But over it all a spirit of peace and contentment rested—a homey atmosphere, unmistakable and refreshing. Blue Bonnet gazed through the one unobstructed window of the little room wistfully. Twilight was closing in. Somewhere out in the field a cow bell tinkled, and a boy's voice called to the cattle. How familiar it all was.
Amanda's voice broke the stillness.
"Why, Blue Bonnet Ashe," she said, coming in the room followed by her aunt with a lamp, "what are you doing in here all alone? You look as if you had seen a ghost. Come right out in the kitchen. Aunt Priscilla has supper all on the table."
And such a supper as it was!
The chicken, and there seemed an endless amount, was piled high on an old blue platter that Blue Bonnet fancied her grandmother would have paid almost any price for. Fluffy potatoes, flakey biscuits, golden cream and butter, preserves in variety—everything from a farmhouse larder that could tempt the appetite and gratify the taste.
"I feel as if I never could eat another mouthful as long as I live," Blue Bonnet declared as she rose from the table.
"That's just the way I used to feel last summer on the ranch after one of old Gertrudis' meals," Kitty said.
Amanda's aunt suggested a run down the lane.
Down the lane they ran, laughing and calling; old Shep, stirred from his usual calm, barking and bounding at their heels.
It was too dark for a walk, so the girls soon retraced their steps, settling themselves in the parlor for a visit with the family before going to bed.