But the return trip was not to be made yet; there was Thanksgiving—only a matter of days now—to come first, not to mention Christmas.

“A real New England Thanksgiving!” Blue Bonnet checked the words off on her fingers. “I’ve never had one of that kind, have I? The Boston relatives are coming! I’m rather scared of the Boston relatives; I’ve an idea they’ll be rather like Aunt Lucinda—only more so.”

She and her uncle were walking up and down the veranda in the twilight,—Mr. Ashe seemed to dislike going indoors quite as much as Blue Bonnet did. Delia had lighted up, and as they passed and re-passed the long windows they caught pleasant glimpses of mingled gas and firelight, and through the wide doorway, leading from sitting to dining-room, the table laid ready for supper.

Mr. Ashe, taking in half unconsciously all the quiet, homely touches, glanced down at his companion a little anxiously. “I reckon you’ll be having a lot of new experiences right along, Honey.”

Blue Bonnet felt the thought underlying the words, and the hand resting lightly on his arm tightened its pressure. “Don’t you worry, Uncle Cliff! Three hundred years—much less three—couldn’t make an Easterner of me for keeps. And after Thanksgiving, Christmas’ll be here in no time. You’d never have the heart to go back before Christmas?”

“Not back, Blue Bonnet, but away for a bit. There’s considerable business waiting on me right now in New York.”

“I wonder how it’ll seem on Christmas morning not to have Benita come tiptoeing ever so early into my room with the Christmas cake, baked just for me? Uncle Cliff, wouldn’t it be nice to send them a box?”

“We’ll do it, Honey! It’ll take a pretty big box, won’t it?”

“If you knew how perfectly lovely it is to have you agreeing to things first time round! I’d like to pass a law making it illegal to ‘but’ people.”

Mr. Ashe laughed. “I reckon I do spoil you a bit, Honey! See here, suppose you come along to New York with me? We’ll manage to worry in a good time or so, between business appointments.”

“And school?”

“Looks to me like you’d earned a holiday.”

“If you’re going to talk that way, I’ll have to go indoors. There’ll be nearly two weeks’ holiday at Christmas. Only first come those horrid exams! Uncle Cliff, if I don’t pass, will you disown me?” “I’d be likely to, wouldn’t I? I reckon if the others get through you will.”

The thought of those mid-year examinations was giving Blue Bonnet a good deal of uneasiness; she had found out that most decidedly she did not want her class to go on without her. And promotion would not altogether depend upon the result of the examinations, either; the regular class record counted for much—and she had done so poorly all the fall!

She needed little reminding to get at her studies these evenings, shutting herself up alone in the back parlor with a fortitude that Aunt Lucinda found most encouraging, and Mr. Ashe inwardly deplored. Surely all those long hours spent at the academy each day were enough. He felt that Uncle Joe would never approve of Blue Bonnet’s being so tied down.

“You wouldn’t like to go back to a tutor, Honey?” he asked, the next morning during the walk to school. “I reckon we could get our pick of them back here.”

“I don’t believe I would—even if I could. School isn’t half bad—once you’re used to it; there’s lots of fun going, though there are some tiresome things mixed up in it. Aunt Lucinda says,” Blue Bonnet’s eyes danced, “that I need the discipline of school life more than any girl she has ever known. There, I’d nearly forgotten! Please lend me your knife a moment, Uncle Cliff,—I’ve lost mine.”

“It appears to me,” Mr. Ashe commented, opening his knife for her, “that that pencil ought to be placed on the retired list.”

“It isn’t as bad as the rest,” she held out her pencil box; “I do chew them up, or down, so.”

“How about buying more?”

“I—” Blue Bonnet hesitated. Why had she called his attention to them? “I’m—going to, the first of the month.”

“‘The first of the month,’” her uncle repeated. “Is that one of the school regulations?”

“Hardly!” Blue Bonnet laughed. “You see, I’m—allowanced nowadays. Aunt Lucinda started in allowancing me—after the first week. She said I must learn to distinguish between the use and abuse of money.”

Mr. Ashe pulled at his moustache. “And—”

“It hasn’t been such an easy lesson for me. Just now I’m being given a practical illustration.”

“You don’t mean, Blue Bonnet—” Mr. Ashe’s hand went to his pocket.

Blue Bonnet drew back. “I can’t take anything, Uncle Cliff! It wouldn’t be exactly—square, under the circumstances. There’s the bell! Good-bye, and thank you just as much.”

Mr. Ashe waited until, with a final wave of the hand, she had disappeared around the bend in the stairs; then he paid a visit to the stationer’s on the corner.

There he made a record-breaking purchase of the plump little woman, whom everybody in Woodford called “Aunt Polly,” and whose tiny shop was as much one of the institutions of the place as the academy itself.

It left Aunt Polly feeling rather breathless and bewildered. Was that the way they did things out in Texas?

In the meantime, quite unconscious of the excitement he had left behind him, Mr. Ashe was strolling leisurely back to the Clyde place, stopping here and there to pass the time of day with various small Woodfordites—notably among them the “Palmer baby,” once more on its travels.

Solomon was watching for him from the gate. It was a delightful morning for a tramp, Solomon said,—as plainly as dog may.

But Mr. Ashe shook his head, and went on indoors to the sitting-room, where Miss Lucinda sat sewing.

“Are you too busy for a little chat—what we might call a business talk?” he asked, depositing his bundle on the table and taking his stand on the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire.

Miss Lucinda assured him that she was quite at his service.

“I’ve been doing a little shopping,” Mr. Ashe nodded towards the parcel. “I happened to find out—accidentally—that Blue Bonnet was pretty well reduced in the matter of school supplies.”

Inwardly, Miss Lucinda sighed; she knew it, and she had hoped,—but now—

“What’s Blue Bonnet getting for an allowance, Miss Clyde?” Mr. Ashe asked.

“Three dollars a month.”

“I didn’t know until this morning that she had been put on an allowance.”

“It was the only thing to do. Blue Bonnet has no idea whatever as to the value of money.”

“I should judge she ought to have by now.”

“I am hoping she will have—a little. She gave her purse and its entire contents away—to say nothing of a new winter gown—on a moment’s impulse. Had there been thirty dollars in her purse instead of three, it would probably have been just the same.”

“I reckon it would,” Mr. Ashe agreed so cheerfully that again Miss Lucinda sighed inwardly.

“She would give her head, Blue Bonnet would, if it wasn’t fastened on, and anyone asked her for it.”

“She certainly loses it with deplorable frequency,” Miss Lucinda remarked.

Mr. Ashe chuckled, then said soberly—“Three dollars!”

He was thinking of the generous mail orders, which had been one of the diversions of the long winter evenings; of the occasional visits to the little country town.

Those had been gala days on the ranch for the little Mexicans,—those days after the return from town. As for Benita, her ribbons were the envy of all the other women on the ranch; while Uncle Joe’s stock of silk neckerchiefs was famous.

Come to think of it, Blue Bonnet’s buying had mostly been for other folks.

And they had tried to pin her down to three dollars a month!

Mr. Ashe looked across at Miss Lucinda. “You wouldn’t call three dollars a remarkably big allowance, Miss Lucinda?”

“It is three times what several of her companions have,” Miss Clyde answered; “and they are expected to keep themselves in gloves and ribbons. Blue Bonnet is only required to provide for her school supplies and small personal expenses.”

“But you see Blue Bonnet will have—”

Miss Lucinda glanced up quickly. “Should that make any difference—now?”

“I should have thought it might,” Mr. Ashe replied candidly.

There was a short silence, then Miss Lucinda said slowly, “I know, Mr. Ashe, that I have no right to dictate, that you are Blue Bonnet’s legal guardian,”—Miss Lucinda would not say rightful; she had her own opinion on that point; “and yet—” Mr. Ashe put up a protesting hand. “I think you have the right; I daresay you are right and that I am wrong. I’ll try not to butt in again. I reckon we’ve both got the same end in view, and that maybe your road is the best.”

“It is not always the easiest—for either side, I will admit.”

“Only you’ll let me—for this time?” Mr. Ashe’s hand went to his pocket again. “After all, I am a visiting uncle, and the position carries with it certain time-honored privileges.”

So it was that when Blue Bonnet ran up to her room that noon, she found a good-sized paper parcel on her dressing-table, and on top of the parcel a little old-fashioned beaded purse, and in the purse a bright five-dollar gold piece.

For a moment, Blue Bonnet stood looking down at the purse and its contents with sober eyes; she had seen the little purse before, when the private drawer of her aunt’s desk had chanced to be left open.

Blue Bonnet went in search of Miss Lucinda, finding her in the garden with Denham.

“I came to thank you, Aunt Lucinda,” she held out the purse; “I sha’n’t give this one away.”

“That is what I hoped. A very dear old friend made it for your mother, when she was about your age.” “It was mamma’s?” Blue Bonnet’s face flushed; then she asked—“You know what is inside?”

“You must thank your uncle for that,” Miss Lucinda said; “I am not at all sure that I approve,” but she smiled as she said it.

Mr. Ashe was on the veranda. “I got permission,” he laughed, as Blue Bonnet held the purse up before him. “Honey, I’ve been cogitating matters. I reckon your aunt’s right; the Blue Bonnet Ranch wouldn’t be what it is to-day if your father hadn’t taught himself to look ahead a bit. It isn’t an easy lesson for an Ashe to learn, I’ll grant you.”

“I reckon Aunt Lucinda is generally right,” Blue Bonnet admitted; “that’s the worst of it sometimes.”

“Alec,” she questioned that afternoon, as he overtook her on her way from school, “have you ever tried for this ‘Sargent prize’ they’re all beginning to talk about now?”

“Won it—last year.”

“You’ve never told me about it?”

“N-no; I didn’t think you were much interested in such things.”

“Was it hard?”

“Not very. I didn’t go in with any expectation of winning. It’s only a glorified compo; you can choose your own subject, but it must be something connected more or less with local history.” “Has Woodford a local history? The real history-book kind?”

“Shades of my ancestors! And yours! Has Woodford any local history!!”

“Bother. I hate writing compos anyway.”

“It’s a Woodford tradition—trying for it.”

“Who started such a tiresome business?”

“An old chap named John Sargent—years and years ago. He left a fund to be used for that express purpose.”

“I hope he’s repented since; he’s had time to. Why didn’t he leave his money for something sensible—a gym, for instance?”

“Perhaps in his time they went in more for high thinking than high swinging. You can’t compete until you’ve reached a certain grade—the one you’ll be in, after the coming exams.”

“If—”

“After that you can try each grade. There’s one for the girls and one for the boys; conditions the same.”

“Are you going to try this time?”

“Grandfather will expect me to. Besides, when you are in Woodford, do as—”

“You like,” Blue Bonnet cut in.

“I’m afraid that is hardly a Woodford sentiment.”

“As if I didn’t know that! Will you come for a ride? I suppose Uncle Cliff’s gone in town.” “It’ll have to be a short ride,” she said, as, a few moments later, Victor and Darrel’s mare started off. “I wish Aunt Lucinda wasn’t so fond of saying, just as one’s starting off, ‘Remember, Blue Bonnet, in before dark!’ It does get dark so early now.”

“But if she didn’t say it—would you remember?” Alec laughed.

“I don’t see why a forgettory isn’t just as desirable as a memory,” Blue Bonnet protested. “I’ve got such a good one.”

“Aunt Lucinda,” she asked at supper that evening, “did you ever try for the ‘Sargent prize?’”

“Won it three years running,” Mrs. Clyde answered for her daughter.

“Oh, me!” Blue Bonnet buttered her biscuit thoughtfully. “Wasn’t that mighty hard on the others, Grandmother?”

“I am afraid it was, dear.”

It seemed to Blue Bonnet that she could see the long line of unsuccessful aspirants drawn up on one side, and on the other, Aunt Lucinda—successful, triumphant. And, oh, dear, she felt sure that they would expect her to try. It would be so stupid! All the “We are Seven’s” fussing over a tiresome prize—everybody talking, dreaming, thinking compos!

“If people will go in for such things there ought to be consolation prizes, too. Aunt Lucinda, I’ve the loveliest plan—I mean to give the ‘We are Seven’s’ the time of their lives on Saturday.”

“To do what—Blue Bonnet!”

“The ‘rankin’ off—’ Miss Rankin says—when we’re writing our papers, to first find out what we want to say—and then say it. Just snippy little words—like treat, or good time—wouldn’t half express what I mean, Aunt Lucinda. You see,” Blue Bonnet went on rather hurriedly, “getting this five dollars was like what Uncle Joe calls finding money; and it has only got to last me until the first of the month, so I can—”

“Elizabeth!” Miss Lucinda exclaimed; and at her tone, Mrs. Clyde suddenly dropped her napkin—not on Blue Bonnet’s side of the table—and was rather slow about picking it up.

“I’ve had to be so skimpy lately,” Blue Bonnet explained. “Grandmother, why didn’t you tell me? It’ll feel good to be able to cut loose again!”

“In what direction were you thinking of ‘cutting loose,’ Blue Bonnet?” Mrs. Clyde asked.

“I beg your pardon, Grandmother! I didn’t know how horrid that was, until you said it! I—I thought, if we seven could go in town—Uncle Cliff would take us. And that perhaps, we might go to a matinÉe. Just think! Sarah’s never been to the theater! It’d do her a lot of good! Of course I’d have to let Uncle Cliff pay our way in and out.” “Shall we talk it over later, after study-time?” Grandmother said, rising from the table.

Blue Bonnet lingered, she wished Aunt Lucinda wouldn’t look so—so annoyed. “Is slang very dreadful, Aunt Lucinda?” she asked. “All the girls use it.”

“Are you offering that as a reason, Elizabeth?”

“I reckon I was,” Blue Bonnet answered.

“It hardly seems a sufficient one to me.”

“But it’s like taking a short cut—one doesn’t always want to go ’round. Alec says that lots of to-day’s slang will be recognized English by and by.”

“I certainly hope Alec may prove a false prophet in this case.”

Blue Bonnet went for her books; there were times when Aunt Lucinda was exceedingly—difficult.

“Blue Bonnet,” her grandmother said, when just before bedtime Blue Bonnet came for their promised talk, “don’t you want to share your good fortune with someone who really needs it? None of you ‘We are Seven’s’ will lack for Thanksgiving cheer.”

“Oh, I would love that! I never once thought of doing that. Grandmother, sometimes I can’t help being glad that some day I’ll be—well, not exactly poor. It’s such fun giving things to people.”

“Better than fun, Blue Bonnet. And the best thing about it is that you needn’t wait until you are grown-up, and ‘not exactly poor.’ Only, dear, you must learn to give time and thought as well as money—

Blue Bonnet looked into the fire with eyes half grave, half eager. “Grandmother,” she said at last, “will you show me—how?”

“To the best of my ability, dear.”

Blue Bonnet came down to breakfast the next morning full of the new idea.

“Grandmother knows of such a poor family,” she told her uncle; “I’m to send them their Thanksgiving turkey; we’re going together to buy it after school.”

Mr. Ashe glanced towards Miss Lucinda; he hoped that she properly appreciated what it was Blue Bonnet intended doing with her gold piece.

“I am afraid,” Mrs. Clyde remarked, “that Blue Bonnet, in her present enthusiasm, is somewhat inclined to look upon the troubles of the Patterson family in the light of a personal blessing.”

“You see,” Blue Bonnet was quite forgetting to eat her breakfast, “I’ve never known any really poor people—the kind one reads about. I think it must be sort of interesting—being poor.”

“For them?” her aunt asked.

“I should think it might be, Aunt Lucinda. It must be—a bit exciting, not being quite positive whether you are going to have any dinner, or not. And then, think what a lot of trouble they’re saved, not having a crowd of things to take care of and keep in order!”

“Bureau drawers, to wit?” Mrs. Clyde laughed.

“What I should like,” Blue Bonnet remarked, “would be a bureau without any drawers and a closet without any shelves.”

“My dear,” her aunt warned, “do you see what time it is getting to be?” Blue Bonnet glanced at the clock, then settled down to the business of breakfast. Aunt Lucinda had very definite ideas as to the proper length of time to be given to a meal; whatever hurrying was done was not to be done at the table.

“Would you mind walking pretty fast, Uncle Cliff?” Blue Bonnet asked, as they started out together.

But in spite of this precaution, she got there just in time to catch the first notes of the opening march, and to see the monitor for the day closing the door. That meant that she must wait in the outer hall until morning exercises were over.

Well, what couldn’t be cured must be endured; Blue Bonnet sat down on the stairs to plan the afternoon’s expedition.

Grandmother had said that the Pattersons were certainly poor, even if Patterson, Senior, was not particularly worthy. Blue Bonnet felt that she should not so much mind being poor, but she would hate to be described as “worthy.”

It was a little disappointing, however—though, of course, not for him—that Mr. Patterson was neither sick, nor out of work; merely burdened with a large family, and (Grandmother had been obliged to admit) rather lazy.

She was glad there was a large family, and that she was to give them their turkey; it was very stupid, having school the day before Thanksgiving! She would have liked to be present at the packing of those baskets, which were always sent out at Thanksgiving from the Clyde place.

There, they were opening the doors at last! Blue Bonnet got up with a little sigh; she did hope Miss Rankin would prove amenable. She was the only one late in her room.

Fortunately, Miss Rankin accepted the offered explanation very kindly, merely suggesting that another morning Blue Bonnet should allow herself more time.

“A minute does make a whole lot of difference, doesn’t it?” Blue Bonnet’s smile was most insinuating.

“When it is on the wrong side of nine o’clock,” Miss Rankin agreed, and Blue Bonnet went to her seat, utterly refusing to notice Kitty’s mocking uplift of the eyebrows. On the whole, it was not a successful day. Blue Bonnet drew a long breath of relief that afternoon, when the bell rang for dismission, and she had not been requested to remain.

“I reckon that was a pretty close shave,” she rejoiced, as the “We are Seven’s” crossed the yard together.

“It was!” Debby agreed.

“You’ve got the ‘rankin’ officer’ clean bewitched!” Ruth laughed. “Hasn’t she, girls?”

“We’ll have to begin calling her ‘teacher’s pet’ soon,” Kitty declared.

“I’ll never come when I’m called, then,” Blue Bonnet retorted.

“What’s been the matter with you to-day?” Amanda questioned.

“Nothing—except that I’ve had more important things to think about than—”

“But, Blue Bonnet,” Sarah interposed gravely, “I don’t think—”

“Why publish the fact broadcast, Sarah?” Kitty demanded.

Sarah surveyed the impertinent Kitty disapprovingly. “As I have said before, Kitty, sometimes you are positively rude.”

“And Sarah always speaks the truth!” Blue Bonnet laughed.

“Children! Children!” Susy protested. “First thing you know, you’ll have a quarrel on.” “It takes two to make a quarrel,” Sarah said, with considerable dignity.

“But only one to start one,” Kitty added; “and I’d just as lieve be that one as not. Think of it! No school until Monday morning! We ought to celebrate!”

“We’re going to to-morrow,” Debby said; “and let’s have a good long ride Friday and Saturday, too.”

“Wouldn’t it be wiser to get together one afternoon and study up?” Sarah suggested. “I’m weak in my algebra.”

“You’re a great deal weaker in your ideas of how a holiday should be spent!” Blue Bonnet exclaimed. “Oh, I forgot! Grandmother will be waiting! Good-bye, everybody—and some of you take prompt measures with Sarah if she starts any more such horrid schemes!”

Blue Bonnet found Mrs. Clyde waiting in the sitting-room, while Denham drove slowly back and forth before the door.

“I’m so sorry!” Blue Bonnet apologized. “I’ll be ready in no time, Grandmother.”

She settled herself back beside her grandmother presently with one of her little sighs. “It’s been such a tiresome day!”

“And the trouble, Blue Bonnet?”

“Me—mostly,” the girl answered, with the frankness that was apt to prove disarming. “Isn’t that a pity, dear?”

“I reckon so. I surely have ‘relapsed’ a lot to-day; but it won’t happen again—before next Monday. Grandmother, won’t all the best turkeys be gone by now?”

“I asked Mr. Ford to save us a good one, Blue Bonnet.”

“You think of everything! I suppose Uncle Cliff went in town?”

“Only for an hour or two, he said,” Mrs. Clyde answered.

Blue Bonnet thoroughly enjoyed that afternoon’s experience. Mr. Ford had saved them a fine turkey; but the turkey was not the only purchase to be made.

Blue Bonnet produced the list she had made out during algebra lesson. “I put down all the things I thought I should like if I were poor and someone were to send me a Thanksgiving dinner,” she said.

Mrs. Clyde smiled as she studied the list. “Suppose,” she said, “that in place of the fruit and candy, we substitute sugar and coffee—two articles always most welcome.”

There was a quick gleam of laughter in Blue Bonnet’s eyes. “But I thought they were mostly children,—and that you and Aunt Lucinda did not approve of coffee for—young people?” It was a point on which Blue Bonnet was still a little unreconciled; coffee—and very weak coffee at that at Sunday morning breakfast only, was the rule at the Clyde place, with reference to young folks. Blue Bonnet’s protests, that on the ranch she could have had it three times a day if she had wished, had not altered matters in the least.

Grandmother’s lips twitched ever so slightly at the corners now. “Still there are the father and mother, Blue Bonnet. This is to be an all-round basket, isn’t it?”

“But you’ll let the cranberries stand, Grandmother? It wouldn’t be at all a proper Thanksgiving dinner without them!”

“Certainly. And for that very reason—all the more need of the sugar.”

It was dusk before they reached the little house on the outskirts of the town; Mr. Ford had offered to send the basket, but Blue Bonnet had looked so disappointed at the mere thought of this that Mrs. Clyde said they would take it themselves.

It was a bare, forlorn little house, standing by itself at the top of a low hill and looking more than usually dreary in the gray November twilight, with the wind rattling the loosely hanging blinds, and tossing the leafless branches of the bent and twisted old trees.

Two or three dogs came barking about the carriage as Denham drew up before the open gate; their noise brought a woman to the kitchen door.

“Is it you, ma’am?” she said, coming quickly down the path, followed by any number of small, untidy children.

“This is ‘Miss Elizabeth’s’ daughter, Jenny,” Mrs. Clyde said. Jenny Patterson had been second girl at the Clyde’s before her marriage and a favorite with her mistress, who had never lost sight of her. “She has come to bring the children some Thanksgiving.”

“And I’m sure we’re most grateful to her for doin’ it.” Mrs. Patterson looked up at Blue Bonnet a little curiously. “I’ve been wantin’ to see ‘Miss Elizabeth’s’ girl; I’ve heard tell a powerful lot about her.”

Blue Bonnet laughed. “I didn’t know I was so famous! I suppose the children like turkey?”

“That they do, miss! Though it’d begun to look like they weren’t goin’ to have any this year. Patterson ain’t been takin’ much heart in things lately. He’s kind—Patterson is, but I ain’t denyin’ he’s easy discouraged.”

Denham had carried the basket indoors, not unattended; and his short cough now, as he gathered up the reins again, said as plainly as words that it was quite time he was getting his horses home.

“We must go now, Jenny,” Mrs. Clyde said. “Good night.”

“Good night, ma’am; thank you and the young lady most kindly,” Jenny answered. “I hope the children will like their basket,” Blue Bonnet said. “It wouldn’t be the least interesting, being that kind of poor,” she remarked a few moments later, as the horses trotted briskly off in the direction of home and supper. “That would be the difficulty, I suppose; one couldn’t choose one’s kind.” She was not very talkative during the rest of the drive; she was trying to picture to herself the unpacking of the basket—the children’s eager little faces.

“Grandmother,” she said, as they were nearing home, “I’m going to start a ‘mercy box,’ like Sarah has; I’ll take that china bank—you know, the little red and white house on the bracket in my room?—and I’ll put in something every week. Then if I do get low in funds, myself, I’ll have something on hand for—other things.”

“I think that would be an excellent idea, Blue Bonnet,” Mrs. Clyde answered.

Then the carriage turned into the drive, and Solomon was leaping and barking about it; the lights indoors were throwing long shadows out across the lawn, and on the steps, Uncle Cliff was waiting to welcome them.

“We’ve had a beautiful time, haven’t we, Grandmother?” Blue Bonnet said. “It’s been every bit as nice as I thought it would be.”

“I am glad you have enjoyed it, dear,” Mrs. Clyde responded; “I am sure I have.” “My, but I am hungry!” Blue Bonnet slipped an arm through her uncle’s as they went indoors. “Do you suppose Katie has waffles for supper?”

Katie had made waffles, and after supper Blue Bonnet, having done her full duty by them, decided to pay a visit to the kitchen to tell her how nice they had been, and to compare to-morrow’s turkey with the one bought for the Pattersons.

Blue Bonnet and Katie were on excellent terms, and in Blue Bonnet’s opinion the big, comfortable kitchen, with its old-fashioned oak dresser and rows of shining tins, was one of the most delightful spots in the whole house.

“It isn’t much like ours at home,” she said now. “I wonder what Lisa would say to it.”

“And how would yours be like this, miss, with only a heathen sort of body to look after it?” Katie remarked.

“But Lisa isn’t a heathen sort of body! She’s a nice, fat old dear! And she can make tamales!”

“You come look at these, miss!” Katie led the way to the great pantry, pointing proudly to one of the shelves, where stood five small pies in a row—mince, pumpkin, apple, cranberry, custard.

“Oh, how cute!” Blue Bonnet cried delightedly. “Are they for me?”

“And who else would they be for? ’Tis some use, keeping holiday now, with a young body in the house.” “There’ll be two to-morrow; Alec’s coming to dinner. What made you think of these, Katie, you darling?”

“’Twas me aunt—who was cook here afore me—always made the little pies at Thanksgiving time, miss.”

“For my mother?” Blue Bonnet asked softly.

“For both the young ladies in their time, miss.”

Blue Bonnet looked down at the little pies again. Of course, Aunt Lucinda had been young once; somehow, it was hard to realize her having little pies made for her. Had she used to come down here to the pantry the night before Thanksgiving to inspect them? Perhaps, with mamma—who would have been ever so much smaller—standing on tiptoe to “see too.”

“Do you know, Solomon,” Blue Bonnet said, meeting him in the hall on her way back to the sitting-room, and sitting down on the stairs for a short chat, “things like that do—somehow—seem to alter one’s viewpoint; now don’t they?”