When she went into her grandmother's room that night—the room that had been her mother's—Blue Bonnet found Benita acting as lady's maid, brushing Mrs. Clyde's long hair. The old nurse enjoyed nothing so much as waiting on the little Señora's mother,—unless it was babying the little Señora's daughter. As she stood in the doorway silently watching the two, the sight of the rippling gray locks, fast whitening into snow, did more to sway Blue Bonnet than all the other array of arguments. Uncle Cliff wanted her; it was Grandmother who really needed her.
She tiptoed up back of Benita, but her grandmother had caught sight of her in the mirror and turned at her approach. Something in the expression of Blue Bonnet's eyes as she bent for the good-night kiss made Mrs. Clyde say hastily—
"What is it, dear?"
And Blue Bonnet, her tone reflecting the happiness her words gave, replied: "It isn't mañana yet, but I can't wait to tell you—I'm going when you go, Grandmother."
When they looked up, Benita stood with her apron thrown over her face.
CHAPTER XXII
HASTA LA VISTA
The We are Sevens were packing. An open trunk blocked each aisle between the six beds in the nursery; in Sarah's room two more were standing, half-filled, one reflecting the neatness and order of its owner, the other bearing silent witness to the fact that it belonged to Blue Bonnet Ashe.
"What are you doing with that old stick, Blue Bonnet?" asked Sarah, as she carefully folded her riding-skirt and laid tissue paper between the folds.