"I was sure we'd know each other, some day—I felt it!" Carita went on in her eager way. "And I believe Knight's meeting you that day was providential!"

"It was certainly providential for Sarah and me," Blue Bonnet laughed. "We'd have had a pretty spill if it hadn't been for him. But as 'all's well that ends well,' we can consider that everything has been for the best."

"That sounds like father." It seemed to Blue Bonnet that Carita smothered a sigh. "Mother and I aren't always sure that everything is for the best. But father never has the least bit of doubt." Then with a quick return of animation—"I know you'll love the camp. Knight has picked out the loveliest spot for your tents. There—look! You can see the Spring, and that gleam of white through the trees—that's Camp Judson!"



CHAPTER XI

CAMPING BY THE BIG SPRING

"OH, Blue Bonnet, do hurry!" cried Debby as Blue Bonnet galloped into camp. "It's the most wonderful place,—we can't wait for you to see it."

Blue Bonnet slipped from the saddle and flung the reins to Miguel.

"Show me everything!" she cried; and then not waiting to be shown, went from one tent to another in her usual whirlwind fashion.

"Our sleeping-tent," said Kitty; they were all trooping after the late-comer, chattering busily and explaining the most obvious arrangements. "That one's for you and the Senora; this one is the dining-room—see the table and benches Alec and Knight made! The kitchen is under that awning. Isn't that the darlingest stove?"

"And the little creek right handy!"

By the time she had completed her survey, Blue Bonnet was more enthusiastic than any one else. How she loved camping out!

The spot the boys had chosen for them was a beautiful one. Under two giant live-oaks whose branches interlaced overhead in a leafy canopy, the sleeping-tents were pitched, between them stretching an awning that formed both a dining-room and a lounging-place by day. The site had been used as a camping-ground before and still retained many conveniences installed by former campers; the underbrush had all been cut away, and the ground packed hard and level. For the kitchen, a canvas stretched between the camp-wagon and a convenient sycamore served as sufficient protection from sun and arboreal insects. The little sheet-iron stove, set up on a flat boulder, boasted an elbow in its pipe that could be adjusted to suit the direction of the wind.

A thread of a creek, tumbling down the hillside, ran not ten yards from the wagon, and at one point a tiny wooden trough had been inserted, giving the effect of a spout where kettles could be quickly filled. Alec and Knight had labored diligently to have all attractive as well as convenient, and really deserved great praise for the completeness of all details.

"Everything is perfect!" Blue Bonnet declared. "But we must have the buckboard seats in the—er—living-room. Uncle Cliff sent all three so that we could use them as easy chairs,—especially for Grandmo—why, where is she?"

"Here, dear," Mrs. Clyde came up with a tin dipper in her hand. "I've been having a drink,—such a drink, Blue Bonnet!" She held out the dripping cup and Blue Bonnet drank from it thirstily.

As she finished she met the Senora's eyes over the brim. "Oh, Grandmother, I ought to have done that—for you!" She shook her head. "I wonder if I'll ever think in time?"

Mrs. Clyde smiled and pushed the hair back from the girl's hot brow. "Where is Carita?"

"She rode on to tell her mother we had arrived. She'll be over later." Blue Bonnet glanced around the group. Every one looked warm, dusty, tired. And there was supper to get and beds to make! "What shall we do first, Grandmother?" Her manner was not exactly eager.

"First, we must all wash and brush up, for we are invited out to dinner!" Mrs. Clyde departed to suit the action to the words.

"Invited out—?" Blue Bonnet gazed at the girls incredulously.

"The boys of Camp Judson, represented by Knight, have invited us over there—"

"And we didn't waste any time in accepting!"

"Wasn't it thoughtful of them?" Blue Bonnet beamed on every one. "Now aren't you glad we brought the pinoche?"

"Let's go and dress," Debby urged.

"Dress?" echoed Blue Bonnet. "What are you going to wear—your pink panne velvet or your yellow chiffon?"

"Why, Blue Bonnet," said Sarah, "you know we haven't any clothes with us but these!"

Blue Bonnet groaned. "Then why is that worldly-minded Debby talking about dressing for dinner?"

"I meant wash and comb our hair," Debby protested.

"Where's the wash-basin, Blue Bonnet? I saw you with it when we were packing," said Sarah.

Blue Bonnet clapped a hand to her brow. "I think I put it in with the frying-pan."

"Are you sure it isn't in the bread-box?" Kitty asked.

"I wouldn't be sure it isn't." Blue Bonnet began a hasty search in the camp-wagon. Box after box was rummaged through, utensil after utensil picked up hopefully, only to disappoint when brought to the surface.

"There's no help for it," declared Debby, "we'll have to go and wash in the creek."

"Why, there may be campers below," said Sarah in a shocked tone, "and they wouldn't like to—"

"You needn't draw a diagram, Sarah," interrupted Blue Bonnet. "A word to the wise, you know. I'll polish off with cold cream." And she vanished.

Sarah, armed with towel and soap emerged from her tent a few minutes later and made her way through the willows to the creek. Blue Bonnet spying her called tauntingly: "Campers below!"

"I'm only going to wet one corner," Sarah went on calmly.

"Which corner—northeast or southwest?"

"Of the towel, of course." Then a minute later she called, "Girls, come quick!"

There was an immediate stampede to the creek.

"What is it—lions?" asked Amanda.

Sarah pointed without speaking. There, bending over an old tree-stump, admirably fashioned for a wash-stand, was the Senora calmly washing herself—in the basin.

"I found it here all ready for us," she explained. "And see—here's a nail on this little tree ready for a mirror, and branches just made to hang towels on."

"Alec and Knight haven't left a thing for me to see to," remarked Blue Bonnet. "I'm going to stop worrying."

"Oh, you were worrying, were you?" asked Kitty. "We'll know the symptoms next time."

The washing-up that ensued was very animated, if not thorough. Taking turns at the basin the girls, wincing under the cold water, "polished off" the top layer of dust; brushed ruffled locks and retied ribbons; dabbed talcum on noses and straightened creased middies. They were just putting on the finishing touches when the sound of cow-bells, rung lustily and long, came from the direction of the other Camp.

"That must be the dinner-bell," said Blue Bonnet. "I hope they won't expect us to have dainty appetites just because we're girls!"

A moment later Alec and Knight appeared to escort them in state. Midway they were met by Mr. and Mrs. Judson,—the latter with two small boys tugging at her skirts, and a third not far in the rear; a state of things that was later found to be invariably the case whenever Mrs. Judson ventured forth.

Blue Bonnet decided that she was going to like the whole Judson family. She liked the Reverend Mr. Judson with his delicate face and kind, nearsighted eyes. She liked him particularly because he looked so unministerial in his soft shirt and blue overalls. She liked Mrs. Judson, with her sweet, tired face looking out from a cavernous sun-bonnet. Mrs. Clyde's discerning eye read in the patient worn face a history of privation and self-denial; and surmised that the enthusiasm of the missionary was paid for most dearly by this uncomplaining partner.

It was to the tiniest toddler that Blue Bonnet was drawn most of all; she adored babies, and this chubby two-year-old was irresistible. She held out her arms to little Joe, but, to her surprise, he held off shyly. He scanned the row of ingratiating faces slowly, and not until his eyes rested on the kindly round countenance of Sarah did he show any response.

"Pitty lady!" he cried, holding out his arms and making a charge at her.

Sarah's face flushed pink with surprise and pleasure; and then with a rush she gathered Joe in a close hug. She had not realized until then how she had missed the little clinging arms at home.

"He spurns you, Blue Bonnet!" gasped Kitty.

"I reckon he can tell who has had experience with babies," Blue Bonnet remarked. The glance she gave Sarah was almost envious. "Well, pitty lady," she said at length, "you might leave a few kisses for somebody else!"

But Joe was chary and clung tightly to the lady of his choice; while the other girls secretly marvelled at any one's preferring Sarah to Blue Bonnet.

Carita made up for her brother's lack of appreciation; running to meet the girls, she drew Blue Bonnet's arm through her own and gave it an affectionate squeeze every few minutes.

"I hope the other girls won't mind if I monopolize you a little bit," she whispered; "they've had you so long and I'm to have such a short time."

This sort of incense no one could have been proof against; and Blue Bonnet was presently glowing.

"Welcome to Camp Judson!" said Knight proudly, as they neared a second grove of trees.

"Oh, how lovely!" Every one came to a standstill while they took in the pretty scene.

A model camp was Camp Judson. On a high flat knoll to the right was a long row of tiny white tents placed with military precision at regular spaces from each other, and each surrounded by a narrow trench. Among the trees gleamed other tents, and occasionally a gay quilt hung to air. Under one huge oak was the dining-room with a red-white-and-blue awning for a roof. Here were two long tables made of smooth boards laid on barrels, with rude benches running their entire length. They were guiltless of cloth and spread with tin dishes, for simplicity was a law as well as a necessity in this Camp. But a rustic basket of graceful ferns adorned one table, and the sun, hanging low in the sky, threw a pattern of quivering light and shade on the bare boards.

The girls had rather dreaded having to meet a dozen boys all at once. But they found the ordeal not half so bad as they had expected. The youngest boys were already gathered about the smaller table awaiting the signal to be seated; while the second table was reserved for the Judsons and their guests. Standing beside it were three tall lads wearing towels pinned about them for aprons.

"Smith, Brown and Jones—the three props of the world!" explained Knight, with a wave of his hand; and the girls acknowledged the introduction without knowing which was which. "Keep your eye on the waiters, ladies and gentlemen," Knight continued, "and report all incivilities to the management. There's a fine for every cup of cocoa they spill down anybody's neck, and another for every spider they don't see first!"

Everybody stood beside the benches for a moment while Dr. Judson said a simple grace. Blue Bonnet noticed that even the smallest boy there bent his head at once, without even so much as a nudge from his neighbor. There was a second of absolute quiet after the pleasant voice finished the short invocation; then a shoving of benches, a rattle of dishes; and the meal progressed amid peals of laughter and an incessant clucking as of chickens at feeding-time.

"Talk about chattering girls!" Blue Bonnet challenged Alec with an amused glance. She found herself seated between him and Knight, an arrangement that suited all three admirably; while Carita smiled at her across the narrow table. Some of the older boys were beside Kitty, Debby and Amanda, and all three girls seemed to be well entertained. Sarah, with a small Judson on either side of her, was occupied chiefly in alternately kissing and feeding the youthful pair. Steaming frijoles in a huge earthen bowl; bass from the Spring, fried with slices of bacon; baked potatoes, cocoa and doughnuts formed the menu, which the hearty appetites of all transformed into a banquet; and no one felt compelled to refuse a second or third helping from motives of politeness.

"Where's the Spring?" Blue Bonnet asked suddenly. "The only creek I've seen is about as wide as my hand."

"Just a short walk from camp," Knight replied. "I'm saving that to show you in the morning."

There fell a moment of silence.

"Did I hear you sigh?" Alec was looking at Blue Bonnet in astonishment. She had never looked happier or prettier in her life; sun and wind had painted a rose-blush on her cheeks; the blue eyes were positively luminous. Yet he had distinctly heard her sigh.

She nodded. "I had to. I'm just too full for utterance—no, no!—I'll take another doughnut! I didn't mean that literally. But I'm full of content,—I'd like to purr."

Alec laughed. "It's the best fun I've ever had. I believe I must be part Indian, and this is the only time I've ever been able to obey 'the call of the wild.' It makes me sorry for all the misguided folk that spend all their lives in houses."

"Look at Grandmother," Blue Bonnet whispered. "Who would ever have thought that a Colonial Dame would look so natural eating beans with a tin spoon? I wish Uncle Cliff could have come, he's a born camper."

"Why didn't Mr. Terry come to dinner?" Knight asked.

"Uncle Joe!" Blue Bonnet's spoon dropped with a clatter. She hadn't even thought of Uncle Joe! "Mrs. Judson," she stammered, "will you please excuse me? I'll be right back." Hardly waiting for Mrs. Judson's surprised "Certainly," she sprang lightly over the bench and vanished through the trees.

The We are Sevens, used to Blue Bonnet's methods, went on unconcernedly with their dessert; but the Judsons looked mildly amazed.

Blue Bonnet found Uncle Joe smoking contentedly before a cosy gypsy fire on which a coffee-pot was steaming. She burst upon him breathlessly.

"Uncle Joe—I forgot,—you're invited out to dinner!"

He smiled at her over his pipe. "I ain't got a dinner-coat, Honey."

"But, Uncle Joe—it was horrid of me I know—"

"No uncomplimentary remarks, please," he interrupted; then seeing that she was really distressed he went on seriously: "Don't you worry about Uncle Joe, Blue Bonnet. He's used to looking out for Number One. I had to help Miguel hobble the horses, and that's a job that won't wait for any man. Now I've got tortillas and bacon and coffee, and I'm that comfortable I wouldn't stir for a whole company of Texas Rangers!"

As she reluctantly departed Uncle Joe looked after the slim figure with quiet delight. "Same old Blue Bonnet. Boston folks can't get any high-toned notions into that little head!"

As Blue Bonnet slipped back into her place, she found an animated discussion in progress.

"We're trying to decide on a name for our camp," Debby explained.

"We've run through Ashe, Clyde, Trent and the rest, but they're too—exclusive," said Kitty. "We want one that will include everybody."

"Why not 'Camp We are Seven?'" asked Knight.

"Too clumsy," declared Blue Bonnet.

"Use initials then," urged Knight.

"Camp W. A. S.—sounds rather like a has-been," remarked the bright-faced boy beside Kitty.

Blue Bonnet flashed him an appreciative smile. "That would never do for a crowd as—ahem—up-to-date as we try to be!"

"Let's have something beautiful," said Kitty.

"And romantic," added Debby.

"If you want something typical of this country," Dr. Judson spoke up, "—there's an expressive phrase often used hereabouts. Those of you who know the habits of the 'greasers' don't need to be told why their country is called the 'land of poco tiempo.' It means literally 'little time'—but with the Mexicans it usually means 'after a while' or even 'by and by.' 'Always put off till to-morrow what should be done to-day' is their version of our old motto."

"That just suits me!" cried Blue Bonnet.

"I love Spanish names," exclaimed Kitty.

Poco Tiempo the camp was straightway christened; and, as they later proved, its inmates had no difficulty in living up to the name.



CHAPTER XII

POCO TIEMPO

"I RECKON we'll all sleep without rocking," Blue Bonnet smiled drowsily in on the girls who were disrobing for the night. She had stolen from Grandmother's tent for a last word, but lingered for several before departing. "How's your bed, Sarah?"

"A bit bumpy," the honest girl admitted.

"Mustn't mind a little thing like that," Blue Bonnet admonished her.

"They're not very little—just you wait and see." Sarah squirmed about seeking a level spot for her body.

Alec and Knight, who had spent hours stuffing the bed-ticks with Spanish moss, would hardly have felt repaid could they have seen her discomfort at that moment.

Observing her Blue Bonnet remarked: "I'm glad we brought the canvas cot for Grandmother. I don't mind bumpy beds myself—it isn't right to be too comfortable when you're camping out."

Kitty stood, mirror in hand, ministering unto a blistered nose, and as Sarah gave a final grunt before closing her eyes, she called suddenly: "Sarah Blake, don't you dare go to sleep 'til we've drawn lots."

"Lots?" Sarah blinked sleepily.

"To see who's to get breakfast. After that we'll take turns, two at a time."

"But there are five of us," protested Debby.

"Grandmother says to count her in. We'll give her Sarah for a running-mate,—she's about the only one that can keep Sallykins in order."

Sarah woke up at that to give the speaker a surprised and grieved look, at which Blue Bonnet burst into a laugh. "I'll label my next joke, Old Reliable," she said.

Kitty looked about her for something which they could use for lots.

Nothing seeming appropriate, she suddenly tweaked three bright hairs from her own curly head, arranged them in lengths and held them out for the others to draw.

"Shortest gets breakfast; next lunch, longest dinner," she announced tersely.

"Hooray for us!" cried Amanda, catching Blue Bonnet around the waist and hopping about on one foot, the other being unshod. "Lunch for us. Let's think up something easy."

Kitty made a grimace at the short hair left in her hand. "Breakfast! Debby, I call that hard luck."

"The others may call it harder," prophesied Blue Bonnet.

"Never mind, the Senora and Sarah will make up for it at dinner-time," said Kitty.

"Night-night!" said Blue Bonnet, preparing to leave. With her hand on the tent-flap she paused. "Shake out your shoes before you put them on in the morning!" she said; and with this dark warning fled.

Camp Judson had awakened, had had a fiercely contested water-fight, had breakfasted, tidied up, and most of its inmates scattered in quest of adventures, before the tired girls of Poco Tiempo gathered for the morning meal. Kitty and Debby, enveloped in capacious gingham aprons, and appearing somewhat flushed and nervous, stood waiting to serve.

Mrs. Clyde gave the two cooks an approving smile. "Everything looks charming," she said as she took her place at the head of the board.

The table here was spread with white oilcloth, and the dishes of blue enamelled-ware showed bright and cheerful against the immaculate expanse. Bowls of steaming oatmeal porridge stood at each place, and huge mugs of cocoa. But it was at none of these that Blue Bonnet was gazing; her eyes were fastened in wonder on a pitcher of real milk and another of real cream.

"Where did that come from?" she demanded.

"The Spring!" declared Kitty.

"Miguel rode to the Circle Y ranch and got it early this morning," Debby confessed, "and they're going to let us have it every morning."

"It's a jarring note," Blue Bonnet declared.

"All right, you can have all the 'condemned milk' you want," said Kitty, "—we've a dozen cans of it."

But Blue Bonnet was already helping herself generously to the "jarring note" and seemed to enjoy it as much as any one. Every one was exceedingly polite and made no mention of lumps in the porridge; and finally the anxious puckers in Debby's forehead began to smooth themselves out. There was a moment of veritable triumph for the cooks when they came in with the nicely browned bacon and a plate heaped high with golden corn-bread.

"Who was the artist?" the Senora asked in pleased surprise.

"I didn't know you knew how," Sarah commented.

There was a moment's hesitation, and then Blue Bonnet, who had caught a glimpse of Uncle Joe's face, pointed an accusing finger at him. "Fess up, Uncle Joe!"

Much annoyed at himself, Uncle Joe tried to deny the accusation, but Kitty's face confirmed the suspicion against him, and in the end he "fessed up" rather lamely.

"Have to do something to earn my board and keep," he protested.

"Amanda and I get lunch, you know," Blue Bonnet suggested tactfully; and Amanda telegraphed her approval of this gentle hint.

"Well, this camp is well-named," said Knight, appearing suddenly with a half-dozen boys in his train. "Is this breakfast or lunch?"

"Breakfast, and a very good one," Mrs. Clyde remarked. "Won't you join us?"

"Don't tempt my merry men," Knight begged comically. "They've never yet been known to refuse food, and though it's only an hour since breakfast, I've no confidence in them."

"Won't you please hurry?" Alec asked eagerly. "I can't wait for you all to see the Spring."

"We're ready right now," said Blue Bonnet, jumping up impulsively. "Come on, girls, it's a glorious morning for a tramp."

"Haven't you forgotten something, Blue Bonnet?" her grandmother asked.

Blue Bonnet looked puzzled. "Do you mean hats? I'd much rather go without one, if you don't mind, Grandmother."

But it was not hats that Grandmother was thinking of; gradually it dawned on Blue Bonnet that the other girls were not making ready for the excursion, but were gathering up the dishes and clearing the table. She flashed a reproachful look at them.

"You might let those wait," she protested.

Grandmother smiled. "You do surely belong to the 'land of poco tiempo,' Blue Bonnet."

"But the dishes will keep—"

"And so will the Spring!"

The girl gave a discouraged sigh; it was a pity Grandmother had not been brought up in Texas; then she would have understood what were the really necessary things in life. She nodded wistfully at the boys. "Grandmother believes in every girl's doing her duty," she said.

"We'll have the manager hold the performance," said Knight cheerfully. "We'll be back in half an hour,—Carita can go by that time, too."

Blue Bonnet brightened visibly at this, and turned resolutely to the hated tasks.

"Debby and I will wash the dishes; Sarah can 'red up,' and you and Amanda do the beds," Kitty suggested.

Aunt Lucinda's training stood Blue Bonnet in good stead here. The going over the rather bumpy beds got in that half-hour left Amanda breathless with admiration.

"You can do things beautifully when you want to, Blue Bonnet," she remarked.

"When I have to, you mean," Blue Bonnet replied.

"Where's the broom, do you know?" asked Sarah.

"Sh!" Blue Bonnet drew her into the tent and out of every one's hearing. "There isn't any broom, Sarah."

"But I put one in the wagon myself."

"And I threw it out!"

"Blue Bonnet!" Something like horror was in Sarah's blue eyes.

Blue Bonnet met her gaze defiantly. "Did you ever see a picture of the Witch of Salem, Sarah?"

Sarah gave a bewildered nod. "What has the Witch of Salem—"

"Wasn't she riding a broom?" Blue Bonnet persisted.

"Yes—but—"

"Well, in my opinion that's the only good use a broom was ever put to! It has no place in a respectable camping party."

Sarah said no more; but when, a few minutes later, Amanda and Blue Bonnet looked out to learn the source of an odd sound, they beheld the indomitable Sarah, armed with an antiquated rake, gathering up the leaves and litter on the hard dirt "floor" of the dining-room.

"Who would have thought to see our Sarah grown rakish?" asked Blue Bonnet,—and then dodged the pillow sent by Amanda's indignant hand.

By the time the allotted half-hour was up, Poco Tiempo was a model of neatness and order. The girls, booted and hatted in spite of Blue Bonnet's objections, were ready to the minute, and when the young scouts appeared they set out at once, exactly—as Blue Bonnet remarked—like the third-graders at recess.

Grandmother had settled herself comfortably with a book,—Mrs. Judson was coming over later for a chat,—and so it was with a free mind and a soul ready for a carnival of pleasure that Blue Bonnet stepped forth on the joyous expedition.

"I reckon it is better," she admitted to Alec, "to have everything done first, instead of having them to do when you're tired."

"Oh, wise young judge!" he laughed. "We'll make a New Englander of you yet."

"That reminds me of something Cousin Tracey said once. He thought I was developing a New England conscience, and said it was an exceedingly troublesome thing to have around. I believe him,—it's much more fun to develop Kodak films. There now!" she broke off impatiently, "—if I haven't left my camera in the tent. And I want pictures of the Spring."

"Never mind, we'll be up here every day," said Alec. "There's a jolly little rustic bridge where you can gather the crowd for a group picture. Here we are!"

He and Blue Bonnet had walked faster than the others, and so were first to see this most beautiful of springs. Blue Bonnet gave one look, and then something rose in her throat, stifling breath and speech. Alec watched her appreciatively.

"If he speaks to me now, he's not the boy I've always believed him," the girl was saying to herself. She dreaded the first word that should break in on that moment of perfect beauty.

Below them the giant spring surged up, a great emerald in a setting of woods and hills. Clear as air, the water boiled up from the bowels of the earth, revealing every fish and pebble in its mirror-like depths. Shrubs overhung it; wild cresses and ferns clustered about it; below the surface long tresses of pinky-coral grasses floated and waved in the bubbling current.

A voice shattered the blissful moment of peace. "Isn't she a beauty?"

It was a sandy-haired youth with Kitty who had clambered roughly into the picture. Blue Bonnet hated him fiercely for a few seconds. Then the rest came up with a babble of voices and exclamations and she resigned herself, with a sigh, to the fact that the gift of silence, being golden, is given to but few.

Knight gave her a questioning glance and she glowed back at him. "It's perfect—almost too perfect."

"There's a wee spring up higher,—the camp creek flows from it. Do you feel equal to the climb?" he asked her.

She gave eager assent, and, after lingering a few minutes for the others and finding them too slow for the pace she liked, Blue Bonnet followed Knight up a steep winding path that circled the hill.

He carried a "twenty-two" rifle swung across his shoulders, and in his belt a rather formidable looking knife.

"For use or ornament?" she asked, indicating the weapons. "You look like Dick Danger."

"Strictly for use," he assured her. "The gun has brought down many a toothsome 'possum, and the knife serves to cut anything from firewood to alpenstocks. Shall I cut you one to assist your feeble steps?"

They halted while he selected a sapling for the purpose, trimmed and sharpened it at the end.

"Alpine travellers put sharp iron points on their staffs, Uncle says," he explained, "so that by thrusting them in the ice and snow they keep from slipping. We don't need them for just that purpose, but they are handy on steep paths—and to kill bugs with!"

She accepted the "alpenstock" gratefully and soon found it useful for both purposes.

"When we get back to camp I'll get Sandy to carve your initials in it—he's quite a genius at carving," Knight said.

"Is Sandy the—sandy one?"

"Precisely."

"Then I don't think I like him."

"Oh, but you will when you know him better," Knight protested. "He's tremendously clever,—a born orator. He won a medal last year in a debate."

"That accounts for his talking so much," Blue Bonnet laughed. "He's always at it."

"But unlike most incessant talkers, he says something," Knight urged for his friend. "We'll get him to recite some evening, then you can judge how talented he is."

"Does he do 'Curfew shall not—?'" she asked mischievously.

"Grief, no!" Knight's disgusted tone sent Blue Bonnet off in a fit of laughter. To her surprise the ripple of her laugh came back in a gleeful "ha, ha!" that had something witchlike about it. She turned a startled face to her companion.

"We've reached the 'Whispering Grotto,'" he explained. "The echo is famous." He pushed aside a low-growing bough, and brushing by it Blue Bonnet found herself in a lovely little cave-like spot, in the centre of which was a tiny spring. It bubbled up somewhere back in the hill and had made a long tunnel, coming to the light just here.

"Oh, for a cup. I'm thirsty as—as Tantalus!" sighed Blue Bonnet.

"A Texas girl crying for a cup?" Knight asked teasingly.

"That wouldn't have happened before I went to Woodford. I've been going through what they call—being civilized. It's mostly learning not to shock the New England sense of propriety."

"I'm not a New Englander!"

Knight's eyes were daring her; and it was fatal. What Sarah would have said if she could have seen Blue Bonnet's method of getting a drink is hard to conjecture. Hardly had she time to spring to her feet when voices were heard close at hand.

"I can hear Sandy." She turned eagerly to Knight. "Let's go on—I don't feel ready for a crowd."

"There's a lovely view from the top of the hill," he suggested.

Her only answer was to push on, plying her alpenstock eagerly in her haste to elude the others. Pausing only when the top of the hill was reached, she sank at length on a fallen tree-trunk. The view was all Knight had promised for it, overlooking a quiet valley.

"Let's call it 'Peaceful Valley,'" she said.

"It may have a different name on the map, but no one can prevent our christening it what we like," he agreed.

Blue Bonnet was content to rest for a while here. There was no sign of life anywhere, except a solitary bird wheeling about far above their heads.

"A swallow-tailed kite," Knight said as the bird dropped suddenly into clearer view. "Graceful, isn't it?"

All at once the big kite alighted on the dead branch of a tree near them.

"What glorious wings!" breathed Blue Bonnet.

"Would you like one for your hat?" Knight asked.

"Oh, wouldn't I!" she cried eagerly.

Quick as flash Knight swung his rifle about, aimed and fired. Blue Bonnet put her fingers in her ears with an exclamation of alarm. The bird toppled as if to fall, then righted itself with a lurch and fluttered out from the tree. Blue Bonnet gave a sigh of relief.

"I was so afraid you had hurt him!" she cried,—and the words died away in a gasp of distress. The kite, pitching headlong, had fallen almost at her feet.

She dropped on her knees beside it; but the bird was still. Knight, bending over her, was suddenly filled with surprise and dismay; she was crying like a child.

"It was so mean and vain of me," she said with quivering lips, "—to want him just for a hat, when he was having such a beautiful time."

Knight was pale with hatred of himself.

She looked up at last and smiled mistily through her tears. "I reckon you think I am pretty much of a baby. But I can't bear to see things—die."

"It's only a big hawk," he said to comfort both himself and her.

She looked up hopefully. "And hawks are mean birds, aren't they,—that kill little chickens and other birds?"

He hesitated, then said unwillingly: "Some hawks do. But this is a different kind. It lives on snakes and insects—"

"Then it is a good bird!—that's what Uncle Cliff calls them." Her face clouded again and she turned towards camp.

"You don't want one of the wings then?"

She shuddered. "Oh, no!" Then she paused. "I will have—I saw some feathers fall. Will you give me one? I want it for a reminder."

Knight picked up one of the tiny barred wing-feathers and handed it to her. "A reminder?"

"I'm never going to wear things like that again—wings and birds and all those cruel ornaments. I never realized before—And whenever I am tempted I shall look at this."

Knight bent, picked up another of the feathers and laid it away in his fly-book. "I need a reminder, too," he remarked.

"But you never wear birds in your hats," Blue Bonnet said wonderingly.

"My reminder shall be: 'Think before you shoot,'" he said quietly.



CHAPTER XIII

AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE

THERE was no sign of the other trampers when Blue Bonnet and Knight reached the little grotto; and descending to the Big Spring they found even that charming spot deserted.

Blue Bonnet looked around in surprise.

"Do you suppose we've missed them on the way down?" Raising her voice she gave her ranch-call—"Ho, ye ho, ho!"

"—ho ho!" the hill sent back; but no feminine or masculine voice answered the well-known notes.

Blue Bonnet, child of the open, then looked at the sun and the shadows and gave an exclamation of astonishment. "It's past noon! They've gone back to camp. My, I'll have to hurry—it's my turn to cook lunch."

She darted impetuously down the hillside, and Knight found himself compelled to move briskly in order to keep up with her. They went too fast for conversation, but once Blue Bonnet paused long enough to say over her shoulder—"You'll come to lunch, won't you?"

"Catch me refusing now I know who the cook is!" he replied gaily.

The path opened at last on the open space before Poco Tiempo. There was sound of voices and laughter, and yes—the clink of dishes! Blue Bonnet turned a rueful face to Knight—"Do you hear that? They won't say a thing to me!"

"I am armed,—trust me to protect you," he declaimed theatrically.

They had to pass through the "kitchen" first, and there the clutter of empty pots and pans told their own story. From the dining-room the others caught sight of the tardy pair and a wild hubbub at once arose.

"Tramps!"

"Set the dogs on them!"

"Why don't you work for a living?"

Knight's eyes twinkled as he looked from Blue Bonnet's amazed countenance to the teasing faces about the table. Lunch was evidently not only ready but largely consumed.

"What are you eating so early for?" Blue Bonnet demanded.

"Early!"

"Twenty minutes past one!"

"No—!" Blue Bonnet gasped, subsiding on the end of the bench and fanning her hot face with her hat. "Now, isn't that the funniest thing?"

"I'm glad you see the point of your own joke," retorted Kitty. "We have decided to give you a week's notice to get a new place."

"I engage her on the spot," said Knight. "It's all my fault."

"We won't give her a reference," said Kitty.

"You needn't—if you'll just give me food," said Blue Bonnet. "Alec, make room for Knight beside you, will you? We're both starved. Who made the muffins?"

"Guess," said Kitty, relenting and passing her the nearly empty plate.

Sarah intercepted it. "I'll get you some hot ones." And she rose hastily.

Blue Bonnet laughed. "Now I know! Grandmother, did you help Sarah?"

Mrs. Clyde nodded. "The girls came back so hungry I thought we had better not wait for the chief cook. No one knew where you were."

"I'm going to wear a cow-bell after this," Blue Bonnet declared. "Sarah, if I could make such muffins I'd insist upon cooking every meal."

"I reckon you don't need any protection," Knight said in an undertone.

"Oh, there's safety in numbers. Wait till Amanda catches me alone! We two will have to get dinner now." She buttered her third muffin and then glanced happily around the table. "I've a lovely scheme," she hinted.

"Did you ever see any one so bowed down with penitence?" asked Kitty; adding promptly, "What's the scheme?"

"It's to invite Alec and Knight to get down logs, make us a huge bonfire and—"

"That's just like Blue Bonnet," Kitty broke in, "—she'll let you do the work and she'll do the rest!"

"—and then invite them to a party," Blue Bonnet went on imperturbably.

"'She'll do the grand with a lavish hand,'" quoted Alec. "We're your men. A Party—with a big P—is what our souls have been pining for. Where shall we build the festive pyre?"

"In the open space between the two camps. There'll be no danger to the trees there and plenty of room to sit around it. I'll tell Miguel to bring up one of the wagon horses to drag logs,—I want a perfectly mammoth fire."

"You ought to have been a man, Blue Bonnet," Debby remarked, "—you would have made such a wonderful general. Your ability to put other people to work amounts to positive genius."

But Blue Bonnet had already gone in search of Miguel, with Alec and Knight in her train. For the rest of the afternoon the "General" demonstrated that she could not only put other people to work, but could work herself, to advantage. While the boys—whose forces had been augmented by the addition of Sandy, Smith, Brown and Jones—got down logs and built them into a miniature log cabin, Blue Bonnet made great preparations for the Party. She spread all her Indian blankets at a proper distance from the bonfire-to-be; distributed the buck-board seats judiciously, planning to add the dining-room benches as soon as supper was out of the way; whittled great quantities of long willow wands to a sharp point, maintaining great secrecy as to the use to which the latter were to be put; and stacked many boxes of the delectable pinoche in a convenient spot.

Hardly had these preparations been completed when Amanda announced that it was time to begin cooking dinner. Blue Bonnet looked at her aghast.

"I think it's maddening," she declared. "We are in a continual state of washing up after one meal and getting ready for another. And this is what Grandmother calls 'simplicity'—! It would be a heap—much—simpler if I could just say—'Lisa, we'll have dinner at six.' That would end it,—and what could be simpler?"

"What shall we have?" asked Amanda, considering that subject more to the point.

"Baked potatoes, then we won't have to peel them,—I'd as soon skin a rabbit. And Gertrudis cooked a leg of lamb, so that we'll only have to warm it up."

"Shall we try hot bread?" asked Amanda.

"Certainly not! Hot bread twice to-day already—we'll all have indigestion. We've stacks of loaves, and bread and maple syrup is good enough camp fare for any one. If we're going in for the simple life, let's be simple."

"That reminds me of something we translated in the German class," said Amanda. "'Man ist was er isst'—and it means 'one is what one eats.' And another German said 'Tell me what you eat and I'll tell you what you are.'"

"Do you mean to tell me that if I live on angel-cake I'll grow to be angelic?" demanded Blue Bonnet.

"Hardly!" laughed Amanda. "It would take a good deal more than that! No offence, Blue Bonnet,—I like you best when you're—the other thing. The Germans are always arguing about something or other. We used to take sides in class and nearly come to blows."

"You should have taken French," said Blue Bonnet, before she thought.

"You didn't think that last March!" Amanda teased; and the next moment could have bitten her tongue out for the thoughtless speech. Blue Bonnet did not smile; it was evident that the memory of the day when all the members of the French class except herself had "cut" was still a bitter one.

"I'll wash the potatoes," Amanda offered in amend for having touched a painful chord.

"All right!" Blue Bonnet beamed acceptance of the kind intention and handed over the pan without hesitation. "I'll make up a hot fire, and we'll get everything started and the table set,—then you and I are going to the Spring."

"Oh, are we?" asked Amanda blankly. One never knew what scheme lurked in the back of Blue Bonnet's head.

"For table decorations. I saw some ferns and wild honeysuckle near the bank, and it won't take much time to gather enough for the table."

"Decorating the table isn't 'simple,' is it?" Amanda asked rather provokingly.

"If you know anything simpler than a wildflower, I'd like to be shown it," retorted Blue Bonnet. "Come on, we must do some tall hustling."

The "tall hustling" got the table set in a rather sketchy fashion; hurried the potatoes into a scorching oven; placed the already cooked roast in the top of the same oven at the same time; and saw Blue Bonnet and Amanda headed for the Spring, bearing a fruit-jar and the camp's only carving-knife, just as Uncle Joe came up the bank with a fine string of speckled trout.

"All ready to fry, Honey," he said, holding them up proudly.

"Hide them quick!" cried Blue Bonnet in alarm, "shooing" him back towards the creek.

Used as he was to Blue Bonnet's impetuosity, this move of hers filled him with amazement. "What's the matter,—they're perfectly good trout!" he urged.

"They're lovely. But I wouldn't fry one for ten million dollars! Keep them for breakfast, Uncle Joe,—Sarah will know how to do them beautifully."

With an understanding chuckle, Uncle Joe went off to cache his string of beauties in a cool place along the creek; and Blue Bonnet and Amanda continued their quest for ferns.

As they were returning, crowned with success, they met the Senora just back from a stroll with Mrs. Judson. The three other girls were already sitting suggestively about the board.

"There," said Blue Bonnet triumphantly, as she deposited the fruit-jar in the centre of the table with its graceful ferns and honeysuckle trailing over the oil-cloth, "feast on that!"

"I call that a pretty slim dinner," said Kitty.

Blue Bonnet, disdaining the insinuation, departed rather hastily to the kitchen, drawn thither by a strong odor and a still stronger suspicion of disaster. The sheet-iron stove was red-hot. Catching up a cloth she flung open the oven door, and then backed abruptly away from the cloud of acrid yellow smoke that rolled thickly into her face.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet!" wailed Amanda. "Everything's burned to a cinder! We shouldn't have gone off."

Blue Bonnet's only reply was a violent fit of coughing. The smoke continued to pour in dense billows from the oven. "Grab the pans, quick!" she managed to choke out.

Amanda made a valiant dive through the smoke, and had just time to seize the pans from the top and bottom of the oven, when she, too, was overcome, and in the paroxysm of coughing that followed threatened to burst a blood-vessel. Finally with crimson faces and streaming eyes, both cooks gazed ruefully down on the black marbles that had been potatoes, and the charred drum-stick that had once been a leg of spring lamb.

"Keep back—no trespassing!" called Blue Bonnet as the other girls, scenting fun as well as the odor of burning things, came running from the dining-room. "This is our funeral and we don't want any mourners!" She waved them back peremptorily, at the same time screening the ruins with her apron.

The discomfited We are Sevens returned to their seats, and a moment later there came the sound of spoons being vigorously thumped on the table.

"We want dinner!" came imperiously from the hungry girls.

Amanda looked imploringly at her partner. "What shall we do?"

Blue Bonnet thought hard for a moment. All at once her brow cleared. "Here, take the meat, go find a gopher-hole and push that bone down into it as far as it will go. The potatoes can't be burned all the way through,—we'll scrape what's left into a bowl. And I'll tell Uncle Joe I've changed my mind,—we'll have the trout for dinner. And, Amanda, you'll hurry back, won't you, and put the fish in the pan—I simply can't touch 'em!"

Each sped to fulfil her allotted task, and in an incredibly short space of time a family of gophers was sniffing about a strange object blocking their front door; and a pan of fragrant trout sputtered on top of the little stove. As Blue Bonnet set the great platter of perfectly browned fish in front of her grandmother, there was a flattering "ah!" of anticipation that repaid—almost repaid, her for the previous bad quarter of an hour. Canned pears and the cookies that should have been saved for future emergencies, completed a dinner which was voted "not half bad" by the other girls, who secretly marvelled at getting any dinner at all. No one noticed that neither Blue Bonnet nor Amanda partook of potatoes, and there proved to be ample for the rest.

"I'll wash the dishes, Amanda," Blue Bonnet offered, when at last that night-mare of a dinner was over. "I ought to walk over red-hot plowshares, or wear a hair-shirt or something as a penance for my sins of this day. Lacking both plowshares and shirt, I'll substitute dish-washing. And you may bear me witness—I'd take the hair-shirt if I had my choice!"

It was a very weary Blue Bonnet who turned the dishpan upside down and hung the dish-cloth on a bush to dry. The long tramp of the morning, the preparations for the bonfire party, and then the exhausting experience of getting dinner, had tired even her physique, which had seldom known fatigue.

"I wish we could dis-invite the company," she said to Amanda.

"So do I," groaned her partner. "Fancy having to sit around a bonfire and sing 'merrily we roll along'—! It makes me ache all over."

Later, when the inmates of both camps were gathered in a great circle about the fire, singing, jesting and story-telling, both girls forgot their weariness and might have been heard singing the same "merrily we roll along" with great zest and vocal strength.

The bonfire did its builders proud and without any preparatory sulking or coaxing burst almost at once into pillars of soaring flame. There was a backing away at first on the part of the spectators as the intense heat began to scorch the circle of faces; then a gradual drawing near again. It was not until the flames had died down and the logs were a mass of glowing coals that Blue Bonnet handed around her willow-wands. Each one was now tipped with a white ball, puffy, round and mysterious.

To most of the boys this was an innovation, and they had to be shown how to hold the white globules over the coals until they spluttered and swelled to bursting.

"Now eat them!" she commanded. There was a chary tasting and then an ecstatic cry—"Marshmallows!"

The rapidity with which the tin boxes were emptied might have appalled a less generous provider than Blue Bonnet; but she had relied upon Uncle Cliff to fill her order for marshmallows, and consequently felt no fear of "going short."

When little Bayard had consumed his ninth "moth-ball" as he persisted in calling the sweets, his mother rose to take her brood home. Mr. Judson bent to lift Joe who had fallen asleep in Sarah's arms, and then turned to Blue Bonnet. "Good-night," he said, holding out his free hand and smiling down into the girl's tired face; "this is the first time I ever partook of toasted moonshine, and I've enjoyed my initiation."

Carita kissed her impulsively. "It's the loveliest party I've ever been to," she whispered.

Blue Bonnet looked wistfully after the departing group. "Aren't families the nicest things in all the world?" she asked Sarah, as she sank on the blanket beside this member of a numerous clan.

"The very nicest." And Sarah, whose arms still felt the warmth of little Joe, stared into the fire with eyes that saw in the coals the picture of a family in far-off Woodford.

There were a few more songs; an eighth or ninth rendition of

"Meet me, dearest Mandy, By the water-melion vine"—

for the benefit of Amanda, who hated it, and then the rest rose reluctantly to depart.

"It's the swellest thing in the bonfire line I've ever attended," Sandy assured Mrs. Clyde; and she could excuse the phrase because of the undoubted enthusiasm of the speaker.

Half a dozen of the boys tramped away in a bunch, and there floated back to the group about the fire the rhythmic refrain of "Good-night, ladies!" until it finally died away in a sleepy murmur.

Only the older boys had lingered and they, after making arrangements for a horse-back ride on the morrow, slowly straggled away.

"Where's Blue Bonnet?" asked Alec; he was one of the last, loitering for a final word with his hostess.

"She was sitting by me a little while ago," said Sarah, looking towards the Navajo.

The spot was in shadow, but as they looked in that direction, a log fell, and a slender flame sprang up. In the light they saw Blue Bonnet, curled up on the bright blanket, with her head pillowed on her arm.

She was fast asleep.



CHAPTER XIV

A FALLING IN

"HOW'S the Sleeping Beauty this morning?" was Alec's salutation to Blue Bonnet, when he appeared early next day in advance of the other picnickers. Blue Bonnet asleep at her own party had been a spectacle he would not soon forget; it was almost as funny as being absent from her first tea, on that memorable day in Woodford.

"The Sleeping Beauty could find it in her heart to envy Rip Van Winkle; a nap like his is just what I crave. But no,—Sarah must needs have breakfast at cock-crow," Blue Bonnet complained.

"Why, Blue Bonnet, it was after eight o'clock when I called you," returned Sarah in a grieved tone.

"Sarah didn't want breakfast mistaken for lunch again," said Amanda.

"My prophetic soul tells me that we are going to conduct ourselves like a model Sunday-school class to-day," Blue Bonnet remarked.

"What makes you think so?" asked Amanda, in whom the memory of yesterday's trials was still undimmed.

"'Well begun is half done,' you know. And this beginning is obnoxiously perfect." Blue Bonnet was wiping off the oil-cloth as she spoke; dishes were already washed, beds done, and all without a hitch.

"I hope our picnic won't prove to be of the Sunday-school variety," said Kitty.

"I'm sure our Sunday-school picnics at home are always very nice," Sarah said reprovingly.

"Every one to his taste!" was Kitty's airy rejoinder.

"You can make up your mind that this picnic won't be like any other you ever attended," Alec assured them. "Knight has a scheme up his sleeve that will bear watching. I wonder, Blue Bonnet, if Mrs. Clyde would mind letting us take coffee?"

Blue Bonnet reflected. "To-morrow is Sunday and we're privileged to have it for breakfast. If we have it to-day instead I'm sure she won't object. What else shall we take?"

"Only some bread, some lump sugar and a tin of milk, please," said Alec modestly.

Amanda gave a sudden exclamation of joy. "Then we won't be back to lunch,—oh, Blue Bonnet, that lets us out to-day!"

They fell upon each other rapturously.

"I think we are the ones who should rejoice," said Kitty; but her remark met with the silent scorn it deserved.

They mustered a troop of twelve, all mounted, for Knight's picnic. Riding by twos, they cantered decorously as long as the eyes of their elders followed their course; but when a turn in the road freed them from observation, there was a spurring and an urging of the wiry ponies, and away they went, recking little of the grade whether up or down.

It became a game of follow-my-leader, with Knight and Blue Bonnet heading the procession and putting their horses through a performance that would have lamed anything but a Western cow-pony. Knight finally led the way to one of the "race-paths" that abound in the hilly regions of Texas, and there began a tournament that for years lived in Sarah's memory as the most reckless exhibition of daring ever seen outside a circus-ring.

"Who made this race-track?" she asked Knight in one of the infrequent pauses in the performance.

"Nature!" He laughed at the look of incredulity with which Sarah met this assertion. In truth she had good reason to doubt his word; the smooth broad road encircling the hill, a full quarter of a mile long, edged on either side by a dense growth of cedars, seemed unmistakably to show the hand of man in its creation.

"It's the solemn truth I'm telling you," Knight insisted, "—I swear it by the mane of my milk-white steed!"

Sarah gave one glance at the dark yellow buckskin pony he rode, and then clucked impatiently to Comanche. She objected to having her faith in people imposed upon.

Knight was still laughing when Blue Bonnet came up and challenged him to a race. "My reputation for truth-telling is forever lost in Senorita Blake's estimation," he told her.

"What do you think of Sarah, anyway?" It would be curious to know just how a Western boy regarded Old Reliable.

"She's very nice," he said, with an utter absence of enthusiasm, "—but not exciting."

Blue Bonnet smiled. "And Kitty?" she continued. Perhaps it wasn't polite in a hostess to discuss her guests, but she just had to ask that.

"She's very pretty and vivacious," he replied with an increase of warmth. "She lacks only one thing to make her irresistible."

"And that?"

"Having been brought up in Texas!"

If Knight had expected a blush to follow his outspoken compliment he was disappointed. Blue Bonnet's hearty laugh showed a very healthy absence of self-consciousness in her make-up.

"My Aunt Lucinda thinks that is my very worst drawback," she declared; and then chirping to Firefly, she was off at a break-neck pace, hat bobbing, brown braid flying, her eyes alight with the excitement of the race.



The climax of the day was the gypsy picnic. When Blue Bonnet beheld the camp-fire with the pail of coffee steaming away over the bed of coals, and saw the feast spread out informally on the ground, with wild grape leaves for plates, she gave an exclamation of delight.

"Isn't it heavenly?" she cried.

Alec laughed. "I believe, Blue Bonnet, that your idea of heaven is to live in a wickiup and subsist on mustang grapes and wild berries indefinitely,—now isn't it?"

"Exactly—except that I'd add some of the bacon Knight is preparing to give us. That's the way the cowboys cook it."

Knight had cut a dozen or more twigs having a forked branch at the tip; on the end of each he placed a slice of bacon and then handed around the "forks" ceremoniously. "I'm not going to offer you anything so dainty as toasted moonshine," he explained, "but it's a heap more substantial."

They all gathered gypsy-fashion about the fire, toasting the bacon and their faces impartially; then transferring the crisp curly brown strips to the big slices of bread, devoured them with exclamations of approval that were most grateful to the arranger of the feast. Even canned cream failed to detract from the flavor of the coffee, and they consumed great quantities of the fragrant beverage, even Sarah partaking most intemperately.

Only a lot of ponies inured to the hardships of the round-up would have remained patient through the frolics of that day, and some of these wiry ponies looked rather drooping when the picnickers turned towards camp.

Mrs. Clyde, who had been watching the road rather anxiously as the shadows began to lengthen, brightened at once when Blue Bonnet's cheery call sounded through the trees.

"Oh, Grandmother, we've had the most gorgeous time in the world!" Blue Bonnet cried, as she flung herself out of the saddle. "Did you ever see such a beautifully mussed-up crowd in all your life?"

"If that is an evidence of a 'gorgeous time' you must certainly have had one," Mrs. Clyde smiled as her glance travelled from one rumpled and spotted We are Seven to another.

"These are the only skirts we brought and mine is all spluttered up with bacon," mourned Sarah.

"I think you will all have to go to bed while I wash them," the Senora suggested laughingly.

"Grandmother, please don't let Sarah play upon your sympathies. She doesn't appreciate how becoming a little dirt is to her peculiar style of beauty. She looks almost—human." The look of pained surprise Sarah turned on her sent Blue Bonnet off in a fit of merriment. "Oh, for a picture of that expression!" she cried. "And that reminds me,—I told all the boys to be at the Spring in fifteen minutes. There is plenty of light for a snap-shot and I've just a few films left."

"Oh, Blue Bonnet, haven't you done enough tramping to-day?" her grandmother exclaimed. "You ought to rest."

Blue Bonnet shook her head. "I can't rest till I get that picture. I want the boys and the We are Sevens on the little rustic bridge. Now, Sarah, don't you dare tidy up till I get you just as you are. I want you to pose as Terrible Tom the Texas Terror."

That Sarah had her own opinion as to who the Texas Terror might be was shown by her expression as she relinquished her design of brushing her hair, and followed the other girls up the hill to the Big Spring.

The boys were already assembled and were now grouped on the bridge in attitudes meant to be artistic and fetching.

The rustic bridge—rather more rustic than substantial—was suspended just over a pretty waterfall, which slipped down a smooth runway of eight or ten feet into a pool all foam and spray; a charming spot for a group-picture. It required both skill and patience to get every one posed and the camera focussed; Blue Bonnet had just completed these preliminaries, when Alec upset everything by insisting that he should be the photographer and she a member of the group. The rest supported his contention that she should be in the picture, and in the argument that followed, the chances for any picture at all grew slim.

Just then Uncle Joe appeared, and was at once pressed into service. Blue Bonnet gave explicit directions as to the precise moment at which the bulb was to be pressed, and then proceeded to join the rest who were in the agonies of trying to look pleasant.

"Do hurry, Blue Bonnet," urged Sarah nervously, "I can hear the bridge creaking."

A roar of derision followed this declaration and some of the smaller boys began stamping on the old timbers for the sheer joy of seeing poor Sarah quake. At the precise moment that Blue Bonnet stepped from the bank to her place by the rail, there was a loud report, followed by a scream.

Uncle Joe, looking up from the reflector, saw the bridge parted neatly in the middle, and the entire party shooting the chutes in a most informal manner. By the time the first boy had finished the descent, Uncle Joe was in the water fishing out the gasping victims. The pool was not deep, but the swift fall carried the smaller lads under the surface, and they came up too dazed to see the hands held out to seize them. Knight and Sandy found their feet at once, and with Uncle Joe formed a dam against which the others were caught like salmon in a river-trap.

Sarah was fished up by her blond braids and came up gasping, "I told you so!" before she opened her eyes.

"That's about as busy a spell as I've had for some time," Uncle Joe declared as he hauled out the last of the small boys and then clambered up the steep bank.

"You showed great presence of mind, Uncle Joe—except for one thing," said Blue Bonnet. "If you had just taken a snap-shot when the bridge broke I'd be quite happy."

"And if a few of us had drowned while he was doing it—" Kitty began ironically.

"You'd have missed being in the picture, poor souls! Well, since we're all alive, let's go break the news gently to the grown-ups." Blue Bonnet looked around the drenched, shivering group and then burst into peals of laughter.

In truth they were a sorry looking lot. Soaked to the skin, with hair and clothes dripping and bedraggled, they all looked at each other as if surprised and grieved to find themselves part of so undignified a company.

Grandmother's expression when the We are Sevens hove into sight, sent Blue Bonnet off into another gale of merriment.

"We've been shooting the chutes, Grandmother," she said with dancing eyes.

"Without a boat," added Kitty.

It took Sarah to tell the story in all its harrowing details, and at its conclusion Mrs. Clyde looked sober.

"Were you really in danger?" she asked Blue Bonnet.

"Not a bit," Blue Bonnet declared. "Sarah was the only one who came near drowning and that was because she would talk under water."

Fifteen minutes later the little sheet-iron stove was red-hot, and on a hastily strung clothes-line about it hung an array of dripping garments that almost hid it from view.

"There's one comfort about all this," said Kitty, "our skirts and middies have had a much-needed bath."

"I'm afraid they won't be very clean,—cold water won't take grease out," said Sarah mournfully. "And I'd like to know—how are we going to iron them?"

They were all sitting in a circle about a blazing bonfire of Uncle Joe's building, with their streaming hair spread out to dry. Dressing-gowns and bedroom slippers had made it unnecessary to go to bed while their wardrobe hung on the line, and now that they were warm and comfortable, they were disposed to look on the adventure of the afternoon as more of a lark than a misfortune.

"Do you recall a prophecy you made this morning, Blue Bonnet?" asked Kitty.

Blue Bonnet shook her head.

"Your 'prophetic soul' told you, if I remember rightly, that we were going to conduct ourselves like a model Sunday-school class to-day."

"Well, if anybody would promise me as much fun in Sunday-school as I've had this day, I'd never be absent or tardy!" laughed Blue Bonnet.

Sarah looked pained. "It's Sunday to-morrow," she remarked. "I wonder what Dr. Judson will take as the text of his sermon."

Blue Bonnet gave her a long, curious glance. "Do you really wonder, Sarah, about things like that?"

Sarah raised honest, serious eyes. "Why, of course, Blue Bonnet. Don't you?"

"No," she confessed, "but I do wonder—at you!"

As they sat silent for a moment about the blazing logs, Blue Bonnet had an inspiration.

"Grandmother," she asked abruptly, "are you very hungry?"

"Why—is it your turn to get dinner?" Mrs. Clyde smiled; she was shaking the water from her granddaughter's long hair, and spreading it in the warm rays of the fire.

"No, Amanda and I were to get lunch. But are you?"

"Not at all. Mrs. Judson and I had an excellent dinner at noon."

"Well, I've a splendid idea. There are heaps of hot ashes down under the logs. We can bury some potatoes there,—the cowboys cook them that way and they are delicious. Then with some devilled-ham sandwiches we could sit right here and eat, and have no tiresome dishes to wash up afterwards."

"Hear, hear!" cried Kitty and Debby.

"It's easy to see whose turn it is to wash dishes," laughed Amanda.

"It's right handsome of you, Blue Bonnet," Kitty remarked gratefully, "—especially when it wasn't your turn to officiate. I'll make the sandwiches and Debby—you get the potatoes."

That buffet supper was later pronounced the most successful meal ever prepared in Poco Tiempo.

"This is truly Bohemian," remarked Mrs. Clyde, as with a newspaper for both plate and napkin, she joined the group about the fire, "—much more so than the studio-luncheons they call Bohemian in Boston."

"Fancy anything trying to be Bohemian in Boston!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet. "They haven't a thing in common."

"They both begin with a B," said Sarah.

The girls were too surprised to laugh.

"Is that a joke, Sarah?" asked Kitty in an awestruck tone.

"Of course not,—they do, don't they?" she returned.

As the girls collapsed at this, she looked up in puzzled surprise. "I'd like to know what's so funny about that," she remarked plaintively.

"There comes Mrs. Judson," exclaimed Debby.

There was a hasty wiping of blackened fingers on newspaper napkins as the girls rose to greet this unexpected guest. The little figure approaching them seemed slighter than ever, and the gingham dress fairly trailed over the long grass. The face was hidden in the inevitable sunbonnet.

"Hello, everybody, are you dry yet?" called a cheerful voice.

"Carita!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet. "We thought you were your mother."

Carita looked down at her loosely fitting garment and laughed. "I had to wear this while my dress dried. Knight said I ought to hang out a sign—'room to let.' Mother made me wear the sunbonnet because my hair is still wet. But I said I could dry it by your fire as well as anywhere else." She tossed away the cavernous bonnet and the chestnut locks fell in a cloud about her shoulders. With her dark eyes and skin framed by the long straight hair she looked like a young Indian.

"Have a potato?" asked Blue Bonnet, spearing one with a stick and presenting it to the guest.

"Thank you." Carita took it as if this were the usual fashion of serving this vegetable, and ate it with the ease born of long experience. Suddenly she gave an exclamation. "Oh, I nearly forgot. Alec sent over something. The boys couldn't come for they've nothing to wear but blankets—they're rolled up like a lot of mummies around the fire. But Alec and Knight and Sandy have been writing something,—I think it's a letter."

"It's a poem!—oh, Blue Bonnet, you read it aloud." Kitty handed over the verses and in the flickering light they gathered close about Blue Bonnet as she read:

THE BRIDGE

"We stood on a bridge in Texas, Near a camp far, far from town; We stood there in broad daylight,— 'Cause there wasn't room to sit down.

"We posed on that bridge so rustic, To be snapped by Uncle Joe, And we smiled and looked real pleasant, Yet one heart was filled with woe.

"For a stream, both swift and deadly, Flowed beneath the bridgelet there, And the creaking of the timbers Gave this timid maid a scare.

"As sweeping eddying 'neath us The deep, dark waters rolled, She could seem to see our finish— Dashed beneath the waters cold.

"Yet the bridge still held, but trembled, —Gleamed the torrent chilly, vast,— And the weight of one Blue Bonnet Broke the camel's back at last!"

"Who did it?" cried Blue Bonnet.

"All three helped," said Carita. "But I think Sandy did most."

"He must be cleverer than he looks," said Blue Bonnet.

"Why, don't you think he looks clever?" exclaimed Kitty, "I do."

"It wasn't clever of him to have sandy hair," Blue Bonnet declared perversely.

"As if he could help it!" said Sarah.

"We must write a 'pome,' too," said Blue Bonnet.

"We?" exclaimed Debby. "I never found two words to rhyme in all my life. You and Kitty are the only ones who ever 'drop into poetry.'"

"The muse must be partial to red hair," said Amanda. And though Kitty sniffed insultedly at this insinuation, her bright head was soon bent over a pad beside Blue Bonnet's, and after much chewing of their pencils and shrieks of laughter at impossible rhymes, the two of them finally evolved the following:

WE ARE SEVEN

"You marvel that a simple band Of maidens, young and fair, Should linger ever on the land, Nor for the water care?

"If you should ask in dulcet tone Why for the earth they sigh, They'll weep, they'll shriek, they'll give a groan,— But they will answer why.

"'Last night we were a happy bunch, Last night about eleven—' Quoth you—'But why this sorry lot? How many members have you got?' They'll answer—'We Are Seven.'

"'But seven are not all alive?' 'Yea, yea, thou trifling varlet, Though here we number only five,— Two caught a fever scarlet.

"'And o'er us five whose courage great Brought us to far-off Texas, There seems to brood an awful fate, And trials sore to vex us.

"'To-day the bridge on which we stood And posed above the rippling wave, Alas! was made of rotten wood And plunged us in a watery grave.'

"'Then ye are dead! All five are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!' 'Tis throwing words away, for still These maidens five will have their will, And answer—'We Are Seven!'"

"I wonder what Mr. Wordsworth would say to that?" said Debby, when this effort had been heard and elaborately praised.

"He's dead," remarked Sarah. Then, ignoring Debby's snicker she continued: "It's very good, Blue Bonnet,—but you shouldn't have said that two had the scarlet fever. There's only one, really."

"Poetic license!" Kitty claimed fiercely.

"I think you are the cleverest girls I ever heard of!" Carita exclaimed. "I'm going to run right over with that poem—I can't wait for the boys to see it."

Snatching up her bonnet Carita ran back to the other camp; while the girls, quite tired out by the excitement and varied adventures of the day, prepared to go to bed. As they neared the tents there came a familiar sound from the direction of Camp Judson. It was the loud jangle of cowbells.

"Do you suppose those boys are going to eat at this time of night?" asked Sarah.

"Of course not, Sallykins," said Debby. "Don't you understand?—that's the boys applauding our poets!"



CHAPTER XV

SUNDAY

"FOR once in my life," said Blue Bonnet, with a long-drawn sigh, "I'm ready for a day of rest."

"Please don't begin to rest till you've done the dishes," begged Kitty.

Blue Bonnet tossed her head scornfully. "I wouldn't trouble trouble till trouble troubles you, Kitty-Kat. If you can go to church with as clear a conscience as mine, I'll take off my hat to you. One lapse doesn't make a sinner!"

"One?" Kitty echoed, and would have continued scathingly had not Sarah interrupted with—

"I don't see how we can go to church with such looking clothes."

"Sarah's regretting the white pique skirt you wouldn't let her bring," said Kitty.

"Why, Sarah," Blue Bonnet turned a pained look on the serious young person, "I would never have believed you would be one to stay away from church for lack of an Easter bonnet."

"I didn't mention Easter—nor bonnets either," Sarah declared indignantly. "The idea,—to hear you girls talk any one would think I was completely wrapped up in clothes!"

"Everybody is, you know—except savages," returned Blue Bonnet.

Sarah's expression at this caused Mrs. Clyde to rise hurriedly and vanish within her tent. Freed from this restraint Kitty went on wickedly:

"Anyway, Dr. Judson has been a missionary in Africa and I'm sure he'd excuse you if—"

Sarah left the table with great dignity, leaving the other girls weak with laughter.

Carita appeared a little later with her denim dress looking fresh, clean, and wrinkleless.

"It looks as if it had just been ironed," Sarah silently commented. When Mrs. Clyde called to the girls that it was time to go over to Camp Judson, Miss Blake was nowhere to be found.

The church service was held in the "Druid's Grove," a place of mingled shade and sunshine, where a little tumbling creek was the only accompaniment to the hymns, and the birds trilled an obligato. An old tree-stump served as pulpit, and here Dr. Judson talked rather than preached to his youthful congregation.

Blue Bonnet, listening to him, unconsciously let her eyes wander, as they always did in the church at Woodford, in search of the memorial window 'Sacred to the memory of Elizabeth Clyde Ashe' that was inseparably linked in her mind with religious service. Instead of the figure of the Good Shepherd with the lamb in his arms, the branches of the live oaks here formed a Gothic arch, in the shadow of which sat Mrs. Judson with little Joe asleep on her lap. The look on the mother's face was full of the same brooding tenderness that the artist had given to the eyes of the Shepherd of Old.

When they rose to sing, the young voices rang out clear and joyous, quite unlike the droning that too often passes for singing in a grown-up congregation.

"Bright youth and snow-crowned age, Strong men and maidens meek: Raise high your free, exulting song! God's wondrous praises speak!

"With all the angel choirs, With all the saints of earth, Pour out the strains of joy and bliss, True rapture, noblest mirth!"

The stirring verses, sung with a will by every one, seemed to soar to the very tree-tops, making the branches sway with the rhythm and spirit of the hymn.

Blue Bonnet heaved a sigh of regret as they rose to leave the grove. "It's so sweet,—I wish it could last all day."

"I don't remember ever having heard you make a remark like that about church before," remarked Kitty.

"I don't care much for anything that's held indoors," Blue Bonnet confessed. "And I don't like preachers who make their voices sound like the long-stop on an organ. Now that last hymn we sang makes me fairly bubble inside."

"Don't let Sarah hear you say that. She seems to think one ought to draw a long face on the Sabbath,—a sort of 'world-without-end' expression, you know. I believe she thinks it almost wicked to be happy on Sunday."

"Well, Sarah may be as blue as she likes,—this is the kind of a day that makes me feel bright pink!"

"Where is Sarah, anyway?" asked Kitty. "I haven't seen her since breakfast. Surely she didn't miss the service?"

"No, I saw her sitting by a big tree 'way at the back," said Amanda.

"It isn't like Sarah to take a back seat—at church," remarked Blue Bonnet. "I believe she must be cross because we teased her this morning."

Grandmother and Sarah were already deep in preparations for dinner when the others straggled into camp. The well-cooked meal of muffins, fried ham, potatoes and stewed dried fruit they served met with visible as well as audible approval.

"Picnic lunches are more fun, but this kind of a meal is more—filling," said Blue Bonnet. "Let's eat all we can now and have just bread and milk for supper—we've two cans of fresh milk in the creek."

"Blue Bonnet seems to have developed a sudden liking for 'jarring notes,' doesn't she, girls?" asked Kitty.

When dinner was done and the dishes washed, they all sought the buck-board seats in the lounging room.

"If we only had a book now, it would be fine to have Grandmother read aloud," remarked Blue Bonnet.

"You wouldn't let Sarah bring any books," Amanda reminded her.

"Nevertheless, methinks Sarah looks as if she had one up her sleeve," said Debby.

"Not up my sleeve," Sarah confessed, "—but in my bag. I'll go get it,—it's 'Don Quixote,' in Spanish and English both."

"Did you bring the drawn-work, too?" asked Kitty. "My, Sarah, but you are a first-rate smuggler!"

"Now that suspicion has raised its snaky head, I'd like to know—why is Sarah, long after the dishes are done, still wearing that apron?" Blue Bonnet had sent a random shot, but to her surprise Sarah flushed to the roots of her blond hair.

She rose hastily to go in search of "Don Quixote," but the other girls were too quick for her. They pitilessly tore the shielding apron from her shoulders, and the newly sponged and pressed middy jacket and khaki skirt stood revealed in all their guilty freshness.

"They've been ironed!" gasped Kitty.

"What do you think of that for selfishness,—not to let a soul know she had an iron?" demanded Debby.

"I got it over at Mrs. Judson's. And none of you said you wanted an iron," said Sarah.

"And do you mean to say that our Sarah, daughter of the Reverend Samuel Blake, wilfully broke the Sabbath by ironing?" Concentrated horror appeared on Kitty's saucy countenance.

"She probably thinks 'the better the day the better the deed,'" said Blue Bonnet.

"If Mrs. Judson could press Carita's dress, I don't see that it was any worse for me to press mine," Sarah protested. "I'm used to looking respectable at church."

"It's no wonder you refused to sit by so unrespectable a crowd as the rest of us!" exclaimed Blue Bonnet.

Mrs. Clyde was laughing inwardly, but she came to the aid of the unhappy Sarah.

"I think good nature has ceased to be a virtue, Sarah," she declared. "Hereafter you have my permission to resort to violence if necessary to protect yourself. Quiet down, girls,—remember it is Sunday."

Much relieved, Sarah brought forth the contraband book and the long peaceful afternoon was spent in listening to the various mishaps that befell the valiant Don and his faithful Sancho Panza.

"If it weren't for setting a dangerous precedent, I'd tell Sarah how glad we all are that she defied the authorities and did some smuggling," remarked Kitty. She and Debby had gone to the creek to bring up the milk for supper, and now made a pretty picture as they came up the willow-grown path, bearing the tall cans.

"You look like somebody-or-other at the well," Blue Bonnet declared as Kitty came into sight.

"Are you sure you don't mean thing-a-ma-bob?" laughed Kitty. "If you mean Rebecca, I don't agree with you. I'll wager Rebecca never wore a middy blouse or carried a tin milk-can!"

That evening the inmates of both camps again sat about a big bonfire. But this time the frolics and rollicking airs had given way to a decorous singing of patriotic songs, stirring hymns and a pleasant "sermonette" by the pastor of this youthful flock.

Long after this Sunday was past, Blue Bonnet remembered it as one of the sweetest Sabbaths she had ever spent; and she could never decide just what part of the day she had liked most,—the hour in the Druid's Grove; the afternoon when Grandmother with her pleasant voice had read aloud from "Don Quixote;" or the evening, when they sat about the glowing logs, alternately singing, and listening to Dr. Judson.

"I'm going to ask Sandy to recite," Knight whispered to her as there fell a silence.

"Get him to do 'The Bridge!'" Blue Bonnet said with dancing eyes.

"I'm sure he'd rather do 'We are Seven,'" he replied, laughing.

"I wish he'd recite the 'Hymn of the Alamo,'" said Alec, who had overheard the conversation. "Ask him to, Knight,—he'll do anything for you, and that's a fine poem."

"Alec wrote an essay on the Alamo," Blue Bonnet explained to Knight, "and it won a prize—the Sargent prize—in our school this year."

Alec squirmed with a boyish dislike of hearing himself praised; but Knight slapped him on the shoulder enthusiastically.

"Bully for you, old chap! Tell the fellows the story of the Alamo, will you? Uncle Bayard likes them to hear historical things like that—can't hear them too often."

Alec looked horrified at the idea, but Blue Bonnet joined Knight in urging him. "You tell the story of the fight and maybe Sandy will finish with the Hymn."

Sandy promising to do his part, Alec finally yielded. Sinking far back in the shadow where his face could not be seen by any of the great circle of listeners, and his voice came out of the blackness with a decided tremor in it, the boy told, and told well, the story of the frontier riflemen in their struggle for the liberation of Texas from the yoke of the Mexican dictator.

How the Texas lads thrilled at the recital of heroism, and thrilled at the mention of such names as Travis and Crockett! It was not a new tale; not a boy there but knew the story of that handful of men—less than two hundred of them—who, barricading themselves within the Alamo fortress, for ten days defied the Mexicans, over four thousand strong; only to be massacred to a man in the final heartrending fall.

Alec's voice lost its tremor and ended with a patriotic ring that made Blue Bonnet glow with pride—pride in the heroes he told of, and in the friend who told of them.

"It just needs Colonel Potter's poem to add the right climax to that bit of history," Dr. Judson declared; and Sandy stood up at once.

Sandy was used to "talking on his feet;" and he stood in an easy posture, tossing his light reddish hair back from his broad forehead, and with one hand resting lightly on the alpenstock he had been carving for Blue Bonnet.

Listening to him, Blue Bonnet lost all her early prejudice against the clever lad, and responding to the unbounded enthusiasm and the true orator's ring in the boyish voice, thrilled warmly to the spirit of the lines:

HYMN OF THE ALAMO

"Arise! Man the wall—our clarion blast Now sounds its final reveille,— This dawning morn must be the last Our fated band shall ever see. To life, but not to hope, farewell; Yon trumpet's clang and cannon's peal, And storming shout and clash of steel Is ours,—but not our country's knell. Welcome the Spartan's death! 'Tis no despairing strife— We fall, we die—but our expiring breath Is freedom's breath of life!

"Here, on this new Thermopylae, Our monument shall tower on high, And 'Alamo' hereafter be On bloodier fields the battle-cry!" Thus Travis from the rampart cried; And when his warriors saw the foe Like whelming billows surge below,— At once each dauntless heart replied: "Welcome the Spartan's death! 'Tis no despairing strife— We fall—but our expiring breath Is freedom's breath of life!"

As Sandy resumed his seat amid a hush that was a greater tribute than applause, Blue Bonnet turned to Knight with glowing eyes.

"And to think those brave fellows did all that for Texas! Aren't you proud to belong to this state?"

"You'd better believe I am!"

"We've had some heroes in Massachusetts," Alec reminded them.

"And they were all Americans—and so are we." Knight's bigger way of looking at the matter settled what threatened to grow into an argument.

"That Sandy boy's a wonder," Blue Bonnet exclaimed. "I take back every uncomplimentary remark I ever made about him. Appearances are so deceiving."

"'All that glitters isn't gold,'" said Knight, looking like his uncle as he gravely quoted this ancient maxim.

"It's a pity it isn't,—Sandy would be a millionaire with that hair of his!" Blue Bonnet laughed.

"I mean 'handsome is as handsome does,'" said Knight, "—that isn't quite so dangerous a quotation. I expect to see Sandy President some day, or at least a senator."

"Can't you imagine the newspaper headings: 'Senator Red-top of Texas'—?" laughed Blue Bonnet.

"He's hoping to go East to college this fall," Knight remarked more seriously.

"It's queer," said Alec, "how all the Western boys long to go East and all the Eastern fellows think they're just made if they can come West. I'd like to trade him my chance at Harvard for his health and strength."

"Can't you arrange that trifling exchange for Alec?" Blue Bonnet asked Knight.

He shook his head. "Sandy won't take anybody's chances,—he's the sort that makes his own."

"Some of us aren't allowed to."

Alec's voice had suddenly grown moody, and Blue Bonnet thought it time to change the subject. In a moment her clear, sweet voice was leading the rest in "The Flag without a Stain."

"How do you like a Texas Sunday?" Blue Bonnet found herself beside Sarah as they walked back to Poco Tiempo, and put the question rather mischievously.

"It's been very nice, most of it," Sarah returned in a stiff manner, very unlike her usual one.

"What part didn't you like?"

Sarah made sure that the others were not listening, then answered in a tone Blue Bonnet had never heard from her before:

"I didn't like being made to feel that whatever I do is the wrong thing. I never seem to please you any more, Blue Bonnet."

"Why, Sarah!" Blue Bonnet stopped still and gazed at Sarah in consternation. Sarah paused, too, and in the faint rays from the fire the two girls looked at each other steadily for a moment without speaking. Finally Blue Bonnet blurted out:

"I wish you'd tell me just what you mean."

"I mean that I've come to the conclusion that I should have stayed in Woodford. I don't seem to fit in here." Sarah's voice shook a little.

"Sarah!" was still all Blue Bonnet could stammer. It was all so sudden and unexpected; a bolt from a clear sky.

"Please don't think I'm thin-skinned and can't stand a little teasing," Sarah continued, "for I'm sure I can—I always have had to. But lately I haven't said a thing that hasn't made one or other of you 'hoot' as Kitty says. And everything I've wanted to do you've thought ridiculous. Lately the boys have begun to laugh at me; even those I hardly know."

This time Blue Bonnet said nothing; she was overcome by the thought that all Sarah had said was quite true. She hastily reviewed the past few weeks, and as one by one she remembered various incidents, the force of Sarah's complaints struck her anew.

Kitty's dare and that wild ride; the ban put upon Sarah's Spanish books and the much-loved drawn-work; and, lately, the almost concerted effort of all of them to convert everything Sarah said and did into something unwarranted and absurd. By the time Blue Bonnet had reached her own action of that very morning in tearing the apron forcibly from Sarah's shoulders, she was dumb with shame. This was the way she had rewarded her friend for a loyalty that had been unswerving through all that dreadful week in Woodford, when the other girls had sent her to Coventry; for all her sweet thoughtfulness that had proved itself unfailing!

She suddenly threw her arms impulsively around Sarah's shoulders and faced her squarely.

"I've been downright horrid," she said earnestly. "And a rude, selfish hostess. I haven't any right to expect you to forgive me, Sarah, dear, but if you can find it in your heart to give another chance, I'll show you I can and will be different."

"It isn't serious enough to talk of forgiveness," Sarah said in her honest, straightforward way. "All I want to know is, that you're not—sorry—I came."

"Sarah, don't say that! You make me hate myself!" Blue Bonnet shook her almost fiercely. "You mustn't think it either. I'm glad, glad, glad you came! I've meant you to know it, and I've wanted you to have a splendid time, and here all the while—" she stopped and swallowed hard.

Sarah's face lighted up happily and she did what was for her an unprecedented thing,—she drew Blue Bonnet to her and gave her a hearty hug.

"That's all I wanted to know," she said. "Please don't imagine I haven't enjoyed myself, Blue Bonnet. It's been the most wonderful visit! I'm queer, I know, but I can't help liking the things I like, and if only the girls would stop trying to make me over—"

"I'll make them!" Blue Bonnet declared; and at this threat they both laughed, and the storm was over.



CHAPTER XVI

THE LOST SHEEP

"OH, Carita, do you really have to go to-day?" Genuine regret was in Blue Bonnet's eyes and tone.

Carita sighed.

"Yes, Grandfather expects us back at the farm to-night, and Mother never disappoints him. He's getting old and she doesn't like to leave him alone much. We may come up again before the summer is over,—Father has to be here for several weeks yet."

"But we'll be gone,—we're to leave on Wednesday, you know. Did ever days fly so before? I haven't seen half enough of you, Carita."

"You seem to belong to so many people," Carita said rather wistfully, "I've been afraid to claim too much of your time. But there are other summers. Maybe when you come back from the East next year you can come to the farm,—it isn't much of a journey on the cars."

Blue Bonnet lost herself a moment in reflection. "When she came back from the East"—why, she hadn't even decided that she was going East again—yet.

"And you can come to see me—at the Blue Bonnet ranch," she said.

Carita shook her head.

"Railroad fares are pretty high. We have to be very careful since Father lost his health. That's why we came back from India, you know. The doctors said that this climate was best for his trouble, and when Grandfather offered us a home on the farm we were so glad. But Father's not having a church—only once in a while when he fills a pulpit for a few weeks at a time—keeps us a little short. I reckon you don't know much about—being short. You have everything you want, don't you?"

"Everybody seems to think that; they forget that I haven't a mother or father—or any brothers and sisters," Blue Bonnet said very simply.

Carita threw her arms impulsively about her friend and gave her a warm kiss. "How mean of me to forget! I wish you were my sister. Boys don't always understand. But you have so many people to love you, you can't ever get lonesome. And having lots of money must be so nice, and to go away to school, and have pretty clothes and go to parties and travel, why—" Carita's breath failed her.

"I ought to be mighty thankful. And I am most of the time," Blue Bonnet replied. "But the people who love you always expect a great deal of you, and it's very hard to live up to their expectations. Besides, going to school isn't all fun, I can tell you."

"I wouldn't care if it weren't all fun, if I could only go. Father teaches me at home, but we have so many interruptions. There are dishes to wash, babies to mind, Grandfather to wait upon, till neither of us knows whether we're doing arithmetic or grammar." Carita rose. "I must hurry back to camp—Mother's packing."

"You never forget what's expected of you, do you?" Blue Bonnet asked, with a mixture of wonder and admiration.

"It wouldn't do for me to forget,—I'm the eldest, you know. Mother depends on me." Carita spoke as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a fourteen-year-old girl to be "depended upon."

"Nobody ever depends on me—for a very good reason!" Blue Bonnet laughed. "Somehow it's so much easier for me to forget than to remember. It's the only thing I do with shining success."

"You'll learn to be responsible when you have children of your own," Carita said as sagely as if she were forty instead of fourteen.

Blue Bonnet's eyes shone.

"I'm going to have a whole dozen!" she declared.

"I wouldn't, if I were you—it would be so hard on the eldest," Carita reminded her.

And Blue Bonnet, noticing the care-worn look in the eyes of her "missionary girl," decided that being the eldest of a big family might have its disadvantages.

"Grandmother, I wish there were something I could do for Carita," she said later that morning, as she and Mrs. Clyde found themselves alone.

"You have already done a great deal for her," her grandmother remarked. "Mrs. Judson has told me how much your letters and presents have meant to Carita."

"But that was so little,—and it was just fun for me. She has all work and no play, and I don't think it's fair."

"Perhaps you can do something for her, later on. But you must be careful how you assume responsibilities, Blue Bonnet. You seem to have taken upon yourself a great many already."

"What ones?" Blue Bonnet questioned in surprise.

"In the first place—you've me!" Grandmother smiled.

"That's so,—I'm responsible to Aunt Lucinda for you. And what others?"

"How about the We are Sevens whom you've brought so far away from their homes? And Alec?"

Blue Bonnet's eyes opened.

"I hadn't thought of them in that way. But I reckon you're right. And there's Solomon, too."

Grandmother's mouth twitched. "You must be sure you can do your full duty by the responsibilities you have before you assume new ones."

Blue Bonnet looked very serious. "Seems to me life has a heap of complications. Now there's Alec,—he's worse than a complication. He's a downright puzzle."

"Has he said anything more about his trouble?" Mrs. Clyde asked.

"Just hints. But they sound as if he were hiding something pretty bad. Sometimes I wish he would come right out with it, and then again, I'm afraid. If he keeps on looking dark and broody every time the conversation turns on the subject of health, I'm going to write the General about it. I think that's my duty."

"But Alec looks wonderfully well, bigger, broader and better in every way than when he left Woodford," Mrs. Clyde insisted.

"I know he does. But when I remarked to Knight how well Alec looked, and said I thought he ought to get rid of his foolish notion about himself now, Knight looked queer and asked, 'Do you think it a foolish notion? I think he's dead right.' And Knight's a sensible boy and wouldn't say that unless he thought so."

Mrs. Clyde's eyes reflected Blue Bonnet's look of perplexity. "Have you talked with your uncle about him?"

"No. Just after I talked with you Alec asked me not to mention the matter to any one else. That shuts out Uncle Cliff. I'm sorry, for I'm sure he'd suggest the right thing. There comes Miguel with the horses. You don't mind our riding a little way with the Judsons do you? They're nearly ready to start."

"No, so long as you are back for lunch," said her grandmother.

The boys had all gone hunting early that morning, and only the girls of Poco Tiempo were on hand to escort the departing guests. Mrs. Clyde said good-bye to Mrs. Judson with genuine regret, and kissed all the small Judsons warmly at parting.

The whole family was packed into the two seats of the heavy farm-wagon, the mother driving with one of the boys beside her; Carita in the back seat holding Joe and, at the same time, keeping a watchful eye on the two lively youngsters by her side. Bedding and camp equipment were heaped high in the wagon-box.

"You look like a picture of 'Crossing the Plains,'" Blue Bonnet exclaimed.

"Play you're the Injuns going to scalp us!" begged Carita's brother Harry, his big dark eyes shining with eagerness.

Blue Bonnet gave a shrill "Ho, ye ho, ho!" that passed for a war-whoop, and in a minute they were all off, the farm horses rather startled at the carryings-on; the small boys wild with excitement; and the We are Sevens tearing madly down the road "ki-yi-ing" at the top of their voices.

Mrs. Clyde turned with a smile to Dr. Judson, who stood looking rather amazedly after his departing family. "Blue Bonnet is alternately five and fifteen," she remarked.

"She is decidedly refreshing," he returned. "I hope you will try to keep her a child as long as possible."

"I don't need to try!" she replied with a laugh.

The parting between the "emigrants" and the Indians was not such as history records of leave-takings between these sworn enemies. Carita had to wink hard to keep back the tears when she said good-bye to Blue Bonnet, and the little Judsons set up a loud wail when their former pursuers waved them farewell.

"It's a shame Carita has to go back and slave on that old farm," Blue Bonnet declared, as she looked after the little figure holding on to the baby with one hand and waving her handkerchief in the other.