“You must thank your uncle for that,” Miss Lucinda said; “I am not at all sure that I approve,” but she smiled as she said it.
Mr. Ashe was on the veranda. “I got permission,” he laughed, as Blue Bonnet held the purse up before him. “Honey, I’ve been cogitating matters. I reckon your aunt’s right; the Blue Bonnet Ranch wouldn’t be what it is to-day if your father hadn’t taught himself to look ahead a bit. It isn’t an easy lesson for an Ashe to learn, I’ll grant you.”
“I reckon Aunt Lucinda is generally right,” Blue Bonnet admitted; “that’s the worst of it sometimes.”
“Alec,” she questioned that afternoon, as he overtook her on her way from school, “have you ever tried for this ‘Sargent prize’ they’re all beginning to talk about now?”
“Won it—last year.”
“You’ve never told me about it?”
“N-no; I didn’t think you were much interested in such things.”
“Was it hard?”
“Not very. I didn’t go in with any expectation of winning. It’s only a glorified compo; you can choose your own subject, but it must be something connected more or less with local history.”