“Si, Señorita mia, it is the journey too long for old Benita.”
“All the way from Texas to Massachusetts,” Blue Bonnet said. “I wonder who’ll look after me and do everything for me there, Benita.”
“That thought troubles me much, also, Señorita.”
“Oh, I’ll get along somehow,” Blue Bonnet laughed. She turned as Uncle Joe came down the hall, a coil of rope over his shoulder.
“Ready!” she called.
“This looks like business, for sure,” Uncle Joe said, slipping an end of the rope under Blue Bonnet’s trunk.
She nodded rather soberly. She had worn a sober face a good deal of the time during the days of preparation. “Uncle Joe,”—she looked up a little wistfully into the kind, weather-beaten face,—“you—you’ll look after Uncle Cliff, won’t you?”
“Sure I will, Blue Bonnet, same’s if he was an infant in arms.”
“And you’ll write to me, too, sometimes—and tell me all about—everything?”
“I ain’t much on letter-writing,” Uncle Joe answered, “but I’ll make a try at it now and then; and you’re going to be so busy doing the things you’re wanting to do that you won’t have much time to be pestered with the goings-on out here.”