The Project Gutenberg eBook, Patty's Fortune, by Carolyn Wells, Illustrated by E. C. Caswell

Patty knew that a momentous decision lay
before her (Page 292)

Patty’s Fortune

BY

CAROLYN WELLS

Author of

The Patty Books, The Marjorie Books,

Two Little Women Series, etc.

Illustrations by E. C. Caswell

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

1916

Copyright, 1916

By Dodd, Mead and Company, Inc.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I

AN INVITATION

“I think Labour Day is an awfully funny holiday,” remarked Patty. “It doesn’t seem to mean anything. It doesn’t commemorate anybody’s birth or death or heroism.”

“It’s like Bank Holiday in England,” said her father. “Merely to give the poor, tired business man a rest.”

“Well, you don’t specially need one, Daddy; you’ve recreated a lot this summer; and it’s done you good,—you’re looking fine.”

“Isn’t he?” said Nan, smiling at the finely tanned face of her husband.

The Fairfields were down at “The Pebbles,” their summer home at the seashore, and Patty, who had spent much of the season in New England, had come down for a fortnight with her parents. Labour Day was early this year and the warm September sun was more like that of midsummer.

The place was looking lovely, and Patty herself made a pretty picture, as she lounged in a big couch hammock on the wide veranda. She had on a white summer frock and a silk sweater of an exquisite shade of salmon pink. Her silk stockings were of the same shade, and her white pumps were immaculate.

Mr. Fairfield looked at the dainty feet, hanging over the edge of the hammock, and said, teasingly, “I’ve heard, Patty, that there are only two kinds of women: those who have small feet, and those who wear white shoes.”

Patty surveyed the feet in question. “You can’t start anything, Dad,” she said; “as a matter of fact, there’s only one kind of women today for they all wear white shoes. And my feets are small for my age. I wear fours and that’s not much for a great, big girl like me.”

“’Deed it isn’t, Patty,” said Nan; “your feet are very slender and pretty; and your white shoes are always white, which is not a universal condition, by any means.”

“You’re a great comfort, Nan,” and Patty smiled at her stepmother. “Dunno what I’d do without you, when the Governor tries to take a rise out of me.”

“Oh, I’ll buy your flowers, little girl,” and Nan smiled back, for there was great friendship and chumminess between these two. “Are you tired, Pats? You look—well,—interestingly pale.”

“Washed out, you mean,” and Patty grinned. “No, I’m not exactly tired, but I’ve been thinking——”

“Oh, then of course you’re exhausted! You oughtn’t to think, Patty!”

“Huh! But listen here. This is Monday, and between now and Saturday night I’ve got to go to fourteen different functions, of more or less grandeur and gaiety. Fourteen! And not one can I escape without making the other thirteen mad at me!”

“But, Patty,” said Mr. Fairfield, “that’s ridiculous. Of course, you can refuse such invitations as you choose.”

“Of course I can’t, Lord Chesterfield. I’ve got to show up at every blessed one,—or not at any. I’d like to cut the whole caboodle!”

“Why don’t you?” asked Nan. “Just retire into solitude, and I’ll say you’re suffering from—from——”

“Temporary mental aberration!” laughed Patty. “No, that wouldn’t suit me at all. Why, this afternoon, I’m going to a Garden Tea that I wouldn’t miss for a farm. There’s to be a new man there!”

“Well, just about the last thing you need on this earth is a new man!” declared her father. “You’ve a man for every day in the week now, with two thrown in for Sunday.”

Patty looked demure. “I can’t help it,” she said. “I’m that entertaining, you know. But this new man is a corker!”

“My child, what langwich, what langwich!”

“’Tisn’t mine. That the way he was described to me. So, of course, I want to see if he is any good. And, you won’t believe it, but his name is Chick Channing!”

“What!”

“Yes, it is. Chickering Channing, for long, Chick for short.”

“What was his mother thinking of?”

“Dunno. Prob’ly he was named for a rich uncle, and she couldn’t help the combination.”

“Who is he?”

“One of Mona’s Western friends. Arrives today for a week or so. Mona’s Tea is in his honour, though she was going to have it anyway.”

“Well,” said Mr. Fairfield, judicially, “of course you must go to that Tea, and subjugate that young man. Then have him over here and I’ll size him up. If you want him, I’ll buy him for you.”

“Thank you, dear Father, but I have toys enough. Well, then, tonight is the Country Club Ball. And I do hate that, for there are so many uninteresting people at it, and you have to dance with most of them. And tomorrow there’s a poky old luncheon at Miss Gardiner’s. I don’t want to go to that. I wish I could elope!”

“Why don’t you, Patty?” said Nan, sympathetically; “cut it all, and run up to Adele’s, or some nice, quiet place.”

“Adele’s a quiet place! Not much! Even gayer than Spring Beach. And, anyway, it isn’t eloping if you go alone. I want to elope with a Romeo, or something exciting like that. Well! for goodness gracious sakes’ alive! Will you kindly look who’s coming up the walk!”

They followed the direction of Patty’s dancing blue eyes and saw a big man, very big and very smiling, walking up the gravel path, with a long, swinging stride.

“Little Billee!” Patty cried, jumping up and holding out both hands. “Wherever did you descend from?”

“Didn’t descend; came up. Up from the South, at break of day,—Barnegat, to be exact. How do you do, Mrs. Fairfield? How are you, sir?”

Farnsworth’s kindly, breezy manner, condoned his lack of conventional formality, and with an easy grace, he disposed his big bulk in a deep and roomy wicker porch chair.

“And how’s the Giddy Butterfly?” he said, turning to Patty. “Still making two smiles grow where one was before? Still breaking hearts and binding them up again?”

“Yes,” and she dimpled at him. “And I have a brand-new one to break this afternoon. Isn’t that fine?”

“Fine for the fortunate owner of the heart, yes. Any man worthy of the name would rather have his heart broken by Patty Fairfield than—than—to die in a better land!”

“Hobson’s choice,” said Mr. Fairfield, drily. “Are you here for a time, Farnsworth? Glad to have you stay with us.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m on the wing. I expected to spend the holiday properly, fishing at Barnegat. But a hurry-up telegram calls me up to Maine, instanter. I just dropped off here over one train, to catch a glimpse of Little Sunshine, and make sure she’s behaving herself.”

“I’m a Angel,” declared Patty, with a heavenward gaze. “And, Bill, what do you think! I was just saying I wanted to elope. Now, here you are! Why don’t I elope with you?”

“If it must be some one, it might as well be me,” returned Farnsworth, gravely; “have you a rope ladder handy?”

“Always keep one on hand,” returned Patty, gaily. “When do we start?”

“Right away, now, if you’re going with me,” and Bill laughed as Patty sat up straight and tied her sweater sash and pretended to get ready to go.

“But this is the strange part,” he went on; “you all think I’m fooling, but I’m not! I do want to carry Patty off with me, on this very next train.”

“This is so sudden!” said Patty, still taking it as a joke.

“You keep still a minute, Milady, and let me explain to your elders and betters.” Patty pouted at this, but Bill went on. “You see, Mr. Fairfield, I’m involved in some big business transactions, which, not to go into details, have made it necessary for me to become the owner of a large hotel up in Maine,—in the lake region.”

“I thought all Maine was lakey,” put in Patty.

“Well, this is a smallish lake, not far from Poland Spring. And it’s a big hotel, and it’s to close tomorrow, and all the guests will leave then. And I’ve got to go up there and look after it.”

“How did you happen to acquire this white elephant?” asked Fred Fairfield, greatly interested.

“Had to take it for a debt. Man couldn’t pay,—lost his money in war stocks.—I’ll tell you all about it while Patty’s getting her bag packed.”

“What do you mean?” cried Nan, seeing Farnsworth’s apparent sincerity.

“Oh, Lord, I forgot I haven’t told you yet! Well, as I have to go up there for a week or two, and as the hotel is all in running order, and as all the guests are going off in a hurry, and the servants are still there, I thought it would be fun to have a sort of a house party up there—”

“Gorgeous!” cried Patty, clapping her hands, “Who’s going, Bill?”

“That’s the rub! I haven’t asked anybody yet, and I doubt if I can get many at this time of year.”

“Haven’t asked anybody! I thought you had planned this house party!”

“Well, you see, I just got the telegram last night, and it was on the train coming up here this morning that I planned it—so the plans aren’t—aren’t entirely completed as yet.”

“Oh, you fraud! You made it all up on the spur of the moment——”

“Yes’m, I did. But what a spur the moment is! Now, see here, it’s clear sailing. We can get the Kenerleys and they’ll be the chaperons. Now, all we have to do, is to corral a few guests. You and I are two. How about Mona Galbraith?”

“She’d go if she could,” said Patty, “but she’s having a party this afternoon. Chick Channing is over there.”

“Chick Channing! Is he really? Well! Well! I haven’t seen that boy for years. We must make them come. And Daisy? Is she there?”

“Yet, but don’t get too many girls——”

“Don’t be alarmed, you little man-eater, you! The Farringtons will go, maybe; and Kit Cameron and his pretty cousin. Oh, I’ve a list of possibles, and we’ll get enough for a jolly little crowd. You’ve no objections, have you?” and Farnsworth looked anxiously at the elder Fairfields.

“N-no,” began Nan, “but it isn’t all clear to me yet. Suppose the Kenerleys can’t go?”

“That puts the whole plant out of commission. Unless,—oh, by Jove! wouldn’t you two go? That would be fine!”

But Mr. Fairfield and Nan refused to be drawn into any such crazy scheme. It was all right for young people, they said, but not for a comfort-loving, middle-aged pair.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Farnsworth, after a moment’s thought. “I’ll get the Kens on the long distance, and find out for sure. Meantime, Butterfly, you be packing a few feathers, for sumpum tells me Adele will go, anyway, whether old Jim does or not.”

“Might as well throw some things in a suitcase I s’pose,” said Patty; “it’s better to be ready and not go than to go and not be ready.”

After a long session at the telephone, Bill announced a triumphant success. The Kenerleys would be glad to go. Moreover, Adele would meet Patty and Bill in New York that very day in time for a late luncheon. Then they would get the Farringtons and the others by telephone. Then Patty would go home with Adele for the night, and they would all go to Maine the next day.

“You see it’s very simple,” said Bill, with such an ingenuous smile that Nan went over to his side at once.

“Of course it is,” she agreed. “It’s simply lovely! And Patty wanted to get away from the giddy whirl down here. She’ll have the time of her life!”

But Mr. Fairfield was not so sure. “I think it’s a wild goose chase,” he said. “What sort of a place are you going to? You don’t know! What sort of service and creature comforts? You don’t know! What will you get to eat? You don’t know! That’s a nice sort of outlook, I must say!”

“Oh, easy now, sir. It isn’t as bad as all that. I’ve had rather definite and detailed reports, and if it weren’t all comfy and certain, I wouldn’t take Patty up there. It’s a Lark, you see, a Lark,—and I’m sure we’ll get a lot of fun out of it. And, incidentally, I know it’s a fine section of country,—healthful, invigourating, and all that. And the house is a modern up-to-date hotel. They always close soon after Labour Day, but this year, owing to circumstances, it’s the very day after. That’s where the fun comes in, having a whole hotel all to ourselves. But we must be getting on. The train leaves in twenty minutes.”

“I’m all ready,” said Patty, as she re-appeared, miraculously transformed into a lady garbed for travelling. A silk pongee coat protected her gown and a small hat and veil completed a smart costume.

“I don’t altogether like it——” began Mr. Fairfield, as they got into the motor to go to the train.

“Run along, Patty,” said Nan. “I’ll see to it that he does like it, before you leave the station. Going to Mona’s?”

“Yes, just for a minute. You see her as soon as we’re gone, and tell her all about it. We can only say the barest facts.”

They flew off, Patty’s veil streaming behind, until she drew it in and tied it round her neck.

At Red Chimneys, several young people were playing tennis, but Patty called Mona to her and told her briefly of the plan.

“Glorious!” cried Mona. “If it were not for that old Tea, we could go right along now. But we’ll come tomorrow. Where shall we meet you?”

Quickly Farnsworth told her, and then turned to see his old friend, Channing.

“Chick, old boy!” he cried. “My, but it’s good to see you again!”

Channing was presented to Patty, who looked at him in amazement. He was the biggest man she had ever seen, even taller than Bill Farnsworth. He looked enormously strong, and when he smiled, his large mouth parted to show two rows of big, white, even teeth, that somehow made Patty feel like Red Ridinghood before the wolf. But there was little time for getting acquainted, for it was almost train time.

A few words between the two men as to meeting next day, and then the motor flew to the station.

And only just in time, for though Bill handed Patty on to the steps with care, he had to scramble up himself as the train was about to start.

“How do you like eloping?” he said, smilingly, as they rolled away.

“Fine,” said Patty, dimpling, “but must it always be done in quite such a hurry?”

“Not always; next time we’ll take it easier. Now, let’s make a list of our house guests.”

Farnsworth took out a notebook and pencil, and they suggested various names, some of which they decided for and some against.

At last Patty said, in an assured tone, “And Phil Van Reypen.”

“Not on your life!” exclaimed Bill. “If he goes I don’t!”

“Why, Little Billee, we couldn’t have the party at all without you!”

“Then you’ll have it without him! See?”

Patty pouted. “I don’t see why. He’s an awfully nice man, I think.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Why don’t you stay home, then, and have him down at the seashore to visit you?”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be half as much fun. But up there is that lovely place, all woodsy and lakey and sunsetty, I could have a splendid time, if I had all my friends around me.” Patty’s sweet face looked very wistful, and Farnsworth scanned it closely.

“Does it mean so much as that to you, Patty? If it does, you shall have him invited.”

“Oh, I don’t care. It’s your party, do just as you like.”

“Because it’s my party, I want to do just as you like.” Bill spoke very kindly, and Patty rewarded him with a flash of her blue eyes, and the subject was dropped.

CHAPTER II

THE HOTEL

“This is a little like a real eloping, isn’t it?” and Bill gave Patty’s suitcase to a porter, whom they followed across the big Pennsylvania station in New York.

“A very little,” said Patty, shaking her head. “You see it lacks the thrill of a real out-and-out elopement, because people know about it. An elopement, to be any good, must be a secret. If ever I get married, I’m going to elope, that’s one thing certain!”

“Why, Patty, how unlike you! I thought you’d want a flubdub wedding with forty-’leven bridesmaids and all the rest of it.”

“Oh, I s’pect I shall when the time comes. I often change my mind, you know.”

“You bet you do! You change it oftener than you make it up!”

“Why, I couldn’t——” began Patty, and just then they reached the taxicab rank, and Bill put Patty into a car.

They went to the Waldorf, where they were to meet the Kenerleys, and found that Jim and Adele had just arrived.

“What a perfect scheme!” exclaimed Adele, as soon as greetings had been exchanged. “Who all are going?”

“Let us go to luncheon,” said Bill, “and then we can thrash out things. I reserved a table—ah, here we are,” as the head waiter recognised the big Westerner.

“I love to go round with Bill,” said Patty, “he always has everything ready, and no fuss about it.”

“He sure does,” said Jim Kenerley, in hearty appreciation. “But the way he scoots across the country and back, every other day or two, keeps him in trim. He lives on the jump.”

“I do,” agreed Farnsworth. “But some day I hope to arrange matters so I can stay in the same place twice running.”

Laughing at this sally, they took their places at the table, which Bill’s foresight had caused to be decorated with a low mound of white asters and maidenhair fern.

“How pretty!” cried Patty. “I hate a tall decoration,—this is just right to talk over. Now, let’s talk.”

And talk they did.

“I just flew off,” Patty declared, as she told Adele about it. “Nan’s going to pack a trunk and send it, when she knows we’re truly there. I think she feared the plan would fizzle out.”

“Indeed it won’t,” Bill assured them. “We’ve got the nucleus of our party here, and if we can’t get any more, we can go it alone.”

But it was by no means difficult to get the others. Some few whom they asked were out of town, but they responded to long distance calls, and most of them accepted the unusual invitation.

Farnsworth had a table telephone brought, and as fast as they could ring them up, they asked their guests.

The two Farringtons were glad to go; Marie Homer and Kit Cameron jumped at the chance. Mona and Daisy, with Chick Channing, would come up from the shore the next day, and that made eleven.

“Van Reypen?” asked Kenerley, as they sought for some one to fill out the dozen.

“Up to Patty,” said Bill, glancing at her.

“No,” and Patty shook her golden head, slowly; “no, don’t let’s ask Phil this time.”

“Why not?” said Adele in astonishment. “I thought you liked him.”

“I do; Phil’s a dear. But I just don’t want him on this picnic. Besides, he’s probably out of town. And likely he wouldn’t care to go.”

“Reasons enough,” said Farnsworth, briefly. “Cross off Van Reypen. Now, who for our last man?”

“Peyton,” said Jim. “Bob Peyton would love to go, and he’s a good all-’round chap. How’s that, Bill?”

“All right, Patty?” and Bill looked inquiringly at her.

“Yes, indeed. Mr. Peyton’s a jolly man. Do you think he’d go, Adele?”

“Like a shot!” Kenerley replied, for his wife. “Bob’s rather gone on Patty, if you know what I mean.”

“Who isn’t gone on Patty?” returned Farnsworth. “Well, that’s a round dozen. Enough!”

“Plenty,” Patty decreed. And then the talk turned to matters of trains and meetings and luggage.

“I’ll arrange everything for the picnic,” said Bill. “You girls see about your clothes and that’s all you need bother about. You’ll want warmish togs, it gets cool up there after sundown. Remember, it’s Maine!”

Patty and Adele at once began to discuss what to take, and Patty made a list to send to Nan for immediate shipment.

“What an enormous piece of humanity that Chicky is!” said Patty, suddenly remembering the stranger. “Do you know him, Jim?”

“Yes; known him for years. He’s true blue, every inch of him. Don’t you like him, Patty?”

“Can’t say yet. I only saw him half a jiffy. But, yes, I’m sure I shall like him. Bill says he’s salt of the earth.”

“He’s all of that. And maybe a little pepper, as well. But you and old Chick will be chums, I promise you. Now we’ll pack you two girls off to Fern Falls, and I’ll do a few man’s size errands, and Bill, here, will make his will and dispose of his estate, before going off into the wilderness with a horde of wild Indians. Then tomorrow, he’ll pick us up at Fern Falls, and we’ll all go on our way rejoicing.”

“Not so fast,” said Adele, after Jim finished his speech. “You two men can go where you like, Patty and I will take a taxi, and do some last fond lingering bits of shopping, before we go home. Don’t you s’pose we want some shoes and veils and——”

“Sealing-wax?” asked Farnsworth, laughing. “All right, you ladies go and buy your millinery, and I’ll see you again tomorrow on the train.”

As might have been expected, with such capable management, everything went on smoothly, and it was a clear, bright afternoon when they completed the last stage of their journey, and the train from Portland set them down at their destination.

Not quite at their destination, however, for motorbuses were in waiting to take them to the hotel itself.

For more than an hour they bumped or glided over the varying roads, now through woods, and now through clearing.

At last, a vista suddenly opened before them, and they saw a most picturesque lake, its dark waters touched here and there by the setting sun. It was bordered by towering pines and spruces, and purple hills rose in the distance.

“Stunning!” cried Patty, standing up in the car to see better. “I never saw such a theatrical lake. It’s like grand opera! Or like the castled crag of Drachenfels, whatever that is.”

“I used to recite that at school,” observed Chick Channing; “so it must be all right, whatever it is.”

And then, as they turned a corner, the hotel itself appeared in sight. An enormous structure, not far from the lake, and set in a mass of brilliant salvias and other autumn flowers and surrounded by well-kept velvety greensward.

“What a peach of a hotel!” and Patty’s eyes danced with enthusiasm and admiration. “All for us, Little Billee?”

“All for we! Room enough?”

“I should say so! I’m going to have a suite,—maybe two suites.”

“Everybody can have all the rooms he wants, and then some. I believe there are about five hundred——”

“What?” cried Daisy Dow, “five hundred! I shall have a dozen at least. What fun!”

The cars rolled up to the main entrance. Doormen, porters, and hallboys appeared, and the laughing crowd trooped merrily up the steps.

“I never had such a lark!” declared Mona. “Oh, I’ve seen hotels as big,—even bigger,—but never had one all to myself, so to speak. Isn’t it just like Big Bill to get up this picnic!”

Marie Homer looked a little scared. The vastness of the place seemed to awe her.

“Chr’up, Marie,” laughed her cousin, Kit Cameron. “You don’t have to use any more rooms than you want. How shall we pick our quarters, Farnsworth?”

“Well, let me see. Mr. and Mrs. Kenerley must select their rooms first. Then the ladies of the party; and, if there are any rooms left after that, we fellows will bunk in ’em.”

So, followed by the whole laughing troop, Adele and Jim chose their apartments. They selected two elaborate suites on the second floor, for Bill told them that there were scores of servants, and they were better off if they had work to do.

“Isn’t it heavenly?” sighed Elise Farrington, dropping for a moment on a cushioned window-seat, in Adele’s sitting-room, and gazing at the beautiful view. “I want my rooms on this side of the house, too.”

“All the girls on this side,” decreed Adele, “and all the men on the other. Or, if the men want a lake view, they can go up on the next floor. If I have to comfort you girls, when you’re weeping with homesickness, I want you near by. Marie, you’re most addicted to nostalgia, I recommend you take this suite next to mine.”

So Marie was installed in a lovely apartment, next Adele’s and with practically the same view of the lake and hills.

Daisy’s came next, then Mona’s, and Patty’s last. This brought Patty at the other end of the long house, and just suited her. “For,” she said, “there’s a balcony to this suite, and if I feel romantic, I can come out here and bay the moon.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, young woman,” said Adele, severely. “You do that moon-baying act, and you’ll be kidnapped again.”

“No, thank you,” and Patty shuddered, “I’ve had quite enough of that!”

The rooms were beautifully furnished, in good taste and harmonious colourings. The hotel had been planned on an elaborate scale, but for some reason, probably connected with the management, had not been successful in this, its first season; and in swinging a business deal of some big lumber tracts in that vicinity, it had fallen into Farnsworth’s hands. He had no intention of keeping it, but intended to sell it to advantage. But at present, it was his own property and he had conceived the whim of this large-sized picnic.

“Boom! Boom!” sounded Channing’s deep bass voice in the hall. “That’s the dressing-gong, people. Dinner in half an hour. No full dress tonight. Just a fresh blouse and a flower in your hair, girls.”

“Isn’t he great?” said Patty to Mona, as they responded through their closed doors.

But the girls’ suites of rooms could all be made to communicate, and they ran back and forth without using the main hall.

“He is,” agreed Mona, who was brushing her hair at Patty’s dressing-table. “And the more you see of him, the better you’ll like him. He’s shy at first.”

“Shy! That great, big thing shy?”

“Yes; he tries to conceal it, but he is. Not with men, you know,—but afraid of girls. Don’t tease him, Patty.”

“Me tease him!” and Patty looked like an injured saint. “I’m going to be a Fairy Godmother to him. I’ll take care of him and shield him from you hoydens, with your wiles. Now, go to your own rooms, Mona. I should think, with half a dozen perfectly good rooms of your own, you might let me have mine.”

“I can’t bear to leave you, Patty. You’re not much to look at,—I know,—but somehow I forget your plainness, when——”

Mona dodged a powder-puff that Patty threw at her, and ran away to her own rooms.

Half an hour later, Patty went slowly down the grand staircase.

Adele had decreed no evening dress that first night, so Patty wore a little afternoon frock of flowered Dresden silk. It was simply made, with a full skirt and many little flounces, and yellowed lace ruffles fell away from her pretty throat and soft dimpled arms. Its pale colouring and crisp frilliness suited well her dainty type, and she looked a picture as she stood for a moment halfway down the stairs.

“Well, if you aren’t a sight for gods and little fishes!” exclaimed a deep voice, and Patty saw Chickering Channing gazing at her from the hall below. “Come on down,—let me eat you.”

As Patty reached the last step, he grasped her lightly with his two hands and swung her to the floor beside him.

“Well!” exclaimed Patty, decidedly taken aback at this performance. “Will you wait a minute while I revise my estimate of you?”

“For better or worse?”

“That sounds like something—I can’t think what—Declaration of Independence, I guess.”

“Wrong! It’s from the Declaration of Dependence. But why revise?”

“Oh, I’ve ticketed you all wrong! Mona said you were shy! Shy!”

“Methinks the roguish Mona was guying you! Shyness is not my strong point. But, if you prefer it should be, I’ll cultivate it till I can shy with the best of them. Would you like me better shy?”

“Indeed I should, if only to save me the trouble of that revision.”

“Shy it is, then.” Whereupon Mr. Channing began to fidget and stand on one foot, then the other, and even managed to blush, as he stammered out, “I s-say, Miss F-Fairfield,——”

It was such a perfect, yet not overdone burlesque of an embarrassed youth, that Patty broke into peals of laughter.

“Don’t!” she cried. “Be yourself, whatever it is. I can’t revise back and forth every two minutes! I say, Mr. Chickering Channing, you’re going to be great fun, aren’t you?”

“Bid me to live and I will live, your Funnyman to be. Whatever you desire, I’m it. So you see, I am a nice, handy man to have in the house.”

“Indeed you are. I foresee we shall be friends. But what can I call you? That whole title, as I just used it, is too long,—even for this big house.”

“You know what the rest call me.”

Patty pouted a little. “I never call people what other people call them.”

“Oh, Lord, more trouble!” and Chick rolled his eyes as if in despair. “Well, choose a name for yourself——”

“No, I want one for you!”

“Oh, what a funny young miss! Well, choose, but don’t be all night about it. And I warn you if I don’t like it, I won’t let you use it.”

“‘Shy!’ Oh, my!” murmured Patty. “Well, I shall call you Chickadee, whether you like it or not.”

“Oh, I like it,—I love it! But, nearly as many people call me that as Chick!”

“And I thought it was original with me! All right, I’ll think up another, and I shan’t speak to you again until I’ve thought of it.”

Nonchalantly turning aside, Patty walked across the great hall to where a few of the others had already gathered.

“Pretty Patty,” said Kit Cameron, in his wheedling way; “wilt thou stroll with me, after dinner, through the moonlight?”

“She wilt not,” answered Adele, for her. “Look here, young folks, if I’m to chaperon you, I’m going to be pretty strict about it. No strollings in moonlights for yours! If you want gaiety, you may have a dance in the ballroom. The strolling can wait till tomorrow, and then we’ll all go for a nice walk round the lake.”

“A dance!” cried Patty, “better yet! Who would go mooning if there’s a dance on? I’ll give you the first one, Kit. Oh, you haven’t asked for it, have you?”

“But I have, Patty,” said Farnsworth’s voice over her shoulder, “will you give it to me?”

“I promised Kit,” said Patty, shortly, and then she turned to speak to Bob Peyton about a golf game next day.

CHAPTER III

A MIDNIGHT MESSAGE

Dinner in the big dining-room was great fun. A large, round table had been prepared for the party, and the smaller, unoccupied tables all about, were also decorated with flowers to give a festive atmosphere.

As there were scores of idle waiters, each of the party could have one, or more, if desired.

Farnsworth seated his guests.

“I’ll sit here,” he announced, “and I’ll ask Mrs. Kenerley to sit at my right. The rest of you may sit where you choose, alternating, of course, the girls and the men. Now, here’s my plan. At every meal, the men sit as we do tonight, and the ladies move one seat to the right. This gives us new companions each time, and prevents monotony.”

“Here’s me,” said Patty, dropping into the chair at Bill’s left hand, while Channing sat the other side of Patty. Laughingly, they all found places, and dinner was served.

It was an unusual experience. The hotel dining-room was ornate in design and appointments, and its green and gold colouring and soft glow of silk-shaded lights made a charming setting for the merry party round the big table. The other tables, and there were many of them, looked as if they might be occupied by the ghosts of the departed guests.

“It’s like being castaways on a beautiful and very comfortable desert island,” said Patty, as she looked appreciatively at a huge tray of hors d’œuvre offered her by a smiling waiter. “I do love these pickly-wickly things, and never before have I felt that I might take my time in choosing. But, here at——what’s the name of the hotel, Bill?”

“Never mind the name on its letter-heads,” he returned, “we’ll call it Freedom Castle. Everybody is to follow his or her own sweet will,—or somebody else’s if that seems pleasanter.”

“Who has the pleasantest will?” asked Patty, looking around; “I want to follow it.”

“I have,” said Chick, promptly. “My will is something fierce in the way of pleasantness. I daresay every one here will fall all over themselves in their haste to follow it. Ha, do I hear a familiar strain? I do!”

He did, for just then the hotel orchestra, a fine one, struck up a popular air.

“Music, too!” exclaimed Mona. “All the comforts of home, and none of the cares. This is just too perfect! Billy Boy, you’re a wonder!”

“To think of it being Bill’s hotel!” said Daisy, in an awed voice.

“To think of our being here without any bills,” put in Roger Farrington. “That’s the best part of it. It’s like being given the freedom of the city!”

“The freedom of the country,” Adele corrected; “that’s much better.”

The orchestra, on a platform, gorgeous in scarlet, gold-braided coats, began a fascinating fox-trot.

Kit Cameron looked across the table at Patty, with a nod of invitation.

Smiling assent, Patty rose, flinging her napkin on the table. Kit came round to her, and in a moment they were dancing to the music that had called them. Skilfully, Kit guided her among the maze of tables and chairs, for they were the two best dancers in the crowd, and they had no difficulty in avoiding obstacles.

“Have a turn, Adele?” asked Bill, laying down his fork.

“No, thank you; it’s all very well for the girls, but your chaperon is too nearly middle-aged for such capers.”

“Nonsense; but maybe you’re wise to save your energies for an evening dance.”

Several of the young people did dance a few turns, but Chick Channing speedily caused them to halt by announcing the arrival of mushrooms under glass.

“Whoosh!” cried Kit, “back to nature! We can dance at any old time, but mushrooms under glass are an event! I say, Bill, I’m glad the cook didn’t leave with the guests.”

“The whole serving force is under contract for a fortnight longer,” explained Farnsworth. “You can live on mushrooms, if you like.”

“It’s Paradise,” said Marie Homer, ecstatically; “I don’t ever want to go home. Does the mail come regularly?”

Everybody laughed at Marie’s look of anxiety, and Bill replied, “Yes, my child, you can get your daily letter from him up here.”

“He doesn’t write every day,” said Marie, so innocently that they all roared again.

“I wish I had somebody to write love-letters to me,” sighed Patty. “It must make life very interesting.”

“I’ll write them to you,” offered Chick. “It’s no trouble at all, and I’m the little old complete love-letter writer.”

“You’re right here in the spot, though, so that’s no fun. I mean somebody who isn’t here,—like Marie’s somebody.”

“Well, you must have plenty of absent adorers. Can’t you encourage their correspondence?”

“But then I’d have to write first, and I hate to do that, it’s so—so sort of forward.”

“That, to be sure. But it’s better to be forward than forlorn.”

“Oh, I’m not exactly forlorn!” said Patty, indignantly. “I can be happy with all these others, if t’other dear charmer is away.”

“Can you, Patty?” whispered Bill. “Are you happy here?”

“Oho, Little Billee, I am beatifically happy! Just see that confection Louis is bringing in! Could I be anything but happy with that ahead of me?”

The dessert that had just appeared was indeed a triumph of the confectioner’s art. Composed of ice cream, meringue and spun sugar, it was built into an airy structure that delighted the sight as well as the palate. Everybody applauded, and Adele declared it was really a shame to demolish it.

“It would be a shame not to,” said Patty, her blue eyes dancing in anticipation of the delicious sweet.

“What a little gourmande you are,” said Chick, watching Patty help herself bountifully to the dessert.

“’Deed I am. I love sweet things, they always make me feel at peace with the world. I eat them mostly for their mental and moral effect on me, for my disposition is not naturally sweet, and so I do all I can to improve it.”

“And yet you give the effect of a sweet dispositioned person.”

“She is,” spoke up Daisy, overhearing. “Why, Chick, Patty is the sweetest nature ever was. Don’t you believe her taradiddles.”

“I know the lady so slightly, I’m not much of a judge. But I feel sure she’ll improve on acquaintance,” and Chick looked hopeful.

“I hope so, I’m sure,” and Patty’s humble expression of face was belied by the twinkle in her eye.

Then dinner was over, and Adele rose and led the way to the great salon or drawing-room.

“Come for a little walk on the veranda,” said Chick to Patty. “Let’s get more acquainted.”

Patty caught up a rose-coloured wrap from the hall rack, and they went out and strolled the length of the long veranda that went round three sides of the house.

“Splendid crowd,” said Chick, enthusiastically; “and right down fine of old Bill to do this thing.”

“He is fine,” said Patty, impulsively; “whatever he does is on a big scale.”

“His friendships are, I have reason to know that. He’s done heaps for me, dear old chap.”

“Have you known him long?”

“Three or four years. Met him through Mona. Good sort, Mona.”

“Yes, Mona’s a dear. She’s the sort that wears well. Where is your home, Mr. Chick?”

“Nowhere, at present. I’ve lived in Arizona, but I’ve come East to grow down with the country. I’m a mining engineer, at your service.”

“I’d love to employ you, but, do you know, I seldom have need of the services of a first-class mining engineer.”

“Oh, I’m not so awfully first-class. Bill thinks he can use me in his manœuvres. We talked it over a bit on the way up, and I hope so, I’m sure.”

“Then I hope so, too.”

“Thank you. You’re a kind lady. Shall we sit in this glassy nook and flirt a bit?”

They had reached a portion of the veranda, glass-enclosed, and arranged with seats among tall palms and jars of flowers. There were shaded lights and a little illuminated fountain in the centre.

“I’ll stop here a moment, but I can’t flirt,” said Patty, demurely; “my chaperon won’t allow it.”

“Allowed flirting is no fun, anyway. Forbidden fruit is sweetest.”

“But sour grapes are forbidden fruit. How can sour be sweet?”

“Oh, it’s all according to your nature. If you have a sour nature, the grapes are sour. If a sweet disposition, then all fruits are sweet.”

“Even a lemon?”

“Nobody hands a lemon to sweet people.”

“Then they can’t have any lemonade, and I love it! I guess I’ll stop being so sweet——”

“Good gracious, Patty, you couldn’t do that if you tried!”

This remark was made by Kit Cameron, who just then put his head in at the doorway and overheard Patty’s laughing decision.

“Hello, you two,” he went on; “you’ll have to stop your introspective conversation, and come and join the dance. Will you, won’t you come and join the dance? We’re only to have one, our dragon chaperon declares, and then we must all go by-by. So come and trip it, Patty of the fairy toes!”

The trio returned to the drawing-room, and after the one dance had been extended to half a dozen, Adele collected her headstrong charges and carried them off to bed.

“And you’re not to have kimono confabs all night, either,” she ordered. “Patty, you’ll be good for nothing tomorrow, if you don’t get some rest. And the others, too.”

But there was more or less chattering and giggling before the girls separated for the night. It seemed natural for them to drift into Patty’s boudoir and in their pretty negligées they dawdled about while Patty brushed her hair.

“What goldilocks!” exclaimed Marie, in admiration. And truly, Patty’s hair was a thing to admire. Thick and curling, it hung well below her waist, and shone with a golden glimmer as the light touched its rippling lengths.

“It’s an awful nuisance,” Patty declared; “there’s such a lot of it, and it does snarl so.”

“Let me help you,” cried Daisy, springing up and taking the brush from Patty’s hand. “Mona, do the other side.”

Mona seized another brush and obeyed, and as the two brushed most vigorously, Patty’s little head was well pulled about.

“Thank you, girls, oh, thank you ever so much, but truly, I don’t mind doing it myself! Oh, honestly, I don’t!”

Patty rescued her brushes, and soon had the rebellious locks in two long pigtails for the night.

“Now, scoot, all of you,” she said, “this is the time I seek repose for my weary limbs, on beds of asphodel—or—whatever I mean.”

“Beds of nothing,” said Mona, “I’m not a bit sleepy. Let us stay a little longer, Patty, dear,—sweet Patty, ah, do now.”

“I can’t,” and Marie started toward the door. “I’m awfully sleepy.”

“You don’t fool me, my infant,” said Patty, wisely. “Your eyes are like stars burned in a blanket! I know what you’re going to do! But don’t be alarmed, I won’t tell.”

Marie blushed and with murmured good-nights, ran away.

“Going to write a letter, of course.” And Daisy wagged her sapient head. “Who is the man, Pat?”

“Fie, Daisy! You heard me say I wouldn’t tell!”

“You only said you wouldn’t tell what she’s going to do. And we know that. Do tell us who he is!”

“I won’t do it. If Marie chooses, she will tell you herself. And anyway, Daisy, it’s no one you know. I don’t think you ever saw him and I doubt if you ever even heard of him.”

“Is he nice?”

“Charming. Full of capers, though. And Marie is so serious. But he’s very attractive.”

“Are they engaged? Oh, Patty, do tell us about it!”

“I can’t. I don’t know so very much about it myself; but what I do know is a sacred trust, and not to be divulged to a horde of rattle-pates. Now, will you make yourselves scarce? Go and write letters, go and darn stockings,—anything, but let me go to bed.”

Finally, Patty shooed the girls away, and locking her door against their possible return, she began to make ready for bed.

She glanced at her watch as she sat at her toilette-table. It was exactly midnight.

And at that moment her telephone rang.

“Those girls!” she thought to herself. “I’ll not answer it!”

But the bell kept ringing, and Patty took down the receiver with a soft “Hello.”

“That you, Patty?” and her astonished ears recognised Philip Van Reypen’s voice.

“For mercy’s sake! Where are you, Phil?”

“Home. In New York. Can you hear me all right?”

“Yes, plainly. How did you know I was here?”

“Learned it from your father. Say, girlie, why didn’t you get me a bid up there, too?”

“Do you want to come?”

“Do I! Aren’t you there!”

“Is that a reason?”

“The best in the world. Do get Farnsworth to invite me.”

“I can’t, Phil. He doesn’t want any—any more than we have here now.”

“You mean he doesn’t want me.”

“Why, doesn’t he like you?” Patty’s voice was full of innocent surprise.

“It isn’t that, but he wants you all to himself.”

“Nonsense! There are a dozen of us up here.”

“Well, I mean he’s afraid to have me there. By Jove, Patty, that’s a sort of a compliment. He’s afraid of me.”

“Don’t be silly, Philip. How’s Lady Van?”

“She’s all right. She’s at Newport, just now. I’m in town for a day or two, so thought I’d call up Spring Beach and maybe run down there to see you. And this is the immediate result. Well, look here, Patty, if I can’t get invited to Farnsworth’s Palace Hotel, for I hear it’s that, I’m going to Poland Spring, and then I can run over and see you anyway.”

“Oh, Philip, don’t do that!”

“Why not? Haven’t I a right to go to Poland Spring, if I like?”

“Yes, but don’t come over here.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t exactly explain it, myself; at least not over the telephone, but I don’t think it would be nice for you to come here when you were not invited.”

“Oh, I was spoken of, then?”

“Well,—yes,—since you will have it.”

“And Farnsworth wouldn’t have me?”

“Well,—I said not to have you.”

“Oh, you did! What a nice friend you are!”

“Now, Phil, don’t talk like that. I said—I said——”

“Bless your heart, I know just how it was. Or nearly. But you could have had me asked—and you didn’t! Now, my lady, just for that, I am going to Poland Spring—start tomorrow. And,—listen, now,—if you really don’t want me to come over to the Farnsworth House, then you must come over to the Poland Spring House to see me! Get that?”

“Why, Phil, absurd! How could I go alone?”

“You needn’t come alone. Bring a chaperon, or another girl or a crowd of people if you like, or even a servant, but come! That’s all, so good-night, little girl. Pleasant dreams!”

The telephone clicked as Phil hung up, and with a little gasp, Patty hung up her receiver and threw herself on a couch to think it over. She couldn’t help laughing at the coil she was in, for she well knew she couldn’t go to Poland Spring House, unless with the whole crowd,—or nearly all of them. She pictured Bill reaching there to be greeted by Philip Van Reypen! Dear old Bill; after all he had done to make it pleasant for them, to hurt his feelings or to annoy him in any way, would be mean. She wished Phil had kept out of it. She wished there wasn’t any Phil nor any Little Billee, nor—nor—anybody,—and somehow Patty’s long, brown lashes drooped over her pansy blue eyes,—and, still robed in her chiffon and lace peignoir, and all curled up on the soft, spacious couch,—she fell sound asleep.

CHAPTER IV

BLUE ROCK LAKE

In a blaze of September glory, the sun shone across the lake. The leaves had not yet begun to turn, and the summer trees were as green as the stalwart evergreens, but of varying shades. From deep, almost black, shadowy forests, the range ran to brilliant, light green foliage, in a gamut of colour. Some of the younger and more daring trees crept down to the water’s edge, but much of the lake shore was rocky and more or less steep. Here and there a picturesque inlet had a bit of sandy coast, but the main effect was rugged and wild.

But even the intrusive sun could only peep into Patty’s boudoir through a chink or two between the drawn shades and the window frames. And so his light was not enough to wake the sleeper, still cuddled among the couch pillows.

But she was awakened by a bombardment of raps on the door.

“Patty!” called Daisy’s impatient voice; “whatever are you doing? Open this door!”

The blue eyes flew open. But Patty was the sort of person who never wakes all at once. Nan always said Patty woke on the instalment plan. Slowly, and rubbing her eyes, she rose and unlocked the door.

“Why, Patty Fairfield!” Daisy exclaimed, “your lights are still burning! You—why, look at you! You didn’t undress at all! You have on your evening petticoat and slippers! and the very same boudoir robe I left you in last night. And”—Daisy looked in at the bedroom door,—“your bed hasn’t been slept in! What is the matter?”

Daisy rattled on so, that Patty, still half asleep, was bewildered. “I don’t know——” she began, “Philip called——”

“Philip called! Patty, are you crazy? Wake up!” Daisy shook her a little and under this compulsion Patty finished waking up.

“Good gracious!” she exclaimed, laughing, “did I sleep there all night? No wonder I feel like a boiled owl.”

“But why,—why did you do it?”

“Fiddlesticks, I don’t know. It’s no crime, I suppose. I lay down there for a few minutes, after you hoodlums cleared out, and I suppose I fell asleep and forgot to wake up. That’s all. Lemme alone, and a bath and a cup of hot chocolate will restore my senses.”

“You dear little goose! I’ll run your tub for you. Though I suppose there are a string of maids waiting outside your door. Want ’em?”

“No, rather have you. But send half a dozen of them for some choclit, please.”

Still yawning, Patty began to take off her slippers and stockings. “Thank you, Daisykins,” she said, as Daisy returned from the bathroom. “Now, you light out, and I’ll make a respectable toilette. My, how I did sleep. I was worn out. But I feel fine now. Good-bye, Daisy.”

But Daisy was slow to take the hint.

“I say, Patsy, what did you mean by saying Philip called?”

Patty hesitated for the fraction of a second, and then decided it were wiser to keep her own counsel regarding that matter.

“Dreaming, I s’pose. Certainly, there was no Philip here in reality.”

“But you said distinctly that Philip called,” Daisy persisted.

“Well, s’pose I did? What could it have been but a dream? Do you imagine I had a real, live caller?”

“No; but it must have been a vivid dream!”

“It was,” said Patty. “Now scoot!”

Daisy scooted, and Patty locked her door again.

“Well, you’re a pretty one!” she said to herself; “the idea of sleeping all night without going to bed. Adele will be terribly exercised over it. But I have other things to worry about. I wonder if Philip will really come up here, and if he does, what Bill will do. Would I better tell Bill about it? Or, just let the situation develop itself? Oh, what troubles some poor little Pattys do have! Come in!”

This last in response to a gentle tap at the hall door.

A trim maid entered with a tray.

“Oh, joy!” cried Patty; “I’m simply starving,——Mary, is it?”

“Sarah, ma’am,” returned the girl, gazing admiringly at pretty Patty, who was now in a kimono of light blue silk, edged with swans-down.

“Well, Sarah, stay a few moments, and you can help me dress. Sit down there.”

Sarah obediently took the small chair Patty designated, and folded her hands on her immaculate frilled apron.

“Tell me about the hotel, Sarah,” said Patty, as she crunched the crisp toast between her white teeth, and smiled at the maid.

“What about it, ma’am?”

“Well, let me see; how did you maids feel when you found the guests were leaving?”

“At first we feared we’d lose our money, miss; then we were told that our contracts held till the end of this month, and if we would stay as long as we were asked to, we’d get paid in full.”

“Wasn’t that nice?”

“Fine, ma’am. I’m using mine for my little sister’s schooling, and I’d sore miss it.”

“So all the servants were willing to stay?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. You see, none could get good places up here. The hotels all have their own, and many of them will close the first of October.”

“I see. Isn’t it funny to have a dozen guests, and the rest of this big place empty?”

“It is, indeed, miss. Shall I get you some hotter chocolate?”

“No, I’ve finished, thank you. Now, you call somebody else to take the tray, and you stay to help me. I’ve taken a fancy to you, Sarah, and I want you for my personal maid while I’m here. Is that all right?”

“Yes, indeed, miss. I’m proud to do for you. But I’m not a trained lady’s maid.”

“Never mind, I’ll train you.”

Patty had a nice way with servants. She was always kind, and treated them as human beings, yet never was she so familiar that they presumed on her kindness. She soon discovered that Sarah, though untrained, was deft and quick to learn, and she instructed the maid in the duties required.

And so, when Adele came tapping at the door, she found Patty seated before the mirror, while Sarah was coiling the golden hair according to directions.

“Well, girlie, what’s this I hear about your sleeping on a couch, when a perfectly good bed was all turned down for you?”

“Oh, just one of my whimsies,” returned Patty, airily. “Don’t bother about it, Adele.”

And Adele was wise and kind enough not to bother.

Soon, arrayed in a most becoming white serge, with emerald green velvet collar and cuffs and a pale green silk blouse, Patty descended the great staircase to find most of the party grouped there, about to start for a ramble round the lake.

“’Course I’ll go,” she said in answer to eager inquiries. “My hat and gloves, Sarah, please.”

“Yes, Miss Patty,” and the maid, who had been following her, returned upstairs.

“I’ve adopted Sarah as my personal bodyguard,” Patty said. “You don’t mind, Bill, do you?”

“Not a bit!” he replied heartily. “The house is yours and the fulness thereof. I hope all of you ladies who want maids, or keepers of any sort, will call on the service force for them.”

Sarah came down then, bringing Patty’s hat, a soft felt, green, and turned up on one side with a Robin Hood feather. It was most becoming, as Patty tilted it sideways on her head, adjusting it before a large mantel mirror.

“Now we’re off,” she said, gaily; “but we ought to have Alpenstocks, or swagger-sticks.”

“Here are some,” said Bill, opening a cupboard door, and disclosing a lot of long sticks. Everybody selected one, and they set forth.

“Such a wonder-place!” exclaimed Marie, as at every fresh turn they found some new bit of scenery or different view. “I could stay here forever!”

“Me too!” agreed Mona. “What’s the name of the lake?”

“Something like Skoodoowabskooskis,” said Bill, laughing; “but for short, everybody calls it Blue Rock Lake.”

“Because the rocks on the other side look so blue, I suppose,” suggested Daisy.

“I believe you’re right!” cried Chick, in mock amazement at her quick perception. Whereupon Daisy made a face at him.

“Don’t mind him, Daisy,” said Patty; adding, teasingly, “it’s perfectly true, the distant rocks do look blue, hence the term, Blue Rock Lake,—blue rocks and the lake, see?”

“Oh, you smarty!” and Daisy lost her temper a little, for she hated to be made fun of; “if you tease me, I’ll tease you. What about a girl who wakes up, babbling of some ‘Philip’ or other!”

“Babbling nothing!” cried Patty. “And anyway, I’m always babbling, asleep or awake. Oh, see that bird! What a beauty!” As a matter of fact there was no bird in sight, but canny Patty knew it would divert attention from Daisy’s remark, and it did. After vainly looking for the beautiful bird, other distractions arose, and Patty breathed more freely that nobody had noticed Daisy’s fling.

But after they had walked all round the lake, and were nearing the hotel again, Bill stepped to Patty’s side and falling in step with her, put his strong, firm hand under her elbow, saying: “Want some help, little girl, over the hard places?”

Channing, who had been at her other side, took the hint and fell behind with some of the others.

“What’s this about your waking up with Philip’s name on your lips?” he said; “do you want to see him so badly? If so, I’ll ask him up here?”

Patty hesitated; here was her chance to get the invitation that Phil so coveted, and yet, she knew Bill Farnsworth didn’t want him. Nor was she sure that she wanted him, herself, if he and Little Billee weren’t going to be friendly. A nice time she would have, if the two men were cool or curt to each other.

So she said, “No, I don’t want him, especially. I daresay I was dreaming of him. I dream a lot anyway, of everything and everybody.”

A moment Patty thought. Then she said, “No thank you, Billie, I don’t.”

“Dreaming?” said Farnsworth, in a curious voice; “is that all, Patty?”

“All? What do you mean?”

“Is that all the communication you had with Van Reypen last night? In dreams?”

Patty looked up, startled. Did Bill know of the telephone message? Would he care? Patty felt a certain sense of guilt, though, as she told herself, she had done nothing wrong. Moreover, the only reason she had for not telling Farnsworth frankly of Phil’s message, was merely to spare him annoyance. She knew he would be annoyed to learn that Phil had called her at midnight on the long distance, and if he didn’t already know it, she would rather he shouldn’t. But did he, or not?

“Pray, how else could I talk to him?” she said, laughingly. “Do you suppose I am a medium and had spirit rappings?”

“I suppose nothing. And I know only what you choose to tell me.”

“Which is nothing, also. Why, Little Billee, you’re in a mood this morning, aren’t you?”

She glanced up into the face of the man who strode beside her. It was a fine face. Strong, well-cut features made it interesting rather than handsome. It was also a determined face, and full of earnestness of purpose. But in the blue eyes usually lurked a glint of humour. For the moment, however, this was not noticeable, and Farnsworth’s lips were closed rather tightly,—a sure sign with him, of seriousness.

“Since you choose to tell me nothing, I accept your decision. But once more I ask you, for the last time, do you wish me to invite Van Reypen up here?”

A moment Patty thought. Then she said, “No, thank you, Billee, I don’t.”

Farnsworth’s brow cleared, and with a sunny smile down at her, he said: “Then the incident is closed. Forget it.”

“All right,” and Patty smiled back, well pleased that she had decided as she did.

“You little goose!” said he, “I know perfectly well that you called up Van Reypen on the telephone last night.”

“I did not!” declared Patty, indignantly.

“Now, Apple Blossom, don’t tell naughty stories. I say, I know you did.”

“All right, Mr. Farnsworth, if you doubt my word, there’s nothing more to be said.”

Patty was thoroughly angry, and when she was angry she looked about as fierce as a wrathy kitten. But, also, when Patty was angry, a few foolish tears would crowd themselves into her eyes, and this only served to make her madder yet. She turned from him, wanting to leave him and join some of the others, but she couldn’t, with those silly drops trembling on her eyelashes.

“Look up, Apple Blossom,” said a gentle voice in her ear. Farnsworth’s voice was one of his chief charms, and when he modulated it to a caressing tone, it would cajole the birds off the trees.

Patty looked up, and something in her blue eyes glistened through the tears, that somehow made her look incapable of “telling a naughty story.”

“Forgive me, Posy-Face,” Farnsworth murmured, “I will believe you, whatever you tell me. I will believe you, whether I think you’re telling the truth or not!”

At this rather ambiguous statement, Patty looked a little blank. But before she could ask further explanation, they had reached the hotel and they all went in.

CHAPTER V

M’LLE FARINI!

According to Farnsworth’s plan, at luncheon, each girl moved her seat one place to the left. This put Adele at the host’s left, and moved Patty on farther, so that she was between Jim Kenerley and Chick Channing.

“Welcome, little stranger,” said Chick, as they sat down. “I’ll have you now, and again tonight at dinner, sitting by me side, and then life will be a dreary blank, while you slowly jog all round the table, getting back to me, two days after tomorrow. How the time will drag!”

“You’re so flattering!” and Patty pretended to be terribly pleased. But, as a matter of fact, she was wishing she could sit next Little Billee, and find out whether he was really angry at her. Also, she decided she would tell him all about the telephone message, for he apparently believed she had told him a falsehood. And, too, it occurred to her, that he might not make any great distinction between calling and being called on the telephone.

“What do you think about it? Shall us go?” said Chick, and Patty realised, with a start, that she had been so lost in her thoughts, that she hadn’t heard the talk at table.

“Go where?” she asked, looking blank.

“Oh, come back from dreamland, and learn what’s going on. Cameron knows of a wonderful hermit, who lives in a shack in the woods and tells fortunes. Do you want to snatch the veil from the hidden future, and learn your fate?”

“Yes, indeed; I just love fortune tellers! Where is he, Kit?”

“Off in the woods, in a tumble-down old shanty. But he’s the real thing in seers! I was out for an early morning prowl, and I discovered him. Bobbink, that’s my pet bellhop, says he’s greatly patronised by the populace, but though he gets lots of coin, he won’t move into better quarters or disport himself more as a man of means.”

“Well, I want to go to see him,” Patty declared. “Will you go, Billee?”

“Can’t go this afternoon, Patty; I’m sorry, but I have another engagement.”

“So have I,” said Daisy, looking a little conscious. “Let’s leave Mr. Fortune Teller till tomorrow morning.”

All agreed to this, and after luncheon was over, they proceeded to plan various sports.

“Tennis, Patty?” asked Chick.

“No; too poky.” And Patty gave a restless gesture, most unusual with her, and only indulged in when she was bothered about some trifle. She wanted to get a moment alone with Farnsworth and tell him about Phil. She knew from the way Little Billee looked at her, or, rather, didn’t look at her, that he was hurt or offended, or both.

“Golf then?” Chick went on.

“No, too slow.”

“Well, how ’bout lawn bowls?”

“What are they?”

“Never tried lawn bowls! Oh, they’re lots of fun. Come on.”

In a short time they had collected half a dozen people and were in the midst of a gay game, when Farnsworth suddenly appeared, riding a big, black horse. Very stunning he looked, for his riding togs were most becoming and he sat his horse with all the grace and easy carelessness of the Western rider.

“Oh, Billee,” cried Patty, dropping the bowling ball she was about to roll, “I want to go riding!”

And then she was covered with chagrin, for Daisy came out of the hotel, also garbed in the trimmest of riding costumes, and a groom led a horse for her to mount.

“Do you, Patty?” said Bill, not unkindly, but with a disinterested air. “You may. There are lots of horses in the stables.”

Patty quickly recovered her poise. “Thank you,” she cried, gaily; “a little later, then. Will you go, Chick?”

“Will I! Just try me!”

“Well, we’ll finish this game, and then there will be time enough.”

The game over, they went for a ride. Patty’s riding habit was dark green, of modish cut and style. She was a good horsewoman, though she seldom rode. Channing, likewise, was a good rider, but he made no such picturesque effect in the saddle as Big Bill.

“Whither away?” he said, as they started.

“Is it too far to go over to Poland Spring House?”

“Not a bit. It’s a goodish distance, but the road is splendid, and it isn’t four yet.”

So they set off briskly for that destination. The exhilarating air and exercise quite restored Patty’s good humour, and she cast off all thought of petty botherations and enjoyed herself thoroughly.

“Great!” she exclaimed, smiling at Chick, as they flew along.

“Yes, isn’t it? And it’s not so very far, we’re nearing the approach to the place now. We’ll have time for tea, and get back well before dark.”

“Lovely! Oh, what a big hotel! And will you look at the squirrels!”

Sure enough, the lawn and verandas were dotted with fat gray squirrels. They were very tame and had no fear of people or horses. They welcomed Patty and Chick, by sitting up and blinking at them as they dismounted and grooms took their horses away.

Asking for the tea room, they were shown the way, and ushered to a pleasant table.

“Chocolate for me, please,” said Patty, as the waiter stood with poised pencil. “I hate tea. So chocolate, and dear little fussy cakes.”

“Chocolate is mine, too, then. Whatsoever thou eatest that will I eat also. Well, by Jove, will you look over there!”

Patty looked in the direction that Chick’s eyes indicated, and there, at a small table, busily eating cakes and tea, sat Farnsworth and Daisy Dow.

“Shall we join them?” asked Chick.

“Join them! Oh, no, they don’t want joiners. They’re absorbed in each other.”

They did look so. Bill was earnestly talking and Daisy was listening with equal intentness. Her face was bright and animated, while Farnsworth’s was serious and thoughtful.

Patty was angry at herself for being one whit disturbed at sight of them, thus chummily having their tea, and she tossed it off with a gay laugh. “Besides, I’d rather chat with you alone than to have a foursome.”

“Good girl, Patty,” and Chick nodded approvingly. “Do you know I think you’re about as nice as anybody, after all.”

“So do I you,” and Patty sipped her chocolate with an air of contentment. “This is a much bigger hotel than ours, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but ours is more beautiful, I think, and quite big enough for our party.”

“Of course. Oh, what a stunning-looking woman! See, Chick, over toward your left.”

Channing turned slightly to see a very handsome dark-eyed woman, who smiled at him as their glances met.

“Why, bless my soul!” he exclaimed; “if it isn’t Maudie Kent. I say, Patty, don’t you want to meet her? She’s an actress, or was, and she’s a dear. Awfully good form and all that, and really worth while.”

“Yes, I’d love to know her,” said Patty, looking with interest at the stunning gown the lady wore. It was of flame-coloured silk, veiled with black net, and was matched by a wide hat of black with flame-coloured plumes.

“Excuse me a moment, then,” and Channing rose and went over to where the lady stood. She was alone, and he had no difficulty in persuading her to come to their table.

“You dear child,” said Miss Kent, as Channing introduced them; “how pretty you are! I’m so glad to know you. But what are you doing here with Chick Channing?”

“Just having tea,” said Patty, smiling back into the big dark eyes that looked at her so kindly.

“But are you staying here? Where are your people?”

“We are staying over at Freedom Hall,” she began, and then paused, for with those eyes upon her, she couldn’t quite make it seem a rational thing to do.

“Oh, it’s quite all right, Maudie,” Channing put in, “there’s a crowd of us, with chaperons and things, and our good host, by the way, is right across the room, at a tea-table.”

“That good-looking chap with the pretty girl? Oh, it’s Mr. Farnsworth! Mayn’t I know her, too?”

“Now, see here, Maudie, you can’t know everybody that I do. Be content with Miss Fairfield, at least for the present.”

“Oh, I am, more than content. No, I’ll have coffee, please. Chocolate is only for the very slim.”

“Surely you are that,” ventured Patty, glancing at the graceful form of the new acquaintance.

“But I wouldn’t be, if I indulged in sweet things. Enjoy them while you may, my dear, in after years you’ll be glad you did.”

“What are you doing here, Maudie?” asked Channing. “Are you alone?”

“Yes; I’m having a concert tonight, and I’m in such trouble. You see,” she turned to Patty, “I’m a sort of professional entertainer. I give concerts or recitals, and I get performers of the very best and usually they are most dependable and reliable. But tonight I have a concert scheduled, and my prima donna is lacking. If she doesn’t come on this next train, I don’t know what I shall do. I suppose I shall have to give back the ticket money, and call the affair off, and that means a great loss to me. For I have to pay the other performers their price just the same.”

“That’s a shame,” said Channing, sympathetically. “But she’ll surely come.”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve telegraphed and I can’t get her anywhere. I can’t help thinking she deliberately threw me down because she received a better offer, or something of the sort. But I mustn’t bore you with my troubles. Forget it, Miss Fairfield, and don’t look so concerned.”

“I’m so sorry for you,” said Patty, “to go to all that trouble and expense, and have it all for nothing.”

“Less than nothing,” said Chick, “for you stand to lose considerable, I suppose.”

“Yes, well over five hundred dollars. Oh, here are the motorbuses from the train. Now we’ll see.”

But though many guests arrived at the hotel the singer was not amongst them.

“No,” said Miss Kent, scanning them sadly, “she isn’t here. Oh, what shall I do?”

Patty’s mind was working fast. She knit her brows as she tried to think calmly of a wild project that had come into her mind.

“Miss Kent,” she began, and stopped; “I wonder—that is——”

“Well, my dear, what is it? Do you want to ask something of me? Don’t hesitate, I’m not very terrifying, am I, Chick?”

“No, indeed. What is it, Patty?”

“Oh, of course, it wouldn’t do,—I hate to suggest it, even,—but you see, Miss Kent, I can sing——”

“And Patty can impersonate the absent singer! And nobody would ever know the difference! Great!” cried Channing. “Oh, Maudie, your trouble is at an end!”

“Now wait,” said Patty, blushing. “I am not a professional singer, but I have studied with good masters, and I have a voice, not so very big, but true. Forgive this plain speaking, but if I could help you out, Miss Kent, I should be so glad.”

“You’re a little darling!” exclaimed Maud Kent; “I wonder if we could carry off such a thing. You see, your coming here, as you just did, a stranger, and talking to me only, looks quite as if you were the arriving singer. That part’s all right. As to your voice, I have no doubts about that, for you didn’t say you sang ‘a little.’ And any way, even a fair singer would do, in addition to the talent I have. But Miss Fairfield, I can’t accept this from you. Will you take just the price I expected to give M’lle Farini?”

“I couldn’t accept money, Miss Kent. That would be impossible. I’m glad to do this to help you out, for it’s no trouble for me to sing, I love to do it. And don’t bother about the payment. Give it to some charity, if you like.”

“Oh, I can’t accept your services without pay! But if you knew what a temptation it is!”

“Yield to it, then,” and Patty smiled at the troubled face. “But first, you must hear my voice. You can’t decide before that. Where can we go?”

“Come up to my apartment, no one will hear us there, and if they should, it’s no great harm. One may practise, I suppose. You may come too, Chick, if you like.”

The three left the tea-room, and as they disappeared through the door, Farnsworth caught sight of Patty’s face.

“What does that mean?” he cried, so angrily that Daisy was startled.

“What does what mean?”

“Did you see who went out that door?”

“No; who?”

“Patty and Chick Channing and Maudie Kent.”

“I know the first two, but who is Maudie Kent?”

“An actress! A woman Channing and I knew in San Francisco a good while ago. What can she be doing here? And how did she get hold of Patty? Though of course, Chick is responsible for that. But what are they up to? I’m going after them.”

“Bill, don’t do anything so foolish! Patty has a right to visit the lady if she wants to. It isn’t your business.”

“But Patty—with that woman!”

“Why, isn’t she a nice woman?”

“She’s an actress, I tell you.”

“Well, lots of actresses are lovely ladies. Isn’t this one?”

“Yes, of course, she’s a lovely lady. But Patty oughtn’t to be racing round with her.”

“Patty wasn’t racing! She wouldn’t do such a thing in Poland Spring House. Now, Bill, put it out of your mind. There’s no occasion for you to get stirred up because Patty has made a new acquaintance. And I guess Chick Channing can take care of her, he wouldn’t let her know anybody who wasn’t all right.”

“Chick is thoughtless. He likes Maudie, and so do I. But she’s no fit companion for Patty.”

“Why? Is Patty Fairfield better than us common people? Is she made of finer clay? Wouldn’t you want me to meet the Maudie lady?”

“Oh, you. Why, that wouldn’t matter so much.”

“Bill Farnsworth! What a speech! I guess I’m every bit as good as Patty Fairfield.”

“Of course you are, Daisy. Don’t be silly. But you’re more—more experienced, you know, and a little less—less conventional. Patty has never had half the experience of the world that you have. I don’t want her mixed up with that sort of people, and I won’t have it!”

“Well,” and Daisy spoke coldly, “I don’t see how you can help it. They’ve gone off, and you can’t very well follow them, or have them arrested. Probably Chick and Patty are starting for home. And I’m sure it’s time we did.”

“But I can’t go off and leave Patty here!”

“You can’t do anything else. You’re not Patty’s keeper, Bill, and it’s silly to act as if you were.”

“That’s so, Daisy.” Farnsworth’s fine face looked anxious and his eyes were sad. “Come on, I suppose we had better be going. I’ll order the horses round.”

Farnsworth kept a sharp eye out, but he saw no more of the trio who had left the tea room, and who had so disturbed him. In quiet mood he rode off at Daisy’s side, and they went back to the hotel.

CHAPTER VI

MAUDE’S CONFIDENCES

Meantime, Patty, in Miss Kent’s parlour, was singing her best. The scheme appealed to her very strongly. She was glad to assist the kind and beautiful lady, and moreover, she enjoyed an escapade of any sort, and this surely was one.

Miss Kent was delighted with her voice, and predicted an ovation for her. They selected several of Patty’s best songs, and had the accompanist in to rehearse with her.

“What about dress?” said Patty, after it was positively settled that she was to sing at the concert.

“I’ll ride over and get you whatever you want,” said Channing, anxious to be of service.

“Oh, no,” said Miss Kent, “that would be a shame for you to go to all that trouble. I have a little white tulle gown that can be made just right in a jiffy. I am a bit taller than Miss Fairfield, but a tuck will fix that. Now, here’s an important point. You see, the notices and the programmes all say M’lle Farini will sing. Shall we let it go at that? I mean, let Miss Fairfield impersonate M’lle Farini, or shall we have an announcement made at the opening of the concert, that Miss Fairfield is acting as substitute?”

“I’d rather let it go without the use of my name,” said Patty. “I don’t know as it would be quite right, but I’d love to let people think I was the Farini lady. It would be such fun.”

“Well,” said Miss Kent, “let’s just leave it. If we don’t say anything of course the audience will take it for granted that you are M’lle Farini. And if any objections are raised, or if it comes out afterward, I can say that I had to substitute you at the last moment, and there was no time to have new programmes printed.”

“That will be fine,” Patty declared; “I do love a joke, and this is really a good one, I think. Yes, let me be M’lle Farini, for one night only, and if the real owner of that name objects, why, it will be all over then, and she’ll have to take it out in objecting. But I shan’t disgrace her, even if I don’t sing as well as she does.”

“But you do, Miss Fairfield,” exclaimed Miss Kent; “she has a fuller, stronger voice, but yours has more melody and sweetness. You will remain here over night, of course.”

“Oh, I never thought about that!” and Patty looked a little alarmed. “I don’t know what Adele will say.”

“Oh, please do. You really must. I have two bedrooms in my suite, and I can make you very comfortable.”

“Well,” and Patty hesitated; “I’ll have to talk this thing over with Mrs. Kenerley. I’ll telephone her now, and if she is willing, I will stay here all night.”

So Patty called up Adele and told her the whole story.

Adele listened, and then she laughed, good-naturedly, and told Patty she could do as she liked. “I think it’s a harum-scarum performance,” she said, “but Jim says, go ahead, if you want to. You stay with your new friend all night. Of course you couldn’t come home after the concert. I suppose Mr. Channing will stay at that hotel, too. And then he can bring you home in the morning. What will you wear?”

Patty told her, and then she asked Adele not to tell the others what she was up to. “I’m afraid they’ll come over,” she said; “and I can carry it through all right before strangers, but if all you people sat up in front of me, giggling, I couldn’t keep my face straight, I know; so don’t tell them till after it’s over.”

“All right, girlie, I will keep your fateful secret locked in my heart till you bid me speak. Have a good time, and sing your sweetest.”

“Now that’s all right,” and Patty looked enchanted at the prospect of fun ahead. “I’m going to have the time of my life! You go away now, Chick, and Miss Kent and I will see about my frock. Shall we meet at dinner?”

“Yes, I want you two girls to dine with me. Do you know anybody, Maudie, to make a fourth?”

“No, wait, Chick. I don’t want to dine in public. Nor do I want Miss Fairfield to be bothered with a company dinner. I’ll tell you a better plan. She and I will dine alone, here in my little parlour. You get your dinner downstairs, by yourself, and then, after the concert is over, you can invite us to supper and we can talk it over.”

Channing acquiesced, and then he went away, not to see them again until supper time.

“You are so good, Miss Fairfield——”

“Oh, do call me Patty. I like it so much better.”

“I’ll be glad to. And you must call me Maude. It is a perfect Godsend, your helping me out like this. May I tell you just a little bit about myself?”

“I wish you would. And I’m so glad I can be of service to you.”

But first they must needs attend to the all-important matter of Patty’s frock, and sure enough, a white tulle of Maude’s was easily and quickly altered till it just fitted Patty. It was new and modish, made with full skirts and tiers of narrow frills. There was no lace or other trimming, save the soft tulle ruffles, and Maude decreed no jewelry of any sort, merely a few yellow roses at the belt,—the tiny mignon roses. These she ordered from the office, and by that time their dinner was served.

As they sat enjoying the few but well-chosen dishes that Maude had selected, she told Patty somewhat of her life, and Patty listened with interest.

“I have to support myself, my mother and a crippled sister,” Maude said, “and I had ambition to become a great actress. But after a fair trial, I found I could be at best only a mediocre actress. I found, however, that I had talent for organizing and arranging entertainments, and I concluded I could make more money that way than on the stage. So I took it up as a regular business, and I have succeeded. But this year has not been a very good one. I’ve had some misfortunes, and twice I didn’t get the money due me, because of dishonest assistants. And, I tell you truly, Patty, if I had lost five or six hundred dollars tonight, it would have been a hard blow. You have saved me from that, and I bless and thank you. Do you realize, little girl, what you are doing for me?”

“I’m so glad I can. Tell me about your sister.”

“Clare? Oh, she is the dearest thing! She never has walked, but in spite of her affliction she is the happiest, cheeriest, sweetest nature you ever saw. I love her so, and I love to be able to get little delicacies and comforts for her. See, here is her picture.”

Patty took the case and saw the portrait of a sweet-faced girl, little more than a child.

“She is a dear, Maude. I don’t wonder you love her. Oh, I’m so glad I happened over here today. Do you know Bill Farnsworth?”

“I met him once or twice the same winter I met Chick Channing. Mr. Farnsworth seemed very stiff and sedate. Chick is much more fun.”

“Chick is gayer, but Bill is an awfully nice man.”

“I was with a vaudeville troupe that year. It wasn’t very nice,—hard work and small pay. It was my last attempt on the stage. If I couldn’t be a big and fine actress I didn’t want to be any at all. So I’m glad I gave it up for this sort of work. This season is about over now, and I shall have entertainments in New York this winter. I’ve lots of influential patrons, and I hope for success. But I shall never forget your heavenly kindness in helping me out tonight. Now, perhaps, we had better be getting dressed.”

Patty made a careful toilette, for she wanted to look her best, and she succeeded. The soft dainty white tulle was exceedingly becoming, and she had done her hair the prettiest way she knew. Maude’s slippers were the least bit loose, but they looked all right, and Patty refused a loan of a pair of long white gloves.

“They’re not wearing them with evening gowns this season,” she said, “and I hate them, anyhow.”

“You’re right,” and Maude surveyed her critically. “Your arms are lovely,—so soft and dimpled. You are more effective without gloves.”

Through the opening numbers of the concert, Patty sat in the ante-room waiting her turn. She was not nervous or apprehensive, and when the time came, she walked out on the platform and bowed gracefully, with a cordial little smile.

She was to sing almost exactly the selections of M’lle Farini. But she had substituted others in one or two instances, and, of course, for encores, she could make her own choice.

And there were plenty of encores. Patty’s sweet voice charmed by its sympathy and grace, rather than by volume. And it made a very decided hit with the audience. They applauded continuously until Patty was forced to respond a second and a third time, after each of her numbers.

Channing, sitting in the audience, heard people saying, “Who is this Farini? I never heard of her before. Her voice is a little wonder!”

Miss Kent was delighted with Patty’s success. She had felt sure the hearers would like Patty’s music, but she did not expect such unanimous approval nor such enthusiasm.

Four times Patty was announced to sing, and as each was encored at least once, it made a good many songs. At the last appearance she was very tired, but she bravely endeavoured not to show it. She went through the number beautifully, but the deafening applause made it impossible for her not to give them one more.

“I can’t,” said Patty, as Maude came to her with entreaties. “I’m all in, as the boys say. Oh, well, I’ll sing one more little thing. No accompaniment at all, please, Maude.”

Then Patty returned to the platform and when the enthusiastic welcome ceased, she sang very softly a little cradle song. The haunting sweetness of the notes and the delicate languor of Patty’s tired voice made an exquisite combination more effective even than her other work. She finished in a pure, fine minor strain, and with a little tired bow, walked slowly from the stage.

Then the house went wild. They clapped and shouted brava! and demanded more. But the concert was over; Miss Kent made a little speech of thanks, and the footlights went out. Reluctantly, the people rose from their seats, but hung around, hoping to get a glimpse of M’lle Farini.

Patty’s sweet voice charmed by its sympathy

“It isn’t so much her voice,” Chick overheard somebody say, “as the way she has with her. She’s charming, that’s what she is, charming!”

“We can’t have supper in the dining-room,” Maude said, laughingly, to Channing. “Patty would be mobbed. Those people are just lying in wait for her.”

“But I want to,” cried Patty. “I’ve done the work, now I want the fun. Let’s have supper there. They won’t really come up and speak to me, when they don’t know me.”

“Won’t they!” said Maude. “But indeed you shall have supper wherever you like. You deserve anything you want. Come on, Chick, it’s to be just as Patty says.”

So to the supper-room they went, and there Patty became the observed of all. At first, she didn’t mind, and then it became most embarrassing. She could hear her name mentioned on all sides, and though it was always coupled with compliments, it made her uncomfortable to be so conspicuous.

“Though of course,” she said gaily, “they’re not talking about me, but about M’lle Farini. Well, I’m pretty hungry, Chick. Maude made me eat a light dinner, as I was going to sing. Now I want to make up. Can I have some bouillon, and some chicken à la king, and some salad, and some ice cream?”

“Well, well, what a little gourmande! Why, you’d have nightmare after all that!”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m fearfully hungry. Honest I am.”

So Patty had her selection, and though she ate little of each course, she took small portions with decided relish.

“I feel like a new lady!” she declared when she had finished. “Is there dancing? Can I have a turn? I don’t want to go to bed yet.”

“Of course you can dance,” said Maude. “But you must remain M’lle Farini for the evening. Can you remember?”

“’Course I can. It’ll be fun. Besides, I’m only going to have one trot with Chick and then I’ll go by-by, like a good little girl.”

But, as might have been expected, after her one dance, Patty was besieged by would-be partners, clamouring for an introduction. The manager of the hotel was bribed, cajoled, and threatened in the various efforts of his guests to get introductions to Patty and to Miss Kent.

“Just one or two,” Patty whispered to Maude, and so two or three young men won the coveted presentation, and Patty was urged to dance.

But this she refused. She wanted to chat a little with these strangers, but she didn’t care to dance with men so lately made acquainted.

Channing acted as bodyguard, and his close inspection would have barred out any one he did not altogether approve of. But they were a nice class of men, polite and well-bred, and they were entertaining as well. Patty had a right down good time, and not the least part of the fun was the masquerading as another.

“You are staying here long, M’lle Farini?” asked Mr. Gaunt, an attractive man of musical tastes.

“No,” Patty replied, “I have to leave early in the morning. I’m due to sing at another hotel tomorrow night.”

“Ah, a near-by house?”

“Not very. Do you sing, Mr. Gaunt?”

“Yes, baritone. I’d like to sing with you. I’ve an idea our voices would blend.”

“I’m sure they would. I love to sing duets. But,” and pretty Patty looked regretful, “it cannot be. We will never meet again.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I feel it. But tomorrow I’m going to have my fortune told. If the seer says anything about our future meeting, then I’ll look for you later on.”

“If the seer is a true soothsayer, and no fake, he can’t help telling you we will meet again; because it is a foregone conclusion.”

“Then I shall expect you and look forward to the meeting,” and Patty held out her hand to say good-night, for it was after midnight, and Maude was making signs for her to come with her.

But just then a clerk came toward them with a puzzled face. “There’s a telephone call for a Miss Fairfield,” he said; “and the speaker says she’s here with Mr. Channing. Are you Mr. Channing, sir?”

“Yes,” said Chick. “It’s all right. M’lle Farini has occasion to use different names in her profession. Which booth?”

“This way, sir.”

Channing, beckoning to Patty, followed the man, and whispered to her to take the message, as it must be from some of the Freedom Castle people.

Patty went into the booth, and to her surprise was greeted by Philip Van Reypen.

“Well,” she exclaimed, a little annoyed, “is this a habit? Do you expect to call me up every night at midnight?”

“Now, Pattykins, don’t get mad. I called you up to apologize for what I said last night. I take this hour, ’cause I know you’re all wrapped up in people all day, and only at night do you have a moment to waste on me, and I must tell you how sorry I am that I was rude to you.”

“Rude, how?”

“Why, telling you I was coming up there whether you asked me or not. You don’t want me to, do you?”

“No, Phil, since you ask me plainly, I don’t. Not but that I’d like to see you, but I’m here on Bill Farnsworth’s invitation, and since he didn’t ask you,——”

“Yes, I know. And it’s all right. I don’t want to butt in where I’m not asked. And I’m sorry I called you up, if it bothered you. And——”

“All right, Phil. Now if you’ve any more to say, can’t you write it? For I’m just going to bed. Good-night.” And Patty hung up the receiver.

CHAPTER VII

THE FORTUNE TELLER

Next morning Patty and Maude had a cosy little breakfast in the latter’s apartment, and then, arrayed in her riding habit, Patty went down, to find Channing waiting for her on the veranda.

“Good morning, M’lle Farini,” he said gaily, “ready for a ride? Come along with us, won’t you, Maude?”

“No, thank you, Chick. I’m not altogether certain that Patty’s friends will forgive this performance and I’d be afraid to see them. But, oh, I can’t tell you both what it has meant to me, and I do hope you’ll have no cause to regret it.”

“Not a bit of it! I’ll fix it up all right,” and Chick looked very big and powerful. “If anybody goes for Patty, he’ll hear from me! See?”

“But I do want to see you again, Maude,” said Patty, as they bade farewell. “Shall you be here long?”

“Only two or three days, at most. I have another concert here tomorrow night, but I’m sure of my artists for that. Do ride over again, both of you.”

“We will,” promised Channing, and then the two cantered away.

“Here they come!” cried Daisy, as from the porch of Freedom Castle she spied the two equestrians.

Jim Kenerley was at the block to help Patty alight, and as she ran up the steps, Adele clasped her in a welcoming embrace.

“You dear child!” she said. “What an experience you have had. Sit down here and tell us all about it.”

So Patty told the whole story, exactly as it had happened, and Channing added details here and there.

Everybody was interested and asked all sorts of questions.

“Is it a nice hotel?” asked Mona. “Did you have any fun after the concert?”

“There was dancing,” said Patty, “but I was too scared, when people called me M’lle Farini, to enjoy it much. I wanted to get away. I’m glad I did it for Miss Kent, but—never again!”

“If she’s the Maude Kent I once knew, you had no business to have anything to do with her,” put in Farnsworth, in a gruff voice.

“She’s the Miss Kent Chick Channing knows, and that’s enough for me!” retorted Patty, and a little pink spot showed in either cheek, a sure sign that she was annoyed.

“Well, shall we go to the hermit’s?” said Elise, anxious to avert the impending scene. “What do you think, Patty, Kit has a toothache, and can’t go, after all.”

“Toothache!”

“Yes, a bad ulceration. He sent down word by Bobbink, that pet bellboy of his, that we were to go on without him. The boy will show us the way.”

“How ridiculous! Why not wait till tomorrow?”

“No, Kit says the hermit man expects us and we must go. You’ll go along, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Shall I change this rigging,—or go as I am?”

“Go as you are. It’s time we were off. Roger and Mona have gone on ahead, but as they went in the opposite direction, I am not sure they’ll get there before we do.”

“Those two have a fancy for going in the opposite direction,” laughed Patty; “ever notice it?”

“Not being stone blind, I have,” Elise admitted, and really the interest Roger and Mona had for each other became more apparent each day.

The Kenerleys declined to go on the hermit expedition, saying that they knew their “fortune,” and had no reason for questioning the future. So the others started.

Channing took possession of Patty, and merely saying “which way?” he led her across the wide lawn to the indicated path through the wood.

Elise followed, with Bob Peyton, who greatly admired the pretty New York girl. Farnsworth and Daisy Dow brought up the rear of the procession, and Bobbink, the ever useful courier, showed the way.

“Mr. Cameron says for you to do jes’ wot I says,” he announced, evidently greatly pleased at his position of power.

“Go ahead, Bobbink,” said Bill; “show us the way, but don’t talk too much.”

“Yassir. Dis way, ladies an’ gempmun.”

It was a beautiful walk, through the Autumn sunshine and forest shade. Now they crossed a tiny brook or paused to admire a misty waterfall, and again they found a long stretch of good State road.

And sooner than any one expected, they reached the shack.

“Dat’s de place,” announced Bobbink, and stood, pointing to the dilapidated shanty at the side of the road.

“Who’ll go in first?” asked Patty; “I’m scared.”

“I’m not,” and Daisy stepped nearer and peered curiously in at the door.

“Come in, woman!” said a strange, cracked old voice, and there followed a laugh like a cackle. “Come in, each and all.”

Daisy pushed in and Farnsworth stepped in, too, for he didn’t altogether like the sound of that laugh. Then they all crowded in and saw the old hermit, sitting in a hunched-up position on a pile of rugs in the corner of the hut.

“Which one first?” he muttered; “which pretty lady first? All have fortunes, wonderful fortunes coming to them.”

The old man’s garb was somewhat like that of a monk. A dingy robe was girdled with a hempen rope, and a cowl-shaped hood fell well over his brow. His face was brown and seamed and wrinkled with age, and he wore queer-looking dark glasses. On his hands were old gloves that had once been white, but were now a dingy grey, and he seemed feeble, and unable to move without difficulty.

But he was alert, doubtless spurred by the hope of getting well paid.

“You go first, Daisy,” said Patty; “then we’ll see how it works.”

“All right, I’m not afraid,” and Daisy extended her palm to the old man.

“Here, wait!” she cried; “don’t touch me with those dirty old gloves! Can’t I wrap my handkerchief round my hand?”

The hermit made no objection, and Daisy wound a fresh handkerchief about her fingers, leaving the palm exposed for the seer to read.

He began, in a droning voice:

“Pretty lady, your home is far away. You are not of this end of the country, but off toward the setting sun. You will return there soon, and there you will meet your fate. He awaits you there, a man of brain and brawn,— a man who has ambition to become the mayor of——”

“Hush!” cried Daisy, snatching her hand away from his gloved fingers; “Don’t you say another word! That’s a secret! I don’t want any more fortune! That man’s a wizard!”

Daisy moved across the room, putting all the distance possible between her and the seer. With startled eyes, she gazed at him, as at a world wonder.

“Pooh! That was a chance shot, Daisy,” said Elise. “Let me try, I’ve no secrets that I’m afraid he’ll reveal.”

Nor was she afraid of the grimy old glove, but put her finger tips carelessly into the old fellow’s hand.

“Pretty lady heart-whole,” declared the hermit. “Some day pretty lady fall in love, but not today. Some ’nother day, too! Pretty lady marry twice, two times! Ha, ha!”

“Silly!” said Elise, blushing a little, as she withdrew her hand. “I hate fortune telling. Next.”

Patty, a little reluctantly, surrendered her hand to the seer, who took it lightly in his own. “Pretty lady all upset,” he began. “So many suitors, all want pretty lady. But the fates have decree! The lady must marry with the—” he drew his hand across his eyes,—“I cannot see clearly! I see a cat! Ha, no! I have it! the pretty lady must marry with the Kit, ha, yes; the Kit!”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Patty, laughing, “have I really got to marry Kit! Kit who?”

“That the wizard cannot tell. Only can I read the name Kit. It is written in the lady’s fate.”

“But s’pose I don’t want to? S’pose I don’t like Kit as much as somebody else?”

“That makes nothing! It is fate. It may not be denied.”

“Well, all right. But I don’t care so much about my future husband. He’s a long way off. Tell me what will happen to me before he arrives.”

“Many adventures. You will today receive a letter——”

“Goodness, I get letters every day! Any particular letter?”

“Yes, a letter from one you love.”

“Ah, Daddy, I expect.”

“Nay, ’tis a younger man than your honourable parent. Then, soon the pretty lady will inherit fortune.”

“Now, that’s more interesting. Big fortune?”

“Oh,—my, yes! Large amount of moneys! And a journey,—a far journey.”

“I don’t care about the journey. Tell me more about the fortune. Who will leave it to me? Not my father, I hope.”

“Nay, no near relative.”

“That’s good; I don’t want my people to die. Well, anything more, Mister Hermit?”

“Beware of a dark lady——”

“Now I know you’re the real thing!” and Patty laughed merrily. “I’ve been waiting for the ‘dark lady’ and the ‘light-complected gentleman’ who always figure in fortunes. Well, what about the dark lady?”

“If the pretty miss makes the fun, there is no more fortune for her,” said the hermit, sulkily.

“I don’t mind, so long as you don’t take the money away.”

“Tell mine, then,” said Channing, as Patty resigned her place.

“You, sir, are an acrobat. You were employed in the Big Circus, the Hop—Hippodrome. When they discharged you, it was but temporary. Do not fear, you will regain your position there.”

“Why, you old wiz! How did you know that!” and Channing stared in pretended amazement; “I thought that episode in my career was a dead secret!”

“No episodes are secrets to me,” declared the hermit. “Shall I tell further?”

“No, I guess that will be about all,” and Channing moved quickly away from the strange old man.

Bob Peyton declined to have his past exposed to the public gaze; and he said he didn’t care to know what the future held for him, he’d far rather be surprised at his life as it happened. So Bill Farnsworth was the next to test the wizard’s powers.

“Big man,” said the hermit, solemnly, as he scanned the broad palm Bill offered for inspection. “Big man, every way; body, heart, soul,—all.”

“Thanks,” said Farnsworth, “for the expansive if ambiguous compliment. Be a little more definite, please. What am I going to have for dinner today? Answer me that, and I’ll believe in your wizardry.”

“Big man is pleased to be sarcastic. The hermit does not waste his occult powers on foolish questions. In a few hours you will know what you will have for dinner. Why learn now?”

“Why, indeed? All right, old chap, tell me something worth while, then.”

“That will I, sir! I’ll tell you your fate in wedlock. You will yet wed a lovely lady, who, like your noble self, is of the Western birth. She is——”

“Drop it, man! Never mind what she is! Let me tell you what you are! Friends, behold Mr. Kit Cameron!” With a swift movement, Farnsworth drew off the old gloves from the hand that held his, and exposed the unmistakable slim white hands of the musician, Kit.

“Oh, you fraud!” cried Patty. “I half suspected it all the time!”

“I didn’t,” exclaimed Daisy. “You fooled me completely!”

“Oh, my fortune!” wailed Elise. “Where are those two lovely fates of mine?”

“And all my money!” groaned Patty. “I feel as if you had misappropriated my funds, Kit.”

It had not been necessary further to remove Cameron’s disguise, it was enough to see his hands, and hear his merry laugh.

“Hist!” cried Peyton, who had looked out along the road. “Here come Roger and Mona. Let’s give them a song and dance.”

Kit drew on his old gloves again, and huddled into his crouched posture, just as the two came in at the hut’s door.

“Just in time!” said Channing. “We’ve all had our fortunes told and were just about to go home. Take your turn now.”

“I don’t like to,” said Mona, who was looking very happy and was blushing a little.

Keen-eyed Kit spied this. “Pretty lady,” he began, in his droning tones, and as he also had a slight knowledge of ventriloquism, he most effectually disguised his own voice, “give me your little hand.”

“Go on, Mona, we all did,” said Patty, and wonderingly, Mona held out her hand.

“Never saw I the future so plainly revealed!” declared the seer. “’Tis written as in letters of fire! Lady, thy fate is sealed. It is bound up with that of a true and noble knight, a loving soul, a faithful comrade. I see the blush that mantles your rosy cheek, I see the trembling of your lily hand, I see the drooped eyelashes that veil your dancing eyes, and I see, stretching far into the future, years of happiness and joy.”

Kit released Mona’s hand, and the girls crowded round her.

“What does he mean?” Daisy cried; “he spoke so in earnest.”

“Stay!” and the seer raised his hand. “Now will I tell the fortune of the noble gentleman who but now arrived. Your hand, fair sir.”

“Rubbish!” said Roger, disinclined for the performance.

“Go on, Farry,” said Farnsworth, smiling. “We all did. Go ahead.”

Roger gave over his hand, and the hermit rocked back and forth in glee. “Another clear writing of the fates!” he exclaimed. “I read of a happy future with the loved one. I read that only just now, within the hour, has the Fair said ‘yes’ to repeated pleadings, and the betrothal took place,——”

“Oh, I say!” and Roger tried to pull his hand from the hermit’s grasp.

“’Tis a fair tale I read,” went on the wizard, holding fast the hand he read; “two young hearts, made for each other, plighted by the singing brook—in the balmy sunshine—in a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream—oh, hang it, old chap, let me be the first to congratulate you!”

Kit flung off his cowl with one hand, while with the other he gripped Roger’s in a man-to-man grasp, and shook it heartily.

Then there was a small-sized pandemonium! The girls fell on Mona, kissing her and asking questions, while the men joined hands in a sort of war dance round Roger. Then they all made a circle round the engaged pair, and sang “Oats, Peas, Beans, and Barley Grows,” with the zest of a crowd of children.

“Perfectly gorgeous! I think,” cried Patty, as the excitement calmed down a little. “I sort of hoped it would be so, but I didn’t expect it quite so soon.”

“Neither did I,” said Mona, shyly: “but, you see——”

“Oh, yes, we see,” said Kit. “The picturesque spot,—the murmuring brook,—the whispering trees,—why, of course, you couldn’t help it! Bless you, my children! and now, I want somebody to go out and get engaged to me. Who will volunteer?”

“Not today, Kit,” said Patty, laughing. “Let troubles come singly for once. Today for this, tomorrow for yours. Come on, people, I can’t wait to get home and tell Adele!”

CHAPTER VIII

A RIDE TOGETHER

Adele was duly surprised and pleased to learn that Mona and Roger were engaged and declared they should have an announcement dinner that very night.

“Let’s make it a real party,” said Patty, “with a dance afterward.”

“As if we didn’t dance every night,” said Elise, laughing. “But it will seem more like a party if we put on our best frocks.”

“And decorate the table,” added Daisy.

So the girls put their heads together to see what they could do in the way of effective and appropriate decoration.

“We might give her a shower,” suggested Marie, after Mona had left the room.

“What sort of a shower? What could we buy and where could we buy it?”

“There’s that little bazaar down in the village, but there’s nothing decent there,” said Patty.

“No,” agreed Marie, “and we don’t want to give Mona cheap little gimcracks.”

“Well, we can’t have a shower, that’s out of the question,” declared Daisy.

“But I want to have a shower,” persisted Patty; “it will be no fun at all to give her a shower after we get back to New York. I’m going to invent some way to give it to her here.”

“But there isn’t any way——”

“Yes, there is, Daisy; now listen. Suppose we each give her some pretty trinket or thing of our own.”

“Huh! Worn out old things!”

“No, of course not! But I’ve a little pearl ring that Mona likes awfully well, and I care a lot for it myself, too. So I think it would be a nice gift, just because I do like it myself.”

“That’s a good idea, Patty,” said Adele; “I have a white and silver scarf that Mona just raves over. It’s Egyptian, you know, and of some value. I think she’d like these things that we have personally used, quite as well as new things. You know Mona can buy anything she wants, but this personal note would touch her, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Daisy said, thoughtfully. “I’ve an exquisite lace handkerchief I’d like to give her. It’s one that was given to my mother by a French Princess.”

“Oh, Daisy, you don’t want to give that up.”

“Yes, I do. I’m fond of Mona, and I’m glad for her to have it.”

“I’ve a lovely fan,” Elise said, “do you think she’d care for it? It’s one of Duvelleroi’s,—signed.”

“Oh, she’d love it! We’ll have a wonderful shower. What have you, Marie?”

“I can’t think of anything worth while. Oh, yes, I have a centrepiece I’m embroidering for Christmas. It’s a beauty, and I can finish it this afternoon, or, if I don’t get it quite done, I can give it to her unfinished and put in the last stitches tomorrow.”

“Capital!” and Patty smiled at the success of her “shower” plan. “What do you think, Chick?” she went on, as that individual, never very far from Patty’s side, sauntered in, “we’ve the loveliest scheme!” And she told him of the shower. “I suppose you boys can’t be in it, for Mona wouldn’t want a jack-knife or pair of sleeve-links. And men don’t shower engaged girls anyway.”

“No, I suppose not. But what’s the matter with us men showering old Farrington? I’ll bet he’d love to be showered.”

“Oh, do!” and Patty clapped her hands. “Just the thing! Give him funny gifts, will you, Chick?”

“Of course I will. And I’ll make the others come across, too.”

Soon after luncheon, Patty had a telephone call which proved to be from Maude Kent. She begged Patty to come over to the hotel where she was, at once.

“Oh, I can’t,” said Patty. “We’re getting up a party for Mona, she’s just gone and got herself engaged to Roger Farrington, and we’ve got to do something about it.”

“Well, you can come over for a short time. Truly, it’s most important. Chick will whiz you over in a motor, and you can be back in two or three hours. What time is the party?”

“Oh, not till dinner time.”

“Then come on. I want you terribly, and you’d want to come if you knew what for. I can’t tell you on the telephone, it’s a secret.”

Chick was passing, and Patty beckoned to him. “Will you chauff me over to see Maude?” she asked, as she still held the receiver.

“To the ends of the earth, if you’ve the slightest desire to go there, my lady fair.”

“Well, all right, Maude. I’ll come, but only for a few minutes.”

“When do we start, queen of my heart?” and Channing bowed before her.

“In a few minutes. I’ll scoot and dress, and you meet me here at three sharp.”

“Your word is my bond. I’ll be on deck.”

Patty flew to her room and rang for the treasure of a Sarah. The girl was rapidly becoming a deft ladies’-maid, and when Patty merely said, “Rose Crêpe, Sarah,” she took from the wardrobe the pretty afternoon gown of rose-coloured crêpe de chine, and went at once to get silk stockings and slippers to match, as well as the right hat, veil, and accessories.

On time, Patty stood again in the hall. Channing appeared, and at the same time Kit Cameron strolled in.

“Oh, Kit,” said Patty, “however did you think of that crazy scheme of fortune telling?”

“My brain is full of nonsense, Patty, and sometimes it strikes out like that.”

“But about my fortune? Did you just make it all up out of the solid? Or was there any——”

“Car’s ready, Patty,” interrupted Channing. “Leave that investigation till we come back.”

“I don’t want to,” and Patty looked from one of the men to the other. “I want to hear about it now. I say, Kit, you drive me, instead of Chick, won’t you?”

“Oh, now, that isn’t fair!” and Channing looked decidedly annoyed. “You promised me, Patty——”

“No, I didn’t. I asked you. That’s quite different from promising. Now, don’t sulk, and I’ll give you an extra dance tonight.”

“Two?”

“Well, yes, two, then, you greedy boy. Now run away and play.”

“But is this all right?” said Kit, as he hesitated to take Channing’s place.

“It doesn’t seem so to me,” Chick retorted, “But what Miss Fairfield says, goes!”

He turned on his heel, very much out of sorts at Patty’s perverse ways, and as she saw the look on his face and the uncertainty on Kit’s countenance, Patty broke into a laugh.

“Where are you going, Patty?” said Farnsworth, coming out of the house.

“Over to Poland Spring House, if I can get anybody to drive me. These boys are both unwilling. You drive me, Little Billee?”

Farnsworth looked at her a moment, with the expression of one who can scarcely believe his own ears. Then, just as Kit began to exclaim in indignation Big Bill took his place beside her and started the car.

“What possessed your kind heart to give me this pleasure?” he said, and his voice was so gentle it took from the words all suggestion of sarcasm or satire.

“The others were so tiresome. I don’t think it’s such a favour to allow a man to drive a car for you. Do you?”

“It depends on the man and the one who grants the favour. To me this is a decided boon. Do you realise, little girl, I never get a word with you nowadays? You never allow it. You’re so wrapped up in Channing and Cameron, you’ve no eyes or ears for any one else.”

“Oh, Little Billee, what a taradiddle! But when people don’t believe what people say, people can’t expect people to——”

“Wait! So many people get me all mixed up! And I do believe you, always. If I doubted your word about that telephone, it was because I was misinformed. You see——”

“Yes, tell me how it was.”

Patty was thoroughly enjoying herself. She had Big Bill where she wanted him, apologising for his abominable disbelief in her veracity. “Tell me who told you stories about me.”

“Not stories, exactly. I wanted the long distance telephone that night, and when I went to the desk, the telephone clerk said you were using it, talking to a Mr. Van Reypen, and would I wait till you finished.”

“And of course you thought I called Phil, whereas he called me! All right, Billee Boy, you’re forguv.”

“And then, he called you again, last night. Is this a habit of his?”

“Oh, Billee, that’s just what I asked him. But how did you know he telephoned last night? Clerk again?”

“I was in the office, and as you weren’t home, and the New York call might have been from your father, I answered. It was Van Reypen, and as he wanted to know where you were, of course I told him. Patty, what did he want? Why does he telephone you every night?”

“Well, let me see what he did want. He telephoned last night, I believe, to apologise for telephoning the night before!”

“What nonsense!”

“Yes, he did! Don’t you disbelieve me again!”

“Of course, I won’t. All right, then, what did he say the first night, that he had to apologise for?”

“Oh, fiddlestrings, Billee, it was nothing of any consequence. I may as well tell you, though, he just wanted to be invited up here.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“Yes, he did, did he! And I told him,——”

“Yes, Patty, what did you tell him?”

Patty turned her pretty head, and smiled full in Farnsworth’s face. Her blue eyes were sparkling, her golden curls were tossed by the wind, her red lips wore a roguish expression, as she said, “I just told him I didn’t want him.”

“Patty! Did you really?”

“I sure did, Little Billee, but it wasn’t quite true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, really, I did want him,—a little oh, only a very little,—but I knew you didn’t and so I told him I didn’t.”

“Patty! what a torment you are!”

Patty’s eyes opened wide. “Well, I like that! A torment! Because I headed him off for the simple reason that you don’t want him! If that torments you, I’ll telephone him tonight to come on!”

“There, there, Blue Eyes, take it easy. I don’t want him, and you don’t want him, and we won’t have him! Now, let it go at that.”

Big Bill smiled down happily at the flower-face that at first looked up at him a little angrily, and then smiled back.

“And now, Peaches, the Van Reypen incident is closed. Next, will you kindly tell me why you went in so strong for the Kent lady’s concert?”

“Two reasons, Billee,” said Patty, calmly. “First, and I hope most, because I was sorry for her, and wanted to help her out in her trouble. And second,——”

“Well?”

“Oh, because I’m a silly, vain thing, and I wanted to sing in public, and have people think I was Madame Thingamajig, and I like to have my voice praised,—and I’m just a little idiot!”

“You certainly are.”

“Why, Wil-yum Farns-worth! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Not half so ashamed as you ought to be.”

“It isn’t a crime to be vain of your accomplishments, and I owned up I was silly. Do you hate silly people?”

“Sometimes, not always. But look here, Patty, seriously, you don’t want to be intimate with Maude Kent. She may be a nice girl, all right, but she has been an actress, and that is not the sort of people for you to associate with.”

“I guess you don’t know her very well, Bill; she is a noble self-sacrificing spirit, and she devotes her life to earning a living for herself and her mother and sister. I never knew a more devoted daughter and sister, than she is, and I adore her.”

Farnsworth sighed. “I feared you’d fly off like that, Patty. You’re so susceptible and impressionistic. But you must know that she is not the sort of girl you’ve been accustomed to know.”

“So much the worse for the sort of girl I know, then. Idle, unoccupied creatures, thinking of nothing but the fleeting pleasures of the hour! Maude Kent is worth a dozen of them, when it comes to nobility of purpose and energy of attainment. What do you know about her, Bill, that isn’t admirable?”

“Only that, Patty. That she has been on the vaudeville stage. I met her personally only two or three times, and I took little interest in her. But I hate to see you grow fond of her. Are you going to see her today?”

“I am. But you need not see her. You can wait for me in the hotel parlour. I’m sorry I brought you.”

“No, you’re not, you’re glad. And I’ll not wait in any parlour. I’m going with you all the way.”

As a matter of fact, Patty felt relieved, for she had no idea of what Maude wanted, and she feared it might be to sing again. This she had no intention of doing. Once was quite enough.

When they reached the hotel, they sent up their names, and Miss Kent came down. She received them in a small reception room, where they could be alone.

“You remember Mr. Farnsworth?” said Patty, after she had greeted Maude.

“Yes, indeed, very well. I’m so glad to see you again.”

Surely no one could criticise the gentle manner and soft voice, and Bill Farnsworth looked at her more kindly than he had intended to.

“And now, what’s it all about?” asked Patty, when they were seated. “For, Maude, I must not stay but a few minutes. It’s the night of the announcement party, and I’ve a lot to do for the affair.”

“Very well, I’ll tell you in a few words. Mr. Stengel, the manager, heard you sing here last night, and he wants an interview with you, with an idea of your going on the stage in light opera.”

“What!” and Patty looked amazed, while Farnsworth bit his lips to restrain what he wanted to say.

“Yes; he says you have a delightful voice, but more than that, you have charm and a decided ability to make good in the parts for which he should cast you.”

“Why, Maude, you must be crazy, to think for a minute that I’d consider such a proposition! I wouldn’t dream of it, and I couldn’t do it, anyway.”

“Yes, you could. And I knew you’d feel this way, at first, but after you think it over——”

“Miss Kent,” and Farnsworth’s tones were cold and incisive, “I know Miss Fairfield and her people quite well enough to speak with authority in this matter, and I assure you it is worse than useless for you to suggest such a thing.”

“I knew it would strike you so at first, Mr. Farnsworth, and perhaps Patty’s parents also. But I feel sure that if it were properly put before them——”

“Miss Kent,” and Farnsworth rose, “there is no way of properly putting it before them. They would not even listen. And now I must ask you to excuse us. Come, Patty.”

“But, Bill,——”

“Come Patty, at once.”

“Must you obey him?” asked Miss Kent.

“She must,” said Farnsworth, sternly. “Come, Patty.”

“I must,” said Patty, and with a strange look in her eyes, she rose. “I’ll see you again about this, Maude,” she said.

“She’ll never see you again, about this, or anything else,” Farnsworth declared, and his face was set and his voice hard. “Good day, Miss Kent.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Farnsworth. Au revoir, Patty.”

The two started home in silence. Patty’s mind was full of conflicting emotions. The idea of going on the stage was so ridiculously unthinkable as to be of no importance, but the fact that she had been asked to do so filled her with a strange pride and satisfaction.

It was after a long time that Farnsworth said, gently, “Patty, you’re so many kinds of a fool.”

“Yes, sir,” and Patty sighed, partly from relief that he wasn’t going to scold and partly because she agreed with him.

“Now you see why I didn’t want you to have anything to do with that Kent woman.”

“Well, I don’t see as she has done me any harm.”

“You don’t? Why, she has put that fool idea into your head. And you’ll let it simmer and stew there until you begin to think that maybe it would be nice to go on the stage.”

“Oh, Billee, I wouldn’t do any such a thing!”

“No, not now, but after you mull over it, and especially if she ever gets hold of you again, which pray heaven, she never will.”

“Goodness me! Little Billee, how would I look on the stage? Why, I’d be lost among all the big girls they have nowadays.”

“You’d look all right, that’s the worst of it. Now, see here, Patty, make me a solemn promise, will you? Not that you won’t go on the stage, but that if you ever think of doing so, you’ll tell me first. Will you promise me that?”

And Patty promised.

CHAPTER IX

THE “SHOWER”

The announcement party was great fun. In every way it was made to seem like a formal party and not just the gathering of the clans.

Adele received the guests in the ballroom, with Mona by her side. Adele was gorgeous in her best evening gown, a rose-coloured velvet, and Mona, in white net, looked like a débutante.

Patty took especial pains with her toilette, though it was not entirely necessary, for Patty looked well in anything. She chose a white crêpe, whose bewildering masses of tulle ruchings veiled a skirt of silver lace. The bodice of silver lace was ruched and draped with the soft crêpe, and Patty’s pretty throat and dimpled arms emerged as from a wave of sea foam. Her golden hair was massed in the prevailing fashion, caught with two pins of carved jade.

“Verra good, Eddie!” Patty remarked to Sarah, as she viewed her completed self in the mirror.

“Miss?” said the maid, unfamiliar with Patty’s nonchalant use of catch phrases.

“I said you done noble,” Patty returned, absently, as she rearranged the jade pins. She wore no other ornaments, and catching up a long floating scarf of white tulle spangled with silver, she ran downstairs.

But, remembering the occasion, she made a most dignified entrance to the reception room, and bowed exaggeratedly to Adele. “So pleased!” she murmured, offering her fingertips. “And Miss Galbraith. May I wish you all joy and felicity and happiness and good——”

“Come, come, Patty, give somebody else a chance. Don’t babble your good wishes all night!” She turned to see Kit waiting his turn, and she laughingly gave way to him.

“Isn’t it fine to see the men in their evening togs?” she exclaimed, turning to Elise. “I’m so used to seeing them in flannels or golf things, I scarcely recognise them.”

“Do recognise me,” implored Channing, “I’m the sweet young thing you promised three extra dances to.”

“Three nothing!” returned Patty, carelessly. “I’m not sure I shall dance tonight, anyway. I shall spend my time admiring Mona, she looks so sweet.”

Mona did look sweet. The occasion brought a look of shyness to her face, which was as becoming as it was unusual. Roger stood by, proudly gazing at her, as he was, in turn, congratulated and chaffed by the men.

Dinner was announced, and Jim Kenerley offered his arm to Mona, while Adele followed the pair with Roger. The orchestra played the wedding march, and Channing, who stood next to Patty, escorted her. The rotation of the table seats had been changed for the occasion, and Adele and Jim sat opposite one another with their guests of honour at their right hands. The others sat where they chose, and Channing deftly manœuvred to place Patty next to Kenerley, as he dropped into the chair at her left.

“Who’s the great little old Machiavelli!” he said, chuckling. “Didn’t I arrange that just about right! You see, if I put you next to Kenerley, you won’t give him all your undivided attention, as you would, with any of the others.”

“Well, if you aren’t the piggy-wig!”

“I am, as far as you are concerned. I cheerfully admit it. And I’ve practically got you all to myself for the whole dinner time. You can’t get away! Oh, joy!”

“Why is it such a feat? How do you know that I’m not equally crazy with joy to sit by you?”

“Oh, Patty! If I could believe that! What things you do say to a fellow! Do you mean it?”

“Considering I’ve only known you a few days, I couldn’t really mean it. You see, I make friendships very slowly. Moreover, I never mean anything I say at dinner. Table talk is an art. I’m proficient in it, and I know the rules. And the first one is, never be sincere.”

“Yes, I know that, too. But after dinner, say, out on that moonlit corner of the veranda——”

“There isn’t any moon now.”

“That’s why I refer to it at the dinner table. I don’t mean it, you see. Well, out in that unmoonlit corner, then, will you tell me one thing,—tell me truly?”

“Certainly. I’ll tell you two things truly, even three, if you like. But they must be things of my own choosing.”

“First, yes. Then it will be my turn. And I shall ask you something very important.”

“Then I shall run away. My mind is so full of important things just now, that it simply won’t hold another one.”

“You don’t know me yet. I’m a man who always has his own way.”

“How interesting! I don’t think I ever knew one before. All the men I have known have politely deferred to my way.”

“Indeed? You must be longing for a change.”

“Not only that, but it is positively necessary that I talk to my other-side man now. Where are your manners, that you have so long neglected your other-side lady?”

“With thee conversing, I forgot all manners. Also, the fair Miss Homer is absorbed in Mr. Peyton’s gay chat.”

“Well, give her a change, then. Marie, please turn this way. Mr. Channing is dying to talk to you.”

Marie turned, with a pretty smile, and Patty gave her attention to Jim.

“You see, Jim,” she said, “this is a formal dinner, and you must observe the fifteen minute rule. It isn’t like our every-day meals. Mona, how do you like being guest of honour?”

“I’m a little embarrassed,” said Mona, who wasn’t at all; “but I’m getting along somehow. Isn’t Roger splendid?”

The naïveté of Mona’s gaze at her newly betrothed made Jim Kenerley chuckle. “You’ll do, Mona!” he said.

The table decorations were as appropriate as they could be made with little to work with. Patty had contrived a chime of wedding bells, of white tissue paper for the centrepiece, and at each plate was an orange, cored and holding a few flowers of various sorts.

“These are orange blossoms,” Adele explained; “though not quite the conventional style, they show our good intentions.”

The feast went on gaily, and after the dessert, the shower took place.

The head waiter brought in a tray on which were the gifts the girls had collected for Mona. They were beautiful and worth-while things, and the personal element they represented endeared them to the pleased recipient.

“You darling people!” she exclaimed. “You couldn’t have done anything that would please me more! It is heavenly kind of you and I love you for it. I shall use them all, at once.”

So Mona slipped Patty’s ring on her finger, threw Adele’s scarf round her shoulders, and tucking the wonderful lace handkerchief in her belt, she waved the fan to and fro. The centrepiece, which Marie managed to get finished in time, Mona calmly laid in place under her own dinner plate, and she declared that she was perfectly happy.

“Now, for our shower,” said Jim. “It isn’t fair that the bride-elect should get all the loot, so we take pleasure in presenting to our distinguished,—at least, distinguished-looking friend, and fellow-traveller, some few tokens of our approval of his course. Myself, I offer these dainty boudoir slippers, knowing that they will be acceptable, not only for their artistic merit, but for their intrinsic value. Take them, Farrington, with my tearful wish for your happiness.”

Kenerley gave Roger a good-sized parcel, tied up in tissue paper and ribbons, which, when opened, disclosed a furiously gaudy and old-fashioned pair of “worsted-work” slippers. He had unearthed them at the bazaar in the village, where they had doubtless been on sale since the early eighties.

Everybody laughed at the grotesque things, but Roger, in the mood of the moment, made a gay and graceful speech of thanks.

Then Bob Peyton presented a smoking set. This was an impossible affair, of “hand-painted” china. The ash tray bore the cheerful motto of “ashes to ashes!” and the tobacco jar was so clouded with artistic smoke wreaths, that Kit declared it ought to be labelled “Dust to Dust.”

Cameron’s gift was a tie case. Evidently fashioned by feminine fingers, it was of pink silk, a little faded, embroidered with blue forget-me-nots.

“Tasty, isn’t it?” said Kit, holding it up for general admiration. “I hesitated a long time between this and a sponge bag. The other would be more useful, but there’s something so fetching about this,—that I couldn’t get away from it.”

“Don’t let me get you away from it, Cameron,” said Roger; “I’d hate to deprive you of anything you admire so sincerely. Take it from me——”

“No, Roger,” said Kit, firmly. “I cannot take it from you. I give it to you,—a little grudgingly, ’tis true,—but I give it. I may never have another chance to make you an announcement shower, and so, on this ’spicious ’casion, I stop at nothing.”

“You’re a noble fellow, Cameron,” and Roger’s voice was surcharged with emotion of some sort. “I accept your gift in the spirit in which it is given, and I trust I may some day have the opportunity to shower you in return.”

“I hope to goodness you will, Farrington, and I now thank you in advance.”

“Postpone those thanks, please,” broke in Channing; “your time’s up. I say, Old Top, here’s the best prize yet. I offer you this picture frame. But it is no ordinary picture frame. Observe. It is made of birch bark in neat pattern, and decorated with real pine cones, securely glued on. No danger of their fetching loose, I’ve tested ’em. Now, in this highly artistic, if a trifle ponderous setting, you can place Miss Galbraith’s portrait, and wear it next your heart or dream with it beneath your pillow. To be sure, it is pretty big and heavy for either of these uses, but’s what a bit of inconvenience compared to the sentiment of the thing?”

Channing held out an enormous and cumbersome frame of heavy pine cones, glued to a board back; a fright of a thing, made by some of the native country people. As a matter of fact, these jesting gifts all came from the little village shop, where native talent was more in evidence than good taste.

“Heavenly!” exclaimed Roger, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. “Look, Mona, is it not a peach? Will you give me a miniature of your sweet face to grace it? Oh, say you will!”

Roger’s absurd expression and exaggerated enthusiasm sent them all off into paroxysms of laughter, and Mona had no need for reply.

“Farrington, old man,” said Bill Farnsworth then, “brace yourself. I have the best gift yet, for you. The most appropriate, and combining a graceful sentiment with a charming usefulness. Behold!”

From voluminous folds of white tissue paper, Bill shook out an Oriental robe, of gold-embroidered silk. It was really gorgeous and looked as if made for a Chinese mandarin. There were Dragons in raised work and borders of chrysanthemums. Bill flung it round Roger, to whose stalwart form the strange garb was most becoming.

Everybody exclaimed in admiration. Only foolish gifts had been looked for and this was worthy of real praise. The long loose sleeves hung gracefully down, and the obi or sash was fringed with silk tassels.

“A stunning thing!” exclaimed Adele. “Where did you get it, Bill?”

“San Francisco,” returned Farnsworth, “but my heart is broken. You have none of you noticed the real sentiment, the reason for the gift. Oh, how dense you are!”

“What do you mean?” asked Adele, puzzled.

“Can’t you see?” cried Farnsworth. “Where are your wits? Why should I give that thing to Farrington, today?”

They all looked blank, till suddenly it dawned on Patty.

“Oh, Little Billee!” she cried, “oh, you clever, clever thing! Oh, girls, don’t you see? It’s a Ki-Mona!”

Then they did see, and they cheered and complimented Farnsworth on his witty gift.

“It’s so clever and so beautiful, I think I shall take it myself,” Mona declared, and Roger tossed it over to her. “With all my worldly goods—may as well begin at once,” he said with a mock air of resignation.

The shower over, they went to the ballroom to dance. Of course “Sir Roger de Coverly” was first on the programme, and after that the more modern dances.

Patty tried to evade Chick Channing, for he was growing a bit insistent in his attentions.

“Take me for a veranda stroll, Kit,” she said, as she saw Channing approaching. “I want you to tell me all about that fortune business. But first, how did you ever come to think of it?”

“Oh, you know my fatal facility for practical jokes. Come, sit in this palmy bower, and I’ll tell you all I know, and then some.”

They sauntered in to the pretty glass-enclosed nook, and sat down among the palms. “You see,” Kit went on, “I haven’t played a joke in I dunno when, and I just had to get one off. So when I was prowling around, and struck that empty shack, the idea sprang full-fledged to my o’er clever brain. I fixed it up with Bobbink,—and the rest is history. Bobsy is a great boy, though a little fresh. He got the make-up for my face, and the rugs and things. He fixed them all in the old shanty, and then he carried out the toothache farce in accordance with my orders.”

“Yes, he did very well. But I mean about the fortunes. How did you know about the man Daisy is so interested in,—the one who wants to be Mayor of——”

“Sh! that’s a state secret. I know lots of things, but I keep them to myself.”

“All right,” said Patty, seeing he was in earnest. “But about somebody leaving me money. Did you make that up?”

“Not entirely,” and Kit still looked serious. “Perhaps you will receive a legacy some day. But did you note what I told you about your fate?”

“No,” said Patty, as she ran away back to the house.

CHAPTER X

GOOD-BYE, SWEETHEART

The days sped all too quickly at Freedom Castle. And on one golden, shining September afternoon, Patty realised that the next day they were all to go home.

“I don’t want to go, Billy boy,” she said, wistfully.

She was sitting in a swing that she had herself contrived, and Chick had achieved for her. It was a tangle of wistaria vine, pulled down from the great oak tree that it had climbed, and fashioned into a loop. This they had decorated with more sprays of the parent vine itself, and often Patty, or the others, added autumn leaves or trailing creepers or bunches of goldenrod or sumach till the swing was usually a rather dressy affair. One couldn’t swing far in it, but then one didn’t want to, and it was a charming place to sit.

Today, Patty, in a chic little suit of tan cloth, with a white silk blouse and a crimson tie, sat in the swing, disconsolately poking into the earth with her patent leather shoe tip.

“I’m sorry, Patty girl,” and Big Bill looked regretfully at her. “But you see, the contract with the servants expires tomorrow, and they are all anxious to get away. You know, I’ve staid longer than I intended, now——”

“Yes, ’cause I begged you to,” and Patty smiled at him. “Now if I beg you some more, will you stay some more?”

“In a min-nit! if I possibly could. But it’s un-possible. You know I just came up for a few days to ratify the papers of transference and see to some business matters, and I’ve all sorts of important duties beckoning to me with both hands.”

“But if I beckon to you with both hands——”

Patty held out her pretty hands, and slowly beckoned with each slender forefinger.

“Don’t tempt me, you little witch. You know I’d do anything in this world for you, that didn’t conflict with duty——”

“Wouldn’t you conflict your duty—for me,—Little Billee?”

Patty’s voice was wheedlesome, and her face was very sweet.

“My duty, yes, Patty.” Bill looked stern. “But my duty to others,—no.”