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 godsend. 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.