“But loves the ranch; we shall never make an Easterner of her, Mr. Ashe.”
Some one came up the path whistling “All the Blue Bonnets”; and from the veranda sounded Blue Bonnet’s answering call.
“Who’s been taking up my tune?” Mr. Ashe asked.
“That was Alec; he and Blue Bonnet are great chums.”
“He’s a nice boy,—a bit too delicate; we’ll have to have him out on the ranch next summer.”
He told Blue Bonnet so later.
“Yes,” Blue Bonnet agreed; “and then he will get his wish too.”
The next day, Mr. Ashe spoke to Blue Bonnet about going home. It was Sunday, and they had been for a long walk together; to the woods to see the brook she had followed that never-to-be-forgotten day; through the meadow, where she had sat homesick and forlorn, that afternoon of her second running away from school. He had heard the stories of both those runnings away; had heard, indeed, pretty much everything that had happened during the past few months; and now, standing by the meadow gate, he asked suddenly, “Well, Honey, how about going back with me?”
She looked up quickly. “Going back—with you—now, Uncle Cliff?”
“Yes, Blue Bonnet—when a girl loves the ranch, loves everything the life there stands for, and isn’t afraid to ride, I don’t see that there’s anything left to do but take her West.”