“I’ve had a lovely time,” Blue Bonnet said. “It’s been so delightfully different from all those other tea-parties.”
“At any rate, you didn’t get here ‘too early,’” Alec answered.
As she stopped in the entry at home to take off her cloak and rubbers, Blue Bonnet hoped that Aunt Lucinda was not going to be difficult. It had been such a pleasant afternoon.
But only Mrs. Clyde sat before the fire in the sitting-room; there was nothing equivocal in her smile of greeting.
“Were the flapjacks good?” she asked.
“I should think they were.” Blue Bonnet came to sit on the hearth-rug beside Grandmother; Aunt Lucinda disapproved of her sitting on the floor, but Grandmother never seemed to mind.
“I suppose there was maple-syrup, too?” Mrs. Clyde said.
“Rivers of it. And we had them in the kitchen; and, Grandmother, it was all perfectly delightful.”
Mrs. Clyde smiled comprehendingly. “Almost it makes one wish one were fifteen again, and could have flapjacks and maple-syrup for supper—in the kitchen.”
“Grandmother,” Blue Bonnet’s eyes were fixed on the softly glowing pine logs, “is a person to blame—for being afraid—when she can’t help it?”