“Elizabeth, bring that note to me at once.” Miss Rankin’s own color had risen.
There was a sudden flash of laughter in the girl’s eyes; going to the desk, she handed Miss Rankin the slip of paper, on which were written those two words—“All right!”
For a moment Miss Rankin did not speak; then she said, “You may remain after school, Elizabeth.”
Blue Bonnet sobered instantly; and presently, as she sat with her geography open before her, she drew a breath of dismay. Aunt Lucinda had said that probably Mrs. Prior would come early, and that she had better come right home as soon as school was out, and now—
It didn’t take Blue Bonnet long to make up her mind; it was a clear case of disobeying either Aunt Lucinda or Miss Rankin; on the whole, she preferred the latter course.
And when Miss Rankin, who played the march for the pupils, came back to her room after dismission, she found a little note on her desk and her bird flown.
“Dear Miss Rankin,”—she read—“I simply can’t stay this afternoon; but I will to-morrow, if you like. Elizabeth Ashe.”
Mrs. Prior was there when Elizabeth reached home. Miss Clyde was out; but Mrs. Clyde had invited the guest upstairs to her own sitting-room, where she was doing her best to entertain her; choosing carefully all such topics as could by no roundabout road lead up to the poor old woman’s present place of abode.
Blue Bonnet, coming to sit between the two with her embroidery, learned a rare lesson in tact and gentle courtesy that afternoon. It was pretty to see how, under Mrs. Clyde’s skilful touch, the little woman from the town farm lost her fear and self-consciousness.
Presently she leaned forward, taking Blue Bonnet’s work from her. “You must make the stitches so, deary,” she said.