“It isn’t Grandmother’s dress! And if I did wait the box would be gone.—Uncle Cliff wouldn’t care.”
“There’ll be more boxes.”
“And more dresses! And this dress is going in this box—straight to Texas.”
“Well,” Sarah said uncertainly,—“oh, Blue Bonnet, let me fold it!”
“Wait a moment.” Blue Bonnet had gone over to her upper drawer; in its depleted condition, it was comparatively easy to find her little purse. “It isn’t as empty as it might be, nor as full as I wish it were,” she laughed. Next she went to her desk, where she wrote on a scrap of paper,—-“From a Texas Blue Bonnet.” The paper was slipped into the purse, the purse into the pocket of the dress. “I’m mighty glad now I insisted on a pocket in all my dresses,” she said. “Now, I reckon, Sarah, we’ll have to go to bed—I promised Aunt Lucinda to be in on time.”
Sarah was standing on the hearthrug. “Blue Bonnet,” she said, “you make me dizzy. You do the oddest, nicest things—just as if they weren’t anything at all!”
Blue Bonnet laughed. “Sarah,” and Sarah was quick to recognize the tone, “I should like to have you analyze that sentence.”
Sarah had begun to take off collar and hair-ribbon. “It must be nice, having a room to yourself. This is quite the prettiest room I’ve ever seen.”
“Grandmother arranged it for me—wasn’t it dear of her! I brought some of the Mexican blankets and things with me. It’s a great deal prettier than my room at home—I didn’t think much about such things there; I’m going to after I go back. But, Sarah, I think it would be perfectly lovely, sharing one’s room.”
“You have everything you want, don’t you?” Sarah said, a note of something a little like envy in her voice. There were so many things Sarah could not help wanting, and could not have.