"Skip along," she said generously. "All's serene on the Potomac. You'd better hurry though, while the coast's clear."
And hurry they did.
Blue Bonnet turned out the light in her room, which she had left burning, and threw up the window blinds, letting in a stream of silver light.
"I reckon we can undress by that," she said, "and I can get up an hour earlier in the morning and unpack."
But the rising-bell had been sounding some seconds when Blue Bonnet opened her eyes to the light the next morning. She sprang out of bed with a bound, and dragged forth Carita, who still clung to her slumbers.
"Get up, Carita," she said. "That's some kind of a bell ringing for something or other—goodness knows what! Maybe it's breakfast. I don't know."
A look at her watch reassured her. Seven o'clock. Breakfast was at seven-thirty—she remembered hearing that somewhere.
"Oh, Blue Bonnet, I could have slept twenty minutes yet," Carita wailed sleepily. "I can dress for a party in ten minutes. Yes, I can, honestly!"
"Maybe—in Texas! You're in Boston now. Boston means a cold bath with a good rub, and getting into your clothes for the day—all of which takes time."
At seven-thirty they were dressed, waiting for the breakfast-bell to ring.