“But it does matter!” Blue Bonnet insisted. “It matters very much! I can’t think how I—” she broke off abruptly; through the one door, leading to the dining-room, she caught sight of Debby. Debby’s head was down on the table, her shoulders shaking convulsively.
As Blue Bonnet stopped speaking, she looked up. “I couldn’t help hearing; and—and it was so like you, Blue Bonnet Ashe! Oh, dear, I can’t help it!” Debby’s head went down again.
“D—don’t!” Blue Bonnet implored; it would be adding insult to injury for her to laugh, but if Debby didn’t stop—
“Suppose you go in the other room with Debby,” Mrs. Blake suggested; she knew all about the events of the past week; she was glad Debby had happened to be there.
And the next moment, Blue Bonnet and Debby found themselves sitting side by side on the shabby old sofa.
“Will you look at this!” Debby held up the rag doll she was stuffing for Trotty Blake. “I’ve done my best with the old thing, and she keeps getting lumpier and lumpier!”
It was Blue Bonnet who went off into a gale of laughter this time. “She looks like our Lisa, at home! And Lisa looks like a pillow with a string tied—not too tightly—about the middle.”
When Sarah came down she found the two chatting away as pleasantly as ever.
“Have you any bright pieces?” Blue Bonnet asked. “We’re going to dress Trotty a Mexican doll.”
“I’ll ask mother if we may have the piece-bag,” Lydia offered.