IN BOSTON
"I think," Miss Clyde said to her mother one morning late in November,
as she put the last article in her suitcase and snapped it shut, "that
Blue Bonnet and I will go to a hotel this time. We shall be out shopping
all day and making arrangements for Blue Bonnet at school, so that there
will be little time for visiting. If you should need me for anything you
might wire the Copley Plaza."
"Are you not afraid Honora and Augusta will feel hurt?" Mrs. Clyde
remonstrated. "They enjoy Blue Bonnet so much, it seems a pity not to
let them see all they can of her."
"They will have plenty of visits with her later on, Mother. I feel sure
they will understand. If you keep well, and everything is all right
here, we might extend our visit over Sunday. In that case we should go
to them, of course."
Blue Bonnet embraced her grandmother affectionately.
"Don't get lonesome, that's a duck," she exclaimed, bestowing an extra
kiss.
"Blue Bonnet, please address your grandmother less familiarly. Those
expressions you have acquired are not respectful. I cannot tolerate them
any longer," Miss Clyde spoke a trifle sharply.
Blue Bonnet looked surprised.
"I didn't mean it for disrespect, Aunt Lucinda. I only meant it for
love; but I won't do it again if it annoys you."
"It does annoy me very much, dear. Stop and think of the word you used
just now. A duck! In what possible way could your grandmother resemble a
duck?"
"I didn't say she resembled one, Aunt Lucinda. I said--"
But any shade of distinction was too much for Miss Clyde's patience.
"We will not argue the question, Blue Bonnet. Please eliminate the word
from your vocabulary. It is inelegant as well as inexpressive."
Blue Bonnet looked a little rebellious as she waved to her grandmother
and followed Miss Clyde to the carriage. She wished Aunt Lucinda would
grant her a little leeway in her mode of expression--it was so
troublesome to always pick and choose words. Besides, she had her own
opinion as to the expressiveness of slang. Grandmother _was_ a duck, a
perfect--
"Take good care of yourself, dearie," the gentle voice was at that
moment calling, "and if you stay over Sunday, send Grandmother a
postal."
Blue Bonnet promised, Denham touched the whip to the horses, and she
and Aunt Lucinda were off.
The first visit of the afternoon was to the school. Miss Clyde
telephoned Miss North for an appointment, which was made for five
o'clock. Miss North also hoped, the maid said, that it would be
convenient for Miss Clyde and her niece to dine with her at six, and see
something of the school and the girls.
Blue Bonnet was delighted. She had been formally entered in the school
some weeks before, her tuition paid, her room engaged for the first of
January. This had been necessary on account of limited accommodations.
Miss North was awaiting her guests in her living-room at the head of the
first flight of stairs. She took Blue Bonnet's hand cordially, and held
it for a moment in a friendly grasp.
"And this is the new member of our family," she said with a pleasant
smile, as she brought forth chairs.
Blue Bonnet looked about while her aunt and Miss North chatted.
The room pleased her, it was in such exquisite taste. Soft rugs carpeted
the polished floor; beautiful pictures graced the walls; old mahogany
lent its air of elegance, and books abounded everywhere.
Miss North pressed a button on her desk after a moment and a neat maid
entered.
"Ask Mrs. Goodwin to come here, Martha, please."
Mrs. Goodwin must have been in waiting, for she made her appearance
quickly; a motherly looking woman with an alert, cheerful countenance.
"Our house-mother, Mrs. Goodwin, Miss Clyde--Miss Ashe. Miss Clyde would
like to see the room we have reserved for her niece, Mrs. Goodwin."
Mrs. Goodwin led the way up a second flight of stairs.
"I am sorry, Miss Clyde, that we could not give Miss Ashe a room alone
as you desired, but entering so late it is quite impossible. I am sure
she will enjoy her room-mate however, a Miss Cross from Bangor, Maine.
We think it a wise plan to put an Eastern and a Western girl together
when possible--the influence is wholesome to both."
She rapped softly on a door at the front of the building.
"May we come in, Miss Joy?" she said to the girl who opened the door
slowly, book in hand.
"Certainly," she answered, far from cordially, and, acknowledging the
introductions, went over to the window where she resumed her reading.
The room was large and airy--a corner room with four windows. Mrs.
Goodwin threw up the blinds of the south windows.
"The view is beautiful from here," she said.
She crossed the room and opened a door, disclosing a small hall.
"The bathroom and closets are here."
Between the large west windows were two single beds, and in a corner a
grate with an open fire gave a homey touch. There was a desk in the room
too. Blue Bonnet supposed it was to be used jointly. She looked about;
there was plenty of room for another. She would ask Aunt Lucinda to buy
one for her; and a bookcase to hold some of her favorite volumes.
Blue Bonnet was exceedingly quiet during the rest of the tour through
the building, and at dinner. When she was alone with her aunt in the
street she burst forth:
"I just can't do it, Aunt Lucinda. I never in this world can room with
that girl and be happy. Joy Cross! Who ever heard of such a name? It's
plain to be seen which she'll be. A cross, all right!"
Miss Clyde looked at Blue Bonnet in amazement.
"Anybody would know to look at her she couldn't be a joy! Did you notice
how she shook hands, Aunt Lucinda?"
"That will do, Blue Bonnet. It is very unjust to criticize people you
don't know. Appearances are often deceiving. Miss Cross may prove a
delightful companion--"
"Oh, no, Aunt Lucinda. She couldn't--not with that nose. It's the long
thin kind--the kind that pokes into everything. And her eyes! Did you
notice her eyes? They're that awfully light kind of blue--they look so
cold and unfeeling; and she was so--so--un-cordial when Mrs. Goodwin
said I was to room with her. She wasn't even polite. She didn't say she
was glad, or that would be nice or--she didn't say anything--"
"There wasn't time to say much," Miss Clyde answered.
"Grandmother says there is always time for courtesy," Blue Bonnet
flashed, and Miss Clyde knew that her niece had the best of the
argument.
"Nothing can be done at present, Blue Bonnet. You heard Mrs. Goodwin say
that all the rooms are taken. Perhaps some change can be made later--but
now--"
"Now, I shall just have to take up my cross and bear it, of course; but
I sha'n't cling to it a minute longer than I have to, you may be sure of
that."
Despite the seeming irreverence, Miss Clyde smiled. Blue Bonnet's
tempestuous little outbursts were often entertaining if they were
reprehensible. They sometimes reminded Miss Clyde of a Fourth of July
sky-rocket. They glowed in brilliancy and ended in--nothing! Likely
enough Blue Bonnet would finish the term quite adoring her room-mate.
She ventured to suggest this.
Blue Bonnet scorned the idea. She was sure that she should just hate
her!
Blue Bonnet was up early the next morning, ready for the shopping
expedition which promised to be of more than ordinary interest. Aunt
Lucinda seemed inclined to be almost extravagant, Blue Bonnet thought,
as together they made out the shopping list and pored over the
advertisements in the papers.
"Let's begin at Hollander's, Aunt Lucinda," Blue Bonnet said. "I love
Hollander's. We could get the Peter Thompsons there, and my evening
dresses and slippers and things."
The "evening dresses" amused Miss Clyde.
"I am afraid you did not read the school catalogue very carefully, Blue
Bonnet. It especially requested simplicity of dress."
"I know it did, Aunt Lucinda, but you saw how sweetly the girls were
gowned at dinner. Perhaps the dresses _were_ simple, but they looked
expensive and--dressy," she added for want of a better word. "That
pretty dark girl that sat next me had on the darlingest pink organdy
with a Dutch neck. Oh, it was so dear. I wonder where she got it?"
She had not long to wonder. The Boston shops seemed to have anticipated
the needs of girls all over the country. Blue Bonnet stood entranced
before cases of the daintiest frocks that could be imagined.
"Oh, Aunt Lucinda," she exclaimed, holding up two that attracted her, "I
can't make up my mind which of these is the prettier. I adore this blue
crepe with these sweet buttons, but the white organdy is such a love
with that white fixing--and, oh, will you look at that yellow chiffon! I
suppose I couldn't have chiffon, could I? It looks too partified."
Miss Clyde thought not.
"But you might try on the white, and the blue gown," she said.
They fitted admirably with a few alterations, and to Blue Bonnet's great
joy Miss Clyde took both--and yet another; a sheer white linen lawn with
a pink silk slip, which called forth all the adjectives Blue Bonnet
could muster.
Then came an exciting moment when slippers and hose were selected;
dainty but serviceable underwear, and the little accessories that count
for so much in a girl's wardrobe.
"I feel exactly as if I were getting a trousseau," Blue Bonnet said, as
they started for a tailor's, where she was to be measured for suits.
"And, Aunt Lucinda, there's just one more thing I want--two things! A
desk and some books. You saw that desk in the room I am to have. Well,
the cross--I mean Miss Cross--had her things in it. I saw them. I don't
want to share it with her. We'd be forever getting mixed up and fussing.
I'd like to avoid that."
Miss Clyde remembered the check Mr. Ashe had sent--the half of which had
not yet been spent, and the instructions that everything was to be
provided for Blue Bonnet's happiness and comfort. Had she a right to
refuse? She, too, wanted Blue Bonnet to be happy and comfortable, but
her New England training from youth up made the lavish spending of money
almost an impossibility. She greatly feared that the increased allowance
Mr. Ashe had insisted upon giving Blue Bonnet for her private use at
boarding-school, would inculcate habits of extravagance.
After they left the tailor's a desk was soon found, suitable in every
particular--mahogany, of course, since the other furniture in the room
was.
Coming out of the furniture store Miss Clyde and Blue Bonnet passed a
floral shop. Blue Bonnet gave a little cry of surprise.
"Look, Aunt Lucinda, there's Cousin Tracy!"
She slipped up to him quietly, putting her arm through his. He turned in
a dazed sort of fashion.
"Well, well," he said. "Where did you come from?"
"Woodford."
"When, pray?"
"Yesterday."
Mr. Winthrop seemed surprised, and Miss Clyde made haste to explain.
"Look here," he said, putting his hands on Blue Bonnet's shoulders and
turning her toward the florist's window.
A miniature football game was being shown in gorgeous crimson and gold
settings. The field was outlined in flowers and the little men in caps
and sweaters were most fascinating.
Blue Bonnet gave his arm a squeeze.
"It's the Harvard-Yale game, isn't it,--to-morrow? I'm crazy about it.
Oh, I do hope Harvard wins! My father was a Harvard man. So are you, I
remember."
"Want to see it?" Cousin Tracy asked, as if seeing a Harvard-Yale game
were the simplest thing possible.
Blue Bonnet fairly jumped for joy.
"Could I? Could we get tickets?"
Cousin Tracy nodded and touched his breast pocket significantly.
"I have two. Right by the cheering section."
She crossed her hands in an ecstatic little fashion that expressed the
greatest excitement and joy.
"You wouldn't mind, would you, Aunt Lucinda? Why, the We Are Sevens
wouldn't get over it in a week. It seems too good to be true."
Before Miss Clyde and Blue Bonnet parted with Mr. Winthrop all
arrangements had been completed, and Blue Bonnet walked away as if she
were treading on air.
That night the following letter found its way into the Boston mail:
"COPLEY PLAZA HOTEL, BOSTON, MASS.,
"November 28th, 19--.
"DEAREST UNCLE CLIFF:--
"Aunt Lucinda and I came up here yesterday to buy my clothes for
school, and also to see what kind of a room I was to have when I
come up for good the first of January.
"Aunt Lucinda has been awfully nice about everything, letting me
get most of the things I wanted. I have some loves of dresses,
which I won't take time now to describe, as you will be in
Woodford so soon for Christmas and will see them. They will be
fresh, too, for Aunt Lucinda says I can't wear any of them until
I am at Miss North's. Aunt Lucinda bought me a perfect treasure
of a desk--mahogany, with the cunningest shelves underneath for
books. She bought me some new books, too--some that I've wanted
for a long time. There's 'The Life of Helen Keller;' grandmother
has one, and I simply adore it; and Thoreau's 'Week on the
Merrimac,' and one or two of Stevenson's--Robert Louis, you
know--and a new 'Little Colonel,' my old one is worn to shreds.
Oh, yes, and a beautiful new dictionary; it looks too full of
information for anything, and there's a perfectly dear atlas
with it besides. We got a copy of Helen Hunt's 'Ramona,' too. We
don't know yet if Miss North will allow me to have any love
stories; but, if she won't, Aunt Lucinda will keep it for me. I
wouldn't part with it for anything. We had such fun getting the
books; only Aunt Lucinda kept fussing about modern bookstores,
and wishing that I might have seen the 'Old Corner Book Store,'
where she used to come when she was a girl. She says she used to
spend whole days there browsing around--she really said
that--and poking under the counters and behind things for what
she wanted. Just fancy! I think a nice polite clerk that comes
up to you with a pleasant smile and says, 'What can I do for
you, Madam?' is much nicer, don't you?
"I've saved the worst of my news for the last. I hope it won't
make you unhappy, for there will be some way out of it, I
reckon. It's this: I hate the room-mate I've got to have. She's
perfectly horrid--you wouldn't like her a bit, Uncle Cliff; and
the way she shakes hands--well, it makes you feel as if you were
going to have to support her until she got through with the
ordeal--so limp, and lack-a-daisy. She's tall and thin, with
straw-colored hair and white eyelashes and cold blue eyes, and
she's from Bangor, Maine. I tried to talk with her for a minute
while Aunt Lucinda and the house-mother were making
arrangements about me, but all I could gather was that she was a
Senior, and from the State of Maine. Why do you suppose these
Easterners always say from the State of something? Seems so much
easier to just say Maine.
"There was another girl that I sat next to at dinner (we stayed
to dinner) who was real nice and so pretty. Her name is Annabel
Jackson, and she's from Tennessee. She had on such sweet
clothes. I didn't talk to her much, for I couldn't get the other
one off my mind--Joy Cross, from the State of Maine. Such a
name! Joy! If it could only have been Patience or Hope or
Faith--even Dolores, but I suppose it couldn't.
"Uncle Cliff, I've been wishing so that Carita Judson could go
to school here at Miss North's with me. She has such a hard time
with all those babies to tend. I told Aunt Lucinda that I wished
I could send her out of some of my money, but she said to wait
until you got here and then talk it over. I don't know whether
she could get a room now or not, the school is so full this
year--that's why I have to have the cross. You could be thinking
it over, couldn't you, Uncle Cliff, and let me know as soon as
you come?
"I reckon I've about got to the end of my news now, except that
Cousin Tracy is going to take me to the Harvard-Yale game
to-morrow. I'm so wild over it that I know I sha'n't sleep a
wink to-night. I will write Alec about it when I get back to
Woodford and tell him to give the letter to you and Uncle Joe to
read.
"Give my love to all the folks on the ranch. How's Benita? Did
she like the lavender bags I sent for the sheets? I hope she
uses them as I told her. I rather thought she might hang them
around her neck or give them to Juanita. I know if the We Are
Sevens were here they would send heaps of love. Aunt Lucinda
sends her best regards. I am counting the days now until
Christmas. I check off every day on the calendar until I see
you.
"With dearest love, I am,
"Your affectionate niece,
"BLUE BONNET ASHE.
"P. S. Please tell Alec that Aunt Lucinda has promised to look
after the General and Solomon when I'm gone. I am going to miss
Chula awfully, but there is a riding-school where Miss North
lets the girls get horses and ride with a teacher.
"P. S. Miss North seems very nice, but you never can tell how
people are going to be until you live with them, I hope for the
best. B. B."