Blue Bonnet threaded her needle a little impatiently. “If you were Uncle Cliff, Grandmother,—I’d have those letters right straight off.”
Mrs. Clyde smiled. “And if Uncle Cliff had been like me—?”
“I reckon I haven’t made Uncle Cliff see much in my letters—they’ve been rather—scrappy. I so hate to write letters.”
“Isn’t that a little hard on Uncle Cliff, Elizabeth? Think how he must look for those letters!”
“I reckon I’ll have to make them longer.” Blue Bonnet held up her stocking for inspection.
“Very well done, Elizabeth. I shall make a needlewoman of you yet.”
Blue Bonnet looked dubious. “By the time you’ve made ‘a needlewoman’ of me, Grandmother, and Aunt Lucinda’s made ‘a housewife’ of me, I’m afraid there won’t be any of the real me left.”
“No fear of that,” Mrs. Clyde answered. “You know, the owner of the Blue Bonnet Ranch must be an all-round person.”
And somehow, Blue Bonnet quite forgot to mention that she intended to sell as soon as she came of age.