And it was with the brightest of Christmas faces that Blue Bonnet came down to breakfast half an hour later. No one was in the dining-room, but the table stood ready, a true Christmas table, with its shining silver and bowl of crimson roses; its pile of presents at each place; overflowing, in Blue Bonnet’s case, from table to floor.
“Please!”—Blue Bonnet went to the door—“Won’t everybody hurry! I don’t think I can wait much longer!”
“So hungry as all that, Honey?” her uncle laughed, coming in from his morning constitutional on the veranda. “Merry Christmas!”
“You were in very good time this morning, my dear!” Miss Lucinda laughed, when the various Christmas greetings had been exchanged and they all sat down to breakfast.
“Wasn’t I?” Blue Bonnet’s fingers were busy with ribbon and paper. There were furs from Uncle Cliff, books, ribbons, and neckwear from Grandmother, skates and the prettiest fur skating-cap from Aunt Lucinda, books from the “Boston relatives,” remembrances from Alec and each of the girls, from Katie and Delia, a new collar for Solomon from Denham. There were any number of odd little trifles such as girls love, which Mr. Ashe had picked up for her in New York; there was a box of chocolates big enough to promise the entire club much enjoyment; and under her napkin—when at least she had calmed down enough to remember to unfold it, was a slip of paper which told that “Darrel’s mare” was Darrel’s no longer but belonged to the owner of the Blue Bonnet Ranch.
By that time, Blue Bonnet had quite given up trying to put her delight and gratitude into words, but her shining eyes said it very plainly to the three watching her.
“How did everybody know exactly what I wanted, when I hadn’t begun to think of half so many lovely things myself?” she said.
As for Blue Bonnet, she and Uncle Cliff had put their heads together to very good purpose. Grandmother, whose pet hobby was fine china, openly rejoiced over the delicate beauty of the tea-set filling the box at her place; while Aunt Lucinda—who was a true music lover—bent delightedly over the lives of her favorite musicians, in their soft, rich bindings.
For Uncle Cliff, Blue Bonnet had gone to Grandmother for advice; and the girl’s laughing, happy face looking out at him from the purple velvet miniature case pleased him as nothing else could have done.
“It won’t be quite like going back without you now, Honey,” he told her.