Her place was by the window, and to the girl, the school-yard walk, with its bordering of tall, bare trees, led not out to the village street, but on and out to the wide, illimitable prairie; and across the prairie to a long, low house, standing like a little island in a wide sea of grass. She could see Benita coming and going from house to kitchen, and Don stretched lazily out on the back veranda.
“Elizabeth!”
Blue Bonnet turned, lifting a pair of dreamy, far-away eyes.
“Are you aware that this is the third time I have spoken to you?” Miss Rankin asked.
“No, Miss Rankin—I beg your pardon.”
“You may take up the subject where Ruth left off.”
Blue Bonnet glanced uncertainly from Ruth to the open history in Miss Rankin’s hands, and back again.
Ruth’s lips moved ever so slightly; but the movement gave not the faintest clue. Blue Bonnet turned to Miss Rankin. “I am afraid I haven’t any idea where Ruth left off.” There was no real regret in her tone, merely polite apology.
Miss Rankin turned to one of the other girls. “You may answer, Hester.”
And Hester Manly did answer, with a promptness and fullness which should have served as a rebuke to Blue Bonnet. But already the girl’s eyes had gone back to the window. To her, the troubles and trials of George the Second seemed of very little consequence, in comparison with the homesick longings of the owner of the Blue Bonnet Ranch. She was glad that history was the last recitation of the day.