Blue Bonnet in Boston Part 48

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

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

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

Joy smiled sympathetically.

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

Blue Bonnet turned toward Joy quickly.

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

"Love to," Joy answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing."

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

"No--only--"

"Only what?"

Tears welled in Carita's eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where's Mary?"

Through her tears Carita smiled.

"She and Peg--Jerusha Austin are down in the office. Fraulein is after them again. Last night, when the trunks were brought up, Mary and Peggy waited until the lights were out and then they fixed up a tick-tack.

They hid in the trunks and worked the thing for almost an hour. It was awfully spooky--nearly scared Fraulein to death. She's just furious at both of them."

"How did she find them?"

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

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

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

Mary, laughed sheepishly.

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

"Weren't you?"

"No, not this time. Miss North was so disgusted she didn't do a thing.

She made us feel as if we were infants; said she thought smothering in a trunk for an hour was punishment enough for anybody. She just talked!"

"And--_talked_!" Peggy added.

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

"Really? Is that true, Peggy?"

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

"Who's going to take her place?"

"Miss North didn't take us into her confidence," Mary said flippantly.

"But I shouldn't wonder if Joy Cross subst.i.tuted until they get somebody. Joy's a whiz in German. She's had us two or three times lately when Fraulein was having one of her tantrums--beg pardon, nervous break-ups."