"Carita! You don't know what you are talking about. It's twenty minutes after twelve this instant. Don't you ever think you could get out of this house without Aunt Lucinda's knowing it. She sleeps with one eye open. No--that won't do. Can't you think of something else?"

"Yes--" Carita answered after a moment. "You write the note. I always wake early in the morning--I got the habit in Texas and it seems to stay with me. I'll get up and take it over early--very early, and give it to the maid--or--I could send it by Denham, couldn't I? He's always up by six o'clock."

"Of course--the very thing! You're sure you don't mind? You'll be awfully sleepy in the morning."

"I'd love to do it," Carita answered, truthfully. To be of service to Blue Bonnet const.i.tuted her greatest happiness. "Hurry up and write it!"

For the next ten minutes Blue Bonnet's pen scratched away busily. There must have been some difficulty in writing the note, for several attempts went the way of the waste basket. Finally it was done. Blue Bonnet read it through three times, then slipped it into an envelope and laid it on the table beside the bed.

"There it is," she said, eying it with misgivings. "I hope it's all right, and I haven't been too awfully humble. I don't suppose he cares a rap, anyway--as long as--"

She stopped abruptly. She was going to say "as long as Kitty Clark was around," but she couldn't bring herself to it.

Carita was up with the larks the next morning and slipping down-stairs quietly, so that she did not even waken Blue Bonnet, found Denham and gave him the note.

"It's for Mr. Alec, Denham," she said, "and it's very, _very_ important.

Please take it over immediately and give it to the cook. Tell her to give it to Mr. Alec the first thing when he comes down to breakfast.

And, Denham, please impress upon her how important it is. She might mislay it or something."

Denham promised faithfully, and a few hours later at the station Blue Bonnet was rewarded by a cordial handshake from Alec.

"I got the note all right, Blue Bonnet. It was good of you to send it over--makes my going away a lot easier. Hope you have a jolly good vacation. Put Judson through his paces, won't you? Good-by. Send along some of those fine letters of yours and tell me all the news."

He was off, and Blue Bonnet watched the long train vanish into a black speck.

"Come along, Solomon," she said with a faint sigh, after Alec's last salute had been lost to view, "there's no use moping here."

She left the girls at the first corner and turned into a little lane that led to the Widow Patten's cottage. The Widow Patten was a unique figure in the village. Small of stature, cheery of countenance, charitable by nature, she mothered the town. Fate had not been kind to Mrs. Patten, but she cherished no resentment; it had left her a pair of willing hands, and indomitable courage to face emergencies.

"Seems to me if I'd had to endure all that the Widow Patten has, I'd have given up long ago," more than one neighbor said, beholding her sorrows and cares; but the Widow Patten _never_ gave up. "The way will open," was one of her favorite sayings, and nine times out of ten it did. It had opened up opportunely when Miss Clyde asked her to take little Gabriel and his nurse from the city hospital. The pantry had been deplorably bare, and the very substantial check that preceded the invalid's coming had been a G.o.dsend.

Blue Bonnet opened the white picket gate and walked up the path bordered with old-fashioned flags that led to Mrs. Patten's front door. She knocked softly.

Mrs. Patten was not long in answering. She flung back the door with a gesture that bespoke hospitality.

"Why, it's Miss Blue Bonnet," she said, smiling a welcome. "Come right in. S'pose you want to see Gabriel. He's out in the orchard with Miss Warren. They're both crazy 'bout the fruit blooms and the sunshine."

She led the way through a spotless kitchen, and Blue Bonnet stopped at the door to catch a glimpse of Gabriel's ecstatic face. The child was propped with soft, comfortable pillows in a wheel chair. It was the first time Blue Bonnet had seen him out of bed, and the sight of his crutches gave her a start.

"So you arrived safely?" she said, shaking hands with Miss Warren and dropping down beside Gabriel.

Gabriel removed his eyes from a robin in the peach-tree long enough to say "good morning" at his nurse's request. Then he spied Solomon.

"A dog!" he cried delightedly, as if wonders were multiplying too rapidly to be true.

Blue Bonnet took Solomon by the collar and pulled him closer to the boy.

"Pet him," she said, "he won't hurt you." But at Solomon's friendly approach the child shrank away in terror.

"Gabriel has never known much about dogs," Miss Warren explained. "And just think, Miss Ashe, he's never seen a robin before! That's why he forgot to speak to you; he was entranced."

Entranced he was. The trees in bloom; the soft fragrant air swaying the leaves gently; the singing birds; Mrs. Patten's lazy yellow cat drowsing in the sunshine; the chickens cackling in the tiny barnyard, opened up a panorama before the child's wondering eyes that could scarcely be eclipsed by heaven itself. Only one who has lain for months in a hospital ward with blank walls and a sea of sick faces, could have appreciated the vision.

"'Tain't any better than this, is it--the place where we're goin'?"

"Well--" Blue Bonnet paused a moment before answering. She wondered if anything _could_ be better than Woodford in the spring. She had grown to love it very dearly herself.

"There's the pony," she said at last. "You haven't forgotten about him, have you? And there are great stretches of land to gallop over as soon as you are well enough--and there's Uncle Cliff, and Uncle Joe and Benita. Benita adores little boys. Just wait until you hear some of her stories and taste her cookies."

"Stories 'bout Injuns and soldiers?"

"Yes, some."

Gabriel heaved a sigh of content and his head dropped back on the pillows contentedly.

"Guess it'll suit me all right," he said, "specially the pony. What you s'pose he looks like?"

"I shouldn't wonder if he was a bay--or perhaps brown; and not so very high. Just high enough for a little boy to climb on easily. Were you ever on a pony?"

"Gee--no! Wish I could see him right now!"

"Would you like to see my pony?"

Gabriel's eyes brightened.

"Bet yer!" he said. "Could I get on him?"

"Maybe. I'll see."

"Can you get him now?"

"I reckon I could--yes."

She was back in a short time on Chula; Knight Judson with her on Victor.

They hitched the horses round at the back of the little house so that Gabriel might get a good view of them.

"Gee! Oh, I wish--Couldn't I get on one of 'em? Just a minute?"

Miss Warren looked alarmed.

"Not to-day, dear. You aren't nearly strong enough. I couldn't think of letting you."

"Not if I lifted him very carefully and held him, Miss Warren?" Knight asked.

Gabriel's eyes plead with her.

"Knight would be very careful," Blue Bonnet urged.

All three turned and looked at the child. His cheeks had flushed scarlet; his eyes were as brilliant as stars, his little thin arms outstretched toward Chula with the wildest antic.i.p.ation.