wouldn't have dropped the hint about Annabel, only I think she's so
awful nervy about wearing your clothes. Why, your Peter Tom's a
sight--and that yellow dress--"

"Oh, I don't care about the clothes, Carita. Uncle Cliff will get me
some more. Annabel hasn't hurt them any. The Peter Tom will clean. You
know how white wool soils, yourself."

Indeed there was no excuse that Blue Bonnet would not have made for
Annabel. She had grown very fond of the little Southern girl in the five
weeks past. Annabel had a way of ingratiating herself into the
affections of her associates. She had the charm that is an inheritance
of the South; the musical softness of speech, the daintiness of person,
the warmth of heart; and--although Blue Bonnet had it yet to learn--a
genius for friendship.

In Annabel Jackson's veins flowed the bluest of Southern blood. Her
grandfather--the old General, known throughout the length and breadth of
Tennessee--was an aristocrat of the old school. He boasted of an
ancestry that defied criticism. Annabel was not a snob--but she was a
sybarite; she loved the soft things of life, the luxuries, the
pleasures: she turned toward them as naturally as a flower turns to the
sun. This tendency had earned for her the reputation of "toady" by those
who did not understand her, or were inclined to judge from the surface.
She gave--was in a position to give--- as much as she got, always, and
her affections were sincere and lasting.

Blue Bonnet finished packing her suitcase.

"Well, I'm not going to worry over what Mary says," she announced after
a few minutes' deliberation. "I think Mary is apt to take snap judgment.
She put me on the wrong track altogether about Doctor Giles. She said he
was a regular old fogy--too slow for words, and--why, he's a man with a
big reputation--Cousin Tracy's own doctor."

"Mary is a dear, though," Carita said loyally. "She's apt to be a little
opinionated, maybe. Peggy Austin thinks she is--though Peggy dotes on
her."

"Most smart people are," Blue Bonnet admitted. "Mary is as sharp as
tacks. We've just three-quarters of an hour to get the train. I wonder
if Mrs. White is ready to take us to the station."

* * * * *

A thick glittering mantle of snow lay over Woodford. Blue Bonnet had
never before arrived in the winter, and the snow was not as inviting as
the green hills and leafy swaying elms of the early autumn; but the
sight of old Denham, with