TO MEET MISS ELIZABETH ASHE
“‘Mrs. Clyde requests the pleasure of,’--yes, Aunt Lucinda,--Kitty
Clark,--she’s that redheaded girl, Aunt Lucinda?”
“Yes, Elizabeth.”
“Well, I’ve requested ‘the pleasure of Miss Kitty Clark’s company,’ all
right,” Blue Bonnet observed a moment later. She sighed wearily. “It
would have been a whole lot easier if we’d just stuck a notice up in
the post-office, Aunt Lucinda.”
“Elizabeth!”
Under their long lashes, Blue Bonnet’s eyes danced mischievously.
She was learning how to draw forth that particular note of shocked
astonishment; and to rather enjoy doing it.
“Who’s next, Aunt Lucinda?” she asked.
“That will be all.”
“Only six! Why I’ve seen a heap of girls at church, Aunt Lucinda!”
“A what, Elizabeth?”
“Ever ’n’ ever so many, Aunt Lucinda.”
“Certainly.”
“Won’t the others be disappointed?”
“Really, Elizabeth, I do not know.”
“But, Aunt Lucinda, aren’t there to be any boys? Isn’t Alec coming?”
“The invitations are all written, Elizabeth.”
“Don’t you like boys, Aunt Lucinda?”
“Suppose you direct the envelopes now, Elizabeth.”
Blue Bonnet bit her lips; she was not used to having her remarks set
aside in this fashion.
When the last envelope had been added to the little pile, lying on the
desk before her, she drew a deep breath of relief. “I think I’ll take
Solomon for a run,” she said.
“Have you done your practising yet, Elizabeth?” her aunt asked.
“No, Aunt Lucinda.”
“Then you would better go to it now; by the time you are through I
shall be at liberty to go over your Latin with you.”
“If you please, Aunt Lucinda, I’d so much rather go over the fields
with Solomon, instead.”
“Elizabeth!”
And Blue Bonnet, as she went across the hall to the dim back parlor,
felt that Aunt Lucinda thought she had meant to be impertinent. “When
it was just the straight truth,” the girl said. As she went to throw
open the blinds, the riot of color in the garden beyond caught and
held her. It would be easier practising with a great bunch of fragrant
nasturtiums beside her.
But the nasturtiums took a long time to gather, particularly as
Solomon, finding her there, kept making little rushes among the
flower-beds--which were strictly forbidden ground. Solomon was getting
more in evidence every day. Blue Bonnet had secret visions of the time
when he should even be tolerated in the house. “The stable, indeed!”
she said now. “You’re not going to stay that kind of a dog, are you,
sir?”
Solomon barked an emphatic negative.
“Doesn’t the air feel good, Solomon?” Blue Bonnet said. “But I reckon
I’ll have to be going back to the house. Take my advice, old fellow,
and never go in for music in summer-time; there’s too much practising
about it.”
“Elizabeth!” Aunt Lucinda called from the piazza.
And Blue Bonnet obeyed hurriedly.
“You should have closed the blinds again when you were through in the
parlor, Elizabeth,” Miss Clyde said.
Blue Bonnet came to a sudden halt at the foot of the piazza steps.
“But, Aunt Lucinda, I wasn’t through! I--I haven’t begun. It can’t be
an hour! I only went out for a moment to gather some flowers.”
“Bring your Latin grammar, Elizabeth; your practising must wait now
until after dinner.”
“But dinner isn’t till two o’clock, Aunt Lucinda! I won’t get through
until nearly four! I sha’n’t have any afternoon at all!”
“Whose fault is that, Elizabeth?”
Latin verbs did not progress very well that morning; both teacher and
pupil were glad when the hour was over.
Blue Bonnet went to spend the intervening twenty minutes before dinner
in the hammock on the front piazza. Uncle Giff’s easy rule had hardly
prepared the girl for the orderly, busy routine that life stood for in
this staid old house. Mrs. Clyde, coming out presently, saw the shadow
on Blue Bonnet’s face, and, bit by bit, drew the story of the morning
from her.
“I didn’t mean not to practise,” the girl said; “but I was so tired
writing those notes; some of them got blotted and had to be done over;
and I was wild to get out--and it wasn’t fair of--”
“Careful, Elizabeth!”
Blue Bonnet colored. They forgot that she was fifteen
and--and--mistress of the Blue Bonnet Ranch.
“Elizabeth,” her grandmother said, gravely, “suppose you try to look at
things from your aunt’s point of view. Remember, dear, she is trying to
do her best by a very heedless, motherless girl.”
All resentment vanished from Blue Bonnet’s blue eyes. Just before
dinner she appeared before Miss Clyde, Latin grammar in hand.
“I think I know that verb now, Aunt Lucinda,” she said. “Will there be
time to hear me say it?”
Miss Clyde took the book.
Blue Bonnet did know that verb; knew it in all its various moods and
tenses with the thoroughness her aunt delighted in. “That was very well
done, Elizabeth,” she said.
And Blue Bonnet found the quiet words of commendation well worth while.
Conversation during dinner, led by Mrs. Clyde, concerned itself
chiefly with the coming tea-party. Tea-parties were unknown things to
Blue Bonnet. It seemed to her that they were rather serious affairs.
Especially did it appear too bad to go to so much trouble for so few
guests; and she could not get over her feeling of sympathy for those
left out.
“These are the young girls from among whom your grandmother and I wish
you to choose your friends, Elizabeth,” her aunt told her.
“Then I’m not to like them all, Aunt Lucinda?”
“Certainly, if you find them all congenial.”
“I hope some of them are a little more lively than Sarah Blake,” Blue
Bonnet observed thoughtfully. “I don’t dislike Sarah, but I can’t say
as I’m very keen on her--yet.”
“It is not good taste to criticize your friends, Elizabeth.”
“I’m not sure she is going to be a friend, Aunt Lucinda.”
“Elizabeth!”
Whereupon, Blue Bonnet asked to be excused, and went to her practising.
“I’m getting a bit tired of being--‘Elizabethed,’” she said, screwing
up the piano-stool with quite unnecessary vigor.
* * * * *
Thursday, the day set for the tea-party, was in Blue Bonnet’s
estimation a perfect day. Wednesday had been decidedly hot; but during
the night a sudden change had come, and to-day the air was clear
and fresh, with a touch of the coming fall in it. It sent the blood
thrilling through Blue Bonnet’s veins, and made her if anything more
careless and inconsequent than usual.
All the morning the outdoor world was calling to her, getting in return
more than one involuntary response. About noontime, Alec came whistling
up the back path, Bob and Ben at his heels. Blue Bonnet was on the
steps studying.
“Busy?” he asked.
“I’m through now, thank Fortune!”
“Then you can come?”
“Where?”
“Did you ever follow a brook?”
Blue Bonnet threw down her book and caught up her shade hat from a
nearby chair. “Let’s start right away!”
They went down the path to where a gate opened into a wide open meadow,
Blue Bonnet whistling to Solomon as they went.
At the foot of the meadow lay the brook; a sunny, quiet enough little
brook, until, further on, it suddenly entered the woods, where it
laughed and gurgled and tumbled headlong over rocks in the most
delightful way.
Halfway towards the woods, Alec halted. “Wait a bit, Elizabeth,” he
said, “and I’ll cut back to the house and get Norah to put us up some
lunch.”
“All right,” Blue Bonnet agreed, sitting down in the long meadow-grass
to wait. The three dogs had disappeared on an important chase, and she
was left all alone. From where she sat there was nothing to be seen but
open fields and blue sky; and these sent her thoughts homeward. She had
been two weeks in Woodford. Looking back now, they seemed to have been
rather long weeks. She had spent so much of them indoors, and there had
been so many things to be done, to be learned.
Lying on her back in the tall grass, Blue Bonnet tried to imagine
herself back on the prairie. She forgot that she hated the prairie. Oh,
but it was good to be out in the open air and sunshine, doing nothing,
wanting nothing, caring for nothing!
Alec’s halloa brought her back to the present. He came up at a quick
pace, a small covered basket in his hand. “Was I very long?” he asked.
“Long enough for me to get to Texas and back.”
“I’d like to have made the trip with you.”
Blue Bonnet had scrambled to her feet. “I think I shall come out here
every day for a whole hour and do nothing,” she said.
“I do nothing every day at home--for more than an hour,” Alec answered.
“It’s pretty slow work sometimes.”
They had reached the woods now, the brook a slender, noisy thread
beside them. On and on they followed it; now on this side, now on
that; talking, laughing, growing better acquainted every moment. Ahead
of them, the three dogs raced and barked and behaved in the absurd,
carefree way usual with puppies.
“Isn’t Solomon getting better-looking every day?” Blue Bonnet said.
“Is he? He must have been a beauty at the start,” Alec declared.
“Oh, he isn’t a thoroughbred--except as to his feelings; but he’s a
mighty nice dog. He’s devoted to Aunt Lucinda.”
“Does she return his devotion?”
“I honestly think she does like him a little; and she really is good to
him,” Blue Bonnet said, soberly.
“He’s having the time of his life now, all right,” Alec laughed. A
moment later he came to a sudden halt; he had been fighting against the
need for rest for the last half-hour. It was intolerable to be played
out in this way, with Blue Bonnet showing not the slightest sign of
fatigue.
“We might camp here,” he suggested. In spite of himself, he could not
keep the tiredness out of his voice.
Blue Bonnet looked up at him. “Yes,” she said quickly, “this will be
fine.”
They spread the napkin covering the basket over a flat stone and laid
out the lunch.
“My, but I’m hungry,” Blue Bonnet declared. “It’s fun, isn’t it, eating
out-of-doors?”
Alec nodded.
“I’m having a tea-party this afternoon,” Blue Bonnet said. “Just a lot
of girls, or you should have been invited.”
“I’m afraid I don’t like tea-parties,” Alec laughed.
“This is my first. I think it’s going to be lots of fun; only I’m
scared I sha’n’t do Aunt Lucinda credit.”
“There isn’t anything to do, except put on your best duds and act
‘proper.’”
Blue Bonnet took a second sandwich. “But acting ‘proper’ in Woodford
seems to mean such a lot.”
“What time does the shindig come off?”
“Half-past five. Sarah Blake’s coming, and Kitty Clark, Amanda Parker,
Debby Slade, and Ruth and Susy Doyle. I know Sarah and Debby; they’ve
called. There are a lot of girls in Woodford, aren’t they?”
“Loads. And I’ll bet my best hat that not a single one of them, if they
had a tea-party on, would be off tramping the woods like this,” Alec
said, passing the apple turnovers and cheese.
“But it isn’t until afternoon!” Blue Bonnet exclaimed. “Oh, Alec,
think how nearly summer is over! School’ll be beginning soon now.
It’s going to be odd, having a woman teacher; I’ve always studied
under tutors. I’ve had a lot of different ones. Aunt Lucinda says that
largely accounts for my ‘desultory habits.’ But I’ve read a good deal.
Uncle Cliff used to have a box of books sent out every little while. I
haven’t kept up my music very well--all of the tutors weren’t musical.
I can play by ear, though; but Aunt Lucinda says it would be better if
I didn’t.”
“What makes you quote Miss Clyde so much?” Alec asked.
Blue Bonnet laughed. “Because it seems somehow as if it were Aunt
Lucinda who was running this ranch.” She leaned back against a gnarled
old stump. “Sometimes I wish,” she said, “that there were two of me--so
that one of us could stay at home and be taught things, and behave
nicely, while the other went wandering about as she liked.”
“You might adopt Sarah for your _alter ego_,” Alec suggested.
“It’s very puzzling--how people get mixed up. Sarah would have
been such a suitable niece for Aunt Lucinda; though I really don’t
believe,” Blue Bonnet’s blue eyes twinkled, “that she would have suited
Grandmother as well as I do. Alec, it’s so--queer, being in a family
where there are just women.”
“I’ve never tried it; sometimes I’ve thought it seemed rather lonesome
being in a family where there weren’t any women.” Alec commenced to
gather up the dishes, tossing the scraps to the dogs.
Blue Bonnet’s eyes were thoughtful. “It’s strange how much we have in
common. Oh, Alec, I ought to be doing that!”
“It’s all done,” Alec answered.
“Sarah would’ve?”
“Yes, and washed the dishes in the brook, and tidied things up
generally.”
“But at home no one ever expected me to do anything like that,” Blue
Bonnet explained; “that’s the reason I’m always forgetting now.”
The talk drifted from Texas to Woodford and back again; broken by long
pauses, in which each was content to sit silent in the soft green
twilight of the woods, listening to the faint rustling of the trees
overhead, the murmuring of the brook, and the occasional call of a
bird.
It was a good while before Alec looked at his watch; then he sprang to
his feet. “Elizabeth, you’ve got exactly one hour and a half in which
to make a two hour and a half walk, and get into your company duds.”
Blue Bonnet stared up at him, too astonished to move. “Alec, it isn’t
_four o’clock_!”
“Three minutes after--now!”
“And they don’t even know where I am!” Blue Bonnet gasped.
“We’ll have to do some pretty tall sprinting,” Alec said.
It seemed to Blue Bonnet that after miles of hurried, heated scrambling
they were still fathoms deep in those interminable woods. She felt that
Alec was hurrying far beyond his strength; but he would not let her go
on without him. She had given up counting the numbers of times she had
stepped into the brook instead of over it, and the tears in her skirt.
Then at last, rounding a sharp curve, they saw the open meadow before
them. They were crossing it when Alec held up his hand. “Listen!” he
said.
Faint and clear through the summer stillness sounded the village clock,
striking half-past five.
Suddenly the humor of the situation struck Blue Bonnet. “My first
tea-party!” she gasped, between paroxysms of laughter.
“Come on,” Alec warned her. “There’s some one watching for you now
down at the gate; probably there are scouts out in every direction.”
The watcher was Delia, the second girl. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth,” she
cried, “we’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
At the back door, Miss Clyde met Blue Bonnet. “Elizabeth!” she
exclaimed, in tones of mingled relief and displeasure, “where have you
been?”
“Following a brook with Alec, Aunt Lucinda.”
“With your guests waiting in the parlor, and tea-time set for half-past
five! Go up to your room at once--I have laid out your things--we will
talk of this later.”
Blue Bonnet stumbled blindly upstairs; sitting on the floor to change
her shoes and stockings, she could hardly see the lacings for the tears
blinding her eyes.
Everything went wrong; strings went into knots; pins pricked her. Worst
of all, her heavy hair got into a hopeless tangle. She was struggling
with it desperately, trying to get out the bits of twigs and dried
moss, when someone, coming up behind her, took the brush from her
hands. “Let me try, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Clyde said.
Soon, as if by magic, the soft thick braid was ready for its white
ribbon. And all the time Mrs. Clyde had not spoken again, but the look
in her eyes was harder to meet than Aunt Lucinda’s displeasure had
been.
“Have I been very bad, Grandmother?” the girl asked, wistfully.
“I cannot say that you have been very considerate, Elizabeth.”
Blue Bonnet’s lips quivered. Mrs. Clyde gave a few finishing touches to
her white dress and hurried her downstairs.
And all this time, in the big front parlor, six highly-starched,
immaculate young people were trying to appear interested in the
decidedly perfunctory conversation Miss Clyde was endeavoring to keep
up; carrying on among themselves at the same time little whispered
exclamations of wonder and amusement.
Astonishment that anyone belonging to Miss Clyde could behave in such
a way was only rivalled by the delightful uncertainty as to what might
be to follow; and when presently Blue Bonnet, flushed, apologetic, but
extremely glad to see them all, made her appearance, they received her
warmly, if a little shyly.
In spite of its disastrous beginning, that tea-party was a great
success,--a success due principally to Blue Bonnet herself. There was
nothing stiff or formal about her; and her frank enjoyment of the
society of so many girls of her own age was infectious.
Tea in Woodford was usually followed by music; and those of the girls
who could play had come duly prepared. One by one, various old
standbys were rendered, and then it was Blue Bonnet’s turn.
There was a laugh in the girl’s eyes as she took her place at the
piano. A moment later, not a girl in the room but was beating time to
the gay little tune she was playing.
Never before had such rollicking, joyous strains sounded through the
sober old house. Mrs. Clyde, sitting by herself on the piazza, tapped
the arm of her chair with her fan softly.
“I got that from one of the cowboys,” Blue Bonnet turned to explain;
“you ought to hear him play it on his fiddle, and see the others
dancing, and the camp-fire glowing.”
Six pairs of eyes were fixed on Blue Bonnet. “Oh,” Kitty cried,
breathlessly, “how could you ever bear to come and leave it?--the
ranch, I mean.”
Blue Bonnet’s face sobered. “Because--”
“She had to come to go to school,” Debby Slade said.
“Yes,” Blue Bonnet answered, “I had to come.”
It was Sarah who made the first move to go, making it very prettily and
very properly.
Blue Bonnet promptly vetoed the suggestion; they would all go out on
the piazza and sing songs and tell stories in the moonlight.
But Sarah could be adamant when it was a case of duty; and Sarah’s
ideas on duty were far-reaching. She was the eldest, and she felt that
it was her place to set the example.
So, although some of her flock threatened to prove rebellious, she
presently led them upstairs to the best bedroom, to put on hats and
gloves.
Blue Bonnet, perched insecurely on the footboard of the big mahogany
bedstead, beamed upon them one and all, urging them to drop in whenever
they liked without waiting to be invited.
“I will, for one,” Kitty promised; and, while the rest filed solemnly
downstairs in line, Kitty pulled Blue Bonnet back, giving her a hearty
hug. “Oh, but I am glad you’ve come!” she said.
Woodford etiquette required that Blue Bonnet should go with her guests
to the front door--and no further. Blue Bonnet went gaily down to the
gate.
On her way back to the house, she suddenly remembered her escapade of
the afternoon, and what Aunt Lucinda had said. Perhaps Aunt Lucinda had
forgotten by now.
One glance at Miss Clyde’s face, on re-entering the parlor, dispelled
any such hope. Blue Bonnet took sudden heart of grace.
“Aunt Lucinda,” she said, going up to where her aunt stood waiting for
her, “it was a very nice party, and I’m very much obliged to you, and
I--I am sorry I was late, I--”
“You should not have gone at all, Elizabeth,” Miss Clyde said gravely.
The reproof which followed, if a little severe, was not unjust. Blue
Bonnet listened silently, but her face expressed both astonishment and
indignation. Never before had she been talked to in that fashion--and
after she had said she was sorry, too. Her one desire was to get away.
“Is that all, Aunt Lucinda?” she asked, the instant Miss Clyde stopped
speaking.
“That is all, Elizabeth, except,” Miss Clyde’s voice softened a little,
“that I very much regret having had to speak to you like this and that
I hope it need not occur again. You may go now. Good night, Elizabeth.”
“Good night, Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet answered steadily; but, once
on the other side of the parlor door, her breath caught in a quick
sob, and later, as she buried her wet face in her pillow, she told
herself miserably that she never, never could live up to Aunt Lucinda’s
requirements.