Mrs. Clyde's linen closet was a joy to behold; a room of itself, light and airy, with the smoothest of cedar shelves and deep cavernous drawers for blankets and down comforts.
Blue Bonnet had been in the room occasionally, when she had been sent for sheets for an unexpected guest. She had brought away the refreshing odor of sweet lavender in her nostrils, and a vision of the neatly piled linen before her eyes.
To-day she watched her aunt as she opened drawers, took the white covers from blankets and comforts, inspected sheets and patch-work quilts with an eye to necessary darning.
What a dreadful waste of time to have cut up all those little patches and have sewn them together, Blue Bonnet thought, as her aunt folded a quilt and returned it to its particular place on the shelf. She felt sure that Aunt Lucinda could have bought much prettier quilts with less bother.
"It seems almost like a sanctuary, here," she said at last, leaning against the window and watching the proceedings with interest. "It's so beautifully clean, and I adore that lavender smell. Where does it come from?"
Miss Clyde reached under a sheet and brought forth a small bag made of white tarlatan filled with dried flowers and leaves.
Blue Bonnet buried her nose in it.
"Oh, I love it," she said. "I must get some and send it to Benita. Benita is very particular about our beds. She says my mother was."
"She could not have been a Clyde and escaped that, my dear. It is a passion with all of us—linen and fine china."
Blue Bonnet nodded brightly.