It was later that Cousin Tracy asked—as the good nights were being said—“By the way, Señorita, you have not told me how you like our East?”
“Did you put him up to it?” Blue Bonnet demanded, cornering Alec.
“Not I,” the boy laughed.
“At least he didn’t say ‘Woodford.’ But why did he call it ‘our East’?”
“Ask him,” Alec advised.
“Solomon,” Blue Bonnet remarked, when Alec and the General had gone, and she was paying her good night visit to the basket under the back stairs where Solomon slept, “I hope you have enjoyed your Thanksgiving as much as I have mine.”
Solomon, who had fared less wisely than too well, grunted sleepily; Solomon felt that the only fault to be found with Thanksgiving was that it did not come oftener.
Cousin Honoria and Cousin Augusta had gone upstairs; their brother was taking a short turn on the veranda with Mr. Ashe. Blue Bonnet went into the sitting-room, where Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda lingered, talking over the events of the day.
“And how,” Grandmother asked, “have you enjoyed your ‘first real New England Thanksgiving’?”
“Immensely!” Blue Bonnet answered.