Chapter 4

A SURPRISE

"Well, to begin at the very beginning," Blue Bonnet said, looking into the eager faces of the We Are Sevens, "we took an automobile from Cousin Tracy's house, where we were staying over the week-end. Of course we could have taken the Cambridge subway, but Cousin Tracy said we were to have all the frills; and, anyway, the subway is so jammed on the day of the game that it takes forever to get anywhere--especially home, after everything is over. Why, Cousin Tracy says--"

"Yes, we know all about that," Kitty said, "get on to the game."

"Well, we took the automobile and went straight to the Stadium. You never saw so many automobiles in all your life. They would reach from here to--"

"Oh, Blue Bonnet, we don't care a rap about the automobiles," Kitty declared impatiently. "What did you do when you got to the Stadium?"

"We took our seats. You see, we got to the Stadium about one o'clock, and as the game didn't begin until two, we had a perfectly lovely time watching the people gather. Cousin Tracy said there were about forty thousand. The cheering section was just a solid mass of college men, with a band at the bottom, and the most elastic lot of cheer leaders in white sweaters you ever saw. This is the way they do it."

Blue Bonnet dug her elbows into her knees, supported her face in her hands and yelled:

"'Har'-vard! Har'-vard! Har'-vard!'

"And Yale would yell out like the snapping of a whip:

"'Yale! Yale! Yale!'

"But the most exciting moment was when the Yale men came trotting out on the field in white blankets and blue legs."

"In blue legs!" exclaimed Sarah Blake in surprise.

"Well, that was the impression. A few minutes later the Harvard team came trotting on. They had black sweaters and red legs. They peeled off the black sweaters though, showing crimson underneath. Then the game began. I can see them yet."

Blue Bonnet closed her eyes and her lips curled in a smile.

"Then what? Go on!" said Debby.

"Then they played. And how they played, Kitty! And when it was over and Harvard had won. Did you hear me?--_Harvard won_--twenty to nothing, and for the first time in years, it was as if--well, as if pandemonium were let loose."

The high tension of the We Are Sevens relaxed for a brief second.

"And then," Blue Bonnet went on, "then, the funniest thing happened. The students jumped down from their seats and performed a serpentine dance the entire length of the field. When they got to the goal posts they threw their derbies over. It was too funny to see the black hats flying thick and fast." Blue Bonnet laughed merrily.

"A man passed us afterward with the most pathetic-looking thing on his head; it hardly resembled a hat, it was so crushed and battered; but he was explaining to a friend that it would do to get him home. He looked so silly; but he didn't seem to care a speck. Why, they all lost their heads completely. Even Cousin Tracy--you know how terribly dignified he is--got so excited that he began singing

"'Fair Harvard, thy sons to thy jubilee throng,'

"at the top of his voice. Everybody went perfectly crazy."

"Then what happened?"

"Much, Amanda. We went up on top of the Stadium. It has a promenade all round it, on top; the view is beautiful--the Charles River, and Cambridge across it, and thousands and thousands of automobiles, and the crowd moving in a solid mass--the people still cheering and laughing--oh, it was great! I felt as if I wanted to stay on forever!"

"It must have been heavenly," Kitty murmured. "Did the girls look pretty?"

"Pretty? Well, they certainly did. I was just going to tell you about that. The Yale girls all wore big bunches of violets--a Yale emblem. The Harvard girls wore dark red chrysanthemums. I had some, and a pennant, which I waved madly. There were more pretty gowns than you ever saw at one time in all your life. Great splashes of color all through the crowd; and the furs--that reminds me: all of a sudden I realized that my fur was gone. The white fox that Uncle Cliff gave me last Christmas. You can imagine the sinking sensation of my heart."

"Oh, dear, you lost it?" Sarah murmured.

"Yes, but I found it. It had slipped off my back and dropped behind the seat. You can believe I held on to it mighty tight after that."

Blue Bonnet sighed deeply as she recalled the averted tragedy.

"Did you go home then?"

"Go home? Well, I should say not. People never go home until they have to, after a big game like that; they're too excited--they have to work it off gradually. Cousin Tracy and I went to dinner where there were loads of Harvard people dining. After dinner we went to a light opera, and there--"

Again Blue Bonnet went off into peals of laughter.

"--a man came out and had the audacity to sing:

"'I am so fond of violets.'

"Imagine! Why, the Harvard men didn't let him finish the first line before they had him off the stage--"

"Mobbed him?" Sarah gasped.

"Call it what you like. I don't think they injured him, for he came back and sang Harvard songs--nothing else; sang like an angel, too."

"Oh, but you were in luck, Blue Bonnet," Kitty sighed. "I could die happy if I'd had your chance."

"It does make you feel that way, Kitty. I can see myself telling my grandchildren about that game. It's almost like an inheritance, something you can pass along. I've cut out all the notices from the papers and kept the literature they passed around. Now, I think I've told you every blessed thing. Would you all like to come up-stairs and see my new clothes?"

There was an immediate rush for Blue Bonnet's room.

Miss Clyde wondered an hour later, when she rapped at the door and glanced in, if the place would ever again take on its natural shape and order. Bureau drawers yawned; furniture was pulled about; the window-seat held a mass of underwear, shoes and dresses; but the faces of the We Are Sevens reflected pride and approval.

"Aunt Lucinda," Blue Bonnet called, "Sarah says she will come over Saturday and help sew the markers on my clothes. Isn't that lovely?"

"It is very kind of Sarah, I am sure."

"And, Aunt Lucinda, don't you think it would be nice to have a little tea, or luncheon or something, and let all the girls help?"

"It would be nice to have the girls, Blue Bonnet, but--"

Miss Clyde hesitated. She had seen samples of the We Are Sevens' sewing, and visions of Blue Bonnet's underwear after it had braved the first wash, rose before her eyes.

"But what?"

"Marking clothes is rather a particular piece of work, you know."

Blue Bonnet glanced about quickly to see if this reflection had given offence. None was visible. A relieved expression was rather more in evidence.

"I think _I_ could help, perhaps, Miss Clyde," Sarah said, determined not to have her one accomplishment thrust aside so lightly.

"I am sure you could, Sarah, and thank you very much; your work is always beautiful. Perhaps you would do some of the handkerchiefs."

The next two weeks seemed to take wings--they flew along so fast. The grey days had come; bleak, raw days when clouds hung over the hills, threatening snow and ice.

"Only five days now until Uncle Cliff comes," Blue Bonnet said one morning, pausing in her sewing--she was making bureau scarfs for her room at school, taking the greatest pride and interest in them.

"Five days! I can hardly wait. Grandmother, did you ever think what Uncle Cliff's been to me? Why, he's been father, mother, brother, sister! Many's the time on the ranch when I'd get lonesome he'd play tag with me, or marbles, or cut paper dolls and make me swings--anything to make me happy. Seems like I'm only just beginning to understand how much I owe him; always before I've just kind of taken everything for granted. Sometimes I can hardly wait until I'm grown up to make a nice home for him--to take care of him, and do the things--the little things men like to have done for them."

Miss Clyde turned and scrutinized Blue Bonnet's face closely.

What was this child saying? This woman-child, who only yesterday was romping through the house, indulging in childish dreams--childish sports.

"I'm beginning to feel grown up, sometimes, Grandmother. Going on seventeen is a pretty good age, isn't it? It won't be long now until I'm twenty-one, and then I suppose I'll have to take up responsibilities--learn how to run the ranch."

She sighed heavily.

"I fancy Uncle Cliff will stand back of you for some time yet, dear."

Blue Bonnet nodded confidently.

"Yes, and there's Alec. Pretty soon he'll know how to manage everything on the ranch, too. Uncle Cliff's getting awfully fond of him. Maybe when Alec is through school he'll make him manager of the whole place. Wouldn't that be fine? I think Alec will always be better out in the open. He can't stand city life, it's too cramped for him."

"It certainly would be fine for Alec."

"Yes, and for Uncle Cliff, too. He gets mighty tired of the grind--that's what he calls it sometimes. Why, his little trips East are about the only pleasure he has; and yet--I don't believe you could drive him off the Blue Bonnet Ranch. He loves everything about it, from the smallest yearling to each blade of grass. He says my father did too, and _his_ father. It's a kind of a family trait."

She laughed softly.

"And you have inherited the feeling?" Grandmother asked.

"Oh, I love it," the girl answered. "Of course I love it--but I'm not crazy to winter and summer on it."

Mrs. Clyde seemed satisfied. It would be easier to transplant Uncle Cliff sometime in the future, she thought, than to sacrifice Blue Bonnet to the Texas wilderness. The bond between herself and the child was riveting so close that the thought of a possible separation often appalled her. Yet she did not wish to be selfish; Blue Bonnet's allegiance was to her uncle--there could be no doubt of that.

"By the way, Grandmother, did I tell you that the General has a new picture of Alec? It's just fine. I'll run over and get it."

She was back in the shortest possible time, excited and breathless.

"There he is," she said, thrusting the picture in her grandmother's hands. "Did you ever see anybody change so in your life? That shows what Texas air will do for people. Why, he's fat, positively fat, for him, isn't he?"

"He certainly seems to have grown stouter," Mrs. Clyde admitted.

"And those corduroys--don't they look good--and the sombrero?"

Blue Bonnet's face glowed.

"I don't think you like it," she said, after a moment, taking the picture in her own hands and regarding it jealously.

"Why, yes, I do, dear. Only it seems a bit strange to see Alec in that garb. It is cowboy style, is it not?"

"Yes, but it's cowboy dress, and cowboy life, and cowboy freedom that has given Alec health. He'd never have got it here in Woodford in a thousand years."

"That is true, Blue Bonnet. You are right. What did the General think of the picture?"

"He loves it! I reckon it looked better to him than a West Point uniform with nothing inside of it."

Mrs. Clyde smiled.

"I think the General got over that dream long ago, Blue Bonnet. He is perfectly delighted with Alec's recovery."

Blue Bonnet put the picture on the mantel-shelf, and, folding her work neatly, went to the window and looked out. She stood a moment lost in thought.

"I think I'll go for a gallop, Grandmother," she said, turning suddenly. "I've just time before dinner. I won't have many more chances."

"The clouds look heavy, dear."

"I know; that's why I want to go. I love the damp air in my face. It's so refreshing."

But out among the hills where the clouds lay the thickest and the wind blew the sharpest, the world seemed a little dreary to Blue Bonnet.

"You poor little things," she said to the sparrows hopping from fence to tree forlornly. "The prospect of a New England winter is not as alluring as it might be, is it? Why don't you try Texas? It's warm down there--and sunshiny--and--

"What's the matter with me?" she said, pulling herself up in the saddle. Then she laughed.

"I know. I'm homesick because I'm going away, and it's perfectly ridiculous. Who ever heard of any one being homesick before they started? I sha'n't stand for it!

"It's a good thing Aunt Lucinda didn't hear that, Chula. She'd be horrified. What I mean is, I sha'n't let it creep in. If I do it will make me miserable, and I can't afford to be miserable with Uncle Cliff coming."

Blue Bonnet turned Chula sharply and headed toward home, forcing a little tune to her lips, a smile to her eyes, with a determination that would have done credit to a much older person.

"Why, dearie, you did not ride far, did you?" was Grandmother's cheery welcome.

"No, it was bleaker than I thought. The wind was cold, too, but it was refreshing just the same."

Mrs. Clyde eyed her lovingly.

Little tendrils from the fly-away hair strayed over her forehead and a healthy red showed through the tan of her cheeks.

Her grandmother thought of a sweet wild rose just bursting into bloom as she looked at her. There was something about Blue Bonnet that breathed the spirit of all wild things--flowers and sweeping prairies, broad expanses.

"There is a letter for you, Blue Bonnet. You must have known to have hurried so."

"Why, it's from Uncle Cliff!"

Blue Bonnet tore the end off of the envelope hastily and began reading aloud:

"'I fear I cannot reach Woodford the day before Christmas as I had anticipated, Honey, because of a matter here which is delaying me, but I will arrive sometime on Christmas Day. Go right on with any plans you may have for that day, as trains are uncertain and I might get in very late. If I am not there in time to say "Merry Christmas," remember that I am saying it in my heart and wishing every happiness to the best little girl in the world. I shall answer your letter in person; we will discuss the room-mate at that time, and also the other matter which seems to lie so close to your heart.'"

"He means Carita Judson," Blue Bonnet explained. "I told him how much I wanted her to go with me to Miss North's school."

"'Remember me to your Grandmother and Miss Clyde, and tell them that I am anticipating my coming visit with pleasure. Enclosed you will find a little check for the Christmas shopping which I had hoped to enjoy with you, but since I cannot you must enjoy it for us both.'"

"That's all. Isn't he a dear! Well, if he gets here on Christmas Day I sha'n't complain."

Blue Bonnet handed the little pink slip of paper which had been enclosed in the letter, to her grandmother.

"Take care of it for me, Grandmother. I don't need it any more than I do a sore thumb, as Uncle Joe used to say."

Christmas week dawned bright and clear. Real Christmas weather, Blue Bonnet thought one morning as she opened her window and looked out at the trees in the apple orchard with their burden of glistening snow.

Christmas was to be celebrated rather differently from last year. Since Uncle Cliff was not to arrive until Christmas morning, Blue Bonnet had been permitted to spend the preceding days much as she pleased, shopping, and enjoying the We Are Sevens' holidays with them.

Two days before Christmas she bounded in to her grandmother's presence in a great state of excitement.

"Grandmother!" she exclaimed, "I've got the loveliest idea! I was just over to Kitty Clark's, and the doctor is getting a Christmas tree ready for the people out at the Poor Farm. They are going to have it at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon, and he says that Kitty and I may go along and help if we want to. I asked him what he was going to give them, and he said not much, unfortunately, but a good time. He said he had hoped to be able to collect enough money this year to buy those old ladies a phonograph--you know--a Victrola--but everybody seems to feel so poor. I thought of the check Uncle Cliff sent me and I told the doctor about it. He didn't want to take it, but I said he just had to, and I ran home to get it. Where is it, Grandmother?"

"But--Blue Bonnet, you couldn't get a phonograph here in Woodford. Not the kind you would want--"

"No, of course not; but Doctor Clark said if you thought best for me to give the money he could telephone to Boston this noon, and they could get it here on the four-twenty train, without any doubt. Oh, Grandmother, please don't say no. Seems to me I can't stand it if you do. Don't you remember how old Mrs. Prior loved Alec's songs that day she was here to see us? Why, she just seemed starved--"

Mrs. Clyde rose and went to the foot of the stairs.

"Lucinda," she called, "come down a minute, will you?"

Blue Bonnet did not give her grandmother time to explain, but laid her plan before her aunt in a torrent of words.

At first, Miss Clyde seemed bewildered. Then a very tender, sympathetic look passed between mother and daughter.

"I hardly think, Blue Bonnet, that your check would pay for the Victrola," Miss Clyde said. "We should not want to get anything but the best--something that would last; and records are very expensive."

Blue Bonnet looked woefully disappointed. Then she smiled delightedly.

"But, Aunt Lucinda, there's money left from what Uncle sent to buy my clothes, you said so. Let's take that. Oh, please, Aunt Lucinda."

"I think it would be a beautiful thing to do, Lucinda," Mrs. Clyde said, and Blue Bonnet flew to her grandmother and gave her a hug that nearly took her off her feet.

"You know how little those poor people have to amuse them, and, as Blue Bonnet says, Mrs. Prior seemed quite starved for music."

Miss Clyde never acted upon impulse. She thought for a few moments, then turning, went up-stairs slowly. When she came down she handed Blue Bonnet a check.

"I think this will buy the Victrola--and some records, too," she said. "I would suggest that Doctor Clark get old-fashioned music--they would like that best."

Mrs. Clyde and her daughter watched Blue Bonnet as she flew up the street. When they turned from the window, there were tears in the eyes of the elder woman.

"It was a generous impulse," she said; "like one of her mother's loving deeds. I think perhaps--she knows--approves, Lucinda."

* * * * *

When the We Are Sevens heard of what Blue Bonnet had done, they insisted upon adding their mite to the occasion; so Doctor Clark suggested that it be turned into a We Are Sevens' party--the girls helping to give the occupants of the Farm a real Christmas. The rest of the day, therefore, was spent in the making of cakes and cookies, fudge and pinoche--enough, Doctor Clark said when he saw it, to keep him employed at the farm for weeks to come.

The Victrola came in on schedule time. Blue Bonnet and the doctor were at the train to meet it. It would have been hard to say which was the happier. The doctor's kindly face beamed as the box was loaded on to an express wagon and Blue Bonnet's joy found vent in laughter.

It was a merry procession that wended its way toward the Poor Farm a little later. Doctor Clark and Kitty leading the way in the phaeton with heavily laden baskets, old Denham and the rest of the We Are Sevens following in the Clyde carriage.

It must be confessed that the Christmas tree celebration was a bit disappointing to Blue Bonnet. The old ladies--and the men, who were permitted to attend also--seemed awed into silence. Perhaps the sparkling tree, bright with candles and tarlatan bags of sweets, brought memories cruel in their poignancy; and the old-fashioned songs had rather a depressing effect than otherwise.

Doctor Clark saw the shade of disappointment cross Blue Bonnet's face, and hastened to reassure her.

"It will be a great source of happiness to them, later, when the keen edge of memory has been dulled by frequent contact with the wonderful invention," he said. "Come out sometime and see for yourself."

Blue Bonnet was rather silent as she rode home that afternoon, in spite of the We Are Sevens' chatter.

"The world seems an awfully unequal sort of place, doesn't it?" she said to Sarah Blake. "Some people don't have enough money to make them comfortable, and others have so much they don't know how to spend it. What do you suppose is the reason?"

The question was beyond even thoughtful Sarah's ken.

"I don't know," she said, with all the hopelessness of a poor minister's daughter; "but I have heard Father say that if everybody could be started out equal--begin all over again--the same ones would be on top in no time, treading on those less fortunate. It seems to be the law of things, Blue Bonnet."

"But it's not fair!" Blue Bonnet insisted vehemently. "It makes me feel wicked to have so much more than others."

"But look at the good you can do--the people you can make happy. Maybe that is why you have it."

The thought comforted Blue Bonnet.

"I _will_ do good," she said, and there was conviction in her tone. "I _will_, Sarah Blake. Just you wait till I come of age. Maybe I'll have an orphan asylum all my own. You'll see!"

As Blue Bonnet entered the house on her return from the Farm, she was conscious of some sort of scurrying just inside the sitting-room. She looked about wonderingly as she hung her hat and coat on the hall rack, but could see nothing unusual. The hat, hung insecurely, fell off its peg, and she turned from the sitting-room to pick it up. The next moment a pair of strong arms enveloped her and a deep pleasant voice was saying, "Merry Christmas, Blue Bonnet."

"Uncle Cliff--Uncle Cliff!" was all she could say. "How ever did you get here? Why, it isn't Christmas yet!"

"Shall I go back and wait, Honey? It is only another day."

This time her arms were about him in a grip that left no doubt as to his welcome.

"Well, I should say not! Only--you know you said--you thought it wouldn't be possible to get here to-day. If I had known I wouldn't have been away for anything. Come in to the fire this minute and tell me all about the ranch and Uncle Joe and Benita and Alec--and everything."

By the fire they had their visit out, and then Uncle Cliff turned to Grandmother.

"Do you think, Mrs. Clyde, that I might give Blue Bonnet the Christmas present I brought for her? On the ranch we scarcely ever waited beyond Christmas Eve for our gifts, did we, Honey?"

Blue Bonnet smiled broadly.

"Oh, do let him, Grandmother. There'll be plenty of things left for to-morrow."

"Your Uncle is your legal guardian, dear. I think the privilege is his without asking."

"What is the present? Where is it?" Blue Bonnet asked, her eyes shining.

"I think Grandmother took it up in your room. I suspect you might find it there."

Mrs. Clyde nodded.

Blue Bonnet was out of the room and climbing the stairs in a twinkling. A second later Grandmother and Uncle Cliff heard a shout of joy, then laughter and animated conversation.

"She found it without much difficulty," Mr. Ashe said, smiling.

A moment later he was being smothered in caresses, and a voice was saying between tears and laughter:

"Oh, Uncle Cliff, if you aren't the darlingest, best uncle anybody in this world ever had!" While a slim, shy young girl with soft brown eyes looked on with interest.

There was an explanation on Uncle Cliff's part, and then Blue Bonnet took the girl's hand in her own affectionately.

"Carita," she said, "have you met the family? You remember Grandmother, of course; and this is my aunt, Miss Clyde. Aunt Lucinda, this is Carita Judson. She's come to go with me to Miss North's, and I'm the happiest girl in Massachusetts!"