes me afraid. I feel as if the fairies had given me three wishes and they had all come true. I don't know whether I can walk down-stairs or not. I feel like taking a flying leap."

"Take the banister," Mary suggested. "It's safer, and heaps more fun. I tried it yesterday."

Blue Bonnet looked properly shocked.

"Fortunate you didn't run into any one," she remarked.

"But I did! A nice lady who was trying to find Madam de Cartier. We fell—all in a heap!"

* * * * *

The morning of the first of April broke clear and calm.

"Even the weather is on my side," Blue Bonnet said. "I ought to be the very happiest girl in the world—and I am!"

It was a busy time at the school; a general breaking up for spring vacation. In the halls girls scurried in every direction and hasty good-bys were said; trunks were carried out noisily by careless expressmen to the vans that stood waiting outside.

"Terribly exciting, isn't it?" Sue said, passing Blue Bonnet in the hall shortly after breakfast. "I'm so glad Annabel and I are staying over until Monday. Has your uncle arrived yet?"

"I'm just watching for him. He should be here in about ten minutes. I'm keeping my eye on the front door—oh, Sue, there's a ring now; perhaps it's he! It is! It is!"

And the next moment Blue Bonnet was folded in her uncle's arms.

"Uncle Cliff! dear Uncle Cliff!" she cried, rapturously, while she led him toward the reception-room, holding to his arm tightly as if by some chance he might escape. "How ever did you get up here so soon? It's only a quarter to nine, now."

"Taxi, Honey. And the train was on time, fortunately. Come over to the light and let me have a look at you. Why, child, how you have grown! And what's this—long dresses! Honey, Honey, where's Uncle Cliff's little girl?"

There was a note in the man's voice that struck deep at the girl's heart.

"Here she is," she cried, snuggling into the warm embrace again. "She'll never be anything but a little girl to you—never! That's proper length—just a speck below my shoe-tops. Will you sit here a minute while I find Carita? Poor Carita has been a little homesick the last few days. It's seeing the girls start for home, I reckon."

She was away in a trice, bringing back Carita, who welcomed Uncle Cliff with almost as much enthusiasm as Blue Bonnet had.

"Now the plans, Honey. What are they?" Mr. Ashe said, looking at his watch. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Uncle Cliff! An hour ago."

"Well, I haven't. Suppose you get your things together—both of you—and come over to the hotel with me right away. The taxi is waiting."

It didn't take the girls long to get their suitcases and run back to Mr. Ashe.

"All ready?" he inquired.

"Just as soon as we say good-by to Miss North."

At the hotel Blue Bonnet and Carita found themselves in the daintiest suite of rooms imaginable.

"I will come for you in twenty minutes," Mr. Ashe said. "Then we will go down to breakfast. I have a suspicion that you could eat another bite if you tried, while we talk over the plans. Suppose you have them all settled, Honey?"

"Yes, I have, Uncle Cliff. It's going to be very strenuous, too, I'm afraid. I hope you aren't awfully, awfully tired."

At which Uncle Cliff smiled one of his tender, adoring smiles, and patted Blue Bonnet's shoulder affectionately.

"I think I shall be equal to the demand," he said, and was off.

In the dining-room a cosy table was found for three. Many a head turned in passing to gaze at the little party, who, oblivious to time or surroundings, chatted merrily.

It was after they had left the dining-room, that Blue Bonnet, pausing at her uncle's door, asked Carita if she would mind going on to their rooms for just a minute: she had something she must say to Uncle Cliff alone—a secret.

"It's this, Uncle Cliff," she said, when the door had closed, "I want to talk something over with you before Aunt Lucinda comes. You see, I'm not quite sure she'd approve of it, and I want so much to do it. That is—I want to, if we can—without hurting anybody's feelings."

"All right, Honey. What is it?"

She was holding on to Uncle Cliff's coat lapels now, and looking up into his face with the childish trust and confidence she had shown since babyhood, and the man's arm went round her as of old, protectingly.

"You see, it's this way, Uncle Cliff. There's that dinner for the Lambs and the We Are Sevens to-morrow night. Every single one of the Lambs ordered a new gown to wear. I didn't want them to—but they would do it—and—I'm afraid it's going to make the We Are Sevens sort of uncomfortable. So I was thinking, Uncle Cliff—I was wishing that—we—you and I, maybe—could have a little shopping expedition to-morrow morning and—"

She stopped short, not knowing how to go on without putting herself in the wrong light.

"You understand—don't you, Uncle Cliff? It isn't that I'd be ashamed of the girls; you know that. Their clothes are all right—only I know how girls feel not to be dressed quite like others. It makes them awkward and ill at ease, and—"

Mr. Ashe bent over and imprinted a kiss on the brown head, and for a moment his eyes were suspiciously bright.

"I understand perfectly, Honey," he said.

"But just how could we do it, Uncle Cliff—get them some pretty things without making them think—that—that their things weren't right,—good enough, you know? It's an awfully delicate matter."



"So it is, Honey, but I think we can find a way. Was it some pretty frocks you wanted to give them?"

"Oh, if I only could, Uncle Cliff. Gowns and slippers to match, and I'd thought of some pretty evening wraps, too. You see, we're going to the theatre, and supper afterward, and the Lambs have such pretty ones. We could afford it, couldn't we? There's no one to spend money on but poor little me."

Mr. Ashe laughed as he smoothed out a pucker in his niece's brow.

"I don't think you need worry about the expense," he said. "You are very fortunate in that respect, Blue Bonnet, and you know I always approve of spending money where it means happiness. Do you need a new frock, too,—and Carita, perhaps?"

"We could each use one," Blue Bonnet answered, "though I suppose Aunt Lucinda wouldn't exactly think I needed it."

"This isn't Aunt Lucinda's affair," Mr. Ashe replied quickly. "It's mine, Honey. How would this do? We'll take the We Are Sevens shopping with us to-morrow morning and when you and Carita have selected your gowns I will suggest that the others select too—a little gift from me—or from you, if you think best."

Blue Bonnet clapped her hands with delight.

"The very thing," she cried. "Then they can't think it was planned. They'll be so delighted. Oh, Uncle Cliff, you are so dear, so dear!" The last dear was emphasized with a resounding kiss. "I'm so happy; so happy that it seems as if I couldn't stand it. Isn't this a beautiful old world? Now, we must hurry. I want to get you out to the hospital to see Gabriel the very first thing."

Blue Bonnet had explained at breakfast all about Gabriel, and Uncle Cliff had said little. But he was ready for further investigation.

"I'm not sure that I like the idea of you going about these hospitals, Honey—especially where patients are tubercular. You can contract these things, you know."

Blue Bonnet laughed her scorn.

"How perfectly ridiculous! I'm as healthy as ever I can be. Why, look at me! I've put on eight pounds in three months. That's the very worst of boarding-school—- it's bound to make you fat. Poor Wee Watts is discouraged to death."

At the hospital, although it was not visiting hour, they were allowed to see Gabriel.

"He's not been so well the past week," Miss Warren, the nurse, said. "I think it is the confinement. It is beginning to tell upon him. He ought to be out in the country in the sunshine."

Blue Bonnet sat down on the bed and took hold of the little hand. It was hot and feverish.

"What's the matter, Gabriel?" she said. "This won't do. You promised me that you would get well."

"I will," the child maintained stoutly. "There ain't nothing the matter." The bright eyes flashed a smile.

"We're twins,—me and her," Gabriel announced, directing his remarks to Mr. Ashe. "Our birthdays are the same."

"So I understand."

"Are you her father?"

"Yes, and her uncle, too."

Gabriel seemed mystified.

"You see, I haven't any father—or mother either, Gabriel. My uncle has to be both," Blue Bonnet explained.

"That's like me, too. I'm a orphant!"

Blue Bonnet caught her breath quickly. To be an orphan—and ill; desperately poor, too! The world wasn't such a cheerful place after all.

"I lent the soldiers to another feller," Gabriel said presently. "He's sicker than I am."

"Then you shall have some more, Gabriel. It was fine of you to be so unselfish."

"I wasn't. They made me!"

The nurse started to explain. Gabriel interrupted.

"I want my own—they can fight like—I didn't say it, did I? I told you I wouldn't never again, Miss Warren."

Miss Warren's brow cleared.

"These children have some street expressions that are hard to break," she said. "Gabriel is trying very hard to be a gentleman. He got so excited over the soldiers, Miss Ashe, that we had to take them away."

"She says—" Gabriel began, pointing to Blue Bonnet, "she says you got ponies where you live, an' you can ride 'em. Can you?"

Mr. Ashe smiled.

"Yes. Lots of them. Would you like to ride a pony, Gabriel?"

"Bet yer!"

Mr. Ashe rose and took the nurse to one side.

"Just how ill is this child?" he asked, much moved. "Is there any chance for his recovery?"

"Yes—yes, indeed, under the right conditions. He has tuberculosis of the knee. If only a home could be found for him in the country! He's an unusually bright child, and so lovable. I feel sure that he must come from excellent Jewish people, though he was brought here from the tenement district a few months ago—just after his mother died."

"And you think he'd have a chance in the country?"

"I'm very sure of it, sir."

Mr. Ashe turned away abruptly. Before his eyes swept a vision of the Blue Bonnet ranch—its vast roaming acres; its clear beautiful skies and warm sunshine; of old, lonely Benita, and Uncle Joe. There was ample room there—room that shamed him when he looked at this pitiful wasted bit of humanity dying for the need of what it offered.

He went back to the little cot and touched Blue Bonnet's arm lightly.

"Come, Honey," he said. "I think it's time we were going. We'll see Gabriel again."



CHAPTER XVII

THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS

"Blue Bonnet! Do you really truly mean it?"

Kitty Clark stood before a pile of fluffy, shimmering gowns at Hollander's, her hands clasped ecstatically, her face wreathed in smiles.

"Girls!" she cried, "Sarah! Amanda! Did you hear what Blue Bonnet said? We are each to choose a gown—a dinner gown and a party coat; gifts from Mr. Ashe. Did you ever hear of anything so splendid in your lives? Just fancy being able to choose what one really wants, and not something that will 'do nicely!' A party coat, too, Blue Bonnet? You're sure you're not mistaken? Why, it will cost a fearful lot for six of us!"

"I don't think you need worry about that, Kitty Kat. Uncle Cliff isn't minding the price. Just choose something pretty and becoming. Carita and I are to select, too. Come on, girls!"

"But, Blue Bonnet!" it was practical Sarah who spoke, "we mustn't be extravagant just because your uncle has been so good. Didn't he put a limit on the price?"

"No, he did not, Sarah. Uncle Cliff doesn't put a limit on what he gives. He said to get what you each liked. You'd better get busy. Kitty's going to have the pick if you don't."

Kitty was already holding up the daintiest blue embroidered chiffon.

"Isn't this perfectly exquisite?" she said, catching Blue Bonnet's glance. The saleswoman came forward with a pale green messaline.

"The young lady could wear either of these, with her hair," she remarked.

"Put one of them on, Kitty," Blue Bonnet suggested. "One could hardly choose, they are both so dear. The blue one is simpler, I think, and blue is your color."

Kitty emerged presently from the dressing-room in the blue gown. The girls exclaimed in a breath. Kitty looked charming. The saleswoman selected a blue velvet wrap of a darker shade and threw it over Kitty's shoulders. The effect was enchanting.

"Kitty!" Blue Bonnet cried, "that's simply stunning! Wait a minute—keep it on until I get Grandmother and Uncle Cliff."

Grandmother and Uncle Cliff beheld the transformation in silence for a minute. Grandmother spoke first.

"It is very beautiful, Kitty—very—but I fear—Is it not a little old for you, dear?"

Kitty looked her disappointment, and the saleswoman came to the rescue.

"The gown is one of our young girl models, madam, and really very simple. The coat is not elaborate either. Indeed it is very plain—as coats go now. I think the young lady could scarcely make a mistake in choosing them."

Mr. Ashe smiled his approval.

"You like them, Kitty?" he asked.

"Oh, Mr. Ashe, I perfectly adore them!"

"Then if Mrs. Clyde thinks them suitable, take them, by all means."

Mrs. Clyde hesitated. She wished that her daughter had not selected this hour to attend to business matters. She would have liked her approval.

"I wish your Aunt Lucinda might see them first, dear," she said to Blue Bonnet. "I hardly feel capable of choosing for Kitty."

"But Aunt Lucinda said she couldn't possibly get through with her affairs before lunch, Grandmother—you remember hearing her say that, don't you? Well, you see we've got to choose quickly, because the girls want to wear the gowns to the dinner to-night, and if there are any alterations it couldn't be managed. Anyway, Grandmother, I know they're all right. They aren't a speck more elaborate than the girls at Miss North's wear. Please let Kitty have them."

And Mrs. Clyde, under pressure of the argument and the moment, capitulated.

Kitty moved off toward the dressing-room in a transport of happiness, and the other girls in turn made their selections. Debby found a rose-colored dress that suited her admirably; Sarah, after much deliberation, chose a substantial afternoon gown that would serve for dinner and party also; a gown that would have pleased Aunt Lucinda down to the ground. Amanda made her selection after the order of Kitty's; a white embroidered swiss over a pink slip, with a wrap that blended, and yet appeared substantial; while Susy and Ruth, showing extremely good judgment, abided by Mrs. Clyde's decision, and selected simple sheer white organdies with charming sashes, and girlish looking coats of dark red broadcloth.

Carita and Blue Bonnet waited until all the others had been supplied. Then Blue Bonnet found a little frock of pale pink crepe de chine; something she had long wanted; and Carita cast her lot with Ruth and Susy, selecting an organdy not unlike theirs, and a coat of blue broadcloth.

It was a happy party that filed out of the store an hour later, after all accessories to the costumes had been found and purchased.

Luncheon was a merry feast, enjoyed at the Touraine; as was also the motor ride in the afternoon. But the real joy of the day came with the dinner in the evening. The table, according to Blue Bonnet's instructions, had been laid in the Palm Room. Miss Clyde much preferred a private dining-room; but Blue Bonnet had insisted that half the fun was in seeing the life at the hotel, and Miss Clyde finally withdrew her objections.

Mr. Ashe sat at the head of the table with Mrs. Clyde at his right and Mrs. White at his left. At the opposite end sat Miss Clyde, and the Lambs and the We Are Sevens alternated about the board. Annabel Jackson had Kitty Clark under her wing; while Sue Hemphill entertained Amanda. An arrangement which proved entirely satisfactory, judging from the merriment that came from their respective quarters.

Blue Bonnet, glancing at her guests, indulged in the utmost satisfaction. The Lambs were charming in the new gowns; but, thanks to Uncle Cliff, not a whit more so than her beloved We Are Sevens—a fact which the Lambs themselves appreciated. Joy Cross, between Blue Bonnet and kind-hearted Wee Watts, looked very happy.

The place cards caused great amusement; and it is safe to say that each one found its way into a memory book for future reference and pleasure. Patty Paine, gifted in art, had painted them charmingly, while Angela Dare, despite her scorn for mere "doggerel," had penned a verse suitable to each guest. Jokes and jests were the order of the evening. Each girl had been asked to bring her best story, and consequently there were no lapses into silence or stupid pauses during courses.

"It has been the most wonderful success, Blue Bonnet," Annabel whispered, as the party left the table. "And I did so enjoy Kitty Clark. I couldn't keep my eyes off her."

"I'm so glad, Annabel," Blue Bonnet answered, giving the hand in her own a squeeze. "We must hurry a bit now. We're going to the Plymouth to see 'Pomander Walk.' They say it's dear."

The play came up to expectations. The girls enjoyed it hugely. Enjoyed it just as they enjoyed the supper at the Touraine later—with the enthusiasm of youth and good health.

"Uncle Cliff," Blue Bonnet said, when they were finally back at the hotel, and she was saying good night at his own door, "I believe this has been the very happiest day of my life. I can't begin to thank you for it; you've been so good—and so generous. Wasn't it splendid the way the girls took to the dresses—and Aunt Lucinda having that appointment just at that hour? It seemed almost as if—as if the fairies had had a hand in it all, didn't it? We couldn't have arranged it better if we'd tried. But I'm afraid I did Aunt Lucinda an injustice. She didn't mind about our getting the girls the dresses at all. I believe she liked it. She said it was a great privilege to be able to give so much happiness."

And stooping to kiss Blue Bonnet, Mr. Ashe asked:

"You were satisfied, then, Honey? It went off as well as you had expected? You are quite content?"

Blue Bonnet hesitated before she replied.

"What is it, Honey? Speak up. Have we left something undone?"

"There's just one thing, Uncle Cliff. I'm almost ashamed to mention it in the face of all you've done to-day—but—it's about Gabriel. If we could only do something for the poor little fellow. Oh, Uncle Cliff, you can't think how it hurts me to see him fading away in that place, when—when there's sunshine going to waste on the Blue Bonnet ranch, and ponies eating their heads off in the stables."

"I thought of that, too, Honey, and—I wasn't going to tell you to-night, Blue Bonnet—you've had enough excitement for one day; but Miss Clyde went to see Gabriel this morning—that was her business engagement—and we're going to take the little chap to Woodford with his nurse for a while. Miss Clyde thinks that she can find a boarding-place. When he gets stronger we'll get him down to the ranch; down into God's own country, Honey, where people have to look in the dictionary to find out what 'tuberculosis' means. There! there! I knew I shouldn't have told you to-night. You're all worn out. Come, come, Honey! the girls are waiting for you."

But Blue Bonnet, arms about her uncle's neck, was sobbing out the gladness of her heart.

* * * * *

It was on the way back to the hotel from church the next day that Blue Bonnet, lagging a bit behind Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda, said to Kitty:

"I don't know whether you girls will enjoy the visit we have to pay to the relatives to-day very much or not. It won't be exciting, but Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda would be hurt if we didn't go."

"I think it's about time we were considering somebody besides ourselves after all that's been done for us," Kitty replied. "I shall love to go, myself. I met your Cousin Tracy once in Woodford and I liked him ever so much."

And the others, whether out of courtesy or not, echoed Kitty's sentiments.

But the afternoon proved far from stupid. Cousin Tracy went to great lengths to be entertaining, and Cousin Honora and Cousin Augusta were so hospitable in their quaint surroundings that Kitty whispered to Blue Bonnet:

"I feel as if they had stepped out of a book—Cranford,—or something!" An announcement that Blue Bonnet scarcely knew whether to take as a compliment or not. She recalled the refinement of the Cranford family, but to be so far behind the time in this day and generation.

Kitty saw the puzzled expression and qualified the remark instantly.

"I mean they are so aristocratic—there is such an atmosphere about them."

It was quite eight o'clock when Andrews, the man-servant who had been with Miss Augusta for so many years, came into the library and lighted the tall candlesticks on the bookcases; stirred the fire and made the table ready for the large tray that, laden with cake and sandwiches, followed immediately. Miss Honora poured the tea, and the girls passed the refreshments.

It was all delightfully cosy, and the Boston relatives enjoyed the girls' breezy chatter; and the schoolgirl experiences, which were highly entertaining.

"And have you initiated the Spanish costume at Miss North's yet, Blue Bonnet?" Cousin Tracy asked.

The faintest pink crept into Blue Bonnet's cheeks as she remembered Cousin Tracy's introduction to the costume. She laughed gaily as she answered:

"I haven't worn it myself; but some of the girls have. It makes a fine fancy dress costume. I believe Carita had it last at a Freshman party. She was a picture in it, too."

Ten o'clock came before any one realized it. The girls had been interested in Cousin Tracy's specimens and stories; and Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda had enjoyed a visit with the relatives whom they saw too infrequently.

"Girls, it's almost over," Kitty exclaimed disconsolately, as she put her things in her bag that night at the hotel. "I wish it were just beginning."

She looked about the pretty suite which she and Amanda had occupied jointly.

"I don't know how I'm going to give up all this elegance and come down to earth, and Woodford again. Oh, dear—a little touch of high life is awfully unsettling!"

"I don't feel that way at all," Amanda declared. "It will give me something to think about for weeks to come. Kitty, how are we ever going to pay Mr. Ashe and Blue Bonnet for all they have done?"

"They don't want any pay," Blue Bonnet said, entering the room at that moment. "Uncle Cliff says he has had a beautiful time, and—well, I reckon you all know how I've enjoyed it. Could I help you pack? My trunk went from the school yesterday and my bag's all ready."

"No, I think not, thank you—unless you would be good enough to fold this dress and party coat, Blue Bonnet. I want to keep them as fresh as possible until Mother sees them. They are such loves!"

Kitty produced the box in which they had been sent home, and in another moment they were skillfully laid away between tissue paper.

"My, but you do that cleverly," Kitty said, as she watched Blue Bonnet's nimble fingers. "It almost makes one wish for an Aunt Lucinda. She taught you a great deal about neatness, didn't she?"

"She certainly did! I've learned a lot at school, too. Our bureau drawers are inspected regularly. If any one thinks boarding-school is all fun, they're mistaken. You're trained from the ground up!"