Aunt Lucinda was playing Christmas carols; it seemed to Blue Bonnet, listening in her big chair by one of the long windows, that the air had been full of carols all day. At church in the morning, at Sunday school in the afternoon; and later, as she and Grandmother made their rounds in the big, old-fashioned sleigh, carrying Christmas cheer to more than one home, the very bells had seemed to be singing a carol of their own.
The little bank had been emptied of its contents the morning before, considerably more coming out than Blue Bonnet herself had put in, though she had been faithful in those weekly contributions; and she and Uncle Cliff had spent a delightful hour in a little toyshop, rather off the main stream of traffic—chosen because it was little and looked sort of lonely and forlorn, whose proprietor had been most sincere in his urgent request that they should call again.
That long day in Boston,—with the blessed knowledge at the back of one’s mind that one had “passed,” and that school was done with for ten whole days; with the wind nipping one’s fingertips249 and reddening one’s cheeks; with the stores reminding one of the fairy-land, and the streets almost as gay and wonderful as the stores; with Uncle Cliff declaring that Christmas only came once a year, and that this was the first time they had ever had a chance to go shopping together properly,—had been a day not soon to be forgotten.
And then the making up of the baskets in the evening! Grandmother insisted that one sleigh would never carry them all.
“Every part of Christmas seems the nicest,” Blue Bonnet had sighed, happily, filling a bag with nuts and raisins for the small Pattersons, and almost envying Luella Patterson the brown-eyed, brown-haired doll lying smiling up at her from its box.
Nor had this “between-time” Sunday lacked its own particular charm. “It gives one a little chance to get one’s breath,” Blue Bonnet confided to Solomon, curled up in the chair beside her, “Though it hasn’t been what one would call precisely an idle day! But I’ve got everything ready—think of that, Solomon! All the home things packed away in the closet, and after supper, Uncle Cliff and I are going to take Alec’s and the ‘We are Seven’ theirs. Think what a lot of presents I’ve had to wrap up and write on!”
Solomon wriggled appreciatively; there was something for him,—he had been told so.
250 While out in the hall stood a big, travel-stained box, object of Solomon’s liveliest curiosity. It had arrived the day before from Texas.
“Don’t you want to come sing this, Blue Bonnet?” Aunt Lucinda asked; and as Blue Bonnet came to the piano, she struck the opening chords of Mrs. Clyde’s favorite carol: “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”
Blue Bonnet sang it all, looking out to where above the familiar street the silent stars went by, and trying to picture to herself the little hillside town of Bethlehem, resting in its quiet sleep.
“‘O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in,
Be born in us to-day.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great, glad tidings tell
Oh, come to us, abide with us;
Our Lord Emmanuel!’”
The girl’s clear voice sounded softly through the quiet parlor, with its trimmings of evergreen and holly, carrying two of her listeners back to more than one Christmas Eve in the past.
All in all, Christmas Eve was almost as nice as Christmas itself, Blue Bonnet decided that night, sitting on the hearth-rug before the fire in her own room. Then her face grew suddenly wistful. It was not so many years ago that her mother had251 sat on this same hearth-rug, thinking of the joys to come on the morrow, while the clock on the mantel ticked away the moments bringing the great day of days nearer and nearer.
Solomon was the first to give her Christmas greeting the next morning, choosing Christmas for his first venture above stairs before breakfast; aided and abetted therein by Delia. Sure, and the child should have somebody to talk to on Christmas morning—and Solomon was wiser than a deal of humans.
He received warm welcome; Blue Bonnet was sitting up in bed, a little square, pasteboard box in her hand. “I found it under my pillow,” she told the ever-curious Solomon. “Now how did Grandmother smuggle it in without my knowing it?”
She slipped the slender gold band with its one deep, dark blue stone on her finger. “Isn’t it pretty, Solomon?”
And it was with the brightest of Christmas faces that Blue Bonnet came down to breakfast half an hour later. No one was in the dining-room, but the table stood ready, a true Christmas table, with its shining silver and bowl of crimson roses; its pile of presents at each place; overflowing, in Blue Bonnet’s case, from table to floor.
“Please!”—Blue Bonnet went to the door—“Won’t everybody hurry! I don’t think I can wait much longer!”
252 “So hungry as all that, Honey?” her uncle laughed, coming in from his morning constitutional on the veranda. “Merry Christmas!”
“You were in very good time this morning, my dear!” Miss Lucinda laughed, when the various Christmas greetings had been exchanged and they all sat down to breakfast.
“Wasn’t I?” Blue Bonnet’s fingers were busy with ribbon and paper. There were furs from Uncle Cliff, books, ribbons, and neckwear from Grandmother, skates and the prettiest fur skating-cap from Aunt Lucinda, books from the “Boston relatives,” remembrances from Alec and each of the girls, from Katie and Delia, a new collar for Solomon from Denham. There were any number of odd little trifles such as girls love, which Mr. Ashe had picked up for her in New York; there was a box of chocolates big enough to promise the entire club much enjoyment; and under her napkin—when at least she had calmed down enough to remember to unfold it, was a slip of paper which told that “Darrel’s mare” was Darrel’s no longer but belonged to the owner of the Blue Bonnet Ranch.
By that time, Blue Bonnet had quite given up trying to put her delight and gratitude into words, but her shining eyes said it very plainly to the three watching her.
“How did everybody know exactly what I253 wanted, when I hadn’t begun to think of half so many lovely things myself?” she said.
As for Blue Bonnet, she and Uncle Cliff had put their heads together to very good purpose. Grandmother, whose pet hobby was fine china, openly rejoiced over the delicate beauty of the tea-set filling the box at her place; while Aunt Lucinda—who was a true music lover—bent delightedly over the lives of her favorite musicians, in their soft, rich bindings.
For Uncle Cliff, Blue Bonnet had gone to Grandmother for advice; and the girl’s laughing, happy face looking out at him from the purple velvet miniature case pleased him as nothing else could have done.
“It won’t be quite like going back without you now, Honey,” he told her.
After breakfast, came the unpacking of the Texas box; a box with something in it for everyone; bright-colored Mexican serapes, some of Benita’s fine drawn work—at sight of which Grandmother and Aunt Lucinda exclaimed delightedly; there were jars of highly spiced Mexican conserves, which Blue Bonnet rejoiced over; a tin box of Lisa’s best pinochie; and down at the bottom were eight wonderfully fringed and trimmed Mexican saddle blankets—one for each of the “We are Seven’s” and Alec, and there was even a cleverly-wrought leather leash for Solomon.
254 “Isn’t it the nicest Christmas!” Blue Bonnet cried, her lap full of treasures. “There’s Alec! I’ll give him his blanket right away! I reckon he’s come to take me skating—I sha’n’t have to borrow skates now.”
“But dear,” Mrs. Clyde laid a detaining hand on her arm, “there will not be time for skating before church.”
“Are we going to church—on Christmas?” Blue Bonnet looked rather blank.
“Isn’t that the time of all others to go, dear; to return thanks for the greatest Gift of all—on His own day?”
Blue Bonnet’s eyes deepened. “I’ll be ready on time,” she promised, and ran to welcome Alec.
“Oh, I say!” he cried, as she gave him his saddle blanket, “how uncommonly jolly in them to remember me! And I’ve come to say thank you for something else, too.”
“Alec, are you going to church?” Blue Bonnet asked, as they went out to the dining-room to examine the skates and other presents.
He nodded. “But we can go skating after dinner—the pond’s in fine condition. Boyd’s coming too—between us we’ll get you taught in no time.”
It was a typical New England winter’s day, all white and blue; even in the sun, it was necessary to move pretty briskly if one wanted to keep warm.
“‘ISN’T IT THE NICEST CHRISTMAS!’ BLUE BONNET CRIED, HER LAP FULL OF TREASURES.”
The broad village street was alive with people;255 the bells were ringing for the Christmas service; on every side one had cheery Christmas greetings. Blue Bonnet, a knot of holly pinned to her dark furs, looked up at her uncle with eager face. “Isn’t it all like being part of a Christmas card scene—the crystallized kind?”
“So it is,” he agreed.
“After Texas, I believe I love Massachusetts,” Blue Bonnet decided. “There go Ruth and Susy—it must be nice having a sister almost one’s own age on Christmas. Oh, me, I can’t help hoping Mr. Blake won’t preach very long.”
But Mr. Blake was under the spell of the day, quite like other people. It was hardly a sermon at all he gave them, just a simple Christmas talk starting with the message of peace and good-will brought down by the angels at that first far-off Christmas-tide.
Blue Bonnet listening to it, her eyes turning, as they always did in church, to the memorial window beyond, with the winter sunshine shining through its rich coloring, wondered if her mother and father knew how very happy she was to-day? Knew, too, of the new thoughts and resolves stirring within her. Every Christmas all her life should find someone the richer, happier, for her being here in this world—that, at least, she was determined on; not just the home people and friends.
And after church, surrounded by the other six256 club members, each insisting that she come with them and see their things, Blue Bonnet could hardly keep from dancing from very happiness.
They compromised at last; the seven would adjourn to the parsonage, that being the nearest point; after dinner they would all meet at the pond, and from the pond they would go to Blue Bonnet’s.
“Think of it!” Blue Bonnet exclaimed. “The mare’s my very own! I’m going to name her Chula! I thought of it in—church!”
“What else have you been thinking about—in church?” Kitty demanded.
“Oh, any amount of things—Christmas things! Wasn’t it dear of Uncle Cliff?”
“You shouldn’t have him all the time for an uncle,” Debby protested. “It isn’t a fair division.”
The sitting-room at the parsonage told plainly what day of the year it was. Five small Blakes, ranging from twelve to three, swooped joyously down upon the newcomers.
“What did you get?” resounded on every side, broken by excited exclamations of admiration and sympathy.
“I am glad Aunt Lucinda thought of my skates!” Blue Bonnet rejoiced. “We’ll go every afternoon, won’t we?—while the ice holds.”
“I’ll have to go now—not skating,” Debby said, and at that the party broke up.
There was to be only a home dinner that day,257 at the usual time, in order to give Delia and Katie their Christmas holiday; so Blue Bonnet was waiting when the boys came for her.
Boyd Trent, though several months younger than his cousin, was taller and stronger looking in every way than Alec. Blue Bonnet wondered, as the three went down the path and out at the back gate, why she felt so sure that she should never really like him.
He certainly gave her no cause for complaint that afternoon; between him and Alec, she got on very well.
“You’ll get there,” Boyd assured her. “Let go, Alec—she mustn’t have too much help.”
“Like it?” Kitty asked, coming up.
“I love it!” Blue Bonnet declared.
“How many tumbles so far?”
“Did you think we would let her fall?” Boyd asked.
“She doesn’t always wait to be let—before doing things,” Kitty answered, “particularly, in school.”
“But you see we prevented any desire,” Alec explained.
“Let’s see yo............