ELIZABETH
Blue Bonnet gathered up her belongings; ten minutes more and they would
be in, the porter had told her.
Mr. Garner, her uncle’s friend, had brought her as far as New York;
from there on she had travelled alone. Now that she was so near her
journey’s end she almost wished she were not.
Aunt Lucinda was to meet her in Boston. Blue Bonnet gave her hair a
smoothing touch or two and pulled on her gloves; then the porter came
to brush her off, smiling sympathetically over her evident nervousness,
and assuring her that Boston was “a right fine place.”
Very crowded, very confusing she thought it, during those first few
moments. Inside the car, people were beginning to gather up bundles and
wraps; outside, as the train drew into the great depot, pandemonium
seemed the order of the day. Blue Bonnet felt a sudden, overwhelming
desire to break away; to get somewhere--anywhere, where it was quiet.
And then she saw Aunt Lucinda coming towards her. She knew
instinctively that it was Aunt Lucinda the moment she caught sight of
the tall, well-dressed woman threading her way down the crowded aisle.
“This is Elizabeth?” she said, stopping before Blue Bonnet.
The girl answered nervously that she supposed so. “You see,” she added,
quickly, flushing over the ridiculousness of her reply, “I’m not used
to being called anything but Blue Bonnet.”
“Elizabeth, or Blue Bonnet, we are very glad you have come to us, my
dear,” Miss Clyde answered, kissing her; “it must have seemed a long
way.”
“Yes, Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet said. At that moment Texas seemed a
very, very long way off, indeed. She followed her aunt down the aisle
and out on to the busy platform, feeling curiously small and lonely.
During the short ride on the local train Blue Bonnet was very silent,
but Miss Clyde thought her interested in the view from the car window
and did not try to make conversation.
She was rather glad of the opportunity to study the slender,
bright-faced girl opposite.
“How near everything is to everything else, Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet
said at last.
Miss Clyde smiled. “We don’t run much to space here, Elizabeth. There,
that is our last stop before Woodford. You will be glad to have your
long journey really over.”
At Woodford the old family carriage was waiting. Denham, the coachman,
smiled welcomingly at Blue Bonnet. “’Deed and I’m glad to see Miss
Elizabeth’s girl,” he said.
Blue Bonnet smiled back in friendly fashion. “Did he know Mamma, Aunt
Lucinda?” she asked, wonderingly.
“Denham has been with us for more than twenty years, Elizabeth,” Miss
Clyde answered.
There were not many passengers for the sleepy little station. Blue
Bonnet felt herself the object of interest for the group of loungers
gathered about the platform.
To the girl the old tree-shaded village, with its air of quiet content,
its one wide principal street, with pleasant by-ways straggling off at
irregular intervals from it, was very attractive, and very interesting
as well, when contrasted with the little bare prairie town at home.
She quite enjoyed the slow, leisurely drive in the comfortable old
carry-all; she could not imagine any one dashing up that sober quiet
street. And when, at last, they turned into a broad, well-kept drive,
and she caught sight, across the smooth stretch of green lawn, of the
big white house, she drew a quick breath of content; it was all in such
perfect keeping.
Miss Clyde saw the look in Blue Bonnet’s eyes and an answering smile
showed in her own. “Your mother was very fond of the old place,
Elizabeth,” she said; “we are very glad to have her daughter come home
to it.”
On the steps Mrs. Clyde was waiting, and to her Blue Bonnet’s heart
went out instantly.
“Ah, but you are like your mother, my dear!” Mrs. Clyde cried, holding
the girl close. “It is very good of your uncle to spare you to us. I
could hardly believe the good news when it came. But you are tired,
dear; you shall go to your room at once.”
“I _am_ tired,” Blue Bonnet said; she wondered why it was she wanted to
cry. And why in this first moment of coming--coming home, Aunt Lucinda
had called it--her thoughts kept going back to the home she had left.
She went with her aunt up the broad oak stairway and along the wide
upper hall to a room at the lower end,--a big pleasant room,--the one
that had been her mother’s. It was, indeed, a charming room, with its
wide, cushioned window-seats, its deep, open fireplace, its pretty
light furniture and delicate draperies. The windows looked off into
orchard and garden, and, when Aunt Lucinda had gone downstairs again,
Blue Bonnet went to kneel before the one overlooking the latter.
In a moment she had forgotten how tired and dusty she was; forgotten
how far she had journeyed since the morning she said good-bye to Uncle
Joe and old Benita and Don; had forgotten everything but the garden
lying, half in shade, half in sunshine, below,--the big, rambling,
old-fashioned garden, of which the one at home was a faint reproduction.
Beyond the garden was a tall row of trees, growing so closely together
as to form a thick screen. Blue Bonnet wondered what was on the other
side of that row? Did her grandmother’s land end on this side? Could
there be neighbors so near?
She wondered a good deal about it as she freshened herself up for
supper. Her trunk had not come yet, but she had a fresh white waist in
her suit-case. Presently she came slowly along the hall and downstairs
to where Mrs. Clyde was sitting in the broad entrance hall.
“It is very good to see a young person coming down those stairs again,”
Mrs. Clyde said; “you come much more slowly than your mother used to,
dear.”
Blue Bonnet smiled. “It seems odd to be going up and coming down stairs
at all. At home it is all on one floor.” She went to stand by the open
front door. Across the lawn and the broad road beyond, she caught
glimpses of other big white houses, behind their sheltering trees.
“Oh,” she said, “if you only knew how delightful it seems to have real
neighbors, Grandmother. At home our nearest neighbors were twenty
miles away. I’ve been so hungry for people, and houses, and everything.”
* * * * *
The next morning Blue Bonnet made her first acquaintance among her new
neighbors. She had gone out to see for herself what lay beyond that
tall screen of trees. Nothing at all mysterious, she found; merely
another broad green lawn centering itself about an old creeper-covered
brick house. Following the path beside the trees, she came to a low
picket-fence, over which ran a stile. Blue Bonnet sat down on the upper
step to survey at leisure this next-door place; and then she saw that
from midway across the lawn some one was surveying her,--a boy of about
her own age.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” Blue Bonnet answered. “Do you live here?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a very pretty place.”
The other turned to look back at the old house. “I suppose it is,” he
admitted, “though I’ve never thought much about it.” He came nearer,
whistling to a pair of fox-terrier puppies, who were worrying at
something at the further end of the lawn. “Do you like dogs?” he asked.
“I adore them,” Blue Bonnet answered.
“Bob and Ben are pretty decent little chaps,” the boy said, and he
brought the dogs up to be introduced.
“They’re dears,” Blue Bonnet declared warmly, patting the two upturned
heads.
The puppies shook hands politely, wagging their stumps of tails eagerly.
“We haven’t any dogs over here,” Blue Bonnet said regretfully. “I don’t
know how I’m going to get on without any.”
“We’ll go shares with mine.” The boy hesitated. “You’re--?”
“Bl--Elizabeth Ashe.”
“And I’m Alec Trent. You’re from Texas?”
“Yes,” Blue Bonnet answered.
“How jolly!” Alec threw himself down on the lawn beside the stile. “You
won’t mind my making myself comfortable while you tell me about Texas?”
And suddenly Blue Bonnet noticed how thin were the hands clasped under
his head, how big and bright the eyes in the delicate, sensitive face.
She leaned forward, stirred by a quick impulse of pity. “I’ll tell you
about the prairies.” She told him of the great open sea of prairie
land, stretching away in wild, unbroken reaches all about her Texas
home.
Alec whistled. “And you had to come away and leave it all! What a
shame!--but you’ve got it to go back to--I wish I had!”
“Don’t you like it here in Woodford?”
“It’s a poky old hole. You can’t throw a stone in any direction without
breaking a window--or a tradition.”
“Do you want to break--windows?”
“Sometimes.”
Blue Bonnet leaned forward, elbow on knee, chin in hand. “I wonder if
you’d call it breaking windows--my wanting to come East.”
“Did you _want_ to come?”
“Yes.”
“Well!” Alec exclaimed; and she felt for the moment his approval of her
lessen.
“Here I’ve been feeling sorry for you all the time,” he said; then he
smiled,--“I don’t know but that I’ll have to go on feeling so--because
you wanted to come.”
“I don’t mind,” Blue Bonnet said, “as long as you don’t show it too
plainly.”
“You’ve come to go to school?” the boy asked.
“Yes; is it a nice school?”
“It’s a good one.”
“Do you go to it?”
“Oh, all the Woodford boys and girls go to it, as their fathers and
mothers did before them.”
“I’ve never been to school.”
“Then you’ve got a lot of new experiences coming your way, and they
won’t all be pleasant ones. Going to school isn’t all joy, and neither
is it all the other thing. You’ll get acquainted with a lot of girls
that way.”
“I shall like that. I want to know--oh, everybody here!”
“I don’t,” Alec laughed. He got up. “Do you like horses? But of course
you do,--a Texas girl.”
“Yes, I love horses,” Blue Bonnet said slowly.
“Come and see my horse, then; Grandfather gave him to me last
birthday.” Alec led the way across the lawn to where a path branched
off to the stable.
It was a low brick building, matching the house in style. From their
comfortable stalls the sober old carriage horses gazed placidly out.
Blue Bonnet went to stroke them. “They’re just like Grandmother’s,” she
laughed.
“Oh, we’re a good deal alike here in Woodford,” Alec said, “we ‘first
families,’ that is. Of course our horses aren’t all the same color, any
more than our houses are; but they’ve all reached about the same state
of lazy well-being. But look here!” He turned to another stall.
Blue Bonnet gave a quick exclamation of pleasure and reached out a hand
to smooth the glossy head turned towards her. “Oh, he is a beauty!” she
cried. “What’s his name?”
“Victor,” Alec moved nearer, and the horse with a low whinny of
welcome sniffed expectantly at his pocket.
“I’ve your sugar, all right, old fellow,” the boy said, holding out a
couple of lumps.
“I reckon he goes well?” Blue Bonnet said.
“Like the wind.”
“You like that?” the girl asked.
“I certainly do. I’d let you try him some day, only I don’t know
whether he’d stand skirts--he’s got a pretty spirit of his own.”
Blue Bonnet edged away. “I--think I’d better be going now; I’m afraid
it’s late.”
“It’s been a short morning, hasn’t it?” Alec said. “They’re rather
long, sometimes.”
“You’ll come over soon?” Blue Bonnet asked, as they reached the stile
again.
“Indeed I will,” Alec promised.
“Good-bye,” Blue Bonnet called, as she ran across the lawn and through
the garden to the side door. In the hall she met Aunt Lucinda.
“My dear,” Miss Clyde said, something very like annoyance in her voice,
“where have you been all the morning?”
Blue Bonnet flushed. “Over to the next place most of the time, Aunt
Lucinda.”
“You have been with Alec Trent?”
“Yes, Aunt Lucinda.”
“You have not attended to your unpacking yet?”
“No, Aunt Lucinda.”
“Nor seen to your room?”
Blue Bonnet looked surprised. “No, Aunt Lucinda; did you expect me to?
I never did at home.”
“Then it is quite time that you began, Elizabeth. If you will come
upstairs with me you shall have your first lesson. I consider it most
necessary that a young girl should be taught to depend on herself as
much as possible.”
Blue Bonnet followed silently. Her room was just as she had left
it on going down to breakfast that morning. Now, with the noon
sunshine flooding it, and with Aunt Lucinda looking about with grave
disapproving eyes, it looked very untidy indeed.
Blue Bonnet sighed longingly for Benita, as she picked up the dress she
had worn the day before and carried it to the big empty closet. Then
she turned to the open trunk, out of which she had hurriedly pulled
various things needed in dressing, that morning.
But Miss Clyde laid a detaining hand on her shoulder. “We will dispose
of the things already out before unpacking further, Elizabeth.”
The end of the next hour found Blue Bonnet far from at peace with all
her particular world.
“As if it really mattered,” she said to herself, sitting forlornly in
a corner of one of the low window-seats, “which drawer you put things
in; or whether the quilt is on just so. And I haven’t been idling my
morning, I’ve been making a friend; and I don’t want to learn to keep
house;--anyway, Benita wouldn’t let me keep house if I could.”
She sat up at the sound of a light tap on her door; then the door
opened and her grandmother came in.
“I wanted to make sure you were really here, dear,” she said. “You
vanished so mysteriously right after breakfast that it was hard to
believe you had ever come.”
Blue Bonnet had come forward instantly. “I didn’t mean to stay so,”
she said; “I just ran out for a moment to see the garden--it was so
good to get out after being shut up in the cars for so long. Then I got
acquainted with the boy next door. He’s a very nice boy, Grandmother.”
“Alec _is_ a nice boy, dear; but, I am afraid, a rather lonely one.”
“Lonely! When there are so many people and houses all around?”
Mrs. Clyde smiled. “One can be lonely in the midst of a crowd, dear.”
She drew Blue Bonnet down on the lounge beside her. “I hope you like
your room, Elizabeth. I superintended the arranging of it myself.”
And Blue Bonnet, looking about the big, pleasant room, saw it with new
understanding. “I--I love it,” she said; “I’ll--try to keep it nice,
Grandmother.”
“You have had a pleasant morning, dear?”
Blue Bonnet hesitated. “It was nice--while I was out-of-doors.
Grandmother,”--she looked up questioningly,--“have I got to do things
every morning with Aunt Lucinda?”
“Do things, Elizabeth!”
“Why, going over my studies with her, and learning to do things about
the house; and then my practising, too?”
“What would you like to do with your mornings, Elizabeth?”
“Nothing in particular, just be out-of-doors.”
“Won’t the afternoons be long enough for that, dear?”
“I’ve never found the whole day really long enough for it, Grandmother.
I just love being out.”
“But, Elizabeth, school will be beginning before very long; and I think
we must try and tame you down a bit before then. As for your studies,
your aunt is anxious to learn what your standing is. Suppose, however,
we let lessons go for this week. How will that do?”
“Thursday, Friday, Saturday,” Blue Bonnet counted, “besides this
afternoon--I ought to get to know Woodford pretty well in that time,
Grandmother.”
“And when are _we_ going to get to know _you_, Elizabeth?”
“Why!” Blue Bonnet said, “I hadn’t thought of that; but there’ll be the
evenings.”
Mrs. Clyde smiled. “Remember, Elizabeth, that Woodford covers a fairly
wide area; you mustn’t roam too far afield alone.”
“Maybe Alec’ll go with me. I wish I had Don; he went everywhere at home
with me. He’s the dearest dog, Grandmother.”
“I rather think Don is happier where he is, dear; and now we must go
down to dinner.”
* * * * *
That afternoon Blue Bonnet was in her own room, just finishing a letter
to her uncle, when Miss Clyde came to her door. “Elizabeth,” she
said, “Sarah Blake has come to call upon you. She is the minister’s
daughter, a most estimable young person. I sincerely hope you may
become friends.” She scanned Blue Bonnet critically. “You would do well
to change your gown and tidy your hair. Be as quick as possible; it is
never good taste to keep a guest waiting.”
Five minutes later, Blue Bonnet came slowly downstairs; pausing on the
landing long enough to declare under her breath that she was perfectly
sure she should hate Sarah Blake.
Sarah was waiting in the darkened front parlor. She was short and
fair; rather unimaginative and decidedly conscientious. She very much
disliked calling upon strangers, and for that reason had chosen the
earliest opportunity to come and see Blue Bonnet.
“How do you do?” she said, as Blue Bonnet appeared. “Mrs. Clyde asked
me to come and see you. I hope you will like Woodford.”
“So do I,” Blue Bonnet answered. “Would you mind coming outside?” she
added. “It’s much nicer.”
They went out to the shady front piazza where Blue Bonnet drew forward
a couple of wicker armchairs. “Now I can see what you look like,” she
announced frankly; “it was so dark in there.”
Sarah looked rather uncomfortable at this.
“Aunt Lucinda says she hopes we will be friends,” Blue Bonnet went on.
“What do you like to do?”
Sarah opened and closed her fan nervously. “I like--keeping house, and
going to school and--sewing--”
“Please stop!” Blue Bonnet implored. “I don’t mean those kinds of
things. Don’t you like doing anything--sensible?”
Sarah stared. “Sensible!”
“Well, what _I_ call sensible--tiresome things can’t be really
sensible, can they?”
It was a new philosophy for Sarah.
“Are all the girls here like that?” Blue Bonnet asked.
“I--suppose so. Kitty Clark isn’t _very_ domestic, I’m afraid.”
Blue Bonnet registered a mental vow to get acquainted with Kitty Clark
as soon as possible. “Wouldn’t you like to see the garden?” she asked.
Sarah assented; she felt dizzy and bewildered. “Mrs. Clyde has a very
pretty garden,” she said, politely, as they went down the steps and
along the trim box-bordered path.
“It’s all right!” Blue Bonnet agreed. She gathered flowers with a
generous hand. “And now, what shall we do next?” she asked, giving them
to Sarah.
“I must be going,” Sarah answered.
“But you’ve only just come!” Blue Bonnet protested.
“I think I have made a very long call,” Sarah said soberly; and indeed
it may have seemed long to Sarah.
Outside the gate, she stopped a moment. Texas girls were certainly
rather exhausting, and yet she thought she should like Elizabeth Ashe.
Perhaps, after she had been in Woodford a while, she would quiet down.
* * * * *
Half an hour before supper Miss Clyde came round to the side piazza,
where her mother sat reading. “Mother,” she asked, “have you seen
Elizabeth?”
“Not since dinner time, Lucinda.”
“She does not appear to be anywhere about the place,” Miss Clyde said,
rather anxiously. “She is utterly irresponsible; Mr. Ashe should have
sent her East long ago.”
“I think she is coming now,” Mrs. Clyde said.
There was the sound of quick steps on the drive; a moment after,
Blue Bonnet, hatless, her white dress soiled and crumpled, appeared,
carrying a small dog in her arms.
“Grandmother,” she cried, “I’ve got a dog! I bought him from a boy up
the road,--he was treating him mighty mean.”
“What are you going to do with him, Elizabeth?” Miss Clyde asked.
“Why, keep him, Aunt Lucinda. He’s a pretty dilapidated-looking
specimen now, isn’t he? But wait until he’s had a bath and a few good
meals. I reckon if ever a dog needed a good home, he does.”
Blue Bonnet put the dog down and he made straight for Aunt Lucinda,
crouching at her feet beseechingly. He was truly the forlornest of
creatures, but with strangely pathetic, intelligent brown eyes.
A moment Miss Clyde wavered; then she moved away. “I think those ‘good
meals’ cannot begin too soon, Elizabeth,” she said. “But he must stay
down at the stable.”
[Illustration: “‘GRANDMOTHER,’ SHE CRIED. ‘I’VE GOT A DOG.’”]
“Not for always?” the girl cried.
“That will have to be decided later,” her grandmother told her; “take
him away now, dear.”
“I think I’ll call him Solomon, he looks so wise,” Blue Bonnet said.
Halfway down to the stable, she stooped to pat the dog’s rough head.
“Solomon,” she asked, “how did _you_ know that Aunt Lucinda held the
deciding vote?”