ng her toward the florist's window.

A miniature football game was being shown in gorgeous crimson and gold
settings. The field was outlined in flowers and the little men in caps
and sweaters were most fascinating.

Blue Bonnet gave his arm a squeeze.

"It's the Harvard-Yale game, isn't it,--to-morrow? I'm crazy about it.
Oh, I do hope Harvard wins! My father was a Harvard man. So are you, I
remember."

"Want to see it?" Cousin Tracy asked, as if seeing a Harvard-Yale game
were the simplest thing possible.

Blue Bonnet fairly jumped for joy.

"Could I? Could we get tickets?"

Cousin Tracy nodded and touched his breast pocket significantly.

"I have two. Right by the cheering section."

She crossed her hands in an ecstatic little fashion that expressed the
greatest excitement and joy.

"You wouldn't mind, would you, Aunt Lucinda? Why, the We Are Sevens
wouldn't get over it in a week. It seems too good to be true."

Before Miss Clyde and Blue Bonnet parted with Mr. Winthrop all
arrangements had been completed, and Blue Bonnet walked away as if she
were treading on air.

That night the following letter found its way into the Boston mail:

"COPLEY PLAZA HOTEL, BOSTON, MASS.,
"November 28th, 19--.

"DEAREST UNCLE CLIFF:--

"Aunt Lucinda and I came up here yesterday to buy my clothes for
school, and also to see what kind of a room I was to have when I
come up for good the first of January.

"Aunt Lucinda has been awfully nice about everything, letting me
get most of the things I wanted. I have some loves of dresses,
which I won't take time now to describe, as you will be in
Woodford so soon for Christmas and will see them. They will be
fresh, too, for Aunt Lucinda says I can't wear any of them until
I am at Miss North's. Aunt Lucinda bought me a perfect treasure
of a desk--mahogany, with the cunningest shelves underneath for
books. She bought me some new books, too--some that I've wanted
for a long time. There's 'The Life of Helen Keller;' grandmother
has one, and I simply adore it; and Thoreau's 'Week on the
Merrimac,' and one or two of Stevenson's--Robert Louis, you
know--and a new 'Little Colonel,' my old one is worn to shreds.
Oh, yes, and a beautiful new dictionary; it looks too full of
information for anything, and there's a perfectly dear atlas
with it besides. We got a copy of Helen Hunt's 'Ramona,' too. We
do