Nevertheless, it was a rather depressed Blue Bonnet who walked slowly up the broad street that Friday afternoon. She was homesick for the gay times, the old comradeship. The sight of those empty places in the classroom made her inexpressibly lonesome. There had been no Debby to signal messages to her right under Miss Fellows’ very nose, no Kitty to whisper provoking little speeches that simply had to be answered. That her deportment for the week had reached the high water mark gave small comfort; she would have willingly sacrificed any number of credit marks on the altar of good fellowship.
And next week it would probably be even worse.
In the meantime, what should she do with her afternoon? Alec had gone in town with his cousin; she might ride, but riding alone—from necessity—was horrid. Sarah’s patient old nag was only at Sarah’s disposal on Saturday afternoons.
“Grandmother,” Blue Bonnet asked, coming into the sitting-room, “may I have the phaeton?”
“Certainly, dear,” Mrs. Clyde glanced at the girl’s listless face a little anxiously. She, too, was glad the week was over; next week must be better.
“I might as well take Sarah driving. I don’t suppose Denham would trust me with both the horses.”
“Probably not.”
“And he’s sure to give me ‘Peter the Poke’!”
“Poor old Peter!” Grandmother laughed. “To think he should have lived to be spoken of in that fashion.”
“Sooner or later, we are apt to get what we deserve,” Miss Lucinda remarked. “Blue Bonnet, suppose you stop at Mrs. Morrow’s and find out when you are to go for your fittings?”