Before he had finished speaking, Blue Bonnet’s face was hidden against his arm. “Oh, but I love you for saying that, Uncle Cliff! And I do love it out there—and I’d love to go back—and yet—Grandmother thinks I ought to wait and make myself ready; I’m not nearly ready, yet.”
“Aren’t you, Honey? You seem so to me. But what do you think about it, Blue Bonnet?”
She waited a moment,—and the old Blue Bonnet would not have waited. “I’m afraid—I think so, too.”
“Maybe you’re right, Honey. We’ll try it a while longer—if you say. Suppose I leave you here until Spring.”
“I could go home for the summer?” Blue Bonnet said.
“Could!—I reckon you’re going to get the first train out of here, as soon as school closes. As for coming back next fall,—we’ll wait and see.”
“And Solomon’s coming too,” Blue Bonnet said, stooping to pat the dog lying patiently at her feet. Solomon was tired and hungry; he didn’t understand why people waited to talk out-of-doors when their business of walking was over.
“There’ll be room for Solomon,” Mr. Ashe said; “he isn’t a bad specimen of a dog—minds pretty well.”
“Solomon’s improved a lot,” Blue Bonnet said. “Oh, but he will love the ranch. I wonder what Don will say to him; and whether Solomon will be as much of a surprise to the Texas dogs as I’ve been to the Woodford girls.”
A little later, Mr. Ashe entered the sitting-room alone; Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda looked up, the same unspoken question on the lips of both.