Blue Bonnet in Boston Part 28

"You said something about being responsible for me when I was sick. I reckon the girls put two and two together and started the story. I can't think how else it got out."

Blue Bonnet put her arms round Carita and gave her a swift hug.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Carita. It must make you feel--horrid!"

"Not a bit," Carita answered cheerfully. "Everybody knows that a poor clergyman's daughter would never get in a school like this without some help. It was splendid of you to do it. I don't mind any one's knowing.

Honestly I don't, Blue Bonnet. Don't be angry."

Blue Bonnet sat down limply in a chair and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet! Why did you make me tell you? I knew it would only make you unhappy. What difference does it make, anyway?"

"Just this difference: I like Annabel--for herself--and she likes me for what I've got. I suppose that's the way _all_ those girls feel--Sue and Wee, and Ruth--"

Carita was down at Blue Bonnet's side in an instant, her arms about her.

"You know that isn't true, Blue Bonnet. Everybody loves you for yourself. Why, I have the loveliest 'trade last' for you, right this minute. I'll give it to you now, and you can save mine till you hear it.

Mary Boyd says--"

Blue Bonnet shrank away, and shook her head.

"Never mind," she said, "it isn't compliments I want. It's friends!"

"Well, you've got 'em--loads! Look at the We Are Sevens! They perfectly adore you. Now, don't they?"

"Well, I reckon they like me," Blue Bonnet acknowledged, and her face brightened.

"I shouldn't have told you all this, Blue Bonnet, only you made me. I wouldn't have dropped the hint about Annabel, only I think she's so awful nervy about wearing your clothes. Why, your Peter Tom's a sight--and that yellow dress--"

"Oh, I don't care about the clothes, Carita. Uncle Cliff will get me some more. Annabel hasn't hurt them any. The Peter Tom will clean. You know how white wool soils, yourself."

Indeed there was no excuse that Blue Bonnet would not have made for Annabel. She had grown very fond of the little Southern girl in the five weeks past. Annabel had a way of ingratiating herself into the affections of her a.s.sociates. She had the charm that is an inheritance of the South; the musical softness of speech, the daintiness of person, the warmth of heart; and--although Blue Bonnet had it yet to learn--a genius for friends.h.i.+p.

In Annabel Jackson's veins flowed the bluest of Southern blood. Her grandfather--the old General, known throughout the length and breadth of Tennessee--was an aristocrat of the old school. He boasted of an ancestry that defied criticism. Annabel was not a sn.o.b--but she was a sybarite; she loved the soft things of life, the luxuries, the pleasures: she turned toward them as naturally as a flower turns to the sun. This tendency had earned for her the reputation of "toady" by those who did not understand her, or were inclined to judge from the surface.

She gave--was in a position to give--- as much as she got, always, and her affections were sincere and lasting.

Blue Bonnet finished packing her suitcase.

"Well, I'm not going to worry over what Mary says," she announced after a few minutes' deliberation. "I think Mary is apt to take snap judgment.

She put me on the wrong track altogether about Doctor Giles. She said he was a regular old fogy--too slow for words, and--why, he's a man with a big reputation--Cousin Tracy's own doctor."

"Mary is a dear, though," Carita said loyally. "She's apt to be a little opinionated, maybe. Peggy Austin thinks she is--though Peggy dotes on her."

"Most smart people are," Blue Bonnet admitted. "Mary is as sharp as tacks. We've just three-quarters of an hour to get the train. I wonder if Mrs. White is ready to take us to the station."

A thick glittering mantle of snow lay over Woodford. Blue Bonnet had never before arrived in the winter, and the snow was not as inviting as the green hills and leafy swaying elms of the early autumn; but the sight of old Denham, with Solomon at his heels, put aside all thought of gloom.

Denham was pacing up and down the platform swinging his arms back and forth briskly to ward off the cold. Solomon paced with him, alert and expectant.

Miss Clyde had not ventured to the station because of the cold; but she and Grandmother were at the parlor window when the carriage drove up, watching for the visitors.

It was, as always, a happy home-coming. There was no gloom inside the stately old house. Cheerful fires blazed on the hearths, the little bra.s.s kettle steamed and sang on the tea-table, and Grandmother's eyes shone with joy. She held Blue Bonnet in a close embrace, while she scanned her face for any change that five weeks might have brought there.

"Why, how well you look, dear," she said, turning her to the light. "How very well! You are as plump as can be. You have rounded out wonderfully."

Blue Bonnet laughed and patted her Grandmother's cheek affectionately.

"Yes, that's the only difficulty, Grandmother. Boarding-school has a tendency to round people out--too much! I wish you could see Wee Watts--one of the girls. She's huge! Poor Wee, she hates it so."

Mrs. Clyde was small and thin, and she never could understand why any one objected to being stout. In her eyes flesh was becoming.

Nor was Carita forgotten. She shared with Blue Bonnet in Grandmother's caresses and attention. Mrs. Clyde's warm heart went out to the slender, pale young girl, so far from her own relatives and friends.

Miss Clyde was busy serving tea, but she cast covert glances in Blue Bonnet's direction. There was something beside the "rounding out" that interested her. There was a different air, a decided improvement in her niece. What was it? Not poise--yet! It was too soon to expect that.

Blue Bonnet and Carita chatted as they drank their tea.

Miss Clyde listened attentively. Yes, there _was_ a change. Blue Bonnet was growing up. But what made such a difference? Suddenly she knew! It was Blue Bonnet's hair. It was put up.

"How long have you been putting up your hair, Blue Bonnet?" she asked.

Blue Bonnet started and colored.

"Not so very long, Aunt Lucinda. The girls made so much fun of hair-ribbons--the girls I go with. They thought I was much too old to wear them, and after I took them off, it was so hard to go back to them again. Don't you like it this way? The girls liked it parted. They said--they seemed to think my nose suited it."

Aunt Lucinda could not resist a smile. She hesitated before she spoke--she was eminently truthful. Much as she disliked the idea of Blue Bonnet's putting up her hair, she could not deny the becomingness of it.

"It's very pretty," she said slowly. "I don't think you need to cover your ears so completely, do you? The style is too old for you, though.

You look--much older."

Blue Bonnet drew a sigh of relief. This was so mild to what she had expected. She glanced in Grandmother's direction.

There was a far-away expression in Mrs. Clyde's eyes, as if she were looking beyond Blue Bonnet--back into the shadowy past. She was: Blue Bonnet with her brown hair coiled low, curling about her neck and brow, was her mother over again--a perfect replica.

Miss Clyde noticed it, also, and when Blue Bonnet and Carita went up-stairs she spoke of it.

"How Blue Bonnet grows to resemble her mother. Do you remember, Elizabeth wore her hair that way when she first began putting it up? The child grows to be more of a Clyde every day."

"We're going out to see Chula," Blue Bonnet announced, coming back after she had put her things away.

"Chula? Why, dear, didn't Aunt Lucinda write you that Chula is out at pasture? She was eating her head off in the barn, and with no one to exercise her--"

Blue Bonnet looked disappointed.

"Of course," she said, "she must have just gorged. I can quite fancy; but I did want to see her."