She laid the apples she had begged from Katie on the tea-table.

"Suppose you take Solomon for a run over to the General's," Mrs. Clyde suggested. "Alec is at home. You must make the best of your visit; he is leaving on Monday."

"Where's he going?"

"To Washington, to school. He prepares there for West Point. He has a trying period before him, and much hard work. Be sure to put on rubbers and big coats. It is very cold to-day."

Blue Bonnet and Carita were off in a trice.

Alec met them at the stile.

"Was just coming over to see you," he said, shaking hands.

"All right. We'll go back."

"No, come along. Grandfather is expecting this visit."

The General was comfortably ensconced before the fire. He greeted the girls with real delight. Blue Bonnet was one of his special favorites.

It was dinner-time before Blue Bonnet had finished with half her news of school, and she seemed surprised when she looked at her watch.

"Oh, my, we must run," she said, flying out the door and pulling Carita after her. "Aunt Lucinda will be serving dinner. Come over, Alec--to-night if you can."

"Perhaps," he called after her. "I'm up to my ears in work just now.

Preparing for the Point's no joke, you know."

Aunt Lucinda was serving dinner, and the girls scrambled into their places hastily.

"I wish we could see the We Are Sevens to-night," Blue Bonnet said as she began the meal. "It seems like a year since I last saw them.

Sometimes I can hardly remember how they look."

"You will have plenty of time to refresh your memory," Miss Clyde promised. "They have planned for every hour of your visit--almost."

After dinner there was a cosy chat around the fire. There was so much that Aunt Lucinda and Grandmother wanted to know about the school, and so much to tell.

About eight o'clock there was a terrific pull at the door bell--then another--and still another!

Blue Bonnet looked startled. Then she jumped up from her chair.

"It's the We Are Sevens," she said. "I know it is! I'll go."

She opened the door to admit--not only the We Are Sevens, but a number of the We Are Sevens' friends, boys, mostly--Alec in the lead.

"Oh, it's a party! A surprise party! Come quick, Carita."

There was a great stamping of snow from many pairs of feet, glad greetings of welcome, mingled with shouts of laughter. The old house rang with merriment.

Mrs. Clyde and her daughter did not act as if they were greatly surprised. Indeed they had been taken into the secret some days before.

So had Katie, who at that moment was preparing all sorts of good things in the kitchen, to be served the young people later.

Blue Bonnet gave each of the We Are Sevens an extra hug, and looked into their faces long and eagerly.

"Why, you haven't changed a bit!" she remarked.

One might have thought the separation had covered five years, rather than five weeks.

"But you have, Blue Bonnet--lots! What is it?" Kitty asked.

"It's her hair," Debby discovered. "She's put it up! And her dresses are longer, too."

There was a general inspection, during which the boys looked on disinterestedly.

The evening pa.s.sed like a dream to Blue Bonnet. It was so good to be at home again, among one's friends; people who loved you for yourself.

"Haven't we had a heavenly time to-night, Carita," Blue Bonnet asked between yawns, after they had retired. "Didn't Kitty Clark look pretty?

I'm going to get after her hair to-morrow and do it like mine. Won't it be sweet? She has such loads."

By noon the next day, each of the We Are Sevens were wearing their locks parted, and coiled in a knot--regardless of the adaptability of noses.

Sat.u.r.day was quite as busy as Friday had been. There was another gathering at Alec's in the evening; a farewell party, for very soon Woodford was to know Alec no more.

The General seemed a bit sad as he watched the young people in their frolics. He was facing a long separation from his grandson: the old home was going to be very lonely without him. Many times he had wished that Boyd Trent's record would permit of his bringing _him_ back again, but fresh grievances had followed in Boyd's wake, and reports of him were disappointing in the extreme. And yet the General was happy--very happy.

Alec's health had been restored, and he had his appointment; two things for which the General was devoutly thankful.

Sunday there was the service in the little church. Blue Bonnet did not have to be urged to go as on that first occasion. She and Carita were dressed and waiting when Denham drove round, exactly at a quarter before eleven, as he had been in the habit of doing for almost a quarter of a century.

"That was a very nice sermon," Blue Bonnet remarked on the way home. "I think Doctor Blake is growing. Don't you, Aunt Lucinda?"

Miss Clyde smiled.

"Or Blue Bonnet is," she said quickly.

"Perhaps that is it, Aunt Lucinda. Anyway he's more interesting."

It was five o'clock on the Friday afternoon that Blue Bonnet and Carita had left for Woodford, that Joy Cross entered the room which she and Blue Bonnet occupied jointly. She glanced about, a look closely akin to joy lighting her plain features. Joy Cross was a recluse by nature, and the thought of having the room solely to herself for three days gave her infinite pleasure.

She laid an armful of books on the table by the window, then drew up a comfortable chair and sat for awhile looking out into the gathering twilight. The pleased expression which she had worn when she entered the room gradually died from her face, and in its place came one of discontent.

Between Blue Bonnet Ashe and Joy Cross there was no love lost. They disliked each other with the utmost cordiality. Blue Bonnet disliked Joy on general principles--possibly because she could not approach her, understand her; and Joy disliked Blue Bonnet because Blue Bonnet stood for everything that she herself wanted to stand for, and couldn't.

This evening as she sat looking out into the dusk, her figure, usually so apathetic and lifeless, took on an animated line, and stiffened into something that suggested a smothered, half-dead temperament breathing into life. She took her arms from the back of her neck, where they had been supporting her head, and digging her elbows into her knees made a place for her chin to rest in the palms of her hands. She sat this way for a long time, thinking, and her thoughts, for the most part, were occupied with her room-mate.

She wished she could get rid of her--be alone. She was tired of the running in of the girls who had taken Blue Bonnet up; their incessant gabble; their whispered conversations during the visiting hour. To be sure, Blue Bonnet had tried, time and time again, to draw her into these conversations, but she had no desire to be drawn in. She hated Annabel Jackson--the little sn.o.b--and Ruth Biddle's impertinences were beyond endurance. These girls had snubbed her since her entrance as a Soph.o.m.ore, three years before, leaving her out of their festivities,--ignoring, scorning her, just as on the other hand they had taken up this new room-mate, deluging her with devotion, showering their gifts and attentions upon her.

Joy Cross was a scholar--so reputed, and justly; but one of life's most important lessons had pa.s.sed her by. She had never learned that to receive, one must give; to be loved, one must love; to attain, one must reach out. It never occurred to her to weigh her own shortcomings and throw them into the balance with those of her enemies. She spent no time in introspection, self examination. She set a high standard on her own virtues, and, like most persons of this character, was oblivious to her faults.

Her three years in the school had been marked by no serious difficulties. She had been able to hide most of the unpleasant things in her nature, by her very aloofness. She had no close friends. She was judged by her work, her attention to duty, her obedience to rules; all of which were apparently beyond criticism. Her teachers, though they respected her, never grew fond of her. She led her cla.s.ses through a.s.siduous application, rather than brilliancy of mind.