“Then why not ride?”
Blue Bonnet was smoothing the ears of Don, the big collie who had followed her up on to the veranda, and now stood resting his fine head on her knee. “I—didn’t want to,” she answered, slowly, without looking up.
“See here, Honey,” said Mr. Ashe, leaning toward her, a note of inquiry in his deep, pleasant voice; “come to think of it, you haven’t been riding lately.”
“No, Uncle Cliff.” Blue Bonnet’s eyes were turned now out over the wide stretch of prairie before the house.
“Any reason, Honey?”
The girl hesitated. “Yes, Uncle Cliff.”
“Don’t you want to tell me it, Blue Bonnet?”
“No,” Blue Bonnet answered, slowly, “I don’t want to tell it to you. I—it’s because I’m—afraid.”
“Afraid! Blue Bonnet! That’s an odd word for an Ashe to use!”
“I know, Uncle Cliff; I reckon I’m not an Ashe—clear through.” Blue Bonnet rose hurriedly and ran down the steps. Around the house she went, and in through the back way to her own room. There she brushed the hot tears from her eyes with an impatient movement. “Oh, it is true,” she said to herself, “and I can’t help it. Oh, if I could only go away—I hate it here! Hate it! Hate it!”