"Now you know," said Blue Bonnet, "why I felt like pushing back the houses in Woodford—at first they just suffocated me."
Mrs. Clyde smiled with new understanding. "You probably agree with our Massachusetts writer who complained that people in cities live too close together and not near enough," she said, patting Blue Bonnet's head as the girl, sitting on the step below her, leaned against her knee.
"Didn't you ever get lonesome here?" asked Debby, snuggling up to Amanda. She had been brought up among houses.
"Lonesome?" echoed Blue Bonnet. "I never knew what lonesome meant—till my first day in school!"
"Where are we all to sleep?" Blue Bonnet asked Benita. It was like Blue Bonnet not to give the matter a thought until beds were actually in demand.
Benita led the way proudly. "The Señora will have the little Señora's room," she said, throwing open the door of that long unused chamber.
Mrs. Clyde entered it with softened eyes.
"Señorita's own room is ready for her, and here is place for the others." Benita proceeded to the very end of a long ell to a huge airy room, seemingly all windows. It was Blue Bonnet's old nursery, and, next to the living-room, the largest room in the house. Four single beds, one in each corner, showed how Benita had solved the sleeping problem.
The girls gave a shout of delight; visions of bedtime frolics and long talks after lights were out, sent them dancing about the place.