Blue Bonnet took the miniature to the light. Her throat ached with the sobs that she had suppressed in Joy's presence. Now the torrent broke. "Oh, Mother, Mother!" she cried, sinking into a chair, "why can't I have you to tell me what to do?--why did you have to leave me when I needed you so?--other girls have mothers--fathers, too--" So violent was her grief that she did not hear the door open softly, nor see the gentle, sweet-faced woman who came swiftly toward her and knelt beside her. "Why, Miss Ashe! Blue Bonnet, dear--what is all this about? What is the matter? Can I help you?" The girl raised her face and struggled with her tears. "I just wanted my mother--for a minute," she said slowly. "Sometimes I need her so--want her--nobody knows how much! I suppose girls never do get used to being without a mother, do they, Mrs. White--no matter how kind and dear one's friends and relatives may be?" "Couldn't you tell me what the trouble is? Perhaps I could help you?" Blue Bonnet shook her head. Mrs. White lifted the girl's wet face and held it between her cool, firm hands. "Did you know," she said after a moment, "that I was a mother once--for ever so short a while--a little daughter, dear. She would have been almost your age if she had been spared to me. I, too, know how terrible death is--how it robs us--" "Oh, were you--were you?" Blue Bonnet cried, her own sorrow for the moment forgotten in another's grief. "It must have been awful to give her up--awful! I'm so sorry." There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Blue Bonnet thrust the miniature into Mrs. White's hands. "Did I ever show you this? It's my mother. I got it last year on my sixteenth birthday. I love it better than anything in the world." Mrs. White gazed at the likeness for some minutes. "It is a lovely face," she said, handing it back. "A lovely face--_better_ than lovely--womanly. One feels the spirit back of it. When you are lonely again, think what a gift such a mother has been. What a privilege to follow in her footsteps--carry out her hopes of you--her ideals." She was gone, her own cup overflowing, before Blue Bonnet could reply. Just before the gong sounded for dinner she came back for a moment, smiling and serene. "I brought you this," she said. "I tore it off my calendar a few moments ago. It has a little message for you. Let's pin it up here in your mirror for a day or two, so you will see it every time you dress." And over Mrs. White's shoulder Blue Bonnet read: "Life is mostly froth and bubble, One thing stands like stone: Kindness in another's trouble, Courage in one's own." Under the "courage in one's own," a faint line had been drawn. CHAPTER XI THE CLOUD LIFTS "What's the matter with Blue Bonnet?" Annabel Jackson asked Sue Hemphill. "She looks sick--or worried to death. What's happened?"