Patty—Bride

BY
CAROLYN WELLS

Author of
The TWO LITTLE WOMEN Series
The MARJORIE Books
etc.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers
NEW YORK

Copyright, 1918
By Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.

TO
ONE OF THE DEAREST LITTLE GIRLS
IN THE WORLD,
BARBARA BUEHLER,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE [I Philip’s Chance] 9 [II Bumble Arrives] 25 [III Captain Bill] 42 [IV The Boys in Khaki] 59 [V A Fire-Eater] 73 [VI A Sleighride] 89 [VII A Queer Chaperon] 105 [VIII In the Tea-Room] 121 [IX Letters] 137 [X A Valentine] 153 [XI Patty in Tears] 170 [XII Lena and Bill] 186 [XIII An Important Document] 202 [XIV Helen’s Adventure] 220 [XV A Desperate Situation] 236 [XVI The Flag and the Girl Back Home] 252 [XVII Patty and Bill] 269 [XVIII Patty’s Wedding] 286

Patty-Bride

CHAPTER I
PHILIP’S CHANCE

“I can’t stand it, Patty, I simply can’t stand it!”

“But you’ll have to, Phil, dear. I’m engaged to Little Billee, and some day I’m going to marry him. And that’s all there is about it.”

“Oh, no, Patty, that isn’t all about it. I’m not going to give you up so easily. You don’t know how I care for you. You’ve no idea what a determined chap I can be,——”

“Now, stop, Phil. You know you promised that we should be friends and nothing more. You promised not to ask for more than my friendship—didn’t you, now?”

“I did but that was only so you’d stay friendly with me, and I thought,—forgive the egotism,—I thought I could yet win your love. Patty, you don’t care such a lot for Farnsworth, do you, now?”

“Indeed I do, Phil. Why, do you suppose I’d be engaged to him if I didn’t love him more than anybody in all the world? Of course I wouldn’t!”

“I know you think so, Patty,” Phil’s handsome face was grave and kind, “but you may be mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken, Philip, and unless you change your subject of conversation, I’ll have to ask you to go away. I should think you’d scorn to talk like that to a girl who’s engaged to another man!”

“I should think I would, too, Patty. But I can’t help it. Oh, my girl, my little love, I can’t give you up. I can’t tamely stand aside and make no effort to win you back! I’m not asking anything wrong, Patty, only don’t send me away; let me try once again for you,——”

“It’s too late, Phil,” and Patty looked a little frightened at his vehemence.

“It’s never too late, until you’re actually married to him. When will that be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We’ve only been engaged a fortnight,——”

“And I only learned of it today,——”

“I know, I tried to get you on the telephone,——”

“Yes, I’ve been down in Washington for a week or more. But, Patty, dearest, think how surprised and stunned I was to hear of it. I came right over, to learn from you, yourself, if it could be true.”

“Yes, Philip, it is true, and I’m glad and happy about it. I’m sorry you’ve been disappointed, but—there are others——”

“Hush!” and Van Reypen fairly glared at her, “never imply that there’s any one else in the world for me! Oh, Patty, my little Patty, I can’t bear it.”

His great, dark eyes were full of despair, his face was drawn with sorrow, and Patty forgave him, even while she resented his attitude.

“You mustn’t, Philip,” she said, gently; “it isn’t right for you to talk to me like that. I feel disloyal, even to listen to it.”

“I don’t care!” Van Reypen burst out. “You’re mine! You promised Aunty Van you’d marry me! You promised!”

Philip grasped her hand in both his own, and gazed at her so wildly that Patty was tempted to run out of the room. But she realised the matter must be settled once for all, and she spoke with dignity.

“Philip,” she said, “I don’t think you’re quite fair to me,—or to Billee. Is it manly to talk like this to the girl who is promised to your friend?”

“No, it isn’t. You’re right, Patty.” Van Reypen dropped her hand and folding his arms, stood and looked at her. “But listen to me, girl. I shall not give up until you’re married to Farnsworth. If I can win you back from him, I’m going to do so. I shall do nothing wrong. But, dear, I’m so miserable,—so utterly heart-broken,—you won’t put me out of your life,—will you?”

Now one of Patty’s strongest traits of character was her dislike of giving pain to another. Philip could have put forth no more powerful argument than an avowal of his disappointment. Against her better judgment, even against her own wish, she smiled kindly on him.

“I don’t want to put you out of my life, Phil, but I can’t let you talk to me like this,——”

“I won’t, Patty. Just let me see you once in a while, let me keep on loving you, and then, if you really love Bill better than you do me, I’ll see it,—I’ll know it, and I’ll give you up.”

“All right, then, but you must promise not to tell me you care for me.”

Van Reypen gave a short, hard laugh. “Not tell you! When I don’t tell you, I won’t be breathing! Why, Patty, I can’t any more help telling you, than I can help loving you. But I promise not to make your life a burden,—or myself a nuisance. Trust me, dear. I don’t mean to steal you away from Bill,—unless you want to be stolen.”

“I don’t!” and Patty’s smile and blush showed plainly where her heart had been given.

Phil winced, but he said, blithely, “Very good, my lady. There’s no use being too down-hearted about it all. Give me my chance,—that’s all I ask.”

“But, Phil, the time for your ‘chance’ as you call it, is past. I’m engaged to Little Billee;—to me that’s as sacred, as unbreakable a promise, as my marriage vows will be.”

“Oh, no, it isn’t! Lots of people break off an engagement.”

Philip’s lightness annoyed Patty, and her mood changed.

“Well, then,” she said, “if you can so bewitch me that I want to break my engagement to Bill Farnsworth, I’ll do it, but you’ve about as much chance as—as nothing at all!”

“I’ll make a chance! Oh, Patty, don’t forget you said that! Don’t forget you said if I can win you away from him, I may do so! Listen, dear. I’m not over conceited, or vain, but I do think that you don’t quite know your own mind, and you’re a little bit dazzled by Bill’s big masterfulness and you don’t realise that perhaps there are other things worth while.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’ll stick to my word. And I’ll add that I know you never can cut Bill out, because I love him too much. So, there now!”

“Maybe I can’t, maybe you’re right, but I’ll have a go at it, all the same.”

“Of course, you know, I’ll tell him of this conversation.”

“Of course you may. There’s nothing underhanded about my determination. If I can win you from him, it’ll be done fairly, and in that case, Bill’s own sense of justice would make him willing to give you up.”

“Little Billee give me up! Willingly? Nevaire!”

“He would, Patty, if you told him yourself that you loved me more.”

“Oh, that! But I’ve no expectation of ever doing that.”

“Who can say? You’re a fickle little thing, you know——”

“Indeed I’m not!”

“Yes, you are, and always have been. You’re fond of Bill just now, because he’s been doing the caveman act, carrying you off from the Blaney party, and such things, but you’ll soon tire of him,——”

“Stop, Philip! I won’t listen to such talk.”

Patty put her hands over her ears and pouted. It was nearing twilight of an afternoon in late January, and the two were in the library of the Fairfield home. Patty had become engaged to Farnsworth while on a visit to Adele Kenerley, and had but lately returned from there.

This was her first interview with Philip since her engagement, and she had dreaded it, for she knew Phil’s stubborn and persistent nature would not tamely submit to an end of his hopes. Patty had firmly resolved that if Philip insisted on telling her of his love for her, she would refuse to see him at all; but her gentle heart could not let her summarily dismiss him. She temporised, not because she cared for him, or had the least thought of disloyalty to Farnsworth, but because she couldn’t bear to hurt him by forbidding him to come to her home.

She tried to change the subject. She was sitting in the corner of a huge davenport, and her little house dress of pink Georgette was very becoming. She rather hoped that Farnsworth would come in while Phil was there, but it was uncertain whether he could arrive before dinner or not until evening.

“I won’t listen,” she repeated; “if you’ll talk about something else, nod your head, and I’ll stay; but if not, shake your head, and I’ll run off to my own room.”

Van Reypen nodded his head, and Patty took her hands away from her ears.

“All right,” she said, smiling; “if you’ll be just a casual friend, go ahead and be it. But I don’t want to hear any more absurd talk about people’s breaking their engagements.”

“Righto! What shall we talk about?”

“About Bill.”

This might have proved a dangerous subject, but clever Philip would not allow it to be. He was honest and earnest in his love for Patty. He really believed that she had said yes to Farnsworth on the spur of the moment, and that further thought would make her willing to reconsider her decision. Moreover, he was quite willing his rival should know of his own intentions, and he had only feelings of good fellowship for him. Philip had a sportsman’s nature, and his idea was to let the best man win. He did not attach quite so much importance to the fact of the engagement as most people do, and he truly hoped yet to win Patty’s affection and make her both willing and anxious to dismiss Bill in his favour.

Patty had not given him any encouragement for these hopes. In fact, she was so truly in love with Farnsworth, that it never occurred to her that she could ever care less for him, or have any room in her heart for any other man. But she couldn’t seem to say this bluntly to Philip. She found it easier to let matters drift, and now, as he began to speak in praise of Farnsworth, she listened eagerly and assented and agreed to all Philip said.

“Yes, he is splendid,” she acquiesced. “I didn’t know there was such a noble nature in the world. You see, I’ve learned a lot about him since we’ve been engaged.”

“Oh, of course. Yes, old Bill is a corker for bigness in every way. I’m banking on his big nature and his broad outlook, to understand my case.”

“Now, now, you’re not to talk of ‘your case’! You promised not to.”

“With thee conversing, I forget all—promises!” misquoted Philip.

“Well, you mustn’t, or I’ll send you packing! Thank goodness, here comes Nan; now will you behave yourself?”

Mrs. Fairfield came in from out-of-doors, and drew near the blazing log fire.

“Well, children, what are you discussing so seriously?” she began; “Philip, my friend, if you please, will you push that bell and let us have lights and some tea. I’ve been to three committee meetings and I’m just about exhausted. Where’s Billee-boy, Patty?”

“I’m afraid he won’t be here until after dinner. He said it was unlikely he could come before.”

“Well, try to bear it, Patty. Can’t Philip beguile you for a time?”

“Yes, he’s a great little old beguiler, Phil is!” and Patty smiled at her guest.

“Of course I am,” declared Van Reypen. “I can beguile the birds off the trees,—but not Miss Patricia Fairfield, when she is waiting for her big Little Billee. Howsumever, I’ll do my best. Do I gather that I’m asked to dinner in place of the absentee?”

“You are not!” replied Patty, promptly, but Nan said, “Why, yes, Phil, stay. I’ll entertain you, if Patty won’t.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. That would suit me all right.”

“And how about your aviation training? When do you begin that?”

“It’s uncertain. I did expect to start for Wilmington next week, but matters are delayed by a screw loose in some of the red tape, and it may be a couple of weeks before I start.”

“What? I didn’t know you thought of going,” put in Patty, surprised.

“Yes, I’ve settled the preliminaries and I’m waiting further orders.”

“Going to Wilmington? Why, we won’t see you any more, then.”

“You don’t seem terribly upset over that! But, you will see me, I’m afraid. Wilmington is not so very far off, and the course is neither long nor strenuous. Why, it only takes about four months in all.”

“And then will you really fly? Up in the air, in big machines?”

“Such is my firm belief, Mademoiselle.”

“And will you fall and break your neck? They say they all do.”

“I’ll not promise to do that, unless you insist upon it. And it isn’t done as much as formerly, I believe.”

“Why are you two sparring so?” asked Nan, laughingly. “Aren’t you good friends, at the moment?”

“As good as anybody can be, when the lady he admires has been and went and gone and engaged herself to somebody else,” and Philip frowned darkly.

“Oho, so that’s it! Well, our young friend here is certainly engaged to her big Western suitor. Now, shall I look out for a sweet little girl for you?”

“No, thank you, Ma’am, it’s a case of Patty or nobody, where I’m concerned. But the game’s never out till it’s played out. Patty and Farnsworth may one or both of them yet change their minds.”

“You wouldn’t think so, if you saw them together,” laughed Nan. “They’re just about the most engagedest pair you ever saw!”

“Oh, come now,” said Patty, “we don’t show our affection in public, Nan!”

“Well, you have great difficulty not to do so. It’s all you can do, to hide it successfully.”

“And why should they?” asked Phil. “There’s no law against that sort of thing, is there?”

“Tell me more about your aviating,” said Patty, by way of changing the subject. “What do you do to learn?”

“Dunno myself, yet. They say the only way to learn to swim is to be thrown into the water. So I daresay the way to learn to fly, is to get in an aeroplane and start.”

“Nonsense! You have to be taught.”

“Then I will be taught. But I’m going to be a good aviator. I’m sure I’ll like the stunt, and I want to begin as soon as possible.”

“I wish I could do some war work,” and Patty sighed.

“Good gracious!” said Nan, “I don’t know any girl who does more of it than you do, Patty! When you’re not down in that old office doing clerical work, you’re knitting like a house afire. And you are on two or three committees and you write slogans for the Food people and for the Liberty Loan Bonds, and oh, I don’t know what all you do!”

“All of a sudden, isn’t it?” asked Philip, interestedly. “Have you been doing these things long?”

“Some of them,” said Patty. “But I have done more of late. I feel so useless unless I do.”

“Yes,” said Nan, “and then you work beyond your strength, and overtax yourself, and the first thing you know you will be useless indeed!”

“Why, Patty? Why these great works?” asked Van Reypen.

“Oh, because of Bill,” Nan answered for her. “You see he’s so mixed up in war work, that Patty must needs to do a lot also. And she’s such an extremist, she’s not satisfied with doing a bit, it must be a whole lot of bits.”

“Don’t believe her, Phil,” said Patty, gaily. “I do what I can, and no more. Also, I’m going to put a stop to this idea that I’m a delicate plant,—for I’m not. I’m as healthy as—as a backwoodsman.”

“Fine comparison. Your sturdiness is exactly that of a backwoodsman! You could haul logs, if you want to, I dare say.”

“Don’t be funny. But I am heaps stronger than I used to be. It’s a whole lot better for me to do things than to sit around and be coddled.”

“That’s true, Patty. What are you doing, that I can help you with? Any sort of work where you could use a pair of willing hands?”

“But you’re going off aviating——”

“Haven’t gone yet! Dunno when I will go. In the mean time let me help you. What’s your newest plan?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m going to help entertain the boys in khaki. A committee has asked me to, and if Nan agrees, I mean to devote one evening a week to it. Say we ask a few to dinner, and some more to come in the evening, and have some music and games and make it pleasant for them.”

“Count me in. I’ll gladly help out with such a program. Even after I go to Wilmington, I can get up here once a fortnight at least,—maybe, oftener.”

“All right. Now, what I’m thinking out, is how to make it pleasant for the boys we invite. I’d like to give them some real pleasure, not only some music and silly chatter.”

“Such as what? I mean, what have you in mind?”

“Well, I thought of getting some interesting lecturer——”

“Cut it out, Patty. They don’t want lectures,—of all things!”

“What do they want?”

“I think the most of them want just a home atmosphere, and a few hours of pleasant company, without much reference in the chat to war conditions.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it. If you ask half a dozen soldiers and have your father and Mrs. Fairfield here, and a few girl friends of yours, if you like, I’ll guarantee your visitors will be better entertained than if you had the finest lecturer that ever droned out a lot of platitudes.”

“All right, Philip, you help me to get up such a party, and try it,—will you?”

“I sure will, and that with much quickness. Shall we say a week from tonight?”

“Yes that will be fine. I’ll ask Elise and——”

“Don’t go too fast. I’ll find the khaki boys first, and then you get the rest.”

“All right,” agreed Patty.

CHAPTER II
BUMBLE ARRIVES

“Hello! Patty Popinjay! Where are you?”

As a matter of fact, Patty was curled up in a big armchair near the library fire, waiting for that very voice.

“Here I am!” she cried in return and jumped up to be grabbed in the arms of a handsome, jolly-looking girl who came flying into the room. “Oh, Bumble, I’m so glad to see you!”

The newcomer laughed.

“Bumble!” she exclaimed; “I haven’t heard that name for years. Let me look at you, Patty. My! you’re prettier than ever! Well, I just had to come. I couldn’t resist, when I heard of your engagement. Where’s the man? Show him to me at once!”

“Oh, he isn’t here, for the moment. But you’ll see him soon. I’m only afraid you’ll cut me out. Why, Bumble,—Helen, I mean, you’re utterly changed from the little girl I remember.”

“Of course I am—in appearance,—but no other way.”

“Are you still the happy-go-lucky, hit-or-miss little rascal you used to be?”

“Of course I am. Oh, Patty, doesn’t it seem long ago that you spent that summer with us? And to think I’ve scarcely seen you since! Not since Nan’s wedding, anyway.”

“No; and you only in Philadelphia! It’s ridiculous. But, I’ve tried to get you over here time and again.”

“I know it. But I went out West to Stanford, and I was there so long, I almost lost track of all my Eastern people. Your Best Beloved is Western, isn’t he? Oh, Patty, tell me all,—everything about him.”

“All in good time, Helen, honey. For now, I’ll just say that he’s the dearest and best man in the whole world, and that you’ll agree to that when you see him. Now, come up to your room, and fix yourself up. You look as if you’d been through a whirlwind!”

“I always look like that,” and Helen Barlow laughed.

She was Patty’s cousin, and had come to New York for a visit. She had often been invited and several times had planned to come, but something had prevented her, and as the Barlow family were of a most undependable sort in the matter of keeping engagements or appointments, it surprised nobody that Helen had not carried out her plans. Indeed the surprise was that she was really here at last, and Patty stared at her hard to reassure herself that her guest had positively appeared.

Helen Barlow was a pretty girl, about Patty’s own age. Her soft brown hair was curled round her ears, in the prevailing mode, but it showed various wisps out of place, and needed certain pats and adjustments before a mirror. Her hat, a brown velvet toque, was a little askew,—even more so than she meant it to be,—and the long fur stole, over her arm, dragged on the floor.

Without being positively unkempt, Helen was untidy, and Patty well remembered that as a child she had been far more so.

The two girls went up to the room prepared for Helen, and soon her outer garments went flying. The hat was tossed on the bed, upside down; the stole slipped to the floor as the long cloth coat was wrenched open and one button pulled off by an impatient twitch.

“Never mind,” Helen said, “that old button was loose, anyway. Oh, Patty, how trim and tidy you look!”

It was second nature to Patty to be well groomed, and she would have been sadly uncomfortable with a button missing or a ribbon awry, unless intentionally so. For Patty was no prim young person, but she was by no means untidy.

She laughed at her cousin’s impetuous ways, and picked up the scattered garments, as fast as Helen flung them down.

“Don’t you have a maid, Patty? I supposed of course you did.”

“Oh, we have Jane. She maids Nan and me both, when we want her. But she does a lot of other things, too. We don’t have as many servants as we used to. Patriotism has struck this house, you know, and we’ve cut out more or less of the luxuries.”

“Good for you! I’m patriotic, too. Do you knit?”

“Of course; who doesn’t? Now, Bumble,—oh, yes, I’m going to call you by the old name if I want to,—do try to make yourself look tidy! Take down your hair and do it over. Your hair is lovely,—if you’d take a little more pains with it.”

“To be sure! Anything to please!” and Helen shook down her short curly mop. “Let me see his picture,” she demanded as she brushed vigorously away. “Quick! quick! I can’t wait a minute!”

Patty ran out of the room, laughing, and returned with a photograph of Farnsworth.

“Stunning!” cried Helen, “he’s simply great! Wherever did you catch him? Are there any more at home like him? ’Deed I will steal him away from you, if I possibly can. Oh, Patty, do you remember Chester Wilde? Well, he wants me to marry him, but I can’t see it! That’s one reason I ran away from home, to escape his persistence.”

“I do believe you’re a belle, Bumble! You’re fascinating, I see. Mercy goodness, you’ll cut poor little me out with everybody!”

“As if you cared! Now that you’re wooed and won!”

“Of course I don’t care. You can have all the others,—and there are plenty,—only, so many of them are going or gone to war.”

“I know, all my best ones have, too. But you couldn’t like a man who doesn’t want to fight!”

“I should say nixy!”

“What’s your Bill do? Is he in camp?”

“Oh, no. You know, he’s an expert mining engineer, and he’s used,—I mean, his services are used by the government. I can’t tell you all about it, because I don’t know all myself; and what I do know, I’m not allowed to tell, in detail. So don’t ask, Helen; just know my little Billee is doing his full duty,—and then some!”

“Little! Is he little? He doesn’t look so, from this picture.”

The photograph showed only the head and shoulders of Farnsworth, but it hinted a large man. However, Patty said, just for fun:

“You can’t tell from that. But I don’t mind how little he is,—he’s all the world to me!”

She looked a trifle embarrassed, so, thinking Farnsworth must be decidedly undersized, Helen dropped the subject.

Her trunk had arrived, and Jane appeared, to assist in unpacking.

“Get out a pretty frock,” Patty directed her guest, “and I’ll help you get into it, and then we’ll go down and see Nan, she’ll soon be home.”

“Where is she?”

“Chasing some committee, as usual. We’ve both lost our individuality now, and we’re merged in committees. I’m a member of quite a number, but Nan belongs to more than I do. Here, Helen, put on this bluet, Georgette, satinet thing.”

“Rather dressy?”

“Not too much so. It’s nearly tea time, and people often drop in and I want you to make a good impression. And for gracious’ sake, do your hair more carefully than that! Here, let me do it,—or Jane.”

“All right,” and Helen dropped into a chair before the toilette table, while the deft and willing Jane quickly twisted up the brown locks.

“Now you’ll do,” said Patty, after a final critical examination. “Oh, wait, this sash end is loose.”

“I know, the snapper’s off. Never mind.”

“But I do mind! Helen Barlow, you’re as bumbly as ever! We used to call you that because you were as heedless and careless as a bumblebee——”

“There was another reason,” Helen laughed.

“Yes, because you were so fat! You’ve pretty nearly gotten over that.”

“Thank you, lady, for dem kind woids! A little guarded, aren’t you? Know then, that my sole end, aim and ambition is to get thin, really thin,—slim, slender, willowy,—merely a slip of a girl——”

“You haven’t quite achieved all that!” and Patty laughed. “But if you’re trying to, I’ll help you. No sweets, you know.”

“Gracious, Patty, I haven’t tasted candy for two years! And as a sugar conserver, I’m right there! Not a lump of it comes my way!”

“Good for you! Then, with exercise, and not too much sleep, we’ll soon get you into condition!”

The girls went down stairs, and found Nan already there.

“My dear old Bumble!” she cried; “no, no Helen for me! I knew you too long by the old name to change.”

“But, Nan, I don’t like it! Please don’t. Such a horrid name!”

“All right, then. I’ll try to say Helen, but if the other slips out sometimes, you must forgive me. Now, how’s everybody? Bob all right?”

“Fine! In camp, of course, but he gets home occasionally, or we go to see him. Dad and Mother sent all sorts of messages and greetings,—and hoped I won’t make you too much trouble—as if I could!”

“Indeed you can’t!” cried Nan, warmly. “We’re just awfully glad to see you, and you must stay just as long as you possibly can. Has Patty been telling you of her latest escapade?”

“She wrote me of it,—that’s mostly why I came. I thought the sight of the flirtatious, coquettish, altogether frivolous and fickle Patty Fairfield tied down to one man, would be worth seeing!”

“Huh!” remarked Patty, “when you see the man, you’ll not wonder! Anybody would be glad to be tied to him.”

“I’m going to cut Patty out, you know, Nan,” Helen declared, “but it’s more likely she’ll throw him over and fly to some newer flame,——”

“Oh, very likely,” Patty mocked, her eyes dancing, “oh, ve-ry like-ly! When I throw him over, Bumble, you have my full permission to pick him up. But until then,—hands off my property!”

The tea things appeared then, and Patty did the honours, remarking, “Yes, we do have tea, ’most every day, and we have sugar in it,—but we skimp it some and we don’t have really rich cakes.”

“I’m glad to get it,” and Helen accepted her cup. “I forgot to get any luncheon, and I’ll just make up for it now.”

Whereupon she proceeded to devour cakes and biscuits, until Patty silently despaired of ever helping her in a quest for slimness!

But Patty looked at her cousin affectionately. Helen was so jolly and gay-looking, so wholesome and smiling, and so sincerely glad to be with them, that she made herself thoroughly welcome. Her dark eyes were beaming with good nature, her round, plump face was alight with good will and her laughter bubbled forth like a child’s.

She put her little fat hand up to her lips. “Honest, I’m trying not to giggle so much,” she said, “but I just can’t help it! When I’m happy, I have to chuckle, and that’s all about it.”

“Giggle all you like, my dear,” said Nan, “I’m glad to hear it. There’s so much sadness in the world, that a truly merry laugh like yours is infectious and does us all good. Now, make yourself at home, Helen, and don’t mind it if I seem to neglect you. I’m not really going to do that, but I do have an awful lot to see to,——”

“Oh, I know, Nan. And Patty has, too. But I’ll be a help, not a nuisance,—you see if I’m not. Why, Patty Fairfield! you said he was little!”

The original of the photograph she had seen, strode into the room and when Helen saw big Bill Farnsworth, she knew Patty had chaffed her.

Farnsworth went to Patty and grasped both her hands in his.

“All right?” he said, looking deep into her blue eyes.

“All right,” Patty returned, with an answering gaze, and so true was the sympathy between them, that a sort of telepathic message was exchanged and further words were unnecessary.

Then Farnsworth turned to greet Nan, and to be presented to Miss Helen Barlow.

“She told me you were little!” Helen exclaimed, looking at the broad-shouldered giant who faced her.

“Not quite that, I think,” Bill smiled at her, “Patty probably called me Little Billee, which is her pet name for her lord and master!”

“Future lord and master!” corrected Patty, “not yet, not yet, my child!”

“‘Serene I fold my hands, and wait,’” Farnsworth quoted, with undisturbed equanimity. “I’m very glad you’ve come, Miss Barlow. Perhaps you can entertain Patty and keep her from getting too impatient at the time that must elapse before I can take her for keeps.”

“Vanity Box!” exclaimed Patty. “Me impatient, indeed! Just for that, Little Billee, I’ll put the date six months later.”

“Later than what? I didn’t know you’d decided on the date for the festal occasion. You told me last night you hadn’t.”

“I’m living up to the reputation for fickleness Helen has just wished on me,” Patty laughed. “But I’ll give you some tea, Billee mine, if you’d like it. Oh, what a lot of people! You make the tea, Nan!”

Patty left the table to welcome her new guests. Elise Farrington and Daisy Dow were followed by Chick Channing and Philip Van Reypen.

After introductions and greetings all round, Helen looked about her with an air of great satisfaction.

“This is as I thought it would be,” she said, contentedly; “I do love afternoon tea, and we never have it at home. And I love people dropping in to it.”

“Into the tea?” asked Channing.

“Yes, in to the tea, of course. And such lovely people! I want to know you all at once, but I suppose I’d make better headway by taking you one at a time.”

“Take me first,” begged Chick, who was much attracted by the sprightly newcomer.

“No, me,” laughed Philip. “You can get acquainted with me in two minutes,—I’m the easiest of us all.”

“Then I’ll leave you till the last,” smiled Helen. “After all, I believe I’ll talk to the girls first. I want them to like me——”

“Oh, don’t you care about the boys liking you?” said Patty.

“They will, anyhow,” Helen retorted, and she sat down by Daisy and Elise, ignoring all the others.

“Tea, please,” said Philip, sauntering over to Patty, who had returned to the tea-table.

“One lump or two?” she asked, holding the sugar tongs.

“One and a smile,” he replied.

Gravely, Patty dropped one lump in his cup, equally gravely, she gave him an idiotic smile, that was merely a momentary widening of her mouth.

“Very pretty,” commented Phil; “don’t see how you manage such a sweet smile! The tea is ’most too sweet, I think. Give me another bit of lemon.”

“Here you are,” said Patty, spearing the lemon with a little fork. “Now, Philip, listen to me. I want you to do all you can to make it pleasant for Bumble,—I mean, Helen, while she’s here.”

“Of course I will. I’m always nice to your friends, you know that.”

“I do know it, but I want you to be specially nice.”

“All right. Say, flowers tonight,—candy tomorrow,—opera invitation as soon as I can manage it,—a theatre party,——”

“There, there, now don’t overdo it! No; she doesn’t eat candy, but you may send some flowers.”

“Some to you too.”

“No; not to me——”

“Then not to her.”

“Oh, Phil, you said you’d be nice!”

“Well, I will; to both of you. But not to Bumble—I mean, Helen, alone.”

“But you mustn’t send flowers to me, now that I’m engaged. Come here a minute, please, Little Billee.”

“Yours to command,” said Farnsworth, approaching.

“Tell Philip he can’t send me flowers.”

“Philip, you can’t send Patty flowers,” Farnsworth said, obediently.

There was a smile on his face, but in his voice there rang a note of command that angered Van Reypen exceedingly.

“I can send them,” he returned, defiantly, “she needn’t accept them.”

“Leave it that way, then,” Bill said, carelessly, as if the matter were of no moment. “Patty, come out to the dining-room a minute, will you, dear?”

Jumping up, Patty left the room without a glance at Philip.

Farnsworth followed her, and they went into the dining-room.

They were alone there, and he took her gently in his arms.

“What is it, Patty?” he asked. “Van Reypen been kicking over the traces?”

“Yes; he seems to think he—he likes me yet.”

“Of course he does. How can he help it? But, my darling, there’s to be no petty jealousy between us and him. I trust you, dear, too well, to think for a minute that you’d listen to him if he says things that you don’t want to hear. Now, never think it will bother me, for it won’t. You love me, don’t you, Patty?”

“Yes,” she returned, and the blue eyes that met his left no room for doubt.

“Then, that’s all right. Don’t give him a thought. Darling, I’ve brought your ring.”

With a smile of pleasure, Farnsworth produced a lovely ring. It was set with a single pearl, which he had told Patty suited her far better than a diamond.

“Do you like it?” he asked eagerly. “Oh, Patty Blossom, do you?”

“I think it the most beautiful ring I ever saw!” she replied, her eyes glistening, as he slipped it on her finger.

“My pearl,” he whispered, close to her ear, “my Patty Pearl. This seals our betrothal, and makes you mine forever.”

“Am I any more yours than I was before I had it?”

“No, you little goose! But this is the bond,—the sign manual——”

“Oh, Little Billee! what a joke! But I accept my bond,—I glory in it! Oh, Billee, what a beauty pearl it is!”

“The purest and best I could find,—for my own Patty Blossom. Now, I’ve bad news, darling.”

“Bad news soon told, Br’er Fox,” smiled Patty, quoting from her well-beloved Uncle Remus. “What is it?”

CHAPTER III
CAPTAIN BILL

“It’s this,” said Farnsworth, looking serious. “I have to go to Washington.”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Patty, “one would think you were booked for Kamschatka or Siberia, the way you say it!”

“But I mean, I have to go there to stay.”

“How long?”

“Indefinitely. I’ve no idea how long; also—I may have to go further yet.”

“Over there?”

“Yes. But that’s not likely at present. However, it’s bad enough to go to Washington. How can I leave you?”

“I’ll go, too.”

“No, dear, that won’t be practicable. I shall be in the University Camp, drilling engineers, I suppose, but I want to do more and bigger things than that. I can’t tell you all about it, Posy Face, but as soon as I get further orders I’ll know better where I’m at.”

“Are you bothered and troubled, my Billee Boy?”

“I am, Patty. I don’t want to worry you with it, dearest, and you couldn’t understand it all, anyway, but there is a lot of backbiting and undermining and wire-pulling in Washington, and it even mixes into Army and Navy matters.”

“Then you’ll have to be an undermining engineer, won’t you?”

“Patty! You little rogue! You’d make a joke out of anything, I believe.”

“’Course I would! Now, Billee, you mustn’t look so down-hearted. You’ve got me for a joy and a comfort,—not for a burden and a—a millstone about your neck!”

“I like to have you about my neck, all right,—but you’re a featherweight, not a millstone.”

“Where will you be? What’s this camp?”

“The Engineering Corps, you mean? Oh, well, there are a lot of units,—Camouflage, Foresters, Gas and Flame, Wireless, Telephone,——”

“There, there, that’ll do! I’m bewildered. Which are you to be in?”

“That’s the trouble. It looks to me as if I’d be in the Searchlight gang——”

“What do you know about searchlights!”

“Nothing. To be sure I’ve invented one—”

“Oh, Billee, have you? And you never told me!”

“Hadn’t time. There’s only time enough, when I’m with you, to tell you what I think of you.”

“What do you think of me?”

The lovely face was wistful and sweet, the blue eyes shone with affection and the scarlet mouth drew down a little at the corners, for Patty saw by Farnsworth’s pained expression, that he was really disturbed at their coming separation and the uncertainties of his future.

“I think,” the big man spoke, slowly, “I think you’re the loveliest thing God ever made. A thousand times too good for a big brute of a man like me——”

“You don’t treat me like a brute,” observed Patty.

“No; I treat you as I think of you,—a lovely rose petal of a girl,—who ought not to hear of wars or rumours of wars——”

“Nothing of the sort, William Farnsworth! If I were that, I’d deserve to be put under a glass bell, and left there to die of asphyxiation! I’m not a silly roseleaf,—I’m a willing, working patriot! Why, I’m as energetic as—as Molly Pitcher or Barbara Frietchie—or Joan of Arc!”

“That’s right, dear, that’s the right spirit! But you know, Pattibelle, you’re not physically fitted to go on the rampage, as your flashing eyes indicate. You’re the sort who must ‘stay, stay at home my heart and rest; homekeeping hearts are happiest.’”

“Little Billee, you do quote the beautifullest poetry! Where do you pick it all up?”

“Oh, I’ve a store of it somewhere in the top of my head. And I mean no disparagement of your enthusiasm, Patty, but you can’t do hard work, and so——”

“And so I must knit and knit and knit, I s’pose! Billee, dear, when you go to Washington why can’t I go too, and work in the Canteen Department?”

Farnsworth smiled at her. “Do you know what the Canteen Department is?”

“Not exactly; but Louise Dempster has gone to it,——”

“Oh, it’s the Commissariat Department, but it’s no place for you——”

“Why?”

“There, there, don’t snap my head off! Only because you’re not robust enough for the work. If you’re going in for real help, there’s always the hospital or ambulance work.”

“I—I couldn’t, Billee! I—I’d faint, I know! Oh, dear, I’m no good, and never was and never will be!”

“Not so very much good to your Uncle Samuel I admit,” and Farnsworth grinned at her, “but a whole heap of good to one of his humble citizens.”

“Which one?”

“This one!” and Bill grabbed her in his arms.

“Drop me,” Patty murmured, half smothered in his shoulder, “somebody’s coming!”

“Let ’em!” But he set her down and began to speak seriously. “You do all you can for the Red Cross, dear, and that will be your share. Now, don’t worry over it, or think you ought to get into the game in any other way. You can’t do it, but you can and do accomplish a whole lot,—besides your knitting. Blossom Girl, remember I’m in this world, as well as the rest of the U. S. A. and you’ll give me of your love and fealty and——,”

“Do you think I will, Sweet William?”

Patty’s very soul looked out of her earnest eyes, and Farnsworth kissed her reverently, “I know you will, darling. Now, you’ve helped me a lot already by your cheery and pleasant attitude about my going away——”

“But I don’t know all about it yet.”

“I don’t know much myself. I’ll have further instructions soon——”

“And a uniform?”

“Of course. I’ll rank as a Captain, and——”

“Oh, Captain Bill! How I will love you then! Come in the other room, I must tell of it! Nan, Billee’s going to have a uniform!”

“Heavenly!” cried Helen Barlow. “Oh, I adore uniforms! And Mr. Farnsworth will be stunning in one!”

“You may call him Bill, if you like,” said Patty, in the generosity of her enthusiasm.

“All right,” said Helen, “but I don’t think it suits him. William is much more dignified.”

“Make it William, then,” and Farnsworth smiled at the saucy-faced girl.

“Captain Farnsworth is the best,” said Elise. “The title becomes you, Bill, and I know the uniform will.”

“I’m going to have a uniform too,” said Van Reypen, “won’t it become me?”

“Me, too,” chimed in Channing. “I’m expecting to be ordered to France any minute.”

“Why, Chickering Channing! I didn’t know that,” cried Patty. “What are you?”

“I’m an Officier de liaison.”

“What in the world is that?”

“It’s really nothing but an interpreter. But the French term is so much more impressive.”

“Indeed it is. What do you interpret?”

“Words otherwise unintelligible.”

“But I don’t understand—”

“Then I’ll be pleased to interpret for you. You see, if a French soldier wants to confide a state secret to an English-speaking comrade, and if he doesn’t know a word of English, nor the other chap any French,—what’s to be did?”

“Oh, I see!” cried Helen, “they call you in!”

“Exactly, Miss Barlow. And being conversant with and fluent in all known tongues,—I’m just a walking Tower of Babel.”

“A walking dictionary, you mean,” laughed Helen. “I think that’s a pretty fine position you hold. I never heard of it before. What’s your rank?”

“Lieutenant,—very much at your service, Mademoiselle. Shortly, I shall don my khaki, and then I hope, at last, I’ll be respected by my fellow men.”

“That’s so, Chick,” said Patty, mercilessly, “you’ve always been such a cutup—well, of course, you were respected,—but nobody really stood in awe of you. But a Lieutenant,—oh, I’m proud of my friends!”

“Isn’t it glorious!” cried Helen, and she flew to the piano and began playing patriotic airs. They all joined and a brave chorus of young voices rang out the avowal that the Yanks were coming over there!

So enthusiastically did Helen pound the keys that her hair shook loose from its pins and came tumbling round her shoulders.

“Now, now, Bumble,” remonstrated Patty, “don’t do so,—it isn’t done! Here, I’ll fix it for you.”

But Helen only laughed, and nimbly twisted up her tousled locks, and thrust hairpins in to hold them in a hard and unbecoming knot at the back of her head.

“It doesn’t look a bit nice,” Elise warned her. “Better let Patty rearrange it.”

“Nope, I don’t care,” and the wilful girl kept on playing and laughed as she shook her head. The shaking sent her hair down again, and this time Patty determinedly went to her and dressed it for her.

“Sit still, you naughty!” she said, herself shaking with laughter. “Oh, Bumble, you haven’t grown up a bit!”

Patty did up her cousin’s hair prettily and skewered it firmly into place with many hairpins, and it didn’t come down again.

“And are you going down to Washington, too, Chick?” Daisy Dow asked.

“Sooner or later, yes. That’s the road to all war glory.”

“And you don’t know when?”

“You nor I nor nobody knows. You see, Daisy, in war affairs nobody knows anything and if they do they’re not allowed to tell it.”

“But just among us,—we wouldn’t tell anybody.”

“The walls have ears,” said Chick, mock-dramatically.

“And Rumour has a thousand tongues,” added Farnsworth, “it’s a dangerous combination.”

A week later the two went to Washington. Sent for nearly at the same time, Farnsworth and Channing were to go to Washington, though their work there was widely different.

The night before their departure, there was a gathering of the clan at Patty’s home.

Farnsworth begged her not to have others there on their last evening together, but Patty’s wise little head thought it better to have a party.

“You see,” she said to Nan, “if I spend the evening alone with my Billee Boy, he’ll be so sad and blue, and I’ll be so weepy and red,—we’ll have an awful time! It’s a whole lot better to have the crowd here and let him go off in a blaze of glory! Patriotism is good for homesickness.”

And, too, Patty was trying to entertain Helen pleasantly, and so she made many little parties for her.

The plan of entertaining the other soldiers was postponed until they could do no more for their own friends, and the little party to speed their parting, though small, was gay and festive.

“A dance,” Patty decided. “I don’t want just a sit-around, woeful, sighful time. A good, lively dance, and a nice supper, and then——”

Patty choked, and Nan seeing the springing tears, quickly began to discuss details of the supper.

The evening came, and Patty dressed in white, went to Helen’s room to make sure she was in proper order.

“Why, Helen Barlow!” she exclaimed; “if you’re not an apple-pie pink of perfection! Not a bow coming off, and your hair positively looks as if it would stay put!”

“Don’t tease me, Patty. Truly, I’m trying to do better,——”

“You dear old thing! I was a wretch to seem to tease you. Wait till this ball is over and you get off that very bewitching frock, and I’ll give you a kiss of forgiveness!”

Helen looked very pretty in her evening dress of soft, thin pink, with touches of silver lace, and silver slippers.

“You’re a fairy,” said Patty. “How that frock becomes you. Now, be gay and festive, won’t you, Helen, honey, for I feel as if I should burst into a flood of tears every minute!”

“Go on down, Patty,” said Helen, drawing back, “I hear Billee’s voice, and he’ll want you alone.”

“No; I can’t. If I do, I’ll cry. Come along.”

So both girls ran down stairs, and shrieked with delight at the sight of Farnsworth in uniform.

“I knew you’d be stunning,” said Helen, “but I didn’t know you’d look like a Herculean statue!”

“He doesn’t,” cried Patty, “he looks like a—a General! He ought to be—oh, what do you call it when you have your statue taken?”

“Sculped,” said Helen.

“Yes, that’s it! He ought to be sculped in marble or bronze or whatever is most used for statues this year!”

“There, now, kiddies, run away and play,” said Farnsworth, towering to his full height and looking every inch a soldier.

“No sir,” declared Patty, “we want to look at you. Turn around.”

Then Channing came, and he, too, was resplendent in his new khaki, and the girls praised his appearance.

“Drink it in, Bill,” Chick said. “It’ll be a long time before we get any more of this sort of thing! Somepin tells me the people we’re going amongst won’t pay any special attention to our uniforms.”

“How can they help it?” cried Helen; “why, I don’t believe any of the United States Army will look half as well as you two! You’re—you’re superb!”

A bit embarrassed, Channing tried to turn the subject, but Farnsworth laughed good-humouredly.

“Let ’em rave, Channing. They enjoy it, and I guess we can stand it——”

“Pooh,” Patty said, “you’re tickled to death to be so admired! Here comes Elise, now you’ll get more flattery.”

And then the other guests came and the party soon was in full swing.

Patty was among the gayest there. Her eyes shone and her smile was merry and sweet. But a flush showed on each pink cheek, and Farnsworth kept watch of her as she danced or engaged in light banter with the young people.

Helen Barlow was frankly delighted with the party. She was a belle, indeed, for she was a charming dancer and her never-failing fund of fun and laughter kept her partners enchanted.

“I like to dance with you,” she said to Farnsworth, “’cause you’re so big. It’s like dancing with one of the statues in the park.”

“Why do you girls look on me as a statue?” he returned, laughing. “There’s nothing statuesque about me.”

“No; not that, it’s your heroic size——”

“I hope that’s not all my heroism!”

“I hope so, too. But are you going to need heroism? Bravery, I mean, and courage and all that. I thought you were only going to teach the young engineers how to shoot.”

“That’s part of my duty, but there may be other work cut out for me.”

“That’s what Patty thinks. She thinks,—because you can’t tell her all about it,—that you’re going to be called to some fearful danger——”

“Oh, come now, Helen, she doesn’t think that, does she?”

“Yes she does. She didn’t exactly tell me so, but she can’t hide it from me. I can read that girl pretty well.”

“So can I.”

“Yes, but you don’t see her off her guard.”

“I know what you mean. Just now, she is trying her best to be gay; trying so hard, indeed, that she’s overdoing it.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. You can tell by the way she laughs. A little hysterical giggle,—that’s not like Patty’s own hearty chuckle!”

“You’re right, Helen; and you’re a good friend to Patty. I’m so glad you’re here with her. Can you stay some time?”

“Yes, as long as she wants me.”

“Then look out for her, won’t you? She’s a frail little thing, and her heart and her energies are too big for her physique.”

“That’s so, Bill. But I’ll look after her,—all she’ll let me. She has a strong will, I can tell you.”

“You two are talking about me, I can sense it!” cried Patty herself, coming up to them.

“We are,” said Bill, “and I’m going to talk to you, instead. Helen, I see your next partner coming hot haste to claim you, so I’m going to take Pattibelle aside and treat her to a small lecture.”

Willingly Patty went with him, and he led her to the little room which was her father’s den.

There chanced to be no one there, so Farnsworth closed the door after them, and then gently took her in his arms.

“Dearest,” he said, “you must be careful of my own little Patty girl while I am away.”

“But I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her lip trembling.

“I know it, dear, and I don’t want to leave you. But we’re always going to obey the call of duty, aren’t we, Patty mine?”

“Y-yes,——”

“Then listen, sweetheart. You mustn’t exaggerate our parting. I’m only going to Washington——”

“I know—but—you may be sent to France——”

“Don’t cross that bridge until you come to it. Now, my own,—my blessed little girl, I’m going now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, if I stay here you’ll go all to pieces pretty soon. So I’m going now, and I’m going to say good-bye, cheerfully, even calmly,—because it’s better so. Then you go back to the party and be as gay as you like, and forget our case entirely. Trust me, dear little girl,—it’s better so.”

Patty realised the truth of Farnsworth’s words. She was under great nervous strain, and after his departure, she knew she could regain her poise and better conceal and control her feelings.

“You’re right, you dear old Billee. I’m a little fool, but I can’t help it. I oughtn’t to have planned this affair the way I did, but I didn’t realise,——”

“Of course you didn’t, and you overestimated your own power of will. Now, my love, my little sweetheart, kiss me once, for soldier’s luck, and then I’ll go,—and you must bid me good-bye with a smile,—a smile that I’ll carry with me always.”

Silently, solemnly, Patty raised her face to his, and bending down, Farnsworth kissed the sweet lips that quivered beneath his touch.

It almost unnerved him, but, determinedly, he smiled at her, and said, cheerily, “I’ll write often and so must you, and,—why, my goodness, Patty,—I’ll be back soon on leave, and we’ll laugh at this tragic parting.”

“No; we won’t laugh at it my Little Billee,—no, not that,—but,—we’ll try to smile.”

“And succeed! Show me how, now.”

Patty smiled with real cheer, and clasping her quickly, Farnsworth gave her one big, farewell kiss, and rushed out of the door, closing it behind him.

CHAPTER IV
THE BOYS IN KHAKI

“Oh, it was the best plan, but I did hate to have him run off like that.”

“Of course you did, Pattykins, but you would have flown into forty conniption fits if he had stayed longer. I saw you, and you were getting all nervous and ‘stericky!’”

“I was not! You exaggerate so, Bumble, and I won’t stand it! I was upset, of course, at the thought of his going, but I had absolute control of my nerves. It was all my own fault,—having the party, I mean.”

“You had the party for me, my child. Don’t think you can fool your grandmother! But it’s all right, and I promised that Sweet William of yours that I’d chirk you up, and keep you so interested and amused that you’d forget his very existence,—let alone forgetting his absence. Besides, there’s a strong belief current in the best circles that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“It can’t ours,—we’re all the fond there is, now!”

“Turtle-doves! Well, give me a bit more chocolate, and we’ll call it square.”

The two girls, in boudoir gowns and caps, were having their morning chocolate in Patty’s room, and had eagerly been rehearsing and discussing the party of the night before.

Helen’s pretty hair was tousled and her cap askew, as, perched cross-legged on a couch, she nibbled toast and sipped chocolate contentedly.

Patty, fresh and tidy as a rose, sat near by and did the honours of the breakfast tray.

“You see,” she said, absent-mindedly piling sugar into Helen’s cup, “I’ve decided to be sensible about this thing. I’m not going to——”

“You’re going to get a Food Controller after you if you are so lavish with that sugar! For Heaven’s sake, Patty, stop! That’s the third spoonful!”

“Is it? I wasn’t looking. As I say, I’m going to be sensible about Little Billee’s going away. He’s got to go, and so I may as well make up my mind to it.”

“Sensible, indeed! Yet it doesn’t seem to me such a marvellous triumph of intellect or such a phenomenal force of will that brings about that resolve!”

“In one more minute I shall throw a pillow at you, Bumble! I guess if you were engaged to the biggest man in the world, you wouldn’t let him walk off to war——”

“He’s going with the whole

Of his patriotic soul,

At the call of his country’s flag!”

sang Helen, trilling the refrain of a song they had all sung the night before.

“Yes, that’s it. And what am I to stand out against Uncle Samuel?”

“That’s right, be patriotic and you will be happy,—you are a nice child, Patty.”

“You would be, if you weren’t so silly!”

“Me silly! Ah, well, better judges are better pleased!”

Helen rolled her eyes skyward, in mock resignation, and then began to finger over Patty’s engagement book.

“Tonight, Elise’s party,” she read; “will that be fun?”

“Oh, yes, she has lovely parties. And, write it in there for me, Bumble, we’ve decided on next Monday night for a party for the boys in khaki.”

“All right, I’ll put it down. Who did the deciding?”

“Phil and I, last night. He says he’ll make application to the Y. M. C. A. committee or something and have them send us the pick of the lot.”

“How funny! The best-looking ones? Do they have to pass an exam for it?”

“Don’t be idiotic! Let me tell you, the most desirable ones are merely the ones who most need a little pleasure or entertainment.”

“How can they tell?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps the ones who are farthest from home and mother,—or, who have been ill,——”

“Or parted from their best girls?”

“Yes, those are the saddest cases, of course!”

“Well, go ahead, I’ll be best girl to ’em.”

“You see, Philip knows the—the——”

“Chaplain?”

“Well, the somebody, who will pick out the boys,—soldiers and sailors both, and I’ve agreed to entertain a few every Monday night, for the present, anyway.”

“You’re a good girl, Patty; you’re all right!”

“Oh, thank you, dear, for your generous praise!”

“Yes; I foresee these parties will so interest and entertain you, that I’ll not have to work so hard to keep my agreement with your big man to divert your saddened and aching heart.”

“My heart’s outside your jurisdiction,—and beside, I’m doing this party to entertain you. You know, one can’t have a guest without making strenuous efforts to keep said guest merry and bright, please!”

“True, yes, true! But, give me half a chance, and I’ll entertain myself. Give me a pleasant home to visit, a lovely hostess, like——”

“Oh, thank you!”

“Like Nan, and a few young men, and I’ll ask nothing further.”

“I seem to be left out of your scheme of things!”

“No, no! my angel child, not so, but far otherwise!”

The vivacious visitor flung aside her pillows and jumped up to embrace Patty in a whirlwind flash of affection. Greatly given to chaffing, Helen was truly fond of Patty, and the two were congenial and affectionate.

“Now, one more tiny pour of chocolate, and one more popover, and my matutinal meal is finished,” Helen said, resuming her seat.

“Oh, Bumble! You know you are welcome to all you want, and more too, but—but I thought you did want to—to——”

“To help this too, too solid flesh to melt? Well, so I do,—but Patsy, poppet, your talented cook does make such delectable dainties that I can’t resist. Just a teenty-weenty drop of choclum, there’s a dear, sweet cousin-girl!”

Patty laughed and gave Helen another cup full of the delicious cocoa, and turned her glance aside, as a popover was lavishly buttered.

The morning mail came then, and as Jane brought the girls their letters, Helen took hers, and suddenly gave a deep and hollow groan.

“What’s the matter?” asked Patty, but half-heartedly, as her mail contained a letter from Little Billee, which she was eagerly devouring.

“Matter enough!” wailed Bumble, “that botheration, that pest of my existence, that everlasting nuisance, Chester Wilde, is coming here!”

“Here? When?”

“I dunno. Soon, he says. Today, most likely. I think I’ll telephone him not to come.”

“Why? Why don’t you let him?”

“Oh, he’s such a persistent—er, wooer.”

“Don’t you care for him, Helen?”

“Not enough to marry him, as he insists I must do.”

“Oh, well, let him come. I’ll talk to him, if you don’t want to. When may he be expected?”

“Today, I suppose. Oh, of course, he’ll only come to call,—and I forbid you, Patty, to ask him to stay to dinner—or to come again.”

“Wowly-wow-wow! What a cruel fair she is! All right, Bumble, dear, just as you say. And now, scoot back to your own room,—unless you want more chocolate?”

“N-no,” and Bumble looked longingly at the tray. “No,—no! of course not!”

Patty laughed, and gently pushed her visitor out of the room, lest temptation again overcome her.

The Monday evenings planned for the enjoyment of the boys in uniform began to take shape and rapidly acquired considerable proportions.

Philip Van Reypen was a fine organiser and Helen Barlow ably seconded his efforts, while Patty agreed and helped in matters of detail.

Elise was interested and there were half a dozen more of their own crowd ready to help in any way available. Chester Wilde had put in an appearance and Patty liked him from the first. A quick-witted, pleasant-mannered young man, himself engaged in some clerical war work, he declared his willingness to come over from his home in Philadelphia and help with the Monday night parties.

Helen Barlow’s pretended dislike of him was merely coquetry, Patty surmised, and then as the elder Fairfields approved of young Wilde, he soon became a frequent and welcome visitor.

Patty adhered to her plan of giving the enlisted men evenings of real pleasure, and entertainment that was enjoyable to educated and cultured minds. For the first evening, they planned a series of Living Pictures, for, said the sagacious Patty, “give ’em something to look at that’s pretty and they’re bound to like it!”

Elise Farrington and Daisy Dow were enthusiastic workers, and Mona and Roger Farrington promised any help asked for.

As Farnsworth and Chick Channing were both gone away, the circle of Patty’s friends was depleted as to men, but Chester Wilde was a good help and two or three other men were invited to assist.

Philip Van Reypen was still in the city, and his great efficiency and good taste and judgment made him a valuable ally for the cause.

He and Patty planned the pictures, for Helen Barlow knew nothing of such matters and Chester Wilde was better at carrying out orders than originating plans.

“What do you think of this scheme,” Van Reypen asked of Patty as they began on the actual selection of subjects. “Say, three pictures,—tableaux, you know, and have each of them introduce a bit of entertainment of itself.”

“Sounds fine,” she agreed, “if only I had the least idea of what you’re driving at.”

“You will have. Here’s the gist of it. Say, an Oriental scene. Ladies in rich Persian draperies and fallals posed about; men in the gorgeous Eastern robes affected by our heathen contemporaries; all the properties and effects in harmony,—you know I’ve oodles of that junk—and the whole scene glittering and radiant.”

“Beautiful! Great! But is that all?”

“Not so but far otherwise. Now, after the eager audience have feasted their eyes on the sight, and you know, it isn’t to be a motionless picture,——”

“Then it must be a motion picture!”

“It is, in this sense. The ladies and the men walk about, or languidly wave their peacock feather fans, or sink gracefully on divans, but of course, no words are spoken.”

“Pantomime, then.”

“Yes; rather like a pantomime. Well, then, in comes an Oriental juggler, who does tricks,——”

“I see! Oh, Phil, that’s splendid! Just what I wanted! And he does real tricks,—good tricks,—and they interest the audience of themselves, and at the same time there’s the beautiful scenic effect going on!”

“Yes,—a poor scheme,—but mine own.”

“A fine scheme! Oh, I see enormous possibilities in it!”

“Then perhaps on another occasion, a Sylvan scene,—a woodland effect,—and in it give a bit of ‘As You Like It,’ or something of that sort. Another time, a Venetian scene, and you can sing with the gondoliers.”

“Yes, yes, I see it all!”

“Oh, you do! Then you’ve no further need of my services.”

“Don’t be a silly! Of course I want you. I couldn’t do any of it alone. How long before you go to Wilmington, or wherever you’re going?”

“Dunno! but it won’t matter. I can run up here often. An aviator’s life is not a busy one.”

“Really? Why isn’t it?”

“Oh, it is, of course, in a sense. But there’s not the same strenuous rush there is in other fields. You see we’re not fly-by-nights, for one thing.”

“Oh, yes, outside daylight hours you’re free to play by yourself?”

“Perhaps not all of that, but, don’t you worry, my lady, I’ll play hookey, if need be, to get up here to look after your interests.”

“All right. Now we can’t put a whole lot of time and trouble on rehearsals and all that, you know.”

“No; my idea was to have these things almost impromptu. Let us plan it all out pretty well beforehand, and then let the performers each time come early, and get posted as to their parts, and the star performer will do the rest.”

“Star performer?”

“Yes; I mean, each time have an entertainer, like the juggler——”

“A professional?”

“Not necessarily. I know a chap who does wonderful legerdemain, who’d be glad to come to entertain Our Boys.”

“Oh, yes, I see. And I’ll sing.”

“Yes, you can sing, as special character in some tableau, don’t you see? You could be a mermaid or a Lorelei, sitting on a rock.”

“With a lute?”

“Yes, and your hair down, and a gold comb and a mirror, while you comb your shining goldilocks.”

“Nixy! Not my hair down. All the rest, but now I’m engaged, I’ve put away childish things.”

“Pshaw, don’t be a silly! But never mind those details. And, too, if you don’t fancy the mermaid rôle, have a bit of a scene about ‘tenting tonight on the old camp ground,’ and you can come on as a Red Cross nurse, and sing——”

“Oh, yes, and the boys in khaki can help make up the picture!”

“’Course they can. And another time, we’ll get up a ship scene, I don’t know just how yet, but I’ll plan it——”

“We could have the mermaid come to the side of the ship.”

“Ah, coming around to the mermaid rôle, are you? Well, those schemes are all right. Now, what shall we choose for the first one?”

“Not soldiers or sailors. Let them see some stunning show first.”

“Oriental?”

“Yes, I guess so. Your idea of the juggler is splendid. He can come on the stage like those Hindoo fakirs, you know,——”

“Yes, that’s what I meant.”

“You know, there’s not so very much room——”

“Want to go over to Elise’s, and have it all in her casino?”

“N-no,—not at first, anyway. You see, Phil, I suppose it is nothing but pride and vain glory,—but I thought up this plan,—and I want to have it in my own home.”

“So you shall! I don’t blame you. If Elise wants to, let her get up something herself.”

“Probably she will. But I want mine here.”

“That’s all right, Patty-girl. Why, there’s plenty of room. We needn’t ask so very many guests,—say a dozen or so the first time, and see how it works out.”

“Oh, we could accommodate twenty or twenty-four, I think. You see we’d use these connecting rooms, and this room would hold about thirty chairs.”

“All right. Now, say we plan the scene. I’ve all that big chest full of Oriental costumes, you know, and we don’t want very much in the way of actual scenery. A couple of divans heaped with pillows, and some of those hookah pipes standing round—then, the people in costume,—there’s your setting,—see? Then, in comes your juggler, also in appropriate costume, and he does his tricks, and the people on the stage admire and applaud, and the people in the audience do likewise.”

“Fine! And afterward, we have a little feast, and a little dance, and maybe sing a song or two for a good-night chorus.”

“That’s the ticket! Now, for the list of those who take part, and a few details of that sort, and our preliminary work is done!”

CHAPTER V
A FIRE-EATER

The Monday night party was in full swing. A stage had been erected and the spectacle that was seen as the curtain rose was of “more than Oriental splendour.”

Heavy draperies, potted palms, strange braziers and lanterns, pillowed divans,—all formed a brilliant and interesting picture of an Eastern interior.

Richly garbed ladies sat at ease while slaves waved peacock feather fans above their bejeweled heads. Stalwart men stood about, picturesque in their embroidered tunics and voluminous mantles.

The movement of the scene increased. Slaves entered with baskets of fruits, musicians came and made weird music, and dancing girls appeared and gave graceful exhibitions of their art.

Patty was one of these. In a charming costume of thin, fluttering silks and gauzy veils, she went through the slow swaying steps of a characteristic dance, and enthralled the appreciative audience.

She had indeed achieved her desire to give her guests something different from the average evening entertainment. The young men in khaki and in blue, who sat watching, were breathlessly attentive and applauded loudly and often.

The whole assemblage was gay and merry. The elder Fairfields were excellent hosts, and chatted with the uniformed guests until even the shy ones felt at ease. Roger and Mona Farrington, too, assisted in this work of getting acquainted, and the result was a pleasant, chatty atmosphere and not merely a silent audience.

“Good work!” said Roger, approvingly, to a khakied youth, as Patty executed a difficult pirouette.

“You bet!” was the earnest reply. “I’ve seen some dancing, but never anything to beat that! Is she on the regular stage?”

“Oh, no. She’s the daughter of the house. But she’s a born dancer and has always loved the art.”

“Don’t wonder! She puts it all over anybody I ever saw! And the whole colouring,—the scene, you know,—well, it’ll be something to remember when I’m back in camp. A thing like that stays in your mind, you know, and I’ll shut my eyes and see those furling pink veils as plain, ’most, as I do now. What a beautiful girl she is.”

His tone was almost reverential, and Roger instinctively liked the simple straightforwardness of his comment.

“Yes, and as lovely as she is beautiful. She’s engaged to a Captain, and it’s hard luck that he has to be away from her.”

“It’s all of that! Hullo, look who’s here!”

Among the people on the stage there appeared a strange figure. It was a man of swarthy countenance, garbed in pure white draperies, so full and flowing, that he resembled the pictures of the prophets. He walked slowly to the centre of the stage, and made deep salaams to the characters there assembled, then turned and bowed low to the audience. His snow-white, coiled turban almost swept the floor as he gracefully bent in greeting. Then he rose, and began to chant a strange weird incantation.

An assistant brought a small tripod filled with various paraphernalia, and the juggler began his tricks.

They consisted of the most mystifying legerdemain and magical illusions, for the performer, as Philip had assured Patty, was an expert, though not a professional.

The soldier boys and sailor boys were delighted, and watched closely in their desire to see how the tricks were done.

And this paved the way to their still greater satisfaction, for the accommodating magician acceded to several urgent requests and explained his tricks.

To be sure, it detracted from the mystery, but it added to the interest.

One of his startling deeds was this.

An attendant brought to the magician a small iron dish filled with kerosene oil. With an eager smile, as of delighted anticipation, the juggler, who spoke no word, made motions for his aid to light the oil.

This was done, and the flames proved it to be real oil and really burning.

Then, taking an iron spoon, the magician dipped out a spoonful of the blazing oil and putting it in his mouth swallowed it with great apparent relish and enjoyment.

He nodded his head and smacked his lips in praise of this strange food, and made a gesture of wanting more. Obligingly, the attendant offered him the iron bowl again, and again a spoonful of blazing kerosene was gobbled up by the hungry feeder.

“My stars!” cried one of the audience, “I’ve heard of fire-eaters, but I never expected to see one! Have another dip, old chap!”

Smiling acquiescence, the juggler repeated his startling partaking of the oil, and seemed to like it quite as much as ever.

“Well, I’ll give up!” cried the interested observer, who had spoken before. “Do tell us how you do that! I’d rather know that than eat a square meal myself!”

Dropping for the moment his rôle of pantomimist, the juggler said, “I will tell you, for it is an interesting trick. For years,—ages, even, the Hindus mystified and deceived people by pretending to be fire-eaters. The ignorant on-lookers, of course, believed that the fakirs really ate fire,—hot coals, blazing oil, or burning tow.

“But as a matter of fact, it was all trickery, and deception of the simplest kind. You must know the ignorant people of the Far East are much more gullible and easily deceived than our own alert, up-to-date modern and civilised citizens. And, yet, even among ourselves, it is not easy to understand the fire-eating illusion. This is real kerosene, it is really lighted, you have seen my apparent relish of it. Now can any one explain how it is that I take spoonful after spoonful, yet my mouth is not burnt?”

Nobody could guess, and one after another said so. The young men were losing their shyness and self-consciousness in their interest.

“Spill it, boss,” urged one, “give us the right dope!”

“Yes, I’d be glad to be informed as to the modus operandi,” said another, who was of a different mental type. Indeed, it was all sorts and conditions of brains that were striving to see through this absorbing problem.

Patty, still in her place on the stage, looked keenly into the upturned faces.

“Dear, brave boys!” she thought to herself; “sooner or later, going ‘over there’ to fight for us and our cause! I am glad to give them a little cheer and fun as occasion offers.”

The elder Fairfields felt the same way, and all who were helping Patty in her plan were conscious of a thrill of gratification at the success of it, so far.

“I’ve seen it on the vaudeville stage in Paris,” one different looking youth spoke up. “It was slightly different in effect, but I suppose the same principle obtained.”

“Doubtless,” agreed the juggler, whose name was Mr. Peckham. “Now, I’ll show you. The whole secret is that when I apparently take up a spoonful of oil, in reality, I only dip the spoon in and out again. It comes out blazing, to be sure, but really empty. It is merely the slight film of oil adhering to the spoon that blazes. However, this is quite enough to give the effect of a full spoon of kerosene on fire. Then, as I throw back my head, as if to swallow this flaming fluid, I really blow out the flame and I am careful not even to allow the hot spoon to touch my lips. But the audience, if the trick is quickly done, see what they expect to see. They are imbued with the idea that I am swallowing a spoonful of burning kerosene, and they therefore think I do so. It is over in a second,—I am swallowing, and smacking my lips, and it is taken for granted that I have done the impossible.”

“Huh!” said the youth who had “wanted to know.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Peckham, laughing, “it’s ‘Huh!’ after the secret is told! No trick is as wonderful after it is explained as it is before.”

“It is to me,” said a more thoughtful man; “it’s interesting to see how a mere optical illusion is believed to be real by thinking and attentive minds.”

“Not only that,” added Mr. Peckham, “but it’s strange to realise how our eyes see, or we think they see, what we expect to see. You anticipated my fire-eating, you looked forward to seeing it, therefore, you thought you did see it.”

“That’s it, sir! After all, it’s a sort of camouflage.”

“Exactly! I give you something that looks like fire-eating, and you think it is fire-eating! Exactly.”

Then he performed many other tricks; tricks with cards or with other paraphernalia; tricks with balls, swords, hats, all the usual branches of “magic” and the enthralled audience were so entertained and spellbound, that the time slipped by unheeded.

“Good gracious!” cried Patty suddenly, from her place on the stage, “isn’t it getting late?”

“It’s half-past eleven,” Roger informed her, from the audience.

“Then we must stop this magicking! I’m sorry, for I could watch it all night, but there’s more programme yet!”

“Cut it out!” cried a youthful chap in sailor blue; “give us more hocus-pocus!”

“Not tonight,” laughed Patty, and leaving her place, the whole tableau began to break up and the gorgeously attired Orientals came down among the audience and mingled as one group.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Patty said, pausing to speak to Mr. Peckham; “it’s so kind of you, and I’ve been so interested!”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” asserted the kind and genial man, “glad to do it for Van Reypen’s sake, for Our Boys’ sake, and, most of all, Miss Fairfield, for your sake!”

Patty rewarded him with her best smile and ran away to look after the rest of her entertainment.

There was to have been music and some other matters, but it was now so late that it was time for the supper.

This was a simple but very satisfying repast and the men in uniform showed their appreciation of Patty’s thoughtful kindness in this, as well as in the mental entertainment.

“I say, Miss Fairfield,” a stalwart young man observed, “if you knew what all this means to us poor chaps, when we’re miles removed from chicken salad and ice cream, you’d feel gratified, I’m sure.”

“I do, Mr. Herron; I am truly glad I can please you but more grateful to you for your appreciation than you can possibly be for my invitation.”

“Well, that’s going some!” and the man laughed. “You see, Miss Fairfield, it’s like a glimpse of another world to a lot of us. It is to me. Why, I come from out West, and I’ve never been in a home like this of yours. Oh, I don’t mean to say we don’t have ’em out West,—lots of our plutes roll in gold and all that. But I didn’t. I’m of the every-day people, and my folks are good and honest, but plain. Not that I’m ashamed of ’em,—Lord, no! But I own up I’m pleased as Punch at this chance to be a guest in a fine house for once!”

“I hope not only for once, Mr. Herron,” said Patty, who liked the frank young fellow. “I’d like to have you come again.”

“You oughtn’t to invite me,—you ought to take a different lot every time,—but, by jingo, if you do ask me, I’m coming! You just bet I am!”

Patty laughed and passed on talking gaily to this one and that, asking questions about things they were interested in and conversant with, and in all, being a charming and sympathetic little hostess.

Entertaining was Patty’s forte, and she loved it. Moreover, she could adapt herself with equal ease to the most aristocratic and high-bred society or to the plainer and more commonplace people.

As for these boys, she loved them, partly because of her patriot spirit, partly from her love of humanity, and largely because now that her own Billee was in the war, all war people were dear to her.

After supper there was still time for a dance or two, and the guests entered into this diversion with zest. Naturally, Patty had many would-be partners, and she divided her dances in an effort to please many.

Helen, too, was a general favourite. The young men liked the jolly girl and pretty Bumble laughed and joked with them, promising to write letters to them and knit comforts for them and to do numberless possible and impossible things when they were back in their camps, or wherever their duty led them.

Chester Wilde was present. He was an urgent suitor of Helen’s, but tonight he tried with all his energies to help Patty in the plan she had undertaken.

At last, when most of the uniformed guests had departed, Wilde noticing the tired expression in Patty’s eyes, led her to a cosy sofa and advised her to rest a little.

“I’ll bring you some hot bouillon,” he said, “and it will do you good. Let the rest of the girls speed the few parting guests, and you sit here and talk to me.”

Patty agreed and soon they were affably chatting. As often, their talk was of Helen.

“Doesn’t she look pretty tonight?” young Wilde asked, his eyes straying to the laughing face across the room.

“Yes, indeed, she always does,” agreed Patty. “She’s a darling thing, too, Mr. Wilde, and you mustn’t be down-hearted because she flouts you sometimes. I know my little old Bumble pretty well and she’s a great little scamp for teasing the people she likes best.”

“It would have been all right, I’m sure,” said the young man, moodily, “if she had stayed in Philadelphia. But here, there are so many men about,—oh, I don’t mean the uniformed men,—but a lot of others who are here at your house now and then, that I can’t help feeling Helen will forget me.”

“Nonsense! I won’t let her. You trust your Aunt Patty! Why my middle name is Tact!”

“I know it, Miss Fairfield, I know all that, and you’re awfully good to me, but,—oh, well, I s’pose I’m jealous.”

“I s’pose you are,” Patty laughed at him. “You wouldn’t be any good if you weren’t! But you know, faint heart and all that. Don’t be faint-hearted, that’s not the thing for a soldier, at all!”

“All right, I’ll cheer up. You’re a good friend, Miss Fairfield——”

“Oh, call me Patty, I’d rather you would.”

“All right and thank you. First names for us, after this. Now don’t think me silly, but,—won’t you do all you can to—to——”

“To turn our Helen’s heart in your direction? Indeed I will, Chester, and gladly. But, take my word for it, she likes you better than anybody else, right now.”

“Oh, Patty, do you think so?”

“I know so. Bumble,—Helen, I mean, is a dear, but she isn’t quite sure of her own mind. Oh, don’t you worry, Chester, my friend, all will yet be well.”

“But look at her now. She’s terribly taken with that chap named Herron. See her look at him!”

“The green-eyed monster has you in his grip, for sure! Come on, let’s go and see what they’re talking about.”

Patty rose and Chester followed her to where Helen and Philip Van Reypen were eagerly talking to Mr. Herron.

“Yes,” Herron was saying, “to train a thousand aviators usually means the smashing of more than a thousand machines. Why, every learner breaks up one or two airplanes before he’s a flyer.”

“Really!” said Helen, her eyes big with interest. “And how much do these airplanes cost?”

“Oh, about seven thousand dollars apiece.”

“They do! What a fearful expense for the government!”

“The government does have fearful expenses, Miss Barlow,—or so I’ve heard.”

“But that’s something awful, old man,” put in Van Reypen. “I’m going to be a flyer, and I’ll begin training soon. That’s why I’m so keen on questioning you. Do I go up in the air at once?”

“No, sir. You begin on a machine that stays on terra firma.”

“Then it isn’t a flying machine at all,” observed Patty, as she and Chester joined the others.

“Well, it is, except that it doesn’t fly! But one learns all the motions on it, and the controls and the handling of winds,—and, oh, quite a few things about it. Then later on, one goes up——”

“What a sensation it must be!” cried Patty; “I’m just crazy to try it. May I go up with you, Phil, as soon as you’ve learned?”

“Not until I have learned. You’ll take no chances with a novice, I can tell you.”

“But I don’t see,” said Helen, “how a machine on the ground is anything like one in the air.”

“It’s difficult to explain,” returned Herron. “But, you see, jets of air are blown through tubes, that simulate the currents of real air that affect the man higher up.”

“Too many for me!” declared Helen, “my little two-cent brain refuses to grasp it!”

“We’ll go down to see Philip perform as soon as he knows enough to show off,” declared Patty. “Won’t that be fun, Helen?”

“Yes; may we, Philip?”

“After I’m ready to show off, yes.”

“Oh, you vainy!” cried Helen. “Never mind, we don’t want to see you when you’re just flying on the floor!”

“I really must fly from here,” laughed Mr. Herron. “Such a gorgeous time, Miss Fairfield. May I come again?”

“Oh, I wish you would! Don’t wait for a special invitation,—come at any time.”

“He will,” Van Reypen said, “I’ll bring him. He and I will be associated, I find, in the Aviation Training Camp, and we’ll often run up together,—mayn’t we, Patty?”

“Yes, indeed; as often as you can manage to!”

CHAPTER VI
A SLEIGHRIDE

“Ready, Bumble?” asked Patty, looking in at her cousin’s room.

“Yes, in a minute.”

“Oh, I know your minutes! They’re half an hour long each! Here,—let me help you.”

Patty straightened Helen’s collar, fastened two hooks, found her gloves, tied her veil, and performed a few more odd services for her, and then held her fur coat for her to slip into.

“It looks like more snow, but Phil telephoned that we’d go anyway,” Patty said: “Mona and Roger will meet us up there, and Mr. Herron will be there too.”

“Perfectly fine! I love a sleighride, though goodness knows we get few enough of them nowadays.”

“You won’t love it, if we get snowed under, or snowbound at the Club.”

“I shan’t mind. We’ll have Mona and Roger for chaperons and we can stay till the storm is over. Philip says the house is lovely.”

“Yes, the Timothy Grass Golf Club is a splendid place, and the winter casino,—The Playbox, they call it,—is most attractive. Oh, we’ll have a good time whatever happens.”

By way of entertaining Helen, Van Reypen had proposed a day at the Country Club, and his invitation was eagerly accepted. There was snow enough on the ground to make good sleighing, and the air was crisp, cold and clear. Warmly garbed for their trip, the two girls ran downstairs to find Philip awaiting them.

“Hooray for two plucky ones!” he cried; “I thought maybe you’d back out on account of the storm.”

“Where’s the storm?” asked Helen. “I don’t see any.”

“You wear rose-coloured glasses. There’s snow in the air, some flying, and more waiting above, ready to come down. But not enough to hurt two such well-befurred Esquimoses! Come along, then.”

The novelty of a real old-fashioned sleighride was a great pleasure and as the fast horses flew along, the girls exclaimed at the new delight of such transportation.

“Are Roger and Mona going in a sleigh, too?” asked Patty.

“Yes, I think so. They’ll come later, as Mona just had a telegram that her father is coming to see her today.”

“But she’ll come to us, won’t she?” Patty asked, quickly. “She’s our chaperon, you know. It wouldn’t do at all for Helen and me to go to the Club without her.”

“Oh, yes, she said she’d come, as soon as her father arrives and she gets him comfortably welcomed. She’s very fond of him, you know.”

“Yes, and he’s an awfully nice man. What time will we get back, Phil?”

“’Long about five o’clock or so. We won’t reach the Club before noon. Then we’ll have time for a game of indoor tennis or whatever you like, of that sort. Then luncheon, and in the afternoon there’s time for a game of Bridge if you choose.”

“Probably we won’t do anything but sit around and chatter,” opined Helen, who was not fond of games. “Mr. Herron is coming, isn’t he?”

“Yes, my lady. But you mustn’t flirt with him, or you’ll turn his head completely.”

“She has done that already,” laughed Patty; “Mr. Herron just sits and gazes at my fair cousin, whenever occasion offers.”

“Nor can any one blame him for that. Look at the ice jam in the river! What a winter we’re having, to be sure.”

“A lovely winter, I think,” Helen said, “I adore cold weather, and I don’t mind snow. I like to feel it on my face.”

“All the same,” Patty put in, “I could do with less of it just now.”

The white feathers were flying briskly through the air, and Patty cuddled her face deep into her high fur collar. She was not quite so fond of the elements as Helen, and felt the cold more.

“The snow is falling all around,

It’s falling here and there;

It’s falling through the atmosphere

And also through the air.”

Helen chanted the lines to an accompaniment of dashing the flakes from her veiled face.

“The snow is falling all around,

And wonder fills my cup,

Whether, when it is all snowed down

We won’t be all snowed up!”

Patty sang her parody, in a high, clear voice, and then returned to her depths of collar.

Then Philip took up the game:

“The snow is falling all around,

But you girls needn’t fret;

We’ll soon arrive where we are bound,

And you’ll get warm,—you bet!”

“Lovely, Phil!” murmured Patty, “you do sing like a cherub!”

“Oh, well, I suppose my coloratura is a little off, but every time I open my mouth the snow snows in!”

“Ought to make liquid notes,” said Patty.

“Oh, come now! If you’re going to talk like that!”

“I can only sing of Greenland’s Icy Mountains,” Helen declared, and just then they came in sight of the Club house.

A huge structure it was, in a large park, and surrounded by trees and gardens. In summer it was a beautiful spot, but in winter some thought it even more so. The Golf Links showed great stretches of white and the bare black limbs of the tall trees made a picturesque foreground. The house itself, with glassed-in veranda and storm doors, looked like a haven of refuge.

The girls ran inside, and were greeted by the sound of crackling flames in a great fireplace.

“I do think a Club is the nicest place!” exclaimed Helen, as she sat down on a fireside settle. “And this one has such a cheery, hospitable atmosphere.”

“Yes,” agreed Patty, “but I don’t see many people around. Aren’t there very few, Phil?”

“Rather so. But it’s an uncertain quantity, you know. Some days the place is crowded, and again nearly empty. It’s always so in a Club.”

“Where’s Mona?”

“She’ll come soon. I told you she’d be late. Don’t fuss, Patty.”

“No; I won’t,” and Patty smiled at him.

But she was anxious, for Patty was conservative by nature, and a close observer of the conventions. She was unacquainted at this Club, and if Mona shouldn’t come, she felt a grave uncertainty as to what she could do. She and Helen couldn’t stay the day there without Mona, and the storm was gaining in force.

“I wish you’d telephone,” she said to Van Reypen, “and see if they’ve started.”

“All right, my liege lady, I will. Just wait a minute, till I get this numbness from my digits.”

“Do let him get warm, Patty,” Helen remonstrated; “the poor man is almost frozen, and you send him to telephone about nothing!”

“’Deed it isn’t nothing! If for any reason Mona doesn’t come, we must go right home, Helen.”

“But don’t cross the bridge before you come to it. At least, let me have a look around. I want to see that sun-parlour and that other palmy nook, over there! Oh, I think this the most fascinating place I ever saw!”

“It is charming. And I’m glad to be here, but I want things right.”

“Patty, you’re not unlike Friend Hamlet. You’re always setting the world right.”

“I know, Phil, but you don’t stop to think. You know we two girls can’t stay here without Mona or some married woman as a chaperon. It doesn’t matter what you think; that’s society’s law and must be obeyed.”

Patty’s pink cheeks took on an added flush and her blue eyes grew violet, as they did when she was very much in earnest.

“I know, Patty; I know, dear. Why, I’m as well acquainted with the conventions as you are. Do you suppose I want you to do anything not absolutely correct? But the Farringtons will come directly. They started later than we did, and the increasing depth of snow may make them longer on the road. But they’re sure to come.”

Phil’s air of conviction reassured Patty, and she turned to the great blazing fire again, with a sigh of contentment. There were two or three Club members about, but save for those and the liveried footmen here and there, the place was deserted.

Helen, thoroughly warm, jumped from her seat and went about looking at the various attractive rooms.

“A wonderful library!” she said, returning from her tour of investigation; “I could be happy there all day, just looking at the picture papers and books.”

“So could I,” said Patty, “if we had somebody with us. Why didn’t we bring Nan? That would have made everything all right!”

“Mona’s sure to come soon,” comforted Helen. “Let up, Patty, you make me tired with your fussing.”

Good-naturedly, Patty “let up” and said no more for the moment.

“Hello, people!” called a cheery voice, and a big figure in uniform came swinging in.

“Mr. Herron!” cried Helen, running forward to greet him. “I’m so glad you came! Did you come in your airship?”

“I wish I could have done so, for the going on the ground is something awful. This is sure one fierce storm!”

Patty went over and lifted a curtain to look out of the window.

“Oh-ee!” she cried out, “it’s coming down thicker’n ever! How can Mona get here? They’ll be snowbound, half way here! Phil, please go and telephone; I must know if they’ve started.”

“Better go quick,” laughed Herron, “before the telephone wires are down. It’s that wet, heavy snow that weighs the wires down fearfully.”

“All right,” and Phil started for the telephone booth.

“They’ll get here,” opined Bumble; “you worry over nothing, Patty Pink.”

“They can’t get here unless they started some time ago,” Herron said; “the roads are getting worse every minute.”

“Roger will manage somehow,” Helen went on. “I know him of old,—and he isn’t to be baulked by a few flakes of snow.”

But Phil returned looking serious.

“They’re not coming,” he announced, briefly, meeting Patty’s startled eyes squarely, but apologetically. “Not on account of the storm, but because Mona’s father arrived, and he isn’t well and Mona won’t leave him. She says to tell you she’s awfully sorry, but it seems her father is really pretty ill, and she can’t get away.”

“Then we must go right home,” said Patty, very decidedly. “You know yourself, Phil, we two girls can’t stay here without Mona—or somebody.”

“Of course, I know it, Patty. Give me a minute to think. I hate to go home and give up our nice day here. Maybe we can fix it. I’ll go and see the housekeeper.”

“Oh, that would be all right, Phil,” and Patty’s lovely face broke into a smile. “If she’s a nice motherly or auntly old lady, she’d do admirably! Go and see about it, do!”

“Let me go,” said Herron, “maybe I can fix it up.”

He was gone a long time, but he came back smiling.

“The housekeeper isn’t here,” he announced, “she’s gone off for a few days’ holiday. Her present substitute is her daughter, a girl younger than you girls are. Also there’s nobody who can play chaperon to a pair of lone, lorn damsels but one elderly specimen, who is by way of being a pastry-cook or something like that. However,——”

“Oh, all right!” cried Helen; “I don’t care if she’s a pastry-cook or a laundress if she only satisfies Patty’s insane desire for a chaperon! Will she come? Will she stay by us till we go home?”

“She’ll come to luncheon with us,” said Herron, “and after that I think we’d better start for home. The snow is getting deeper, and though it looks as if the sun might break through the clouds any minute,—yet it may not, and the drifts are high, and——”

“You’re a calamity howler!” cried Helen. “We’re here, and we’re safe and warm, and the pie lady will do quite well for a chaperon, and anybody who grumbles now, is a wet blanket and a pessimist and a catamaran! So, there, now!”

“All right,” Patty laughed; “let me see the elderly dame, and if she passes muster, I’ll stop growling like a bear and be so nice and amiable you won’t know me!”

“I don’t know you when you’re anything but amiable!” declared Philip; “where’s your friend, Herron? Trot her in.”

“She’s dressing,” Herron returned. “She said she must doll up to meet the young ladies——”

“Did she use that expression?” asked Patty, severely.

“Oh, no! That’s mine. She said she’d put on her other gown,—or something like that.”

“I can’t decide till I see her,” Patty said; “if she’s really all right, we’ll stay. If not, you must take us right home, Phil.”

“Your word is my law. When Patty says go, we all goeth! Whew! how it snows!”

“Never mind the snow,” urged Herron; “no matter what the weather when we four get together! Now, what can we do in the way of high jinks? Anybody want to try the swimming pool?”

“No, thank you!” and Bumble shivered at the thought. “Can we dance anywhere?”

“Not till after lunch,” said Patty. “Dancing in the morning has gone out. Besides, it’s nearly lunch time now. Let’s knit for a while,—and not go jumping about.”

“You’re a dormouse, Patty. You’d rather nod over your knitting needles——”

“I don’t nod over them! I knit faster than you do! Come on, start at the beginning of your needle, and I’ll race you for five rows.”

The girls settled themselves comfortably by the big fire, and opened their knitting bags.

“Now, I call this fine!” declared Herron; “what’s nicer than to have you girls sit and knit and we men sit and look at you!”

“There’s nothing nicer to look at,” said Helen complacently, “on that we’re all agreed. Now, make yourselves entertaining, and we’ll call it square.”

Pretty Helen’s gay face bent over her khaki-coloured wool, and her needles clicked bravely in an effort to knit faster than Patty. And she did, but it was only a spurt. She dropped a stitch, and exclaimed, “Hold on, Patty, no fair your knitting when I’m picking up this stitch! You wait now!”

“Not so; a dropped stitch in time loses nine! Come on, hare, catch up with this old tortoise!”

Calmly, Patty proceeded with her steadily-moving needles, and again Helen made an hysterical burst of speed and caught up as to distance. But her wool snarled somehow, and Herron, trying to help her, made it worse, and the four hands that tried to untangle it only drew it into tighter knots.

Helen burst out laughing, and awarded Patty the palm.

“It’s always so,” she acknowledged. “I fly at a thing and tumble all over myself, and accomplish just about nothing. Patty goes about it leisurely, and comes in at the last, easily winner, and with a big lot of work to her credit.”

“You flatter me, angel child,” Patty smiled. “I knit because I love to knit, and I get a lot done, because I don’t try to beat everybody else. There, how’s that for a helmet? I rather guess some one of Our Boys will be glad to wear it!”

“I shouldn’t mind myself,” suggested Herron, timidly, and Patty replied at once, “Then you shall have it! I’ll fit it to your head now.”

“You want mine, Philip?” asked Helen, as she industriously “picked back” a few stitches.

“Yes, if I may be allowed to wear out two or three others while yours is in process of construction.”

“Wot rudeness! To think I should live to hear such! Well, just for that I’ll put all the knots inside!”

“They’ll make me think of you!”

“And I’ll put a note in it,—that’s often done.”

“A note of thanks. If the girls did that, it would save many a poor soldier a lot of trouble! He could just sign it and send it off.”

“How unsentimental and ungrateful you are! Why, the boys just love to get notes in their socks and sweaters and then they love to answer them. It’s no hardship, I can tell you! I’ve had the notes!”

“You can’t have had very many,—you’re too young.”

Helen gave him a laughing scowl at this fresh fling at her slow progress and then she threw down her knitting.

“Can’t do any more, now. I’ve come to the place to cast on, and I forget how many, and I left my paper of directions at home, and——”

“All right, come with me, and let’s go and hurry up our chaperon lady,” said Herron, rising.

“Yes, do,” urged Patty, who was in nervous anxiety about that matter.

“Patty’s in a pucker!” sang Helen, “like little Tommy Tucker!

What shall she eat? War bread and butter!

How shall she eat it, without a chaperon?

Put her in a padded cell and let her eat alone!”

Helen’s foolishness never annoyed Patty, and so she bade the two ambassadors proceed with their errand and Helen and Mr. Herron went off.

“Trust me, Patty,” said Philip, after the others had left the room, “it will be all right. The snow is lighter now; and we’ll go home directly after luncheon. I don’t want you to be disturbed, and I do understand,—you know I do!”

“Yes, I know it,” Patty replied.

CHAPTER VII
A QUEER CHAPERON

When Mrs. Doremus was introduced, Patty’s thoughts ran somewhat like this:

“Nice old lady; apple-cheeked, white-haired and quiet-mannered. A little shy, but well-bred and kindly. Old-fashioned dress,—or, rather it looks so, because it’s so long. Why, it almost touches the floor. But, she’s all right, and her big, tortoise-rimmed glasses give her quite an air of distinction.”

Helen, on the other hand, paid little attention to the chaperon, save to greet her pleasantly and thank her for her presence.

The five went to the Club dining-room for luncheon. There were a few others at various tables, but no one with whom the girls were acquainted.

“I’m fairly brimming with happiness,” Helen announced; “I’ve always longed to be at a big country club in winter, and I’ve never achieved it before.”

“It’s winter, all right,” said Herron, looking out at the steady snowfall. “But the palms and flowers make this seem like an oasis of summer, screened in.”

“Awful pretty room,” and Helen looked round contentedly, as she finished her grape fruit. “And of a just-right temperature. I’d like to stay here a week.”

“You may get your wish,” and Mrs. Doremus smiled at her, “if this snow keeps on, I don’t see how you can go back to the city today.”

“Oh, my goodness!” cried Patty, “don’t say such a thing! Remember, Phil, when we were snowbound at that queer old house in the country?”

“Do I remember! Why, we had the time of our sweet young life up there! I never ate such chicken pie!”

“Nor I. And those two quaint old ladies were a whole show themselves.”

“Oh, this storm isn’t going to be so very bad,” Herron said; “I think it’s lessening now. We’ll go down this afternoon, all right, all right. I think, Miss Fairfield, you’re anxious to get a letter from somebody!”

Patty blushed prettily. “Well, perhaps I am. I came away before mailtime, you know.”

“But you had one yesterday,” Helen told, “a big, fat one! That ought to last you for a while!”

“But that was yesterday! I want today’s bulletin.”

“Aha! A letter every day?”

“Yes, Mr. Herron, that’s the way engaged people keep alive, when separated by this cruel war!”

“Never mind letters now,” begged Van Reypen, “let’s forget everybody who isn’t here.”

“And are you engaged to a soldier, my child?” Mrs. Doremus asked of Patty. The old lady had a low, gentle voice, and though she said little, she had a delightful manner and a smile that betokened a keen sense of humour.

“Yes, to Captain Farnsworth; but he isn’t exactly a soldier. I mean, he doesn’t expect to fight. He is an expert mining engineer, and his country seems to find a lot of work for him, without sending him to the front.”

“Bill Farnsworth, the Westerner!”

“Yes; do you know him?”

“No; not at all. But I saw something about him in the paper,——”

“You did! Oh, what was it? I’m interested, of course, in anything pertaining to him or his work.”

“I can’t seem to remember; I can’t exactly place it; but I recollect seeing his name. And are you, too, engaged to an enlisted man, Miss Barlow?”

“No,” said Helen, “but I hope to be.”

“Quite right! Next to serving one’s country, is being the helpmeet of one who does. Have you,—ah,—selected——”

“No, my selective draft hasn’t yet been made,” and Bumble’s jolly little face smiled broadly; “you see, there are so many fascinating men in the service,—indeed, ’most any man is fascinating in uniform.”

“I wear uniform,” said Herron.

“I know, but lots of others do, too, and every time I meet a new one I lose my heart to him.”

“I fear me you’re a sad coquette, Miss Barlow,” and the chaperon beamed on her.

“I am a coquette,” Helen admitted, calmly, “but not at all a sad one! Indeed, I’m as merry as a grig. Why, I get letters from lots of the boys in camp. Miss Fairfield is content with only one correspondent, while I have a dozen! I just adore to get their letters, and to send them things, and to write to them. The war is terrible, but it does give one some new and pleasant experiences. And I don’t feel it my duty to lament all the time. My mission is cheering people up and cheering soldiers on.”

“I make no doubt you’re a grand success at it, too. And some day you’ll decide to send all your letters to the same address, as Miss Fairfield does. Where is Mr. Farnsworth now, may I ask?”

“In Washington,” Patty replied.

“And is he coming to New York soon?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.” Patty spoke a little coldly, for Bill had cautioned her over and over again, never on any account to tell any one of his plans or to repeat anything he might write, which concerned military matters or might give war information of any sort.

“How you must long to know! I don’t mean definitely, of course, but can’t you hope to see him soon?”

An insistent tone in Mrs. Doremus’ voice caused Patty to look up quickly, and she saw the keen eyes regarding her intently through the big glasses.

But though the old lady’s interest might have been a bit strong for such short acquaintance, Patty was too polite to resent that, and she laughed and said, “It’s impossible to tell, with a soldier boy. One can only hope,—one may not expect.”

“That’s a philosophical attitude, my dear, and does you credit. Is Captain Farnsworth in the Engineers’ Camp?”

“Yes,” said Patty, this time with decided shortness; “how very nice this sweetbread is! I’ve always been so fond of them. But one oughtn’t to serve them on a sweetless day, ought one?”

“Oh, Patty, what a silly joke!” chided Helen. “You mean a meatless day!”

“Both ought to be barred,” smiled Patty; “also they ought not to be served on a breadless day!”

“It looks as if they wouldn’t be served at all any more,” said Herron; “let’s gather these sweetbreads while we may!”

“And perhaps the war will soon be over, and then we can eat what we like,” Helen suggested. “It will be over soon, you know, because of the eagles.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, it’s a true omen. You know down at Beverly, New Jersey, long ago,—oh, during the Revolution,——”

“Is this a real honest-to-goodness, once-upon-a-time story?” asked Van Reypen.

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I move we move to the sun-parlour, and have our coffee there. We’ll take our coffee,—sugarless, if Patty says so,—and then we can hear the story, and then we must see about going home.”

“Fine,” Patty agreed. “Will you join us in this desperate scheme, Mrs. Doremus?”

“Don’t think you must, if you’re busy,” interposed Herron. “I’m sure the ladies will excuse you if you have duties to attend to.”

“I haven’t,” returned the chaperon, calmly. “I’ll be glad to have the coffee and the story, if I am permitted.”

“Surely,” said Helen, jumping up, “come along, Mrs. Doremus; you and I will pick out the sunniest spot. Philip, bring Patty; and Mr. Herron, will you order the coffee served there?”

Helen slipped her arm through that of the grey-haired lady, and they walked away together.

Philip detained Patty as she was about to follow.

“Queer old party,” he said, very low.

“Who? Mrs. Doremus? I rather like her.”

“Well, I don’t! Be careful what you say before her, and we must get away as soon as we can.”

“Why, Phil, what do you mean?”

“Nothing particular. Only, don’t let Helen persuade you to stay all the afternoon. It’s nearly three now, and we must get away by four, at latest.”

“All right, Phil, but I never knew you to look so scared. Why?”

“Don’t fuss, Patty; go ahead and join the crowd; but remember not to answer personal questions.”

Patty wondered what had come over Philip’s mind, but she thought no more about it, rather glad than otherwise, that he was determined to go home so early.

They crossed the big foyer, and across a chair there, was a fur stole of Patty’s which she had left there in case of need while in the house. She picked it up, exclaiming: “Why, here’s my fur! I might have forgotten it!”

“Lend it to me, won’t you, if you’re not wearing it?” asked Mrs. Doremus. “I feel a bit chilly,—but, perhaps you do too?”

“Oh, no; I’m warm as toast. Use it, by all means. Let me put it round you.”

Patty draped the long stole round the shivering shoulders, and Mrs. Doremus said, apologetically, “I’m not really cold, but I take precaution for fear of rheumatism.”

“Certainly,” Patty acquiesced, and then the coffee tray was brought and Patty did the honours.

“Sugar?” she asked of the chaperon.

“One, please; and may I be excused for a few moments? I’ve just thought of an order I meant to give, and the gaiety of our little party made me forget it. I don’t mind if my coffee gets a little cool,—I like it better so.”

Mrs. Doremus went off toward the housekeeping quarters, and the others made merry over their coffee cups.

“I don’t see why you want to start right off, Philip,” Helen demurred. “I think it’s going to stop snowing just about now.”

“Do you, my child?” said Van Reypen, serenely; “be that as it may, we stand not on the order of our going, but go at once,—instanter,—immejit,—all-in-a-hurry,—so soon as your coffee is despatched.”

“But why?” and Helen pouted.

“Yours not to put that direct question. Yours not to make remarks. Yours but to get into your befurments and hie away to town.”

“I’m not at all sure we can make it,” said Herron, pouring himself another cup of the rich brown beverage.

“Oh, yes, you can,” and the cheery voice of Mrs. Doremus sounded in the doorway. “This my cup? Fine! I like it a lot better not so blooming hot!”

Patty looked up suddenly, for the lapse into slang made her think that the pastry cook had been on her guard at lunch time, and had now fallen back to what must be her usual diction.

The old lady was smiling, and as she took her cup and sat down near the girls, Patty felt a sudden aversion.

But she reproached herself for such a feeling toward one who had not only been kind and polite but had helped them out of a real predicament.

By way of salving her conscience, she assumed a kinder manner, and gently readjusted the fur stole.

“What a dear girl you are!” said Mrs. Doremus, in a burst of admiration. “I don’t wonder Little Billee loves you.”

Patty stared at her in astonishment.

“You do know Captain Farnsworth, then!” she exclaimed, “or how would you know he is called that by his intimate friends?”

The chaperon looked confused.

“I think I have heard you call him that since you’ve been here.”

“Indeed you haven’t! I never speak of him that way to strangers!”

“Come, come, Patty, don’t get wrathy!” said Philip, smiling at the lifted chin and tossed head.

“No, I won’t,” and Patty realised her own foolishness. “Forgive me, Mrs. Doremus, I suppose I’m a silly young thing. But you see, I’ve never been engaged before and I’m a little fussy about it!”

“Oh, that’s all right, young folks ought to be like that. My, when I was engaged, I flew off my head if anybody so much as looked at my young man!”

“It couldn’t have been so very long ago,” smiled Patty, who had suddenly come to the conclusion that Mrs. Doremus was not so very old, and was, doubtless, prematurely grey-haired.

“Oh yes, many and many a year. But memory is still green, and the sight of young lovers makes my mind turn back, as to a well-remembered page.”

Again, Patty caught the strange inflection, as if Mrs. Doremus’ words were not quite sincere.

“Come, girls,” said Philip, “as you’ve finished your coffee, let’s be thinking about starting.”

“I don’t want to go!” protested Helen; “it’s perfectly lovely here, and we can just as well stay an hour longer as not. Can’t we, Mr. Herron?”

“So far as I am concerned, yes. But, unless you start soon, you may find the roads impassable, and be obliged to remain here over night.”

“Oh, I’ve the idea!” Helen cried, “you men go back to town, and leave us girls here to stay the night with Mrs. Doremus! I do think that would be fine! You’d take care of us, wouldn’t you?”

She turned her bright, coaxing face to the apple-cheeked old lady, with mute appeal.

To her surprise, Mrs. Doremus was suddenly afflicted with a hard coughing spell. She choked and nearly strangled, growing red in the face, and gasping for breath.

Herron jumped up and quickly led her from the room, with some hasty words about fresh air.

Van Reypen looked angry and a bit puzzled, but Patty was deeply concerned for the old lady’s comfort.

“Let me go, too,” she exclaimed, rising, “she needs me,—not Mr. Herron.”

“Sit down, Patty,” Philip ordered, somewhat gruffly. “Stay where you are. There are plenty of women servants to look after her.”

“But she’s so nice, Phil! Too nice to have only servants’ care.”

“Sit down, I tell you. You can’t go to her. Remember, Patty, you’re not a member of this Club.”

“Oh, that’s so,” and Patty sat down.

“All right,” said Herron, returning; “she just choked a little, that’s all. And she has chronic throat trouble, so it rather strangled her. She sends you her adieux, and begs to be excused from further appearance.”

“Why, of course,” said Patty, “she mustn’t think of returning. And we’re going now, anyhow. Stop your nonsense, Helen, and come, let’s get our coats.”

“Don’t wanna!”

“I know you don’t, you old goose, but you must.” Patty took her cousin’s arm and led her off to the cloak-room.

“Be goody-girl,” Herron called after her, “and we’ll stop at any place you like for afternoon tea.”

“Oh, will you?” and Helen brightened up suddenly. “At the Sunset Tea-room?”

“Yes, wherever you say.”

The sleigh came to the door,—horses prancing, bells jingling, and the driver cracking his whip, in true old-time style.

“Oh, wait a minute,” Patty cried, as they were about to get in, “where’s my stole? Mrs. Doremus still has it! I’m so glad I remembered.”

“I’ll get it,” volunteered Herron. “You others wait here.”

He was gone so long that Philip suggested Mrs. Doremus had decamped with the fur.

“Was it valuable, Patty?”

“Yes; that is, it’s a perfectly good piece of kolinski.”

“Better make up your mind to order another. Something tells me you’ll never see that particular animal again.”

“How silly, Phil, of course I will. They don’t have kleptomaniacs in a Club like this.”

“People of acquisitive tendencies are to be found everywhere. However, here comes Herron with the pelt, but he looks as if he’d had to fight for it!”

Sure enough, Herron appeared, greatly ruffled. His face was red, his eyes glowering, and his whole aspect that of a man who has been through a war of words.

“All right,” he said, with a very evident effort to seem at ease, “here’s your fur cape,—or whatever you call it.”

“Stole,” corrected Philip.

“No it wasn’t!” cried Herron. “Mrs. Doremus had mislaid it, in her excitement, and couldn’t remember for the moment where it was. But she found it at once.”

He put the fur round Patty’s neck, and assisted her into the sleigh in silence.

“Something’s up!” that astute young woman remarked to herself. “I must find out about it,—that is, if it concerns me, and I pretty much think it does.”

But she was far too canny to ask questions of Herron then. She chatted gaily and smiled brightly, telling herself the while, that there could be nothing really wrong.

The snow had almost ceased falling, and before they had gone more than a mile, the sun came straggling through the clouds, as it sometimes does when anxious to finish off a snowstorm quickly.

And Helen was delighted, for she knew that meant they would stop at her favourite tea-room, and she could have the chocolate and sweet cakes which were her beloved though “forbidden fruit.”

CHAPTER VIII
IN THE TEA-ROOM

The Sunset Tea-room did not belie its name. The draperies and decorations were of true sunset tints,—gold and amber, with glints of red, and all most harmonious and effective.

The quartette found a pleasant table, where the shaded lights cast a soft glow over the pretty appointments, and Helen picked up the menu card with pleased anticipation.

“You’re just incorrigible, Bumble!” laughed Patty; “you promised me you’d cut out sweet things for afternoon tea, yet I see you voraciously devouring the cake list!”

“I know it, Patsy Poppet, but today is an exception,——”

“What day isn’t? All right, girlie, but like Lady Jane in the play ‘there will be too much of you in the coming by-and-by!’”

“There can’t be too much of a good thing!” said Herron, gaily, “so go ahead, Miss Barlow, choose all the puff paste and whipped cream you want.”

“If I did that, I’d order the whole card,” Helen returned, “and that wouldn’t do at all.”

“Like the story of the little pickaninny,” put in Van Reypen; “they said he was ill from eating too much watermelon. And a neighbour said, ‘Law sakes! Dey ain’t no such t’ing as too much watermillion!’ and the reply was, ’Den dere wasn’t enough boy!’”

“That’s it exactly,” and Helen smiled; “there aren’t too many kinds of cakes here,—but there isn’t quite enough me!”

But after some careful consideration, she selected the most irresistible dainties, and the others also made their choice.

“You never told us the ‘Eagle’ story,” Herron reminded, as they waited for their order to be served.

“That’s so,” said Patty, “what was it, Helen? Didn’t you say it had to do with the end of the war?”

“That’s as you look at it. Here’s the tale. You see, down at Beverly, just before the close of the Revolution, there appeared a few eagles——”

“Bald?” inquired Phil.

“Dunno if they were bald or long-haired or blonde,—but they were eagles,—real, live American eagles. And they had never been seen in that locality before. Well, their appearance heralded the end of the Revolution,—and immediately it ended.”

“Great!” cried Philip, a little ironically; “it reminds me of the slave who called out, ‘Oh, King live forever!’ and immediately the King lived forever!”

“I shouldn’t wonder if that’s a better story than mine,” laughed Helen, “but I’ll proceed with mine, as, if I don’t, I may not get it done before my cakies come. Well, the Revolution ended, and no eagles were seen any more at all, in or near Beverly. Until,—near the close of the Civil War, those same eagles appeared in Beverly again!”

“Sure they were the same ones? Pretty old birds!”

“Oh, eagles live thousands of years! That’s nothing for an eagle! Anyway, the eagles came, and the Civil War soon came to its close.”

“Now then for the point of this tale,” said Herron. “Has friend eagle showed up of late?”

“He has!” cried Helen triumphantly; “several eagles were seen there last week! Now, I believe this war will soon end!”

“The American eagle is a war-ender, all right!” declared Phil, “and I hope to goodness, Helen, your pet scheme works out. Just how long after the eagles’ arrival is peace declared? Usually, I mean.”

“That I can’t say. Nor do I swear to the truth of the story. But I tell the tale as ’twas told to me, and you can take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” said Patty, promptly. “I’m a wee bit superstitious, and I like to think of the eagles appearing as a harbinger of hope of peace,—like the Ark dove.”

“It can’t do any harm to believe it,” and Philip smiled at her; “and it may do good. If you believed in a thing I’m sure it would make me do so, too, and if a lot of us believe, it might help to make it come true.”

“Then we’ll all believe,” said Helen, “and I’m sure glad to be the means,—in a small way,—of helping my country toward peace!”

“One can scarcely call it more than a small way,” Herron said, mock-judicially, “and yet it’s as much as many of us do. Even if we’re willing, we can’t perform. I’m ready to fly to the ends of the earth for my old Uncle Sam, but I have to await orders.”

“And I can’t help feeling glad that you do,” interposed Helen. “What would us girls do without you boys to play with? To be sure, we’ll give you up

“When it’s ‘Ready! Fire!’ and you fire away,

And fight ’em to a finish for the U. S. A.”

“For us, it’s ‘Ready! Fly!’ and we fly away,” and Philip looked eager at the thought. “I hate to leave my ain fireside, and that of friends and fellow citizens, but there is an urge——”

“You sound like Sam Blaney!” and Patty laughed. “He was always talking about the Cosmic Urge.”

“That isn’t in it with the Urge of the Flag. Oh, you girls don’t know the thrill of feeling that you can be of real help,—however small or insignificant help it is!”

Patty gave Phil an admiring glance. She liked this sort of talk and though she knew of his patriotism, she had rarely heard him express it so strongly.

“Here’s your cakaroons!” cried Herron, as the tray appeared, and the tea and chocolate were served to them.

“Now, no war talk, for the moment,” begged Helen. “It does interfere with my enjoyment of my frugal fare, to get stirred up, even by patriotism.”

“Let’s talk about our visit at the Club,” said Patty, suddenly. “Did it strike any of you that Mrs. Doremus was a very strange person?”

“Did it!” said Philip, with emphasis. “Well, rather!”

“As how?” asked Herron.

“To begin with, she was no lady,” Van Reypen asserted.

“Just what do you mean?” pursued Herron.

“That’s a little harsh,” Patty demurred, “but she certainly acted queer.”

“What do you care?” Herron demanded, “she served the purpose of chaperon, when no one else was there to do so.”

“Yes, I know. The principal thing I noticed that seemed strange was that she didn’t knit!”

“My goodness gracious! I never thought of that!” exclaimed Herron.

“Perhaps she couldn’t,” laughed Patty.

“At least, she could have made a stab at it, which is what most women do. Oh, you needn’t laugh! I’ve observed them! They spend more time holding their work off and looking at it, or counting stitches, or picking back—whatever that is!—or correcting mistakes, or, just patting and pinching the thing!”

“You’re right, Mr. Herron,” and Patty laughed at his graphic description, which was greatly aided by his dramatic imitation of a nervous knitter. “But Mrs. Doremus didn’t even do that. Nor did she say anything about it,—which was queer, I think.”

“Yes, it was queer,” agreed Helen, “though I hadn’t thought of it before. Oh, Patty! This cream cake is a dream!”

“A dream cake?” suggested Philip, “a cream cake dream cake,—well, what I noticed especially about our friend and benefactor, was her shoes.”

Herron looked up quickly.

“No lady would wear shoes like those!” Van Reypen asserted.

“I didn’t see them,” said Patty, “her dress was so long. Queer, to have such very long skirts, nowadays.”

“No lady would wear such a long skirt,” Van Reypen went on.

“Oh, Phil, don’t be so critical,” and Patty shook her head at him. “Mrs. Doremus wasn’t fashionable, I know, nor even very well posted as to a chaperon’s duties, but she was kind, and she filled what I think is known as a long-felt want.”

“She told me something you haven’t told me, Patty,” and Helen looked reproachfully at her cousin.

“What?”

“She says your Big Bill is coming to New York in February.”

“She did! A lot she knows about it! She’s a meddlesome Matty,—I think! And, besides, he isn’t,—’cause why? ’cause if he had been he would have told his little Patty person!”

“How’d she know?” asked Philip.

“Dunno. She may have heard some rumours or had inside information from somebody. I thought you’d be glad to hear it, Patty.”

“I am, if it’s true. But, I never believe good news, till I’m pretty positive. It saves disappointment, lots of times.”

“Little philosopher!” and Van Reypen gave her a sympathetic glance. “But I shouldn’t be surprised if that news were true, for I saw something in the paper this morning that looked like it.”

“When I get home, I’ll have a letter,” and Patty blushed a little, “and I rather guess I’ll be told, if there’s anything to tell.”

“Of course you will,” said Herron. “Also, I’d not be surprised if Miss Fairfield knows more herself than she tells! These letters from Washington to personal friends are not to be read aloud in the market-place,—for more reasons than one.”

Patty looked conscious, but said nothing. Indeed, it was true that Farnsworth often wrote bits of comment on subjects that Patty knew must not be talked over nor his information divulged. And so, she preserved a scrupulous secrecy regarding any war news her letters might hold.

Also, once in a while, Farnsworth sent Patty a little letter, sealed and enclosed in another. This he sometimes asked her not to open until a certain time, or he asked her to mail it in New York, for secret reasons.

All of these matters Patty attended to with punctilious care and she loved to think that she was helping her Little Billee and also her country.

“One doesn’t read one’s love letters aloud,—naturally!” and Patty looked down and blushed.

“Of course not!” cried Helen; “I should say not! And especially yours! Oh, I know! You’ve read bits to me now and then, and if what you omit is any more—ahem—well, turtle-dovish than what you do read, and I’ve no doubt it is——”

“It is,” Patty returned, with unmoved equanimity. “What’s the use of being engaged if one may not be what you call turtle-dovey! I’m not a bit embarrassed about it. But for my part, I think Mrs. Doremus was decidedly over-curious and forward about me and my affairs.”

“Unladylike,” put in Van Reypen.

“How you harp on that word!” exclaimed Patty. “I don’t think it was so much that, as a lack of good breeding——”

“Oh, come now, Patty, didn’t you catch on?”

“Catch on to what?”

“Why, that Mrs. Doremus was no lady,—because,—she was a man.”

“What!”