"I reckon we'll all sleep without rocking," Blue Bonnet smiled drowsily in on the girls who were disrobing for the night. She had stolen from Grandmother's tent for a last word, but lingered for several before departing. "How's your bed, Sarah?"

"A bit bumpy," the honest girl admitted.

"Mustn't mind a little thing like that," Blue Bonnet admonished her.

"They're not very little—just you wait and see." Sarah squirmed about seeking a level spot for her body.

Alec and Knight, who had spent hours stuffing the bed-ticks with Spanish moss, would hardly have felt repaid could they have seen her discomfort at that moment.

Observing her Blue Bonnet remarked: "I'm glad we brought the canvas cot for Grandmother. I don't mind bumpy beds myself—it isn't right to be too comfortable when you're camping out."

Kitty stood, mirror in hand, ministering unto a blistered nose, and as Sarah gave a final grunt before closing her eyes, she called suddenly: "Sarah Blake, don't you dare go to sleep 'til we've drawn lots."

"Lots?" Sarah blinked sleepily.

"To see who's to get breakfast. After that we'll take turns, two at a time."

"But there are five of us," protested Debby.

"Grandmother says to count her in. We'll give her Sarah for a running-mate,—she's about the only one that can keep Sallykins in order."

Sarah woke up at that to give the speaker a surprised and grieved look, at which Blue Bonnet burst into a laugh. "I'll label my next joke, Old Reliable," she said.

Kitty looked about her for something which they could use for lots.

Nothing seeming appropriate, she suddenly tweaked three bright hairs from her own curly head, arranged them in lengths and held them out for the others to draw.

"Shortest gets breakfast; next lunch, longest dinner," she announced tersely.

"Hooray for us!" cried Amanda, catching Blue Bonnet around the waist and hopping about on one foot, the other being unshod. "Lunch for us. Let's think up something easy."

Kitty made a grimace at the short hair left in her hand. "Breakfast! Debby, I call that hard luck."

"The others may call it harder," prophesied Blue Bonnet.

"Never mind, the SeÑora and Sarah will make up for it at dinner-time," said Kitty.

"Night-night!" said Blue Bonnet, preparing to leave. With her hand on the tent-flap she paused. "Shake out your shoes before you put them on in the morning!" she said; and with this dark warning fled.

Camp Judson had awakened, had had a fiercely contested water-fight, had breakfasted, tidied up, and most of its inmates scattered in quest of adventures, before the tired girls of Poco Tiempo gathered for the morning meal. Kitty and Debby, enveloped in capacious gingham aprons, and appearing somewhat flushed and nervous, stood waiting to serve.

Mrs. Clyde gave the two cooks an approving smile. "Everything looks charming," she said as she took her place at the head of the board.

The table here was spread with white oilcloth, and the dishes of blue enamelled-ware showed bright and cheerful against the immaculate expanse. Bowls of steaming oatmeal porridge stood at each place, and huge mugs of cocoa. But it was at none of these that Blue Bonnet was gazing; her eyes were fastened in wonder on a pitcher of real milk and another of real cream.

"Where did that come from?" she demanded.

"The Spring!" declared Kitty.

"Miguel rode to the Circle Y ranch and got it early this morning," Debby confessed, "and they're going to let us have it every morning."

"It's a jarring note," Blue Bonnet declared.

"All right, you can have all the 'condemned milk' you want," said Kitty, "—we've a dozen cans of it."

But Blue Bonnet was already helping herself generously to the "jarring note" and seemed to enjoy it as much as any one. Every one was exceedingly polite and made no mention of lumps in the porridge; and finally the anxious puckers in Debby's forehead began to smooth themselves out. There was a moment of veritable triumph for the cooks when they came in with the nicely browned bacon and a plate heaped high with golden corn-bread.

"Who was the artist?" the SeÑora asked in pleased surprise.

"I didn't know you knew how," Sarah commented.

There was a moment's hesitation, and then Blue Bonnet, who had caught a glimpse of Uncle Joe's face, pointed an accusing finger at him. "Fess up, Uncle Joe!"

Much annoyed at himself, Uncle Joe tried to deny the accusation, but Kitty's face confirmed the suspicion against him, and in the end he "fessed up" rather lamely.

"Have to do something to earn my board and keep," he protested.

"Amanda and I get lunch, you know," Blue Bonnet suggested tactfully; and Amanda telegraphed her approval of this gentle hint.

"Well, this camp is well-named," said Knight, appearing suddenly with a half-dozen boys in his train. "Is this breakfast or lunch?"

"Breakfast, and a very good one," Mrs. Clyde remarked. "Won't you join us?"

"Don't tempt my merry men," Knight begged comically. "They've never yet been known to refuse food, and though it's only an hour since breakfast, I've no confidence in them."

"Won't you please hurry?" Alec asked eagerly. "I can't wait for you all to see the Spring."

"We're ready right now," said Blue Bonnet, jumping up impulsively. "Come on, girls, it's a glorious morning for a tramp."

"Haven't you forgotten something, Blue Bonnet?" her grandmother asked.

Blue Bonnet looked puzzled. "Do you mean hats? I'd much rather go without one, if you don't mind, Grandmother."

But it was not hats that Grandmother was thinking of; gradually it dawned on Blue Bonnet that the other girls were not making ready for the excursion, but were gathering up the dishes and clearing the table. She flashed a reproachful look at them.

"You might let those wait," she protested.

Grandmother smiled. "You do surely belong to the 'land of poco tiempo,' Blue Bonnet."

"But the dishes will keep—"

"And so will the Spring!"

The girl gave a discouraged sigh; it was a pity Grandmother had not been brought up in Texas; then she would have understood what were the really necessary things in life. She nodded wistfully at the boys. "Grandmother believes in every girl's doing her duty," she said.

"We'll have the manager hold the performance," said Knight cheerfully. "We'll be back in half an hour,—Carita can go by that time, too."

Blue Bonnet brightened visibly at this, and turned resolutely to the hated tasks.

"Debby and I will wash the dishes; Sarah can 'red up,' and you and Amanda do the beds," Kitty suggested.

Aunt Lucinda's training stood Blue Bonnet in good stead here. The going over the rather bumpy beds got in that half-hour left Amanda breathless with admiration.

"You can do things beautifully when you want to, Blue Bonnet," she remarked.

"When I have to, you mean," Blue Bonnet replied.

"Where's the broom, do you know?" asked Sarah.

"Sh!" Blue Bonnet drew her into the tent and out of every one's hearing. "There isn't any broom, Sarah."

"But I put one in the wagon myself."

"And I threw it out!"

"Blue Bonnet!" Something like horror was in Sarah's blue eyes.

Blue Bonnet met her gaze defiantly. "Did you ever see a picture of the Witch of Salem, Sarah?"

Sarah gave a bewildered nod. "What has the Witch of Salem—"

"Wasn't she riding a broom?" Blue Bonnet persisted.

"Yes—but—"

"Well, in my opinion that's the only good use a broom was ever put to! It has no place in a respectable camping party."

Sarah said no more; but when, a few minutes later, Amanda and Blue Bonnet looked out to learn the source of an odd sound, they beheld the indomitable Sarah, armed with an antiquated rake, gathering up the leaves and litter on the hard dirt "floor" of the dining-room.

"Who would have thought to see our Sarah grown rakish?" asked Blue Bonnet,—and then dodged the pillow sent by Amanda's indignant hand.

By the time the allotted half-hour was up, Poco Tiempo was a model of neatness and order. The girls, booted and hatted in spite of Blue Bonnet's objections, were ready to the minute, and when the young scouts appeared they set out at once, exactly—as Blue Bonnet remarked—like the third-graders at recess.

Grandmother had settled herself comfortably with a book,—Mrs. Judson was coming over later for a chat,—and so it was with a free mind and a soul ready for a carnival of pleasure that Blue Bonnet stepped forth on the joyous expedition.

"I reckon it is better," she admitted to Alec, "to have everything done first, instead of having them to do when you're tired."

"Oh, wise young judge!" he laughed. "We'll make a New Englander of you yet."

"That reminds me of something Cousin Tracey said once. He thought I was developing a New England conscience, and said it was an exceedingly troublesome thing to have around. I believe him,—it's much more fun to develop Kodak films. There now!" she broke off impatiently, "—if I haven't left my camera in the tent. And I want pictures of the Spring."

"Never mind, we'll be up here every day," said Alec. "There's a jolly little rustic bridge where you can gather the crowd for a group picture. Here we are!"

He and Blue Bonnet had walked faster than the others, and so were first to see this most beautiful of springs. Blue Bonnet gave one look, and then something rose in her throat, stifling breath and speech. Alec watched her appreciatively.

"If he speaks to me now, he's not the boy I've always believed him," the girl was saying to herself. She dreaded the first word that should break in on that moment of perfect beauty.

Below them the giant spring surged up, a great emerald in a setting of woods and hills. Clear as air, the water boiled up from the bowels of the earth, revealing every fish and pebble in its mirror-like depths. Shrubs overhung it; wild cresses and ferns clustered about it; below the surface long tresses of pinky-coral grasses floated and waved in the bubbling current.

A voice shattered the blissful moment of peace. "Isn't she a beauty?"

It was a sandy-haired youth with Kitty who had clambered roughly into the picture. Blue Bonnet hated him fiercely for a few seconds. Then the rest came up with a babble of voices and exclamations and she resigned herself, with a sigh, to the fact that the gift of silence, being golden, is given to but few.

Knight gave her a questioning glance and she glowed back at him. "It's perfect—almost too perfect."

"There's a wee spring up higher,—the camp creek flows from it. Do you feel equal to the climb?" he asked her.

She gave eager assent, and, after lingering a few minutes for the others and finding them too slow for the pace she liked, Blue Bonnet followed Knight up a steep winding path that circled the hill.

He carried a "twenty-two" rifle swung across his shoulders, and in his belt a rather formidable looking knife.

"For use or ornament?" she asked, indicating the weapons. "You look like Dick Danger."

"Strictly for use," he assured her. "The gun has brought down many a toothsome 'possum, and the knife serves to cut anything from firewood to alpenstocks. Shall I cut you one to assist your feeble steps?"

They halted while he selected a sapling for the purpose, trimmed and sharpened it at the end.

"Alpine travellers put sharp iron points on their staffs, Uncle says," he explained, "so that by thrusting them in the ice and snow they keep from slipping. We don't need them for just that purpose, but they are handy on steep paths—and to kill bugs with!"

She accepted the "alpenstock" gratefully and soon found it useful for both purposes.

"When we get back to camp I'll get Sandy to carve your initials in it—he's quite a genius at carving," Knight said.

"Is Sandy the—sandy one?"

"Precisely."

"Then I don't think I like him."

"Oh, but you will when you know him better," Knight protested. "He's tremendously clever,—a born orator. He won a medal last year in a debate."

"That accounts for his talking so much," Blue Bonnet laughed. "He's always at it."

"But unlike most incessant talkers, he says something," Knight urged for his friend. "We'll get him to recite some evening, then you can judge how talented he is."

"Does he do 'Curfew shall not—?'" she asked mischievously.

"Grief, no!" Knight's disgusted tone sent Blue Bonnet off in a fit of laughter. To her surprise the ripple of her laugh came back in a gleeful "ha, ha!" that had something witchlike about it. She turned a startled face to her companion.

"We've reached the 'Whispering Grotto,'" he explained. "The echo is famous." He pushed aside a low-growing bough, and brushing by it Blue Bonnet found herself in a lovely little cave-like spot, in the centre of which was a tiny spring. It bubbled up somewhere back in the hill and had made a long tunnel, coming to the light just here.

"Oh, for a cup. I'm thirsty as—as Tantalus!" sighed Blue Bonnet.

"A Texas girl crying for a cup?" Knight asked teasingly.

"That wouldn't have happened before I went to Woodford. I've been going through what they call—being civilized. It's mostly learning not to shock the New England sense of propriety."

"I'm not a New Englander!"

Knight's eyes were daring her; and it was fatal. What Sarah would have said if she could have seen Blue Bonnet's method of getting a drink is hard to conjecture. Hardly had she time to spring to her feet when voices were heard close at hand.

"I can hear Sandy." She turned eagerly to Knight. "Let's go on—I don't feel ready for a crowd."

"There's a lovely view from the top of the hill," he suggested.

Her only answer was to push on, plying her alpenstock eagerly in her haste to elude the others. Pausing only when the top of the hill was reached, she sank at length on a fallen tree-trunk. The view was all Knight had promised for it, overlooking a quiet valley.

"Let's call it 'Peaceful Valley,'" she said.

"It may have a different name on the map, but no one can prevent our christening it what we like," he agreed.

Blue Bonnet was content to rest for a while here. There was no sign of life anywhere, except a solitary bird wheeling about far above their heads.

"A swallow-tailed kite," Knight said as the bird dropped suddenly into clearer view. "Graceful, isn't it?"

All at once the big kite alighted on the dead branch of a tree near them.

"What glorious wings!" breathed Blue Bonnet.

"Would you like one for your hat?" Knight asked.

"Oh, wouldn't I!" she cried eagerly.

Quick as flash Knight swung his rifle about, aimed and fired. Blue Bonnet put her fingers in her ears with an exclamation of alarm. The bird toppled as if to fall, then righted itself with a lurch and fluttered out from the tree. Blue Bonnet gave a sigh of relief.

"I was so afraid you had hurt him!" she cried,—and the words died away in a gasp of distress. The kite, pitching headlong, had fallen almost at her feet.

She dropped on her knees beside it; but the bird was still. Knight, bending over her, was suddenly filled with surprise and dismay; she was crying like a child.

"It was so mean and vain of me," she said with quivering lips, "—to want him just for a hat, when he was having such a beautiful time."

Knight was pale with hatred of himself.

She looked up at last and smiled mistily through her tears. "I reckon you think I am pretty much of a baby. But I can't bear to see things—die."

"It's only a big hawk," he said to comfort both himself and her.

She looked up hopefully. "And hawks are mean birds, aren't they,—that kill little chickens and other birds?"

He hesitated, then said unwillingly: "Some hawks do. But this is a different kind. It lives on snakes and insects—"

"Then it is a good bird!—that's what Uncle Cliff calls them." Her face clouded again and she turned towards camp.

"You don't want one of the wings then?"

She shuddered. "Oh, no!" Then she paused. "I will have—I saw some feathers fall. Will you give me one? I want it for a reminder."

Knight picked up one of the tiny barred wing-feathers and handed it to her. "A reminder?"

"I'm never going to wear things like that again—wings and birds and all those cruel ornaments. I never realized before—And whenever I am tempted I shall look at this."

Knight bent, picked up another of the feathers and laid it away in his fly-book. "I need a reminder, too," he remarked.

"But you never wear birds in your hats," Blue Bonnet said wonderingly.

"My reminder shall be: 'Think before you shoot,'" he said quietly.