“It was going to Texas—and Sarah said they were so poor—and that there was a girl about my age. I did want to send something worth while—and I put my purse in the pocket.”
“What else did you send?” Miss Clyde asked, as Blue Bonnet ended.
“Only some ribbons, and gloves, and little things—I had such a lot. I’ll go without a red dress all winter, if you like, Aunt Lucinda.”
“What end would that serve, Elizabeth?”
“I don’t know,” Blue Bonnet answered; “I thought maybe you’d think I ought to.”
Miss Clyde took several rather impatient stitches. It was Grandmother who spoke next.
“Blue Bonnet,” she said, “I can understand how you came to do this; but as long as you are under our care, it would be better for you to consult either your aunt or myself before giving away any of your clothes. You are too young to give indiscriminately, or on your own responsibility. Some day, you will probably have it in your power to give freely and generously; but, dear, you must learn how to use that power to the best advantage.”
“Yes, Grandmother,” Blue Bonnet answered soberly. She wished Aunt Lucinda wouldn’t sit there looking so—displeased; it was almost as bad as being scolded. Blue Bonnet drew a long breath. Life in Woodford was so complicated. If she’d given all her dresses away, when she was at home, Uncle Cliff wouldn’t have been vexed.
Mrs. Clyde saw the wistful look in the girl’s eyes. “After all, dear,” she said gently, “it was a kind impulse; and somewhere out in that beloved Texas of yours is a girl whose winter will be much brighter because of it. And now for your walk—not too long a one.”
“I’ll remember, Grandmother,” Blue Bonnet said.