Miss Clyde smiled. “It won’t take long, Elizabeth. After this, your grandmother and I would like to have you ready to go with us on Sunday morning.”
“I will—truly, Aunt Lucinda. But is that all?”
“I think there need be nothing more, dear.”
Blue Bonnet went downstairs very soberly. Decidedly one could be friends with Aunt Lucinda.
Towards dusk that evening, it suddenly occurred to Miss Clyde that Elizabeth had not been in evidence for some time. “I do hope,” she said, “that we are not to have any more—encounters, to-day. Elizabeth knows we expect her to stay at home on Sunday evening.”
“Elizabeth’s intentions are so much better than her memory,” Mrs. Clyde answered.
A moment or two later, Blue Bonnet came around the corner of the house, Solomon at her heels. “May he come up on the piazza for a few moments, Aunt Lucinda?” she asked. “Seeing that it is Sunday?”
“Seeing that it is Sunday, I suppose he may,” Miss Clyde answered; “only how is he to distinguish between Sunday and Monday?”
“I reckon I’ll have to go on doing it for him—for awhile. He’s getting to be a very nice dog, Aunt Lucinda. Denham says he’s a good part water-spaniel.”
Miss Clyde patted the head Solomon had laid confidingly on her knee. “It’s a long while since we’ve had a dog about the place. Where have you been, Elizabeth? I haven’t seen you since supper.”