Blue Bonnet stroked the mare’s neck thoughtfully, looking out across the bare fields, a wistful look in her eyes—“I wonder why mothers and fathers have to—go away? One needs them so. I’m not forgetting,” she turned to Mr. Ashe, “how I have you, and Grandmother, and Aunt Lucinda, only—”
“I understand, Blue Bonnet.”
Blue Bonnet was looking out over the fields again; they looked gray and deserted, and the wind blowing across them was bleak and raw. Along the hills the clouds lay thick and lowering; Denham prophesied snow before another twenty-four hours. The few sparrows hopping forlornly from fence to fence had their feathers all ruffled the wrong way.
It was all very dreary, Blue Bonnet thought; and to-morrow Uncle Cliff would be off to New York without her, and in just a little while longer he would be going back to the ranch without her.
Blue Bonnet gave herself an impatient shake; her immediate duty to her immediate neighbor hardly consisted in spoiling his ride for him. “Don’t you want to give me a good old Texas run, Uncle Cliff?”
“And have folks think we’re being run away with, Honey?”
“There isn’t anyone around—I reckon they’re all home either getting the turkey ready, or getting ready for the turkey. And if there was, it wouldn’t matter.” Blue Bonnet gave the mare the word; the next instant she was off, laughing back at him over her shoulder.
“She’s almost as good as Firefly, isn’t she?” she asked, as her uncle caught up with her.
“She’s a pretty decent little horse, all right.”
“I wish she had a regular name. Darrel just calls her Pet,—and Lady.”