"There's one thing I don't understand at all," Blue Bonnet knitted her pretty brows. "And that is what was in Uncle Joe Terry's telegram the other day. Won't you tell me, Uncle?"
"Nothing much,—only that I must be back at the ranch Monday evening without fail," answered Uncle Cliff with an air of evasion.
"There's some deep reason, I can just feel it. You mean well, Uncle, but I just hate secrets." Blue Bonnet laid a coaxing hand on her uncle's arm.
"Secret indeed!" scoffed Uncle Cliff, avoiding his niece's eye.
"You can't pretend a bit well," Blue Bonnet assured him gravely. "You look just the way my dog Solomon does when he's pretending to be asleep—and can't keep his tail from wagging!"
"Thank you!" said Uncle Cliff with well-assumed indignation.
"You're quite welcome. He's a mighty wise dog, Uncle Cliff—that's why I named him Solomon. You know I think—" Blue Bonnet went on sagely, "I think there is some trouble at the ranch,—because I saw the big box you sent with our trunks and it was labelled 'dangerous.' Now, be nice, and tell me what was in it."
"I understood that Miss Kitty was the inquisitive member of your Club," Uncle Cliff parried provokingly.
Blue Bonnet sighed. "Well, I can thank Uncle Joe for cutting us out of two whole days in New York. I'm sure Aunt Lucinda will be disappointed."
"Aunt Lucinda—?" echoed Mr. Ashe.