Two days later Knight appeared at the table minus his sling, and announced that this must be his last day at the ranch. There were expressions of regret from everybody, and from Blue Bonnet vigorous objections. The boy quite glowed under the tribute.

"I simply must go," he protested firmly. "Though it's a big temptation to stay, I tell you. But it isn't fair to Uncle Bayard for me to be away any longer. Those twelve boys keep things moving for him. I hope you will be able to come up for one of our Sundays," he said to Mrs. Clyde.

"Grandmother has missed her church more than anything else," Blue Bonnet remarked. "It's been pretty warm to drive to Jonah, and none of the Padres has visited the ranch since we came."

"We have an outdoor service in a beautiful grove of trees," Knight explained, "and that setting and the boys' voices in the open air and all—well, it has spoiled me for stuffy meeting-houses. Can't you all come up and stay over next Sunday?" His glance and the eyes of all the We are Sevens were fastened anxiously on Mrs. Clyde's face.

She thought for a moment. "It seems a stupendous undertaking,—for so many of us," she said at length. Camping out in Texas was full of unknown and rather dreadful possibilities, she secretly opined.

"We'll take all the responsibility, Grandmother," Blue Bonnet assured her gravely.

Mrs. Clyde did not meet her granddaughter's eye; that young lady's method of taking responsibility was not such as to inspire one with unlimited confidence.

"I can send Miguel ahead with one of the cook-wagons," Uncle Cliff suggested. "You can have Pancho, too, if you like,—he cooked on the round-up this spring and didn't kill anybody. Lisa's too fat and Gertrudis too old for that ride."

"And we want Lupe for wrangler," said Blue Bonnet. "A wrangler looks after the horses, Sarah mia," she explained, anticipating the question.

"If we go," said SeÑora, "let us go as simply as possible. Surely we don't need such an army of men."

"But, Grandmother," Blue Bonnet protested, "there has to be a cook, and somebody to pitch tents, and one to look after the horses and—"

"I don't see the necessity. You miss half the pleasure of camping out if you have everything done for you. When I was a girl we used to camp out in the Maine woods, and we girls took turns cooking and washing dishes, while the boys gathered wood for the fires, caught fish and looked after the horses. To take a crowd of servants along would rob the life of all its simplicity."

Blue Bonnet looked rather blank. Cooking and washing dishes did not seem altogether simple to her.

"I can make caramel cake," announced Kitty.

"That's lovely—especially for breakfast," said Blue Bonnet.

"I don't like sweet things for breakfast," said Sarah.

"Beans and bacon are as good camp fare as one needs," said Knight. "It is pretty cool in the mornings and evenings, and one gets hungry enough to eat the dishes."

"We'll agree to anything if Grandmother will only go," said Blue Bonnet eagerly.

Grandmother, however, withheld her decision until she had held a serious conversation alone with Uncle Cliff.

"Don't you think you are encouraging Blue Bonnet in habits of extravagance?" she asked, smiling inwardly at the likeness of her question to some of Lucinda's.

Uncle Cliff pondered for a moment. "That depends on what you call 'extravagance.' According to my definition it means spending more than you can afford."

"Blue Bonnet is certainly spending a great deal this summer. It must cost something to keep up a big place like this, so many servants besides all the guests."

"Mexicans don't draw down princely salaries, you know," he argued. "And we're not used to counting noses at table. Besides, Blue Bonnet has enough to do just about as she likes with. Miss Clyde and I had some talk about it last winter—when she put the poor child on an allowance. Three dollars!" Mr. Ashe made a comical grimace. "Why, Mrs. Clyde, I've been putting by Blue Bonnet's profits every year for nearly sixteen years, and they've been pretty tidy sums, too. Besides, she's going to have every penny of mine, some day. And now she's old enough to enjoy spending, I don't quite see the use of making her skimp." He looked very much in earnest and ready to "have it out" then and there.

"But the possessors of wealth should be taught the value of money, just the same, don't you think so?" Mrs. Clyde urged.

"Surely!" he agreed. "And Blue Bonnet has a very fair idea of its value, I think. She gives more people a good time on it than any one I know. You never knew her to stay awake nights worrying over something for herself, now did you?"

"Blue Bonnet is not given to worrying over anything. Not that I wish her to. She is dear and warm-hearted and generous like her mother, but a little heedless,—Lucinda thinks. She needs to be taught that wealth entails responsibility."

"Lucinda!" was Mr. Ashe's mental ejaculation. He might have known the source of Mrs. Clyde's arguments. Miss Clyde had undoubtedly sound ideas on the up-bringing of the young, and any amount of New England thrift. He had unlimited respect for her strength of character; but also his opinion as to why she was still Miss Clyde. "Maybe I've a queer mental twist," he went on audibly, "but that's just what I don't see the need of. Poor folk have to worry about making ends meet; but if money is of any use at all it's to save one that kind of fretting. When one feels the 'responsibility of wealth,' then it's a burden. I'd hate to think Blue Bonnet would ever get to that pass."

Mrs. Clyde wished for Lucinda just at this moment; Miss Clyde could have met this argument with a worthy rejoinder, she was confident. "Don't you fear that thoughtless spending now may grow into future extravagance?" she asked rather helplessly.

"When the little girl begins to worry about bird-of-paradise aigrettes and pearl pendants for herself, I'll believe she's extravagant. As long as she spends only what she can afford and bestows it all upon others, I'll not begin to fret," he said decidedly.

"Then you don't think this camping-trip an extravagance? She is doing so much for the girls already that it seems rather unnecessary to me."

"It will be a wonderful experience for the girls—and they're just the right age to enjoy it most. A few years later they'll fuss about dirt and want springs on their beds."

Grandmother Clyde smothered a sigh; she had reached the latter stage, but perhaps it was not her place to "reason why." The conversation ended for the present, and during her stay on the ranch was not resumed.

As Uncle Cliff left the veranda after the conference, he was set upon by Blue Bonnet and Kitty and enticed to the lair of the We are Sevens, which chanced this time to be the summer-house in the SeÑorita's little garden. This rather shaky bower, overgrown by jack-beans which held together the would-be rustic structure, had once been the pride of Blue Bonnet's heart, but now, neglected—as was the garden since the advent of the ranch party—had become the residence of a large and growing family of insects. It served, however, as a very excellent spot for secret sessions such as the present one. A circular bench, very wobbly as to legs, had the advantage of bringing all the members face to face in solemn conclave. It was here their captive was haled.

"What says the noble SeÑora?" demanded Blue Bonnet, and then before he could answer she exclaimed—"Uncle Cliff, you must help us out. Life without that camping trip will be stale, flat and unprofitable."

"Oh, Blue Bonnet," said Sarah reproachfully, "how can you say that when we are having the most wonderful time that ever was?"

"Sarah, don't weaken our case," Blue Bonnet admonished her. "It's your place to look positively pining!"

"If you'll allow me to speak," remarked Uncle Cliff, "I'll put an end to your suspense. The Queen Mother says she will sacrifice herself for the weal of her subjects."

"Hooray!" cried Blue Bonnet, and the cry was echoed even by Sarah.

Alec and Knight, hearing the uproar on their way to the house, stopped and begged permission to enter.

"Come right in and sit down on the floor," said Blue Bonnet cordially. "Alec, Grandmother says she'll go!"

"So that's what all the row's about?" asked Knight. "Say, but I'm glad!"

Alec's eyes shone. "Don't you think I'd better go ahead with Knight? I could pick out a camping place and have everything ready for you." He had been awaiting a favorable moment to bring forth his quietly laid scheme, and the present seemed auspicious.

"I think that would be splendid," cried Blue Bonnet enthusiastically, reading Alec like a book. "But you'll wait and go with us, won't you, Uncle?"

"Can't go this trip. Pete has gone up with some of the boys to cut out a bunch of beef-cattle. I'll have to see to shipping them."

"Oh, Uncle,—we need you," remonstrated Blue Bonnet.

"And it's almost as good to be needed as it is to be wanted. Thank you."

"We want you even more than we need you," she insisted.

"You'll have plenty of men creatures to tyrannize over in camp. How many boys did you say there were, Knight?"

"There are twelve—and they know how to work, too."

"They'll be worked all right," said Uncle Cliff with a wicked twinkle.

"We must all work," said Sarah conscientiously. "I think we had better begin to plan things and get ready right away."

"The first thing to do," said Blue Bonnet, "is to make a huge lot of pinoche."

Sarah regarded her in astonishment. "Do you propose to live on pinoche?"

"No, goose, but with twelve boys in camp—not counting Alec and Knight, a pound won't go very far. And we must send to Jonah for marshmallows."

"Hadn't you better include several tons of angel-cake and fifty gallons or so of ice-cream?" asked Kitty.

"Just you wait, Kitty-Kat. When you see the use to which I put those marshmallows, you'll see that I'm the most practical member of the Club," Blue Bonnet prophesied solemnly.

"Grandmother, you're such a success," she said later, as they two sat discussing ways and means for the camping-trip.

"A success?" Mrs. Clyde questioned.

"As a grandmother, you know. If I'd had you made to order I wouldn't have had you a mite different! I hope our trip isn't going to be too hard for you. I promised Aunt Lucinda to take care of you, and I suspect sometimes that I'm not quite living up to the contract."

"We elderly people must guard against getting 'set in our ways.' Camp-life is certainly a good corrective for that." Mrs. Clyde smiled rather ruefully.

"It surely is," Blue Bonnet laughed. "It would never suit Aunt Lucinda. But she isn't sixty-five years young!"

"Nor fifteen years old."

"Was she ever? Somehow I can't imagine her different. It must give one a very—solid feeling, to be as sure about everything as Aunt Lucinda is. But she misses a lot of fun!"

Early the next morning Alec and Knight rode away; Knight looking very soldierly and capable now that his arm no longer reposed in its scarlet sling; Alec with his blankets in a business-like roll behind his saddle, and both boys provided with a "snack of lunch" to eat on the way. Alec's eyes were shining with anticipation; even Strawberry pranced more joyously than usual as though she knew a good time was in store.

The We are Sevens accompanied the travellers as far as Kooch's, and sent them off from that point weighted with injunctions and messages innumerable. That ride, even Sarah admitted, was a "grand and glorious" success; the air was fresh and sweet, Comanche very tractable, and everybody in the best of humors. The girls returned to the ranch full of plans for the camping trip, and for the rest of the day, and for several days following, made out exhaustive lists of eatables, bedding and utensils such as would have provided amply for a regiment of soldiers. In the midst of the preparations Sarah was caught red-handed packing her drawn-work among her effects.

"She'll have to be watched, girls," said Kitty. "White linen drawn-work on a camping-trip! Next she'll be slipping in white piquÉ skirts and dancing slippers."

"I suppose you'll object to my taking handkerchiefs, too?" Sarah's look was a mixture of irony and indignation.

"We ought really to bar all hankies except bandanas," said Blue Bonnet, "but we'll stretch a point for Sarah's sake. She can't help having aristocratic tastes, you know."

Sarah was secretly of the opinion that drawn-work was no more out of place than the many boxes of pinoche and marshmallows that Blue Bonnet packed away in the huge "grub-boxes," but she yielded with her usual good grace.

By Wednesday all was pronounced in readiness for the start. Miguel was sent ahead with tents and supplies in one of the big cook-wagons used on the round-ups; with help from Alec and Knight he was to have a camp ready for the rest of the party when they should arrive on the following day.

"I wish Grandmother were not so set on the 'simple life,'" remarked Blue Bonnet, "for I should like to take Juanita along. It's a pity to separate her and Miguel just now, when things are progressing so nicely."

"How do you know?" Kitty looked up quickly.

Blue Bonnet bit her lip. She and Alec had agreed not to tell of the incident of the lasso, and she had kept the secret, though she burned to tell the romance-loving We are Sevens. "Just by signs," she answered evasively.

But Kitty could read signs, too, and privately longed to shake the mystery out of her hostess. Suspecting the trend of little Miss Why's thoughts, Blue Bonnet went on hurriedly: "How shall we go—in the buckboard or on horse-back?"

"Horse-back!" exclaimed all four of the others.

"Did I hear you speak, Sarah?" Kitty inquired.

"You did if you were listening," replied Sarah calmly.

"I believe Sarah and Comanche have formed a real attachment for each other," said Blue Bonnet who secretly exulted in Sarah's growing spirit.

"It must be a patent attachment then," laughed Kitty, "—something that keeps Sarah on!"

"Grandmother will have to go in the buckboard—Uncle Joe's going to drive and—" Blue Bonnet did some hasty calculating, "I had better stay with Grandmother—it's smoother riding with two in a seat. Firefly will hate being led, but I reckon some disciplining won't hurt him."

They were up before dawn in order to complete the first stage of the journey before noon. As they gathered about the lamp-lighted table for breakfast, yawning and rubbing their eyes, Blue Bonnet gave an amused laugh.

"I think it would have been a good plan to have had breakfast before we went to bed," said Sarah. "Thank you, Mrs. Clyde, I will take coffee, I think it will wake me up."

"Never mind," said Blue Bonnet. "You can just alter the lines a bit—

They were several miles from the ranch when Uncle Joe raised his quirt and pointed to the east. "There she comes!" he warned.

The whole crowd came to a standstill in the middle of the road in a hush that was almost reverent. Blue Bonnet drew a deep breath. The rolling prairie with the long grass stirred by the breeze; the peaceful herds just waking into life; the fleecy clouds glowing from buff to rosy pink—she loved it all.

At eleven every one was ravenous and a halt was made for lunch. From that point the journey was hardly so pleasant; the road began to ascend sharply into the sturdy little range of hills that Texans proudly call mountains, and being less frequented than the county road, was rough and full of surprises in the way of snakes and insects. Sarah was just beginning to wonder if she could survive Comanche's next fright, when a loud "Whoa-o-o-pe!" sounded from somewhere above and ahead of them. Blue Bonnet answered immediately with the ranch-call which she and some of the cowboys had adapted years ago from one of Uncle Joe's old-time songs:

She had a strong, carrying voice, and the cheery summons of the Twickenham ferryman rang clearly on the air.

The next minute three riders emerged from the trees in whose shade they had been waiting, and galloped to meet the campers.

"It's Alec and Knight," Kitty called from the front. "And there's a girl with them!"

Blue Bonnet shot a quick glance at the approaching trio, and then gave a bounce of delight. That erect little figure, just about her own size, with the two pig-tails flying out behind her as she rode, could be no other than—Carita Judson.

Carita was not so quick at discovering her unknown friend; she gave a bashful, inquiring look at each one of the girls in turn. But as soon as she met Blue Bonnet's eye, full of an eager welcome, she rode straight to the side of the buckboard and held out a slim, brown hand. "You are—you must be—a Texas Blue Bonnet!"

"And you're Carita,—I'm so glad!" Blue Bonnet took the outstretched hand in both her own and gazed with frank pleasure into the girl's smiling face.

Knight came up beside them and presented his cousin to Mrs. Clyde and the other girls, and after a short but merry halt they prepared to move on. Camp was still at some distance and they must get settled before nightfall.

Sarah came up to the buckboard just as the others were starting. "Do you mind changing places with me, Blue Bonnet?" she asked. "I'm tired of riding."

The look Blue Bonnet gave her was ample reward for what Sarah feared was almost an untruth on her part. She scrambled out of the saddle in a manner that Blue Bonnet would have smiled at ordinarily, but now regarded with sober eyes. The other girls, without giving a thought to her natural wish for a few words with Carita had ridden on in a gay whirl of conversation; Sarah with a thoughtfulness that Blue Bonnet was beginning to believe unfailing, had been the only one to read her unspoken wish.

"Isn't Sarah the dearest?" she whispered to her grandmother.

And Mrs. Clyde, mindful of a former comment of Blue Bonnet's, smiled with amusement as she replied—"Not half bad—considering her bringing-up!"

Carita had lingered behind the others and now as she saw Blue Bonnet mount Comanche, she rode back and joined her. They were the last of the procession and practically alone.

"It's so wonderful," Carita's small dark face was alight with pleasure, "—to think of seeing you after—everything!"

They smiled into each other's eyes. Carita did not in the least resemble the Woodford girls. She wore a queer one-piece garment of blue denim, not designed for riding, which pulled up in a bunch on either side of the saddle, showing her feet in thick boyish boots, and an inch or two of much-darned stocking. On her head was an old felt sombrero, sadly drooping as to brim and dented as to crown, secured under her chin by a piece of black elastic. Below it her small face, brown and freckled as it was, was not without a singular attraction. Her eyes were big and soft, her lips scarlet as holly-berries; and the long braids were very heavy and of a glossy chestnut. In spite of her clumsy costume she rode her wiry little pinto as Western girls ride—thistle-down in the saddle. She was a bit of the prairie herself, and Blue Bonnet saw it and loved her.

"When did you come?" Blue Bonnet asked her.

"Yesterday. And we're to stay over Sunday. Won't we just have to cram the days full?" Carita's eyes were wistful. "For fear we sha'n't have much time alone, I want to tell you how much it has meant to me—your letters, and the dress and the Christmas box and everything. I can't begin to tell you the—difference they have made. We've always had boxes you know—father has no regular salary. But nothing ever came that was half so wonderful. Last winter wasn't a bit like others—it was full of excitement!"

Blue Bonnet smiled, but she felt nearer tears than laughter. Such a little thing to mean so much! For the second time she had a feeling of thankfulness that she was—not poor. Money was certainly worth while when it could give such pleasure. If Miss Lucinda could have read the girl's mind at this moment, she might have felt some doubts as to her niece's ability to profit by the last winter's lesson in New England thrift. Blue Bonnet's only regret was that her purse which had been slipped into the missionary box, had not contained several times as much!

"I was sure we'd know each other, some day—I felt it!" Carita went on in her eager way. "And I believe Knight's meeting you that day was providential!"

"It was certainly providential for Sarah and me," Blue Bonnet laughed. "We'd have had a pretty spill if it hadn't been for him. But as 'all's well that ends well,' we can consider that everything has been for the best."

"That sounds like father." It seemed to Blue Bonnet that Carita smothered a sigh. "Mother and I aren't always sure that everything is for the best. But father never has the least bit of doubt." Then with a quick return of animation—"I know you'll love the camp. Knight has picked out the loveliest spot for your tents. There—look! You can see the Spring, and that gleam of white through the trees—that's Camp Judson!"