“So, sir,” Blue Bonnet pointed a warning forefinger at the upright Solomon, “remember, this is the day when Aunt Lucinda expects everyone—particularly, small brown dogs and nieces from Texas—to do their duty! The Boston relatives are coming. I can’t exactly explain all that stands for, Solomon; but I am quite sure it means that they are to be taken seriously—very seriously; and I’m afraid, old fellow, that taking folks seriously isn’t our long suit.”

Solomon looked distinctly bored; here was the eventful day, and though the morning was well along, there was still no sign of dinner—outside of the kitchen, that is; and Solomon had found, to his pained surprise, that the attitude of the kitchen was, on this morning of all mornings, decidedly discouraging to a small dog.

“Dinner’s to be at three,” Blue Bonnet went on; “you needn’t sit up any longer, sir.”

Solomon availed himself of this permission gladly, pricking up his ears at the mention of dinner; the subject began to get interesting.

“But the relatives come on the noon train—there are three of them, Solomon; Cousin Tracy Winthrop, Cousin Honoria Winthrop, and Cousin Augusta Winthrop! It sounds a bit alarming, doesn’t it? And oh, Solomon!” Blue Bonnet scrambled to her feet. “I haven’t done a thing to my room yet, and I’m to go to ride with Uncle Cliff directly.”

Solomon tiptoed upstairs behind her, rejoicing in the fact that it was not a school day, and that there was a ride in prospect.

“Excepting Saturdays and Sundays, this is the first holiday I’ve had since starting school,” Blue Bonnet told him. “Oh me, did you ever see such a room!”

Sitting full in a spot of sunshine, Solomon listened and watched operations, blinking at the rapidity with which his young mistress went from one thing to another.

Miss Lucinda had not yet been able to make Blue Bonnet realize the advisability of putting things as much as possible in order over night. “I’d give a good bit to see Benita come walking in that door just about now!” Blue Bonnet declared, giving the bedspread a smoothing touch. “But it won’t be Benita, it’ll be Aunt Lucinda. And what do you think she’ll say at finding you in possession, young man?”

Solomon’s manner implied that he willingly shifted all responsibility on to her shoulders. “I wonder what I’d’ve been like now—supposing I had been sent East years ago—as Aunt Lucinda wanted?” Blue Bonnet said.

Before her companion had time to consider this, Miss Lucinda appeared.

“Solomon!” Blue Bonnet commanded, “your manners!”

Solomon advanced, holding up a paw politely.

Miss Lucinda took it, then she looked at Solomon’s mistress. “I draw the line at my room, Blue Bonnet.”

“Thank you so much, Aunt Lucinda, for not drawing it—any closer. You hear that, Solomon?”

“To hear is not always to obey, with Solomon,” Aunt Lucinda commented. “Your uncle is waiting for you, Blue Bonnet.”

“I won’t be a jiffy now!” Blue Bonnet went to the closet for her habit. “Fortunately, Uncle Cliff never seems to mind my keeping him waiting; I reckon he’s used to it.”

“I should call that very unfortunate, my dear; not to say, wanting in proper respect to Mr. Ashe.”

Blue Bonnet looked amazed. “I never thought of it in that way!”

“Uncle Cliff,” she asked, as they cantered briskly off down the drive, Solomon pelting along behind, “do you mind my keeping you waiting?” “I’ve always supposed it was the way with women—young or old.”

“Then you do mind! Why didn’t you say so? Have you thought it ‘lacking in proper respect,’ too?”

“Bless your heart, no, indeed! Is that what you’ve been looking so sober over, Honey?”

But Blue Bonnet continued to look sober. “There’s such a lot to what Grandmother calls ‘one’s duty to one’s neighbor.’ Do you reckon I’ll ever be able to learn it all?”

“I don’t see how your mother’s daughter could very well help it, Honey.”

Blue Bonnet stroked the mare’s neck thoughtfully, looking out across the bare fields, a wistful look in her eyes—“I wonder why mothers and fathers have to—go away? One needs them so. I’m not forgetting,” she turned to Mr. Ashe, “how I have you, and Grandmother, and Aunt Lucinda, only—”

“I understand, Blue Bonnet.”

Blue Bonnet was looking out over the fields again; they looked gray and deserted, and the wind blowing across them was bleak and raw. Along the hills the clouds lay thick and lowering; Denham prophesied snow before another twenty-four hours. The few sparrows hopping forlornly from fence to fence had their feathers all ruffled the wrong way.

It was all very dreary, Blue Bonnet thought; and to-morrow Uncle Cliff would be off to New York without her, and in just a little while longer he would be going back to the ranch without her.

Blue Bonnet gave herself an impatient shake; her immediate duty to her immediate neighbor hardly consisted in spoiling his ride for him. “Don’t you want to give me a good old Texas run, Uncle Cliff?”

“And have folks think we’re being run away with, Honey?”

“There isn’t anyone around—I reckon they’re all home either getting the turkey ready, or getting ready for the turkey. And if there was, it wouldn’t matter.” Blue Bonnet gave the mare the word; the next instant she was off, laughing back at him over her shoulder.

“She’s almost as good as Firefly, isn’t she?” she asked, as her uncle caught up with her.

“She’s a pretty decent little horse, all right.”

“I wish she had a regular name. Darrel just calls her Pet,—and Lady.”

“Why don’t you name her?”

“I shall—now that Darrel’s going to let me have her right along. I’m glad you’ve seen to that.”

“Yes, I’ve seen to that. Don’t you want another scamper, Honey?”

Blue Bonnet pointed with her whip at a square white stone by the side of the road. “Do you see that?”

“The milestone?”

“Do you see how many miles it says we are from Woodford? And I promised to be in by half-past one at the latest! Indeed I do want a run—but it’ll have to be in the direction of home. It must be original sin, and nothing less, that always sets me traveling whenever it’s most necessary I should be at home.”

“Don’t you worry, we’ll get there in time,” Mr. Ashe promised; and they did get back just as the tall clock in the hall was striking the half hour.

From the sitting-room came the murmur of voices. “The Boston relatives,” Blue Bonnet whispered, her finger on her lips, and beckoned Solomon back, as he was trotting on in, on hospitable thoughts intent.

“We must make ourselves presentable first,” she told him.

On her bed, Blue Bonnet found her white serge laid out ready; she hadn’t worn it yet. It was next to the red she had given away—the prettiest of her new gowns.

“You see, sir,” she confided to Solomon, “this is an Occasion—with a big O.”

But standing before the glass to unbraid her hair, Blue Bonnet had what she considered a sudden inspiration. The next moment, she was kneeling on her closet floor, diving eagerly into the big box, where she kept certain of her most treasured possessions. “Solomon Clyde Ashe!” she cried, excitedly, “I’ve such a surprise in store for them!”

Fifteen minutes later when Delia knocked at her door, Blue Bonnet resolutely declined to open it. “I’ll be down presently,” she said through the keyhole.

“But Miss Clyde told me, miss—”

“I don’t need any help, thank you, Delia!” Blue Bonnet insisted.

“But your aunt said I was to—”

“I’m getting on beautifully! Please go away, Delia. And—Delia, please don’t—say anything.”

Delia hesitated; there was mystery and, it was to be feared, mischief in the very air. “It’s past two now, Miss Blue Bonnet! And Miss Clyde said—she—she’ll be wanting you to look your best, I’m thinking.”

“I’ll look—you’ll see how I’ll look!”

Which was cold comfort in Delia’s opinion. She retired, in much uneasiness of mind, to the kitchen, devoutly hoping Miss Lucinda would not invade those premises.

“’Deed and she do be big enough to dress herself,” Katie comforted, not referring, however, to Miss Lucinda.

“’Tis up to something she is!” Delia declared. Katie gave the big turkey an affectionate glance before closing the oven door. “Did you ever see such a beauty! And cooking like a Christian! Leave off worrying, Delia; ’tis no harm she’s up to!”

The tall clock in the hall was striking half-past two when Blue Bonnet came downstairs. Grandmother, wondering a little anxiously why she did not come, caught the soft swish of skirts.

It seemed to Grandmother that she took an unusually long time to cross the short space between the foot of the stairs and the sitting-room door; then all at once, she gave a little gasp of astonishment.

Standing in the doorway, in quaint, old-fashioned, red satin gown, with high-heeled satin slippers, and stockings to match, a black lace mantilla thrown lightly over the hair, dressed high, with a great carved Spanish comb, a red rose showing coquettishly above the left ear, on her slender fingers two or three Mexican rings in old-time setting, and around her throat a string of heavy gold beads, Blue Bonnet bore as little resemblance to the white-clad figure Grandmother had been expecting to see as she did to the laughing, bare-headed girl who had come rushing up the drive little more than an hour before, her hair flying in the wind.

For a moment no one in the room stirred or spoke, then Mr. Ashe cried delightedly, “Why Honey!”

The “Boston relatives” looked from Grandmother to Aunt Lucinda, from Aunt Lucinda to the demure-faced figure in the doorway. They had been prepared for a mere schoolgirl—someone very like what her mother had been at her age. It was difficult to imagine Elizabeth Clyde in such a costume as that.

Grandmother made the introductions. Aunt Lucinda was still asking herself why, oh, why she had not taken possession of that costume upon Blue Bonnet’s first showing it to her?

Then the General and Alec came in, creating a diversion for which Blue Bonnet, who was feeling rather breathless, for all her brave showing, was truly grateful.

“My dear young lady,” General Trent turned to her, after paying his respects to the rest—“or, I should say, SeÑorita?—this is a surprise!”

“To all of us, General,” Mrs. Clyde said. “On the whole, I think I like it.”

Blue Bonnet came to rest a hand on her grandmother’s shoulder. “Truly, Grandmother?” she asked softly. “I—hoped you would.”

“Isn’t she stunning!” Alec exclaimed.

When Delia came to announce dinner a few moments later, she broke off suddenly in the middle of her sentence—much to her own confusion—to stare open-eyed at Blue Bonnet.

“If you could see her!” she said to Katie, escaping as soon as might be to the kitchen. “Sitting there like a picture—and that innocent! For all the world as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth! ‘And please don’t say anything,’ says she to me—and well she might! I’d like to be knowing what her aunt do be thinking of such goings-on this minute.”

“I’m after thinking,” Katie remarked wisely, “that the mistress herself do be enjoying the bit of a lark with the best of them. Sure and it isn’t the same house, since the darlin’ came.”

Meanwhile, Blue Bonnet found herself placed between the eldest of those “Boston relatives” and Alec. She had never seen anyone before quite like this elderly gentleman, whom it seemed almost disrespectful to call “Cousin Tracy,” even though he had told her to.

He should have looked old, but he didn’t; she supposed he was what Aunt Lucinda called “well preserved”; and she wondered, a dancing light in her eyes, if perhaps he was not looking upon her as being something of a “pickle.”

“Mayn’t I share the good thought, SeÑorita?” Mr. Winthrop asked.

Blue Bonnet looked confused. This was what came of letting one’s thoughts run away with one before people.

“Do you know,” she said, hurriedly, “this is my first real New England Thanksgiving.”

“Was that the reason you appeared in Spanish costume?”

“You asked that just the way Aunt Lucinda asks things sometimes! It must be a Boston fashion.”

“Possibly. And how are you enjoying your ‘New England Thanksgiving’?”

Blue Bonnet looked thoughtfully up and down the long table, with Grandmother at the head and Aunt Lucinda at the foot. The shades had been drawn and the only light came from the wax candles in the tall silver candelabra on table and mantel. They cast a soft, mellow light about the room and over the perfectly appointed table, in the centre of which stood the best Blue Canton bowl, filled with great, tawny chrysanthemums.

“I like it,” she said slowly, finding it hard to express her feeling; “it is so—homey and—familified. I like to think of how many Thanksgiving dinners must have been held in this very room—I don’t mean just the dinner part—anyone can have turkey and such things—but the way in which it has been done—like to-day. And it is nice to be part Clyde, isn’t it?”

“Very; though it is an honor I can lay no claim to.” Blue Bonnet laughed; she liked Cousin Tracy, he treated her as if she were quite grown-up. “But the Winthrops are—” she hesitated.

“We think they—are. But we have been accused of being over proud—where family is concerned.”

Blue Bonnet waited to exchange a smile with Uncle Cliff, seated opposite between Cousin Honoria and Cousin Augusta, and apparently getting on very well with them both. “Grandmother was a Winthrop,” she said, then,—“and it’s Aunt Lucinda’s middle name. Names count for a good deal back here, don’t they?”

“Or what they stand for.”

“Ashe stands for a good deal out in Texas.”

“See here!” Alec protested in an undertone, “I didn’t think you were the sort to go back on an old friend.”

“I thought you were talking to Aunt Lucinda,” Blue Bonnet answered.

“If not the rose—you know the rest!”

“Did you tell Aunt Lucinda that?”

“I’d be so apt to.”

“Alec, do you realize how long we have been sitting here? I’m getting dreadfully tired, aren’t you? I wish grandmother would announce fifteen minutes for recess, and insist—like the ‘rankin’ officer’ does—on our all getting out into the fresh air.” “For a game of tag? I can imagine your elderly relative seconding the motion!”

“A little motion would do him and us all a lot of good. He’s really awfully nice, Alec; and he hasn’t once asked me how I like Woodford. I’m so tired of answering that question; I’ve even thought of getting my answer printed on little slips of paper and handing one to every new person I meet.”

“Oh, but there’s time yet! The turkey is just going off, having gone off considerably—before going off. And experience teaches me that there is more to follow.”

“I begin to understand why Thanksgiving is kept only once a year.”

“Why, SeÑorita?” the General asked, overhearing the remark.

“It is so perfectly lovely to be called ‘SeÑorita!’” Blue Bonnet assured him; “I haven’t been called that since Benita said good-bye to me, until to-day.”

“But you haven’t answered General Trent’s question, Blue Bonnet,” Miss Lucinda reminded her.

“I—was trying not to, Aunt Lucinda!” Blue Bonnet answered.

There was a laugh, then the General said, “I withdraw it, SeÑorita,” and the talk drifted off to other things. “Break number two,” Blue Bonnet confided to Alec.

“People shouldn’t ask questions,” he comforted her,—“unexpected questions like that.”

“N—no,” Blue Bonnet agreed. “Sometimes I think it ought to be—‘elders should be seen and not heard.’”

At last came desert, with the nuts and raisins; Mrs. Clyde, taking pity on Blue Bonnet, suggested that the young people take theirs off to the back parlor.

“Isn’t Grandmother the dearest!” Blue Bonnet said, as she and Alec settled themselves in two big chairs before the fire.

“She’s all right!” Alec answered. “I’ve a piece of news for you, my lady.”

Blue Bonnet caught the almonds he tossed her. “Good?”

“I’ve a cousin coming to stay with us; he’s been at school in New York and—”

“I’m glad; he’s a he!”

“Could a ‘he’ be a she?”

“Because—there are such a lot of ‘she’s’ in Woodford!”

“The female population of Massachusetts is—”

“A good deal in evidence,” Blue Bonnet interpolated. “What’s your cousin’s name?”

“Boyd Trent. His people are going abroad—he’s to stay here until summer.” “And go to school with you?”

“Yes.”

“How old is he?”

“Three or four months younger than ‘yours truly.’”

“Then he’ll come between you and me.”

“I hope not.”

“As far as age goes—I don’t see how you can help it.” It seemed to Blue Bonnet, thinking it over afterwards, that Alec showed very little enthusiasm over his cousin’s coming. At the time, however, she hardly noticed it.

Going to the piano, she began playing snatches of old Spanish songs, in which one caught the tinkling of the guitar,—the gay sound of the castanets. But presently, she slipped gradually off into softer, more plaintive music. Music, it seemed to Alec, that must have been written by some exile, longing for the home he had left.

Blue Bonnet had quite forgotten him; when at last he spoke to her, and she turned to answer, it was to find her audience considerably enlarged.

“You are not going to stop, SeÑorita?” the General asked. He was not the only one to find both playing and player attractive.

Mrs. Clyde’s eyes were turned upon the slender, brilliantly clad, little figure opposite with an expression in them that made Miss Lucinda sigh softly to herself. Between them all, they kept her there playing for them until Cousin Honoria declared it was quite unfair—the poor child would be tired out.

“But when you come to stay with us in Boston,” Cousin Augusta added, “we shall want you to play for us again. You will come for a week end some-time—even if we are all old people? We will try not to have it too dull for you. Tracy will show you his collections—he has several very fine collections.”

“I’d love to,” Blue Bonnet answered; she came to sit between the two little gentlewomen on the old-fashioned high-backed davenport. They were not in the least formidable; she thought she should like them very much.

Then she leaned forward with one of her eager movements; the talk had suddenly turned on Texas; Mr. Ashe was telling of ranch life out there.

Closing her eyes, Blue Bonnet could almost fancy herself back in the big ranch house living-room. How the wind would be howling about the weather-stained house to-night. And how lonesome Uncle Joe Terry and Benita must be without Uncle Cliff and her.

It occurred to Blue Bonnet that she had not given much thought to that side of the question. She would write a good long letter to them both to-morrow, telling them all about her day, and how she had worn her Spanish dress, and how everyone liked Uncle Cliff so much.

It was later that Cousin Tracy asked—as the good nights were being said—“By the way, SeÑorita, you have not told me how you like our East?”

“Did you put him up to it?” Blue Bonnet demanded, cornering Alec.

“Not I,” the boy laughed.

“At least he didn’t say ‘Woodford.’ But why did he call it ‘our East’?”

“Ask him,” Alec advised.

“Solomon,” Blue Bonnet remarked, when Alec and the General had gone, and she was paying her good night visit to the basket under the back stairs where Solomon slept, “I hope you have enjoyed your Thanksgiving as much as I have mine.”

Solomon, who had fared less wisely than too well, grunted sleepily; Solomon felt that the only fault to be found with Thanksgiving was that it did not come oftener.

Cousin Honoria and Cousin Augusta had gone upstairs; their brother was taking a short turn on the veranda with Mr. Ashe. Blue Bonnet went into the sitting-room, where Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda lingered, talking over the events of the day.

“And how,” Grandmother asked, “have you enjoyed your ‘first real New England Thanksgiving’?”

“Immensely!” Blue Bonnet answered.

“It is the first for me that has not been entirely ‘New England.’” Mrs. Clyde’s glance rested on Blue Bonnet’s dress.

“But you said you liked it?”

Grandmother’s smile was reassuring.

Blue Bonnet turned to her aunt. “And—?” Aunt Lucinda had not expressed her opinion as yet; Blue Bonnet hoped she had not been holding it in reserve.

“I think we have all had a very pleasant day—though it has held its surprises—for some of us,” Miss Lucinda said.

“I don’t know why I did it!” Blue Bonnet explained, “I just took the notion, I suppose. I’m afraid Benita would think I had done my hair up very badly—she’s always done it for me before. And I should have worn the earrings—I have them, great gold ones, with pearl pendants—but I’ve never had my ears pierced; papa didn’t like it. Benita used to tie them for me, so one could hardly tell—but I hadn’t the patience—nor the time.”

Miss Lucinda felt that the day had held its unknown blessings—they had been spared the earrings. “I think the costume was quite complete enough without the earrings,” she said. “I won’t wear any of it again, if you’d rather not,” Blue Bonnet offered, always ready to meet Aunt Lucinda halfway.

“Suppose we say, not without consulting your grandmother or me. And now,—suppose we say good night—SeÑorita.”

“I believe in my heart,” Blue Bonnet told her reflection in the glass, “that she really and truly liked it! I know the Boston relatives did. Poor dears!”

And in her own room, Miss Lucinda was owning to herself that the day, for one reason or another, had been different from all the long line of Thanksgivings stretching out behind her.

“Mother,” she said, coming to the half-open door between their rooms, “I’ve been thinking—how would it be to give Blue Bonnet a party—during Christmas week?”

“As a reward of merit?” Mrs. Clyde asked.

“Elizabeth used always to have her Christmas party,” Miss Lucinda answered. “We have not entertained, in that way, since she went West.”