“I should like to hear it, dear.”
“I don’t know if Blue Bonnet is really your name,” the letter began, “but somehow, I can’t help hoping that it is. My name is Caroline Judson—but I am always called Carita; and I am writing to thank you for the lovely dress you sent me. Nothing like it ever came in any of our other boxes, and at first mother thought it must be a mistake, until we found your note and the purse in the pocket. And if you knew how I thank you for that, too!
“Now I can go Christmas shopping. I’m going to buy each of the boys a knife of his own—then they can all whittle at once. I wonder if you have any brothers? I have four—all younger than I am—but no sisters.
“I wonder a lot about you; I think, perhaps, you’ve gone East to school—that’s where father wants to send me—but that you love it out here in Texas best. I wish you would write to me—I never get any letters—and tell me how old you are, and what Woodford is like. Father says he is sure it has a public library—I wish we had one out here. Don’t you love to read, better than anything? I was fourteen last August and all the dress needed was to have a tuck taken in it, and that will make it all the longer getting too short for me. That’s a pretty mixed-up sentence, isn’t it? But you will know what I mean.
“Mother thinks I’d better stop writing now—as it is a first letter. It is so good to be writing to someone.
“Please believe me, very truly and gratefully,
“Yours,
“Carita Adeline Judson.”
“Grandmother!” Blue Bonnet folded up the letter, “Mayn’t I send Carita Adeline Judson a Christmas box?”
“If not a box—a Christmas remembrance, at least,” Grandmother answered.
“Please, a whole box! If you knew how jolly it was unpacking the ones you and Aunt Lucinda always sent! One can put all sorts of little things in a box—I’ll put in something for each of the boys—”