Blue Bonnet came down to breakfast the next morning considerably less debonair than usual.

“And how do you like tea-parties, Elizabeth?” her grandmother asked.

“Very well, Grandmother. And I like the girls, all of them.”

Breakfast over, Blue Bonnet went upstairs to put her room in order. It was a task for which habit was by no means bringing any liking, and which had frequently to be done over. To-day, however, bureau drawers were closed, rugs straightened, and the bedclothes put on most carefully. Aunt Lucinda should find nothing to complain of that morning.

Miss Clyde, glancing in a little later, gave a nod of satisfaction; if only Elizabeth would do her best every day. “Your room looks very nice, Elizabeth,” she said, as Blue Bonnet came to do her Latin.

“Yes, Aunt Lucinda,” the girl said; “are you ready now?”

Altogether, Miss Clyde felt greatly encouraged that morning; but Blue Bonnet’s grandmother, watching the sober face bent over her book, sighed softly.

“Lucinda,” she asked, when Blue Bonnet had left the room, “what have you been doing to Elizabeth?—she is not the same child this morning.”

“I spoke very plainly to her last night about her behavior yesterday afternoon. I am glad to see that it has taken effect.”

“I imagine Elizabeth has not been used to plain speaking.”

“Probably not. She has been spoiled outrageously.”

“I do not think the spoiling has gone very deep. Gentleness and patience will do much towards eradicating it, I believe. We must remember how irregular the child’s upbringing has been for the past ten years.”

“For that very reason—” Miss Clyde began, but stopped speaking as Blue Bonnet came back.

“Elizabeth,” she said a few moments later, glancing to where the girl stood idly by one of the sitting-room windows, “how would you like to go into Boston with me this afternoon?”

Blue Bonnet turned eagerly. “May I, Aunt Lucinda? And could we go to the Museum? Alec’s told me such a lot about the Museum.”

“Suppose you go over and ask Alec to go with us. But hurry right back; we’ll get the twelve o’clock train and lunch in town.” And Blue Bonnet did hurry, tearing headlong across the lawn to the stile, Solomon barking at her heels.

Miss Clyde watched her for a moment. “Who could ever dream she was fifteen!” she exclaimed.

“If only she might stay fifteen, Lucinda,” her mother answered; “granting we can keep her that long—eighteen will so soon be here.”

Blue Bonnet enjoyed her afternoon immensely; she had never dreamed Aunt Lucinda could be so—well, lovely.

The three had lunch at a quiet little restaurant in one of the side streets, before going to the Museum.

At the latter, Alec showed Blue Bonnet all his favorite pictures, laughing over her comments, which were not always favorable; and the two wandered about from room to room, while Miss Clyde rested.

“It’s all been perfectly lovely,” Blue Bonnet declared warmly, as the train drew into Woodford station that evening.

“It has been jolly,” Alec agreed. “Thanks ever so much, Miss Clyde.”

“We must go again,” Miss Clyde answered.

“Grandmother,” Blue Bonnet said just before bedtime, looking up from the piazza steps, where she had been sitting in silence for some moments, “it’s very uncomfortable, not being friends with people.”

“Who aren’t you friends with, dear?”

“I wasn’t friends—altogether—with Aunt Lucinda this morning; but—well, she certainly did behave beautifully this afternoon.”

The darkness hid the quick smile on Mrs. Clyde’s face.

Saturday was a fairly uneventful day; but by Sunday morning, Blue Bonnet was entirely herself again. It was a beautiful morning and she was up and out early, coming in very late to breakfast, her arms full of wild flowers and bracken, her dress torn, her hair blown and tangled.

“I just couldn’t bear to come in at all,” she explained, beamingly, laying her treasures down on the breakfast table: “it’s too lovely in the woods.”

“Go and put your flowers in water and make yourself presentable as quickly as possible, Elizabeth,” her aunt said.

Some of the brightness vanished from Blue Bonnet’s face. She gathered up her flowers in silence and left the room, returning in a few moments to take her place at the table.

“It must have been delightful in the woods this morning,” Mrs. Clyde said.

“It was, Grandmother! I’m going right back as soon as breakfast is over,” Blue Bonnet announced. “There will not be time before church, Elizabeth,” Miss Clyde told her. “You will have to hurry, as it is.”

“But I’ve decided not to go to church this morning, Aunt Lucinda. I’ve been two Sundays, you know. It was dreadfully tiresome—the sermon. Mr. Blake does so remind me of Sarah.”

“Elizabeth!”

“He does, Aunt Lucinda. I like him out of church, all right. I wouldn’t mind going to church, if they’d have it out-of-doors, the way we used to sometimes on the ranch when the missionaries came. The singing does sound so good out-of-doors.”

“There is not time to argue the matter, Elizabeth,” Miss Clyde said, quietly. “Finish your breakfast; then go and get ready for church.”

Blue Bonnet’s cheeks were crimson. “But I said I was not going, Aunt Lucinda.”

Miss Clyde rose. “I have told you what I wish you to do, Elizabeth; we will not discuss the matter further.” She left the room to give her directions to Delia.

And Blue Bonnet, not wishing, in her present mood, to be left alone with her grandmother, pushed her chair back from the table and ran hastily upstairs to her room.

She would not go to church! If Aunt Lucinda had asked—Aunt Lucinda must learn, once for all, that she was not a child to be ordered to do things.

Blue Bonnet set about doing up her room, doing it with a thoroughness not born, in this instance, from the best of motives. In any case, there was not time for both; and it was Aunt Lucinda’s own teaching that the duty nearest at hand must be done first.

“Has Elizabeth come down, Mother?” Miss Lucinda asked some time later, coming out to the veranda where her mother sat waiting, ready for church.

“Not yet,” Mrs. Clyde answered.

Miss Clyde turned to Delia, who happened to be crossing the hall. “Please tell Miss Elizabeth that we are waiting for her.”

Delia was soon back. “Miss Elizabeth says she isn’t going to church this morning, ma’am.”

Miss Clyde finished buttoning her gloves, and opened her parasol. “I am ready, Mother,” she said.

Blue Bonnet heard them go. All at once, the big house seemed very empty and still. Her room was in order, her morning lay before her; but freedom had lost its charm, the woods no longer called to her.

Aunt Lucinda had had no right to spoil her day—her day that had begun so beautifully—she told herself, staring out into the sunlit garden with mutinous eyes. It was quite impossible to keep friends with Aunt Lucinda; she should not try any more.

And then, quite unaccountably, there flashed across the girl’s mind the memory of that last night at home. It almost seemed as if she could hear her uncle saying, “And, Honey, you won’t forget what your father said: that you were to try to live as he had taught you to ride, straight and true.”

Straight and true!

She wasn’t living very straight this Sunday morning; and it hadn’t been true—pretending to herself that there wasn’t time.

Just before the sermon, during the singing of the hymn, Blue Bonnet came hurriedly down the middle aisle to the Clyde pew, and slipped into her place between her grandmother and aunt, standing a little nearer Miss Clyde than usual, and offering to share her hymn-book, instead of her grandmother’s.

Involuntarily, Miss Lucinda cast a swift, comprehensive glance over the flushed white-clad figure. Then she drew a quick breath of reassurance: evidently Delia had lent a helping hand.

Blue Bonnet heard little of the sermon, save the text, “‘I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine.’”

The words sent her eyes to the window opposite: “Sacred to the memory of Elizabeth Clyde Ashe.” The sunlight, shining through the rich, softly glowing colors, brought into relief the figure of The Good Shepherd with the lamb in his arms. And, suddenly, Blue Bonnet was a little child again, sitting in her mother’s lap, in the early twilight of a summer Sunday, listening to the parable of The Good Shepherd.

Grandmother, glancing down at the grave, serious face, wondered what the girl’s thoughts were—and where? Hardly in Woodford, for it was with a little start of recollection that Blue Bonnet came back to the present, at the ending of the sermon.

But in the singing of the closing hymn her voice rang out sweet and clear—

It was a very silent walk home; even Blue Bonnet had little to say. She had declined Kitty’s invitation to walk with her; declined, also, to explain to that curious young person why she had come so late to church.

More than once during that walk, Blue Bonnet glanced a little doubtfully at her aunt; but the moment they reached home she followed Miss Clyde to her room.

“Please, Aunt Lucinda,” she said, standing just inside the doorway, “won’t you say what you’re going to right away? I’d like to have it over.”

Miss Clyde smiled. “It won’t take long, Elizabeth. After this, your grandmother and I would like to have you ready to go with us on Sunday morning.”

“I will—truly, Aunt Lucinda. But is that all?”

“I think there need be nothing more, dear.”

Blue Bonnet went downstairs very soberly. Decidedly one could be friends with Aunt Lucinda.

Towards dusk that evening, it suddenly occurred to Miss Clyde that Elizabeth had not been in evidence for some time. “I do hope,” she said, “that we are not to have any more—encounters, to-day. Elizabeth knows we expect her to stay at home on Sunday evening.”

“Elizabeth’s intentions are so much better than her memory,” Mrs. Clyde answered.

A moment or two later, Blue Bonnet came around the corner of the house, Solomon at her heels. “May he come up on the piazza for a few moments, Aunt Lucinda?” she asked. “Seeing that it is Sunday?”

“Seeing that it is Sunday, I suppose he may,” Miss Clyde answered; “only how is he to distinguish between Sunday and Monday?”

“I reckon I’ll have to go on doing it for him—for awhile. He’s getting to be a very nice dog, Aunt Lucinda. Denham says he’s a good part water-spaniel.”

Miss Clyde patted the head Solomon had laid confidingly on her knee. “It’s a long while since we’ve had a dog about the place. Where have you been, Elizabeth? I haven’t seen you since supper.”

“Not out of bounds, Aunt Lucinda; I’ve been down at the stable.”

“Down at the stable, Elizabeth!” Miss Clyde looked as though she thought Blue Bonnet had not been strictly within bounds.

“Visiting Denham—he liked it so much, and so did I. The horses are getting to know me, Aunt Lucinda; you see, I take them sugar and fresh clover. I’ve been telling Denham about the ranch, and he’s been telling me about—before Mamma went to Texas.”

“Denham has been asking me when we were going to get you a saddle-horse, Elizabeth,” Grandmother said.

“He said something about it to me to-night, Grandmother. I told him I—didn’t want one.”

Mrs. Clyde looked surprised, but relieved. She had expected Blue Bonnet to ride; and if she rode in the haphazard fashion she did most things, there would have been a good many anxious moments ahead for Lucinda and herself. “Solomon,” Blue Bonnet said, “I reckon you’d better be going back now.”

Solomon cocked a protesting ear; he was quite content to sit there on the piazza steps and view the landscape. Solomon was a sociable dog and, though fond of Denham, thoroughly enjoyed being in company. Most of all, he enjoyed being wherever Blue Bonnet was.

“Solomon!” Blue Bonnet said warningly.

Solomon rolled over on his back, waving his feet in the air; from the corner of one eye he watched to see what would happen next.

Leaning over, Blue Bonnet cuffed him lightly but firmly—which was hardly what Solomon had been looking for.

“Solomon, I told you to go,” his mistress said; and Solomon went.

“He minds pretty well, don’t you think?” Blue Bonnet asked. “I don’t believe he’s ever had to mind before he came here, and it comes a bit hard; but he’s got a lot of sense, and when he once understands that he—” Blue Bonnet stopped speaking rather abruptly, as her eyes met her grandmother’s. Jumping up, she went indoors.

A moment later, from the parlor came the plaintive sound of an old Spanish melody, that chimed in well with the softly gathering twilight.

“Elizabeth has her mother’s touch,” Mrs. Clyde said. “Yes,” her daughter answered. Blue Bonnet’s mother had been very dear to the graver, older sister. It had not been easy for her to put her affection into words; but it had been none the less true and strong. Sometimes Miss Clyde thought that the girl’s likeness to her mother hurt almost as much as it comforted her.

“I wish we might have had the child earlier,” she said. “It would have been easier for both sides.”

Mrs. Clyde was smiling. “She ‘minds pretty well. I don’t believe she’s ever had to mind before she came here, and it comes a bit hard; but she’s got a lot of sense, and when she once understands that she—’ Elizabeth has preached her own sermon, Lucinda; and I think we may safely trust her to make the application.”

Blue Bonnet looked up at the old red brick Academy, half in curiosity, half in dismay. “It’s not very—cheerful-looking, is it, Aunt Lucinda? Did you like going to school here?”

“Yes, Elizabeth, and I hope you will like it, too.”

“If I don’t I suppose I can stop going,” Blue Bonnet said thoughtfully; and Miss Clyde let the remark pass.

Blue Bonnet followed her aunt upstairs, with heart beating faster than usual. Here and there, through open doors, she caught glimpses of different classrooms. Should she have to sit at one of those little cramped-up desks?

Presently, Miss Clyde stopped before a glass door, on which was printed in large black letters, “Principal’s Office.” A moment later, Blue Bonnet was being presented to a tall, scholarly looking man who spoke to her very pleasantly, hoping she would enjoy her school life in Woodford.

“I understand from your aunt that you have never been to school, Miss Elizabeth,” he added.

“But I’ve had tutors,” the girl answered. “The last one was fine—he was there a good while; he only went away last June.”

Mr. Hunt turned to a little table standing by one of the windows. “Will you sit down here, Miss Elizabeth? I should like to see how much those tutors have taught you, so as to decide where to place you.”

Blue Bonnet stood her examination very well. She had a bright intelligent mind; and her instruction, though not at all systematic according to Miss Clyde’s ideas, had been fairly thorough. In some of her studies, those she liked best, she was ahead of most girls of her age, and the daily drill her aunt had given her the past three weeks had proved most beneficial.

She came home that afternoon, jubilant. “I’m in Kitty’s class, Grandmother,” she announced, delightedly. “All of us tea-party girls are in the same class. The teacher’s name is Miss Rankin. I’m afraid she looks rather determined.”

For the first few days Blue Bonnet enjoyed the novelty of school life thoroughly. Her classmates found her delightfully amusing, more so than her teacher did. She was so frankly astonished over all the little rulings of the classroom. “What a lot of things there are to remember!” she told Kitty.

By the middle of the second week, the unaccustomed drill and routine had become monotonous.

Blue Bonnet came home from school one afternoon, flushed and impatient. “It seems to me,” she said, standing by one of the sitting-room windows and restlessly twisting the curtain cord back and forth, “that school’s a fearfully over-rated place.”

“What has gone wrong, Elizabeth?” her grandmother asked.

“Nothing very much, Grandmother; but I do think that tutors are a long sight—”

“Are what, Elizabeth?” Miss Clyde interposed.

“A great deal more accommodating than women teachers. I’m not sure that I shall like going to school.”

“It might be wiser to give it a longer trial before deciding, dear,” Mrs. Clyde suggested quietly.

“Anyhow, the ‘rankin’ officer’ isn’t—”

“Who, Elizabeth?” “That’s what Kitty calls Miss Rankin, Aunt Lucinda. She isn’t very considerate—Miss Rankin, I mean. You wouldn’t like it, if she made you lose your recess, just because you changed your seat.”

“Why did you change your seat?”

“I do get so tired of sitting in one place; besides, the view from the other one was a lot—a great deal—more interesting.”

“Elizabeth!” Miss Clyde exclaimed. “One would think you were five, instead of fifteen! Where are your books? You did not bring them in with you?”

Blue Bonnet turned quickly. “Que asco! I forgot to bring them home!”

“Elizabeth!” her aunt said, “I have told you that I did not wish you to use that expression!”

“It only means, Aunt Lucinda—”

“I do not care to hear its meaning. Perhaps, if you go back to school at once, you may be able to get your books.”

“I’ll go see, Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet answered cheerfully.

Two hours later, she reappeared; but without her books. “I am tired,” she said, throwing herself back in an armchair; “I’ve been out to Palmer’s—the Hill Farm, Aunt Lucinda—and carried the baby—she’s about three years old—all the way. And I haven’t been for my books,” she added hurriedly. “You see, I met little Bell Palmer and the baby down here at the corner; they’d wandered all the way in from the farm, and the baby had hurt her foot, and they were both crying. I started right home with them. I thought maybe there’d be a team going that road, but we never met one going in the right direction, and it’s a pretty lonely road, you know. Mrs. Palmer was glad to see us. Her husband was away, and she hadn’t any one to send.”

“Those Palmer children are always running away,” Miss Clyde said. “It was very kind of you, Elizabeth, to take them home, but how about your lessons for to-morrow?”

“I reckon it’ll mean being kept in, Aunt Lucinda; that’s what the ‘rankin’’—Miss Rankin seems to do to them when they fail too badly. It’s very silly of her, I think; she just has to stay herself.”

“I should not like it to be that, Elizabeth; particularly under the circumstances. For this time, you may go down to the parsonage after supper, and study with Sarah. Delia shall call for you at nine o’clock.”

“That’ll do finely, Aunt Lucinda.”

So, after supper, Blue Bonnet presented herself at the parsonage.

“But how came you to leave your books at school, Elizabeth?” Sarah asked. “Forgot them,” Blue Bonnet answered, serenely. “One can’t remember everything all the time.”

“But—” Sarah’s tone was suggestive.

“And sometimes one can’t remember anything any of the time,” Blue Bonnet added.

They went into Mr. Blake’s study, where Sarah lighted the low reading-lamp and drew two very straight-backed chairs up to the table.

“I wish you wouldn’t look so businesslike, Sarah,” Blue Bonnet said. “You make me feel tired.”

“Elizabeth, don’t you ever take anything seriously?” Sarah asked gravely.

“Not lessons, at all events,” Blue Bonnet laughed. “Come on, I’m ready. Let’s do our problems first.”

“You’re so quick, Elizabeth,” Sarah said, when the last book had been laid aside. “It’s nice studying together, isn’t it?”

“Did you like it, really?” Blue Bonnet asked. “I thought maybe you’d think it a bother. Oh, Sarah, I’ve thought of the loveliest name for us girls—the ‘We are Seven’s.’”