“‘ISN’T IT THE NICEST CHRISTMAS!’ BLUE BONNET CRIED, HER LAP FULL OF TREASURES.”
The broad village street was alive with people; the bells were ringing for the Christmas service; on every side one had cheery Christmas greetings. Blue Bonnet, a knot of holly pinned to her dark furs, looked up at her uncle with eager face. “Isn’t it all like being part of a Christmas card scene—the crystallized kind?”
“So it is,” he agreed.
“After Texas, I believe I love Massachusetts,” Blue Bonnet decided. “There go Ruth and Susy—it must be nice having a sister almost one’s own age on Christmas. Oh, me, I can’t help hoping Mr. Blake won’t preach very long.”
But Mr. Blake was under the spell of the day, quite like other people. It was hardly a sermon at all he gave them, just a simple Christmas talk starting with the message of peace and good-will brought down by the angels at that first far-off Christmas-tide.
Blue Bonnet listening to it, her eyes turning, as they always did in church, to the memorial window beyond, with the winter sunshine shining through its rich coloring, wondered if her mother and father knew how very happy she was to-day? Knew, too, of the new thoughts and resolves stirring within her. Every Christmas all her life should find someone the richer, happier, for her being here in this world—that, at least, she was determined on; not just the home people and friends.
And after church, surrounded by the other six club members, each insisting that she come with them and see their things, Blue Bonnet could hardly keep from dancing from very happiness.
They compromised at last; the seven would adjourn to the parsonage, that being the nearest point; after dinner they would all meet at the pond, and from the pond they would go to Blue Bonnet’s.