There was a short silence, then Miss Lucinda said slowly, “I know, Mr. Ashe, that I have no right to dictate, that you are Blue Bonnet’s legal guardian,”—Miss Lucinda would not say rightful; she had her own opinion on that point; “and yet—”
Mr. Ashe put up a protesting hand. “I think you have the right; I daresay you are right and that I am wrong. I’ll try not to butt in again. I reckon we’ve both got the same end in view, and that maybe your road is the best.”
“It is not always the easiest—for either side, I will admit.”
“Only you’ll let me—for this time?” Mr. Ashe’s hand went to his pocket again. “After all, I am a visiting uncle, and the position carries with it certain time-honored privileges.”
So it was that when Blue Bonnet ran up to her room that noon, she found a good-sized paper parcel on her dressing-table, and on top of the parcel a little old-fashioned beaded purse, and in the purse a bright five-dollar gold piece.
For a moment, Blue Bonnet stood looking down at the purse and its contents with sober eyes; she had seen the little purse before, when the private drawer of her aunt’s desk had chanced to be left open.
Blue Bonnet went in search of Miss Lucinda, finding her in the garden with Denham.
“I came to thank you, Aunt Lucinda,” she held out the purse; “I sha’n’t give this one away.”
“That is what I hoped. A very dear old friend made it for your mother, when she was about your age.”
“It was mamma’s?” Blue Bonnet’s face flushed; then she asked—“You know what is inside?”