She was turning to go in when she caught the sound of Alec’s whistle, and waited to speak to him. “Do come in,” she urged, “I feel—just like Mrs. Gummidge. I want someone to talk to who is—young, and can’t do things with his hands.”
“Thanks—awfully,” Alec said.
“Not tiresome crocheting sort of things—nor hemstitching—nor knitting double stitch—nor—”
“You needn’t go on enumerating! I plead guilty to each separate charge. You come over instead—Grandfather’ll be no end delighted.”
“I’ll interview Grandmother,” Blue Bonnet started for the house. Halfway up the path, she turned and came back. “I can’t! I haven’t done my lessons for Monday. I kept thinking there was so much time—and I did mean to do some extra studying, too.”
“Can’t you—” Alec began.
Blue Bonnet put her fingers over her ears. “Run away! or I’ll come—and I mustn’t, truly.”
When Blue Bonnet came back to the sitting-room that evening, school-books strapped ready for carrying Monday morning, she found Miss Lucinda sorting embroidery silks at the table.
“Are you going to embroider something, Aunt Lucinda?” she asked. “Aren’t they pretty! Did you get them in Boston yesterday?”
“Which question shall I answer first?” Miss Lucinda asked, with the smile it was Blue Bonnet’s secret wonder she did not use oftener—it was so very becoming. “Some of them I had, some I got new. I am sending a little bundle of silks and one or two stamped patterns to each of the older girls in a home for cripples, in which I am interested.”