“At least, the exams will be over soon; the Sargent winners aren’t given out until the very last day, at closing exercises.”
“Why didn’t you try? Afraid of cutting out all the others?” Mr. Ashe laughed.
“I did think of it—then I changed my mind.”
She had fallen into their ways and customs pretty well, Mr. Ashe thought; she couldn’t have been expected to go in for them all.
Blue Bonnet broke off a spray of white roses, brushing them lightly across her face. She was sorry on Grandmother’s and Aunt Lucinda’s account; they were disappointed, though they had said nothing. She would like them to know the rights of it, and to be able to show Grandmother the little bundle of papers thrust into one of the pigeonholes of her desk.
“By the way,” her uncle asked, “how about the present financial condition?”
“I’m getting on,” Blue Bonnet laughed; “last month I actually saved a whole ten-cent piece. Aunt Lucinda thinks I’m almost ready for an advance. She’s giving me a camera as a reward of merit.”
Nor had the little brick house on the mantelpiece been neglected; its contents were to go to the Floating Hospital. She had not made that promised visit to Aunt Lucinda’s crippled girls—that was one of the things that must wait over until fall now; next year she meant not to have so many wait-overs.
“I had a wire this morning from Maldon,” Mr. Ashe said; “he places The Wanderer at our disposal for the trip West; she happens to be lying idle in Boston.”
“How perfectly lovely! I must go tell Grandmother; and now—” Blue Bonnet’s face was radiant, “now, Solomon needn’t travel in the baggage-car.”