“Yes,” Blue Bonnet answered, “I had to come.”
It was Sarah who made the first move to go, making it very prettily and very properly.
Blue Bonnet promptly vetoed the suggestion; they would all go out on the piazza and sing songs and tell stories in the moonlight.
But Sarah could be adamant when it was a case of duty; and Sarah’s ideas on duty were far-reaching. She was the eldest, and she felt that it was her place to set the example.
So, although some of her flock threatened to prove rebellious, she presently led them upstairs to the best bedroom, to put on hats and gloves.
Blue Bonnet, perched insecurely on the footboard of the big mahogany bedstead, beamed upon them one and all, urging them to drop in whenever they liked without waiting to be invited.
“I will, for one,” Kitty promised; and, while the rest filed solemnly downstairs in line, Kitty pulled Blue Bonnet back, giving her a hearty hug. “Oh, but I am glad you’ve come!” she said.
Woodford etiquette required that Blue Bonnet should go with her guests to the front door—and no further. Blue Bonnet went gaily down to the gate.
On her way back to the house, she suddenly remembered her escapade of the afternoon, and what Aunt Lucinda had said. Perhaps Aunt Lucinda had forgotten by now.
One glance at Miss Clyde’s face, on re-entering the parlor, dispelled any such hope. Blue Bonnet took sudden heart of grace.