Blue Bonnet in Boston; or, Boarding-School Days at Miss North's

by Caroline Elliott Hoogs Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards

  CHAPTER IX

  WOODFORD

  "Now, Carita, tell me all of it--everything you heard. Come on, I thinkI ought to know."

  Blue Bonnet and Carita had been interrupted in the packing of theirsuitcases for a week-end at Woodford, by Annabel Jackson, who hadstepped in Blue Bonnet's room to return a dress. Her presence had causedCarita to let slip a bit of gossip prevalent in the school.

  Carita squeezed a waist into the last bit of space her suitcaseafforded, and turned to Blue Bonnet.

  "Oh, what do you ask me for, Blue Bonnet? I don't like to tellyou--really I don't! What's the use? Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't droppedthat hint. I didn't mean to--it just slipped out."

  "Go on. Tell me."

  Carita sighed deeply.

  "It's just gossip. Like enough there isn't a word of truth in it."

  "Never mind. Tell me."

  "All right, then: Mary Boyd says that Annabel Jackson is a perfectlittle toady--that she always finds out if a girl has money and niceclothes and things, before she has anything to do with her. She saysAnnabel has found out that you have a great deal of money, and that'sone reason she's so nice to you."

  "But I haven't a great deal of money--not to spend here, anyway. Ihaven't any bigger allowance than Annabel has--or Sue, for that matter!"

  "Yes, but it's got out about your ranch; that you have a lot coming toyou some day--and--and that you brought me here--that you're paying myway--"

  Blue Bonnet turned sharply.

  "Who told that? That's my business and Uncle Cliff's--entirely!"

  "You said something about being responsible for me when I was sick. Ireckon the girls put two and two together and started the story. I can'tthink 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 poorclergyman's daughter would never get in a school like this without somehelp. 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 herhands.

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

  "Just this difference: I like Annabel--for herself--and she likes me forwhat I've got. I suppose that's the way _all_ those girls feel--Sue andWee, 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 foryourself. Why, I have the loveliest 'trade last' for you, right thisminute. 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 perfectlyadore you. Now, don't they?"

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

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

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

  Indeed there was no excuse that Blue Bonnet would not have made forAnnabel. She had grown very fond of the little Southern girl in the fiveweeks past. Annabel had a way of ingratiating herself into theaffections of her associates. She had the charm that is an inheritanceof the South; the musical softness of speech, the daintiness of person,the warmth of heart; and--although Blue Bonnet had it yet to learn--agenius for friendship.

  In Annabel Jackson's veins flowed the bluest of Southern blood. Hergrandfather--the old General, known throughout the length and breadth ofTennessee--was an aristocrat of the old school. He boasted of anancestry that defied criticism. Annabel was not a snob--but she was asybarite; she loved the soft things of life, the luxuries, thepleasures: she turned toward them as naturally as a flower turns to thesun. This tendency had earned for her the reputation of "toady" by thosewho 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, andher affections were sincere and lasting.

  Blue Bonnet finished packing her suitcase.

  "Well, I'm not going to worry over what Mary says," she announced aftera 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 hewas a regular old fogy--too slow for words, and--why, he's a man with abig reputation--Cousin Tracy's own doctor."

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

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

  * * * * *

  A thick glittering mantle of snow lay over Woodford. Blue Bonnet hadnever before arrived in the winter, and the snow was not as inviting asthe green hills and leafy swaying elms of the early autumn; but thesight of old Denham, with Solomon at his heels, put aside all thought ofgloom.

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

  Miss Clyde had not ventured to the station because of the cold; but sheand 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 thestately old house. Cheerful fires blazed on the hearths, the littlebrass kettle steamed and sang on the tea-table, and Grandmother's eyesshone with joy. She held Blue Bonnet in a close embrace, while shescanned her face for any change that five weeks might have broughtthere.

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

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

  "Yes, that's the only difficulty, Grandmother. Boarding-school has atendency to round people out--too much! I wish you could see WeeWatts--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 anyone objected to being stout. In her eyes flesh was becoming.

  Nor was Carita forgotten. She shared with Blue Bonnet in Grandmother'scaresses 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 BlueBonnet's direction. There was something beside the "rounding out" thatinterested her. There was a different air, a decided improvement in herniece. 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 Bonnetwas growing up. But what made such a difference? Suddenly she knew! Itwas 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 ofhair-ribbons--the girls I go with. They thought I was much too old towear them, and after I took them off, it was so hard to go back to themagain. Don't you like it this way? The girls liked it parted. Theysaid--they seemed to think my nose suited it."

  Aunt Lucinda could not resist a smile. She hesitated before shespoke--she was eminently truthful. Much as she disliked the idea of BlueBonnet'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 coveryour 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 hadexpected. She glanced in Grandmother's direction.

  There was a far-away expression in Mrs. Clyde's eyes, as if she werelooking beyond Blue Bonnet--back into the shadowy past. She was: BlueBonnet 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 wentup-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? Thechild grows to be more of a Clyde every day."

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

  "Chula? Why, dear, didn't Aunt Lucinda write you that Chula is out atpasture? She was eating her head off in the barn, and with no one toexercise 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."

  She laid the apples she had begged from Katie on the tea-table.

  "Suppose you take Solomon for a run over to the General's," Mrs. Clydesuggested. "Alec is at home. You must make the best of your visit; he isleaving on Monday."

  "Where's he going?"

  "To Washington, to school. He prepares there for West Point. He has atrying period before him, and much hard work. Be sure to put on rubbersand big coats. It is very cold to-day."

  Blue Bonnet and Carita were off in a trice.

  Alec met them at the stile.

  "Was just coming over to see you," he said, shaking hands.

  "All right. We'll go back."

  "No, come along. Grandfather is expecting this visit."

  The General was comfortably ensconced before the fire. He greeted thegirls with real delight. Blue Bonnet was one of his special favorites.

  It was dinner-time before Blue Bonnet had finished with half her news ofschool, and she seemed surprised when she looked at her watch.

  "Oh, my, we must run," she said, flying out the door and pulling Caritaafter her. "Aunt Lucinda will be serving dinner. Come over,Alec--to-night if you can."

  "Perhaps," he called after her. "I'm up to my ears in work just now.Preparing for the Point's no joke, you know."

  Aunt Lucinda was serving dinner, and the girls scrambled into theirplaces hastily.

  "I wish we could see the We Are Sevens to-night," Blue Bonnet said asshe began the meal. "It seems like a year since I last saw them.Sometimes I can hardly remember how they look."

  "You will have plenty of time to refresh your memory," Miss Clydepromised. "They have planned for every hour of your visit--almost."

  After dinner there was a cosy chat around the fire. There was so muchthat Aunt Lucinda and Grandmother wanted to know about the school, andso much to tell.

  About eight o'clock there was a terrific pull at the door bell--thenanother--and still another!

  Blue Bonnet looked startled. Then she jumped up from her chair.

  "It's the We Are Sevens," she said. "I know it is! I'll go."

  She opened the door to admit--not only the We Are Sevens, but a numberof the We Are Sevens' friends, boys, mostly--Alec in the lead.

  "Oh, it's a party! A surprise party! Come quick, Carita."

  There was a great stamping of snow from many pairs of feet, gladgreetings of welcome, mingled with shouts of laughter. The old houserang with merriment.

  Mrs. Clyde and her daughter did not act as if they were greatlysurprised. Indeed they had been taken into the secret some days before.So had Katie, who at that moment was preparing all sorts of good thingsin the kitchen, to be served the young people later.

  Blue Bonnet gave each of the We Are Sevens an extra hug, and looked intotheir faces long and eagerly.

  "Why, you haven't changed a bit!" she remarked.

  One might have thought the separation had covered five years, ratherthan five weeks.

  "But you have, Blue Bonnet--lots! What is it?" Kitty asked.

  "It's her hair," Debby discovered. "She's put it up! And her dresses arelonger, too."

  There was a general inspection, during which the boys looked ondisinterestedly.

  The evening passed like a dream to Blue Bonnet. It was so good to be athome again, among one's friends; people who loved you for yourself.

  "Haven't we had a heavenly time to-night, Carita," Blue Bonnet askedbetween yawns, after they had retired. "Didn't Kitty Clark look pretty?I'm going to get after her hair to-morrow and do it like mine. Won't itbe sweet? She has such loads."

  By noon the next day, each of the We Are Sevens were wearing their locksparted, and coiled in a knot--regardless of the adaptability of noses.

  Saturday was quite as busy as Friday had been. There was anothergathering at Alec's in the evening; a farewell party, for very soonWoodford was to know Alec no more.

  The General seemed a bit sad as he watched the young people in theirfrolics. He was facing a long separation from his grandson: the old homewas going to be very lonely without him. Many times he had wished thatBoyd Trent's record would permit of his bringing _him_ back again, butfresh grievances had followed in Boyd's wake, and reports of him weredisappointing in the extreme. And yet the General was happy--very happy.Alec's health had been restored, and he had his appointment; two thingsfor which the General was devoutly thankful.

  Sunday there was the service in the little church. Blue Bonnet did nothave to be urged to go as on that first occasion. She and Carita weredressed and waiting when Denham drove round, exactly at a quarter beforeeleven, as he had been in the habit of doing for almost a quarter of acentury.

  "That was a very nice sermon," Blue Bonnet remarked on the way home. "Ithink Doctor Blake is growing. Don't you, Aunt Lucinda?"

  Miss Clyde smiled.

  "Or Blue Bonnet is," she said quickly.

  "Perhaps that is it, Aunt Lucinda. Anyway he's more interesting."

  * * * * *

  It was five o'clock on the Friday afternoon that Blue Bonnet and Caritahad left for Woodford, that Joy Cross entered the room which she andBlue Bonnet occupied jointly. She glanced about, a look closely akin tojoy lighting her plain features. Joy Cross was a recluse by nature, andthe thought of having the room solely to herself for three days gave herinfinite pleasure.

  She laid an armful of books on the table by the window, then drew up acomfortable chair and sat for awhile looking out into the gatheringtwilight. The pleased expression which she had worn when she entered theroom gradually died from her face, and in its place came one ofdiscontent.

  Between Blue Bonnet Ashe and Joy Cross there was no love lost. Theydisliked each other with the utmost cordiality. Blue Bonnet disliked Joyon general principles--possibly because she could not approach her,understand her; and Joy disliked Blue Bonnet because Blue Bonnet stoodfor everything that she herself wanted to stand for, and couldn't.

  This evening as she sat looking out into the dusk, her figure, usuallyso apathetic and lifeless, took on an animated line, and stiffened intosomething that suggested a smothered, half-dead temperament breathinginto life. She took her arms from the back of her neck, where they hadbeen supporting her head, and digging her elbows into her knees made aplace for her chin to rest in the palms of her hands. She sat this wayfor a long time, thinking, and her thoughts, for the most part, wereoccupied with her room-mate.

  She wished she could get rid of her--be alone. She was tired of therunning in of the girls who had taken Blue Bonnet up; their incessantgabble; their whispered conversations during the visiting hour. To besure, Blue Bonnet had tried, time and time again, to draw her into theseconversations, but she had no desire to be drawn in. She hated AnnabelJackson--the
little snob--and Ruth Biddle's impertinences were beyondendurance. These girls had snubbed her since her entrance as aSophomore, three years before, leaving her out of theirfestivities,--ignoring, scorning her, just as on the other hand they hadtaken up this new room-mate, deluging her with devotion, showering theirgifts and attentions upon her.

  Joy Cross was a scholar--so reputed, and justly; but one of life's mostimportant lessons had passed her by. She had never learned that toreceive, one must give; to be loved, one must love; to attain, one mustreach out. It never occurred to her to weigh her own shortcomings andthrow them into the balance with those of her enemies. She spent notime in introspection, self examination. She set a high standard on herown virtues, and, like most persons of this character, was oblivious toher faults.

  Her three years in the school had been marked by no seriousdifficulties. She had been able to hide most of the unpleasant things inher nature, by her very aloofness. She had no close friends. She wasjudged by her work, her attention to duty, her obedience to rules; allof which were apparently beyond criticism. Her teachers, though theyrespected her, never grew fond of her. She led her classes throughassiduous application, rather than brilliancy of mind.

  She was an omnivorous reader. The only rule she ever thought ofbreaking, was to rise in the dead of night, when the house was still,and taking a secreted candle, lock herself in the bathroom--which had anoutside window to give back no tell-tale reflection--and read until thedawn.

  She changed her position after awhile, and getting up went to the doorand locked it, listening for footsteps down the hall. None passed,evidently, for she went over to her bed and turning back the mattressbrought out a book which had been carefully hidden. Then she drew up thecomfortable chair again, placing it by a table which stood near BlueBonnet's bureau. Adjusting the reading lamp to a proper angle, she wassoon lost in the book, the leaves of which she turned with eager haste.

  She had been reading but a short time when a knock at the door startledher. Reaching over, she pulled out one of Blue Bonnet's bureau drawersstealthily, and laid the book inside, carefully covering it with someunderwear. Then she opened the door.

  Miss Martin, assistant to the house-mother, stood outside.

  "I began to think you were not here, Miss Cross," she said. "May I comein?"

  Joy opened the door.

  "I was busy," she answered, dropping her eyes. "I came as quickly as Icould."

  Miss Martin was not long in making her business known.

  "I am inspecting drawers, and I am late to-day. Things seem to havepiled up so this week. Shall I begin with yours? It is quiteunnecessary; they are always immaculate--but rules are rules."

  She smiled pleasantly, and glancing through the drawers found them neatand orderly. She then turned to Blue Bonnet's bureau.

  Under the usual pallor of Joy Cross's face a dull red mounted, dying outquickly, leaving it whiter than before.

  "Miss Ashe is away, isn't she? Gone home for the week-end. She seems tobe an unusually sweet, attractive girl--so unaffected and genuine. Youmust count yourself very lucky, Miss Cross--Why, what is this?"

  She drew from its hiding-place the book that had been placed there onlya moment before, and held it closer to the light.

  "To whom does this belong, Miss Cross, do you know? I am amazed to findsuch a book in this room. French literature of this kind is expresslyforbidden."

  Joy shook her head slowly. Her lips refused to speak.

  "You have never seen it before?"

  Again the head shook slowly.

  "Have you seen Miss Ashe reading it at any time?"

  "No, Miss Martin."

  "This is her drawer, is it not?"

  "Yes--it is her drawer."

  Miss Martin finished the inspection of the bureau rather hurriedly, andbook in hand, left the room.

  Joy went over to the window and stood looking out. The color had comeback into her face, but her hand trembled as she put it up to brush astray lock of hair from her forehead.

  She had not really meant to incriminate Blue Bonnet Ashe, butcircumstances were against her. It had all happened so quickly--shehadn't had time to think clearly. There had been but one thought in hermind; she, a Senior, could not afford to be found with a book of thatcharacter in her possession. It might mean defeat after three years'struggle--struggle to graduate with the highest honor. She had beencheated out of so much in Miss North's school--_that_ should not escapeher, now! No, her record must go on, clear to the end.

  She took a few steps round the room and then came back to the window.She was frightened. Her heart beat like a trip hammer and her face washot, burning, as if with fever. She threw the window open and let thecold air fan her face--her hot hands. What should she do? What _could_she do, without bringing down upon herself the gravest consequences?

  A Senior in Miss North's school stood for something--was supposed tostand for _all_ that was honorable, above board. She was trusted, lookedup to--privileged. Anything that touched her honor touched theschool,--lowered the standard of the class. A Senior stood as anexample--a pattern for juniors and younger girls, and she ... well, shehad blundered--terribly! If it became known that she was the owner ofthe book--that she had lied to Miss Martin--

  Visions of her father--old, silent, unforgiving--passed before hereyes; her mother--patient, long-suffering--who had made one sacrificeafter another to keep her in this school, far beyond her means. Thevision of those faces settled Joy's mind--made a coward of her. Herdisgrace should not touch them. She would not acknowledge the book,no matter what came! Blue Bonnet Ashe could disclaim any knowledgeof it. She was innocent--could prove that she was. If she, herself,kept still, the storm would soon blow over. No one could prove thebook was hers. No one had seen it in her possession. She could notexplain--now. She had incriminated herself by telling an untruth.A lie, in the eyes of Miss North, was a serious offence, and in aSenior--intolerable--unforgivable--a malicious, willful lie thatinjured another....

  The gong sounded for dinner. Joy hesitated. She hated to meet MissMartin, at whose table she sat. She thought she would not go to dinner.On second thought she knew she must--that she was in a difficultposition and must play the game to the end.

  She went into the bathroom and bathed her flushed face in cold water,straightened her tumbled hair, resumed her usual attitude ofindifference to the world in general, and going down to the dining-roomslipped into her place quietly.