Patty's Summer Days

E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Juliet Sutherland,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)

Patty’s

Summer Days

By CAROLYN WELLS

Author of “Idle Idylls,” “Patty in the City,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD & COMPANY

1909

Copyright, 1906, By
Dodd, Mead & Company

Published, September, 1906

To

ELEANOR SHIPLEY HALSEY

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

Patty’s Summer Days

CHAPTER I

A GAY HOUSEHOLD

“Isn’t Mrs. Phelps too perfectly sweet! That is the loveliest fan I ever laid eyes on, and to think it’s mine!”

“And will you look at this? A silver coffee-machine! Oh, Nan, mayn’t I make it work, sometimes?”

“Indeed you may; and oh, see this! A piece of antique Japanese bronze! Isn’t it great?”

“I don’t like it as well as the sparkling, shiny things. This silver tray beats it all hollow. Did you ever see such a brightness in your life?”

“Patty, you’re hopelessly Philistine! But that tray is lovely, and of an exquisite design.”

Patty and Nan were unpacking wedding presents, and the room was strewn with boxes, tissue paper, cotton wool, and shredded-paper packing.

Only three days more, and then Nan Allen was to marry Mr. Fairfield, Patty’s father.

Patty was spending the whole week at the Allen home in Philadelphia, and was almost as much interested in the wedding preparations as Nan herself.

“I don’t think there’s anything so much fun as a house with a wedding fuss in it,” said Patty to Mrs. Allen, as Nan’s mother came into the room where the girls were.

“Just wait till you come to your own wedding fuss, and then see if you think it’s so much fun,” said Nan, who was rapidly scribbling names of friends to whom she must write notes of acknowledgment for their gifts.

“That’s too far in the future even to think of,” said Patty, “and besides, I must get my father married and settled, before I can think of myself.”

She wagged her head at Nan with a comical look, and they all laughed.

It was a great joke that Patty’s father should be about to marry her dear girl friend. But Patty was mightily pleased at the prospect, and looked forward with happiness to the enlarged home circle.

“The trouble is,” said Patty, “I don’t know what to call this august personage who insists on becoming my father’s wife.”

“I shall rule you with a rod of iron,” said Nan, “and you’ll stand so in awe of me, that you won’t dare to call me anything.”

“You think so, do you?” said Patty saucily. “Well, just let me inform you, Mrs. Fairfield, that is to be, that I intend to lead you a dance! You’ll be responsible for my manners and behaviour, and I wish you joy of your undertaking. I think I shall call you Stepmamma.”

“Do,” said Nan placidly, “and I’ll call you Stepdaughter Patricia.”

“Joking aside,” said Patty, “honestly, Nan, I am perfectly delighted that the time is coming so soon to have you with us. Ever since last fall I have waited patiently, and it seemed as if Easter would never come. Won’t we have good times though after you get back from your trip and we get settled in that lovely house in New York! If only I didn’t have to go to school, and study like fury out of school, too, we could have heaps of fun.”

“I’m afraid you’re studying too hard, Patty,” said Mrs. Allen, looking at her young guest.

“She is, Mother,” said Nan, “and I wish she wouldn’t. Why do you do it, Patty?”

“Well, you see, it’s this way. I found out the first of the year that I was ahead of my class in some studies, and that if I worked extra hard I could get ahead on the other studies, and,—well, I can’t exactly explain it, but it’s like putting two years’ work into one; and then I could graduate from the Oliphant school this June, instead of going there another year, as I had expected. Then, if I do that, Papa says I may stay home next year, and just have masters in music and French, and whatever branches I want to keep up. So I’m trying, but I hardly think I can pass the examinations after all.”

“Well, you’re not going to study while you’re here,” said Mrs. Allen, “and after we get Nan packed off on Thursday, you and I are going to have lovely times. You must stay with me as long as you can, for I shall be dreadfully lonesome without my own girl.”

“Thank you, dear Mrs. Allen, I am very happy here, and I love to stay with you; but of course I can stay only as long as our Easter vacation lasts. I must go back to New York the early part of next week.”

“Well, we’ll cram all the fun possible into the few days you are here then,” and Patty’s gay little hostess bustled away to look after her household appointments.

Mrs. Allen was of a social, pleasure-loving nature. Indeed, it was often said that she cared more for parties and festive gatherings than did her daughter Nan.

Nobody was surprised to learn that Nan Allen was to marry a man many years older than herself. The surprise came when they met Mr. Fairfield and discovered that that gentleman appeared to be much younger than he undoubtedly was.

For Patty’s father, though nearly forty years old, had a frank, ingenuous manner, and a smile that was almost boyish in its gaiety.

Mrs. Allen was in her element superintending her daughter’s wedding, and the whole affair was to be on a most elaborate scale. Far more so than Nan herself wished, for her tastes were simple, and she would have preferred a quieter celebration of the occasion.

But as Mrs. Allen said, it was her last opportunity to provide an entertainment for her daughter, and she would not allow her plans to be thwarted.

So preparations for the great event went busily on. Carpenters came and enclosed the wide verandas, and decorators came and hung the newly made walls with white cheese cloth, and trimmed them with garlands of green. The house was invaded with decorators, caterers, and helpers of all sorts, while neighbours and friends of Mrs. Allen and of Nan flew in and out at all hours.

The present-room was continually thronged by admiring friends who never tired of looking at the beautiful gifts already upon the tables, or watching the opening of new ones.

“There’s the thirteenth cut-glass ice-tub,” said Nan, as she tore the tissue paper wrapping from an exquisite piece of sparkling glass. “I should think it an unlucky number if I didn’t feel sure that one or two more would come yet.”

“What are you going to do with them all, Nan?” asked one of her girl friends; “shall you exchange any of your duplicate gifts?”

“No indeed,” said Nan, “I’m too conservative and old-fashioned to exchange my wedding gifts. I shall keep the whole thirteen, and then when one gets broken, I can replace it with another. Accidents will happen, you know.”

“But not thirteen times, and all ice-tubs!” said Patty, laughing. “You’ll have to use them as individuals, Nan. When you give a dinner party of twelve, each guest can have a separate ice-tub, which will be very convenient.”

“I don’t care,” said Nan, taking the jest good-humouredly, “I shall keep them all, no matter how many I get. And I always did like ice-tubs, anyway.”

Another great excitement was when Nan’s gowns were sent home from the dressmaker’s. Patty was frankly fond of pretty clothes, and she fairly revelled in Nan’s beautiful trousseau. To please Patty, the bride-elect tried them all on, one after another, and each seemed more beautiful than the one before. When at last Nan stood arrayed in her bridal gown, with veil and orange blossoms complete, Patty’s ecstacy knew no bounds.

“You are a picture, Nan!” she cried. “A perfect dream! I never saw such a beautiful bride. Oh, I am so glad you’re coming to live with us, and then I can try on that white satin confection and prance around in it myself.”

They all laughed at this, and Nan exclaimed, in mock reproach:

“I’d like to see you do it, Miss! Prance around in my wedding gown, indeed! Have you no more respect for your elderly and antiquated Stepmamma than that?”

Patty giggled at Nan’s pretended severity, and danced round her, patting a fold here, and picking out a bow there, and having a good time generally.

The next day there was a luncheon, to which Mrs. Allen had invited a number of Nan’s dearest girl friends.

Patty enjoyed this especially, for not only did she dearly love a pretty affair of this sort, but Mrs. Allen had let her help with the preparations, and Patty had even suggested some original ideas which found favour in Mrs. Allen’s eyes.

Over the table was suspended a floral wedding bell, which was supplied with not only one clapper, but a dozen. These clappers were ingenious little contrivances, and from each hung a long and narrow white ribbon. After the luncheon, each ribbon was apportioned to a guest, and at a given signal the ribbons were pulled, whereupon each clapper sprang open, and a tiny white paper fluttered down to the table.

“Patty fairly reveled in Nan’s beautiful trousseau”

These papers each bore the name of one of the guests, and when opened were found to contain a rhymed jingle foretelling in a humorous way the fate of each girl. Patty had written the merry little verses, and they were read aloud amid much laughter and fun.

As Patty did not know these Philadelphia girls very well, many of her verses which foretold their fates were necessarily merely graceful little jingles, without any attempt at special appropriateness.

One which fell to the lot of a dainty little golden-haired girl ran thus:

Another which was applied to a specially good-humoured maiden read thus:

But some of the girls had special hopes or interests, and these Patty touched upon. An aspiring music lover was thus warned:

And an earnest art student received this somewhat doubtful encouragement:

Patty’s own verse was a little hit at her dislike for study, and her taste in another direction:

Nan’s came last of all, and she read it aloud amid the gay laughter of the girls:

The girls thought these merry little jingles great fun, and each carefully preserved her “fortune” to take home as a souvenir of the occasion.

Bumble Barlow was at this luncheon, for the Barlows were friends and near neighbours of the Allens.

Readers who knew Patty in her earlier years, will remember Bumble as the cousin who lived at the “Hurly-Burly” down on Long Island.

Although Bumble was a little older, and insisted on being called by her real name of Helen, she was the same old mischievous fly-away as ever. She was delighted to see Patty again, and coaxed her to come and stay with them, instead of with the Allens. But Mrs. Allen would not hear of such an arrangement, and could only be induced to give her consent that Patty should spend one day with the Barlows during her visit in Philadelphia.

The short time that was left before the wedding day flew by as if on wings. So much was going on both in the line of gaiety and entertainment, and also by way of preparation for the great event, that Patty began to wonder whether social life was not, after all, as wearing as the more prosaic school work.

But Mrs. Allen said, when this question was referred to her, “Not a bit of it! All this gaiety does you good, Patty. You need recreation from that everlasting grind of school work, and you’ll go back to it next week refreshed, and ready to do better work than ever.”

“I’m sure of it,” said Patty, “and I shall never forget the fun we’re having this week. It’s just like a bit of Fairyland. I’ve never had such an experience before.”

Patty’s life had been one of simple pleasures and duties. She had a great capacity for enjoyment, but heretofore had only known fun and frolic of a more childish nature. This glimpse into what seemed to be really truly grown-up society was bewildering and very enjoyable, and Patty found it quite easy to adapt herself to its requirements.

CHAPTER II

WEDDING BELLS

At last the wedding day arrived, and a brighter or more sunshiny day could not have been asked for by the most exacting of brides.

It was to be an evening wedding, but from early in the morning there was a constant succession of exciting events. The last touches were being put to the decorations, belated presents were coming in, house guests were arriving, messengers coming and going, and through it all Mrs. Allen bustled about, supremely happy in watching the culminating success of her elaborate plans. Patty looked at her with a wondering admiration, for she always admired capability, and Mrs. Allen was exhibiting what might almost be called generalship in her house that day.

Of course, Patty had no care or responsibility, and nothing to do but enjoy herself, so she did this thoroughly.

In the morning Marian and Frank Elliott came. They were staying at the Barlows’, and Mr. Fairfield was staying there too.

It sometimes seemed to Patty that her father ought to have played a more prominent part in all the preliminary festivities, but Mrs. Allen calmly told her, in Mr. Fairfield’s presence, that a bridegroom had no part in wedding affairs until the time of the ceremony itself.

Mr. Fairfield laughed good-humouredly, and replied that he was quite satisfied to be left out of the mad rush, until the real occasion came.

Like Nan, Mr. Fairfield would have preferred a quiet wedding, but Mrs. Allen utterly refused to hear of such a thing. Nan was her only daughter, and this her only chance to arrange an entertainment such as her soul delighted in. Mr. Allen was willing to indulge his wife in her wishes, and was exceedingly hospitable by nature. Moreover, he took great pride in his charming daughter, and wanted everything done that could in any way contribute to the success or add to the beauty of her wedding celebration.

Patty fluttered around the house in a sort of inconsequent delight. Now in the present-room, looking over the beautiful collection, now chatting with her cousins, or other friends, now strolling through the great parlours with their wonderful decorations of banked roses and garland-draped ceilings.

Dinner was early that night, as the ceremony was to be performed at eight o’clock, and after dinner Patty flew to her room to don her own beautiful new gown.

This dress delighted Patty’s beauty-loving heart. It was a white tulle sprinkled with silver, and its soft, dainty glitter seemed to Patty like moonlight on the snow. Her hair was done low on her neck, in a most becoming fashion, and her only ornament was a necklace of pearls which had belonged to her mother, and which her father had given her that very day. The first Mrs. Fairfield had died when Patty was a mere baby, so of course she had no recollection of her, but she had always idealised the personality of her mother, and she took the beautiful pearls from her father with almost a feeling of reverence as she touched them.

“I’m so glad it’s Nan you’re going to marry, Papa,” she said. “I wouldn’t like it as well if it were somebody who would really try to be a stepmother to me, but dear old Nan is more like a sister, and I’m so glad she’s ours.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, Patty, dear, and I only hope Nan will never regret marrying a man so much older than herself.”

“You’re not old, Papa Fairfield,” cried Patty indignantly; “I won’t have you say such a thing! Why, you’re not forty yet, and Nan is twenty-four. Why, that’s hardly any difference at all.”

“So Nan says,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling, “so I dare say my arithmetic’s at fault.”

“Of course it is,” said Patty, “and you don’t look a bit old either. Why, you look as young as Mr. Hepworth, and he looks nearly as young as Kenneth, and Kenneth’s only two years older than I am.”

“That sounds a little complicated, Patty, but I’m sure you mean it as a compliment, so I’ll take it as such.”

A little before eight o’clock, Patty, in her shimmering gown, went dancing downstairs.

The rooms were already crowded with guests, and the first familiar face Patty saw was that of Mr. Hepworth, who came toward her with a glad smile of greeting.

“How grown-up we are looking to-night,” he said. “I shall have to paint your portrait all over again, and you must wear that gown, and we will call it, ‘A Moonlight Sonata,’ and send it to the exhibition.”

“That will be lovely!” exclaimed Patty; “but can you paint silver?”

“Well, I could try to get a silvery effect, at least.”

“That wouldn’t do; it must be the real thing. I think you could only get it right by using aluminum paint like they paint the letter-boxes with.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, “that would be realistic, at least, but I see a crowd of your young friends coming this way, and I feel quite sure they mean to carry you off. So won’t you promise me a dance or two, when the time comes for that part of the programme?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, “and there is going to be dancing after the supper.”

Mr. Hepworth looked after Patty, as, all unconscious of his gaze, she went on through the rooms with the young friends who had claimed her.

Gilbert Hepworth had long realised his growing interest in Patty, and acknowledged to himself that he loved the girl devotedly. But he had never by word or look intimated this, and had no intention of doing so until she should be some years older. He, himself, was thirty-four, and he knew that must seem old indeed to a girl of seventeen. So he really had little hope that he ever could win her for his own, but he allowed himself the pleasure of her society whenever opportunity offered, and it pleased him to do for her such acts of courtesy and kindness as could not be construed into special attentions, or indication of an unwelcome devotion.

Among the group that surrounded Patty was Kenneth Harper, a college boy who was a good chum of Patty’s and a favourite with Mr. Fairfield. Marian and Frank were with them, also Bob and Bumble, the Barlow Twins, and a number of the Philadelphia young people.

This group laughed and chatted merrily until the orchestra struck up the wedding march, and an expectant hush fell upon the assembly.

At Nan’s special request, there were no bridesmaids, and when the bride entered with her father, she was, as Patty had prophesied, a perfect picture in her beautiful wedding gown.

Mr. Fairfield seemed to think so too, and his happy smile as he came to meet her, gave Patty a thrill of gladness to think that this happiness had come to her father. His life had been lonely, and she was glad that it was to be shared by such a truly sweet and lovely woman as Nan.

Patty was the first to congratulate the wedded pair, and Mr. Hepworth, who was an usher, escorted her up to them that she might do so. Patty kissed both the bride and the bridegroom with whole-hearted affection, and after a few merry words turned away to give place to others.

“Come on, Patty,” said Kenneth, “a whole crowd of us are going to camp out in one of those jolly cozy corners on the verandah, and have our supper there.”

So Patty went with the merry crowd, and found that Kenneth had selected a conveniently located spot near one of the dining-room windows.

“I’m so glad it’s supper time,” she said, as they settled themselves comfortably in their chosen retreat. “I’ve been so busy and excited to-day that I’ve hardly eaten a thing, and I’m starving with hunger. And now that I’ve got my father safely married, and off my hands, I feel relieved of a great responsibility, and can eat my supper with a mind at rest.”

“When I’m married,” said Helen Barlow, “I mean to have a wedding exactly like this one. I think it’s the loveliest one I ever saw.”

“You won’t, though, Bumble,” said Patty, laughing. “In the first place, you’ll forget to order your wedding gown until a day or two before the occasion, and of course it won’t be done. And then you’ll forget to send out the invitations, so of course you’ll have no guests. And I’m sure you’ll forget to invite the minister, so there’ll be no ceremony, anyway.”

Bumble laughed good-naturedly at this, for the helter-skelter ways of the Barlow family were well known to everybody.

“It would be that way,” she said, “if I looked after things myself, but I shall expect you, Patty, to take entire charge of the occasion, and then everything will go along like clockwork.”

“Are you staying long in Philadelphia, Miss Fairfield?” asked Ethel Banks, a Philadelphia girl, who lived not far from the Allens.

“A few days longer,” said Patty. “I have to go back to New York next Tuesday, and then no more gaiety for me. I don’t know how I shall survive such a sudden change, but after this mad whirl of parties and things, I have to come down to plain everyday studying of lessons,—but we won’t talk about that now; it’s a painful subject to me at any time, but especially when I’m at a party.”

“Me, too,” said Kenneth. “If ever I get through college, I don’t think I’ll want to see a book for the next twenty years.”

“I didn’t know you hated your lessons so, Kenneth,” said Marian. “I thought Patty was the only one of my friends who was willing to avow that she was like that ‘Poor little Paul, who didn’t like study at all.’”

“Yes, I’m a Paul too,” said Kenneth, “and I may as well own up to it.”

“But you don’t let it interfere with your work,” said Patty; “you dig just as hard as if you really enjoyed it.”

“So do you,” said Kenneth, “but some day after we have both been graduated, I suppose we’ll be glad that we did our digging after all.”

A little later, Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield went away, amid showers of confetti, and after that there was an hour of informal dancing.

Patty was besieged with partners asking for a dance, and as there was no programme, she would make no promises, but accepted whoever might ask her first at the beginning of each dance. She liked to dance with Kenneth, for his step suited hers perfectly, and her cousin Bob was also an exceptionally good dancer.

But Patty showed no partiality, and enjoyed all the dances with her usual enthusiasm.

Suddenly she remembered that she had promised Mr. Hepworth a dance, but he had not come to claim it. Wondering, she looked around to see where he might be, and discovered him watching her from across the room.

There was an amused smile on his face, and Patty went to him, and asked him in her direct way, why he didn’t claim his dance.

“You are so surrounded,” he said, “by other and more attractive partners, that I hated to disturb you.”

“Nonsense,” said Patty, without a trace of self-consciousness or embarrassment. “I like you better than lots of these Philadelphia boys. Come on.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” said Mr. Hepworth, as they began to dance, “but you seemed to be finding these Philadelphia boys very agreeable.”

“They’re nice enough,” said Patty, carelessly, “and some of them are good dancers, but not as good as you are, Mr. Hepworth. Do you know you dance like a—like a—will-o’-the-wisp.”

“I never met a will-o’-the-wisp, but I’m sure they must be delightful people, to judge from the enthusiastic tone in which you mention them. Do you never get tired of parties and dancing, Patty?”

“Oh, no, indeed. I love it all. But you see I haven’t had very much. I’ve never been to but two or three real dancing-parties in my life. Why, I’ve only just outgrown children’s parties. I may get tired of it all, after two or three seasons, but as yet it’s such a novelty to me that I enjoy every speck of it.”

Mr. Hepworth suddenly realised how many social seasons he had been through, and how far removed he was from this young débutante in his views on such matters. He assured himself that he need never hope she would take any special interest in him, and he vowed she should never know of his feelings toward her. So he adapted his mood to hers, and chatted gaily of the events of the evening. Patty told him of the many pleasures that had been planned for her, during the rest of her visit at Mrs. Allen’s, and he was truly glad that the girl was to have a taste of the social gaiety that so strongly appealed to her.

“Miss Fairfield,” said Ethel Banks, coming up to Patty, as the music stopped, “I’ve been talking with my father, and he says if you and Mr. and Mrs. Allen will go, he’ll take us all in the automobile down to Atlantic City for the week-end.”

“How perfectly gorgeous!” cried Patty, her eyes dancing with delight. “I’d love to go. I’ve never been in an automobile but a few times in my life, and never for such a long trip as that. Let’s go and ask Mrs. Allen at once.”

Without further thought of Mr. Hepworth, save to give him a smiling nod as she turned away, Patty went with Ethel to ask Mrs. Allen about the projected trip.

Mrs. Allen was delighted to go, and said she would also answer for her husband. So it was arranged, and the girls went dancing back to Mr. Banks to tell him so. Ethel’s father was a kind-hearted, hospitable man, whose principal thought was to give pleasure to his only child. Ethel had no mother, and Mrs. Allen had often before chaperoned the girl on similar excursions to the one now in prospect.

As Mr. Banks was an enthusiastic motorist, and drove his own car, there was ample room for Mr. and Mrs. Allen and Patty.

Soon the wedding guests departed, and Patty was glad to take off her pretty gown and tumble into bed.

She slept late the next morning, and awoke to find Mrs. Allen sitting on the bed beside her, caressing her curly hair.

“I hate to waken you,” said that lady, “but it’s after ten o’clock, and you know you are to go to your Cousin Helen’s to spend the day. I want you to come home early this evening, as I have a little party planned for you, and so it’s only right that you should start as soon as possible this morning. Here is a nice cup of cocoa and a bit of toast. Let me slip a kimono around you, while you breakfast.”

In her usual busy way, Mrs. Allen fluttered about, while she talked, and after putting a kimono round her visitor, she drew up beside her a small table, containing a dainty breakfast tray.

“It’s just as well you’re going away to-day,” Mrs. Allen chattered on, “because the house is a perfect sight. Not one thing is in its place, and about a dozen men have already arrived to try to straighten out the chaos. So, as you may judge, my dear, since I have to superintend all these things, I’ll really get along better without you. Now, you get dressed, and run right along to the Barlows’. James will take you over in the pony cart, and he’ll come for you again at eight o’clock this evening. Mind, now, you’re not to stay a minute after eight o’clock, for I have invited some young people here to see you. I’ll send the carriage to-night, and then you can bring your Barlow cousins back with you.”

As Mrs. Allen rattled on, she had been fussing around the room getting out Patty’s clothes to wear that day, and acting in such a generally motherly manner that Patty felt sure she must be missing Nan, and she couldn’t help feeling very sorry for her, and told her so.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Allen, “it’s awful. I’ve only just begun to realise that I’ve lost my girl; still it had to come, I suppose, sooner or later, and I wouldn’t put a straw in the way of Nan’s happiness. Well, I shall get used to it in time, I suppose, and then sometimes I shall expect Nan to come and visit me.”

CHAPTER III

ATLANTIC CITY

Patty’s day at the Barlows’ was a decided contrast to her visit at Mrs. Allen’s.

In the Allen home every detail of housekeeping was complete and very carefully looked after, while at the Barlows’ everything went along in a slipshod, hit-or-miss fashion.

Patty well remembered her visit at their summer home which they called the Hurly-Burly, and she could not see that their city residence was any less deserving of the name. Her Aunt Grace and Uncle Ted were jolly, good-natured people, who cared little about system or method in their home. The result was that things often went wrong, but nobody cared especially if they did.

“I meant to have a nicer luncheon for you, Patty,” said her aunt, as they sat down at the table, “but the cook forgot to order lobsters, and when I telephoned for fresh peas the grocer said I was too late, for they were all sold. I’m so sorry, for I do love hothouse peas, don’t you?”

“I don’t care what I have to eat, Aunt Grace. I just came to visit you people, you know, and the luncheon doesn’t matter a bit.”

“That’s nice of you to say so, child. I remember what an adaptable little thing you were when you were with us down in the country, and really, you did us quite a lot of good that summer. You taught Bumble how to keep her bureau drawers in order. She’s forgotten it now, but it was nice while it lasted.”

“Helen, Mother, I do wish you would call me Helen. Bumble is such a silly name.”

“I know it, my dear,” said Mrs. Barlow, placidly, “and I do mean to, but you see I forget.”

“I forget it, too,” said Patty. “But I’ll try to call you Helen if you want me to. What time does Uncle Ted come home, Aunt Grace?”

“Oh, about five o’clock, or perhaps six; and sometimes he gets here at four. I never know what time he’s coming home.”

“It isn’t only that,” said Bob; “in fact, father usually comes home about the same time. But our clocks are all so different that it depends on which room mother is in, as to what time she thinks it is.”

“That’s so,” said Helen. “We have eleven clocks in this house, Patty, and every one of them is always wrong. Still, it’s convenient in a way; if you want to go anywhere at a certain time, no matter what time you start, you can always find at least one clock that’s about where you want it to be.”

“I’m sure I don’t see why the clocks don’t keep the right time,” said Mrs. Barlow. “A man comes every Saturday on purpose to wind and set them all.”

“We fool with them,” confessed Bob. “You see, Patty, we all like to get up late, and we set our clocks back every night, so that we can do it with a good grace.”

“Yes,” said Helen, “and then if we want each other to go anywhere through the day,—on time, you know,—we go around the house, and set all the clocks forward. That’s the only possible way to make anybody hurry up.”

Patty laughed. The whole conversation was so characteristic of the Barlows as she remembered them, and she wondered how they could enjoy living in such a careless way.

But they were an especially happy family, and most hospitable and entertaining. Patty thoroughly enjoyed her afternoon, although they did nothing in particular for her entertainment. But Aunt Grace was very fond of her motherless niece, and the twins just adored Patty.

At five o’clock tea was served, and though the appointments were not at all like Mrs. Allen’s carefully equipped service, yet it was an hour of comfortable enjoyment. Uncle Ted came home, and he was so merry and full of jokes, that he made them all laugh. Two or three casual callers dropped in, and Patty thought again, as she sometimes did, that perhaps she liked her Barlow cousins best of all.

Dinner, not entirely to Patty’s surprise, showed some of the same characteristics as luncheon had done. The salad course was lacking, because the mayonnaise dressing had been upset in the refrigerator; the ice cream was spoiled, because by mistake the freezer had been set in the sun until the ice melted, and the pretty pink pyramid was in a state of soft collapse.

But, as Aunt Grace cheerfully remarked, if it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else, and it didn’t matter much, anyway.

It was this happy philosophy of the Barlow family that charmed Patty so, and it left no room for embarrassment at these minor accidents, either on the part of the family or their guest.

“Now,” said Patty, after dinner, “if necessary, I’m going to set all the clocks forward, for, Helen, I do want you to be ready when Mrs. Allen sends for us. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting, one bit.”

“Never mind the clocks, Patty,” said Helen good-naturedly. “I’ll be ready.” She scampered off to dress, and sure enough was entirely ready before the carriage came.

“You see, Patty,” she said, “we can do things on time, only we’ve fallen into the habit of not doing so, unless there’s somebody like you here to spur us up.”

Patty admitted this, but told Bumble that she was sorry her influence was not more lasting.

On Saturday they started with the Banks’s on the automobile trip. Mrs. Allen provided Patty with a long coat for the journey, and a veil to tie over her hat. Not being accustomed to motoring, Patty did not have appropriate garments, and Mrs. Allen took delight in fitting her out with some of Nan’s.

Mr. Banks’s motor-car was of the largest and finest type. It was what is called a palace touring car, and represented the highest degree of comfort and luxury.

Patty had never been in such a beautiful machine, and when she was snugly tucked in the tonneau between Mrs. Allen and Ethel, Mr. Banks and Mr. Allen climbed into the front seat, and they started off.

The ride to Atlantic City was most exhilarating, and Patty enjoyed every minute of it. There was a top to the machine, for which reason the force of the wind was not so uncomfortable, and the tourists were able to converse with each other.

“I thought,” said Patty, “that when people went in these big cars, at this fearful rate of speed, you could hardly hear yourself think, much less talk to each other. What’s the name of your car, Mr. Banks?”

“The Flying Dutchman,” was the reply.

“It’s a flyer, all right,” said Patty, “but I don’t see anything Dutch about it.”

“That’s in honour of one of my ancestors, who, they tell me, came over from Holland some hundreds of years ago.”

“Then it’s a most appropriate name,” said Patty, “and it’s the most beautiful and comfortable car I ever saw.”

They went spinning on mile after mile at what Patty thought was terrific speed, but which Mr. Banks seemed to consider merely moderate. After a while, seeing how interested Patty was in the mechanism of the car, Mr. Allen offered to change seats with her, and let her sit with Mr. Banks, while that gentleman explained to her the working of it.

Patty gladly made the change, and eagerly listened while Mr. Banks explained the steering gear, and as much of the motor apparatus as he could make clear to her.

Patty liked Mr. Banks. He was a kind and courteous gentleman, and treated her with a deference that gave Patty a sudden sense of importance. It seemed strange to think that she, little Patty Fairfield, was the honoured guest of the well-known Mr. Banks of Philadelphia. She did her best to be polite and entertaining in return, and the result was very pleasant, and also very instructive in the art of motoring.

They reached Atlantic City late in the afternoon, and went at once to a large hotel, where Mr. Banks had telegraphed ahead for rooms.

Patty and Ethel had adjoining rooms, and the Allens and Mr. Banks had rooms across the hall from them.

Patty had begun to like Ethel before this trip had been planned, and as she knew her better she liked her more. Ethel Banks, though the only daughter of a millionaire, was not in the least proud or ostentatious. She was a sweet, simple-minded girl, with friendly ways, and a good comradeship soon developed between her and Patty.

She was a little older than Patty, and had just come out in society during the past winter.

As Patty was still a schoolgirl, she could not be considered as “out,” but of course on occasions like the present, such formalities made little or no difference.

“Now, my dear,” said Mr. Banks to Ethel, “if you and Miss Fairfield will hasten your toilettes a little, we will have time for a ride on the board walk before dinner.” This pleased the girls, and in a short time they had changed their travelling clothes for pretty light-coloured frocks, and went downstairs to find Mr. Banks waiting for them on the verandah. He explained that the Allens would not go with them on this expedition, so the three started off. As their hotel faced the ocean, it was just a step to the wide and beautiful board walk that runs for miles along the beach at Atlantic City.

In all her life Patty had never seen such a sight as this before, and the beauty and wonder of it all nearly took her breath away.

The board walk was forty feet wide, and was like a moving picture of gaily-dressed and happy-faced people.

Although early in April, it seemed like summer time, so balmy was the air, so bright the sunshine. Patty gazed with delight at the blue ocean, dotted with whitecaps, and then back to the wonderful panorama of the gay crowd, the music of the bands, and the laughter of the children.

“The best way to get an idea of the extent of this thing,” said Mr. Banks, “is to take a ride in the wheeled chairs. You two girls hop into that double one, and I will take this single one, and we’ll go along the walk for a mile or so.”

The chairs were propelled by strong young coloured men, who were affable and polite, and who explained the sights as they passed them, and pointed out places of interest. Patty said to Ethel that she felt as if she were in a perambulator, except that she wasn’t strapped in. But she soon became accustomed to the slow, gentle motion of the chairs, and declared that it was indeed an ideal way to see the beautiful place. On one side was an endless row of small shops or bazaars, where wares of all sorts were offered for sale. At one of these, a booth of oriental trinkets, Mr. Banks stopped and bought each of the girls a necklace of gay-coloured beads. They were not valuable ornaments, but had a quaint, foreign air, and were very pretty in their own way. Patty was greatly pleased, and when they passed another booth which contained exquisite Armenian embroideries, she begged Ethel to accept the little gift from her, and picking out some filmy needle-worked handkerchiefs, she gave them to her friend.

On they went, past the several long piers, until Mr. Banks said it was time to turn around if they would reach the hotel in time for dinner.

So back they went to the hotel, and, after finding the Allens, they all went to the dining-room.

Privately, Patty wondered how these people could spend so much time eating dinner, when they might be out on the beach. At last, to her great satisfaction, dinner was over, and Mr. Allen proposed that they all go out for a short stroll on the board walk.

Although it had been a gay scene in the afternoon, that was as nothing to the evening effect. Thousands,—millions, it seemed to Patty,—of electric lights in various wonderful devices, and in every possible colour, made the place as light as day, and the varied gorgeousness of the whole scene made it seem, as Patty said, like a big kaleidoscope.

They walked gaily along, mingling with the good-natured crowd, noticing various sights or incidents here and there, until they reached the great steel pier, where Mr. Allen invited them to go with him to the concert. So in they went to listen to a band concert. This pleased Patty, for she was especially fond of a brass band, but Mrs. Allen said it was nothing short of pandemonium.

“Your tastes are barbaric, Patty,” she said, laughing. “You love light and colour and noise, and I don’t believe you could have too much of any of the three.”

“I don’t believe I could,” said Patty, laughing herself, as the music banged and crashed.

“And that gewgaw you’ve got hanging around your neck,” went on Mrs. Allen; “your fancy for that proves you a true barbarian.”

“I think it’s lovely,” said Patty, looking at her gay-coloured beads. “I don’t care if I do like crazy things. Ethel likes these beads, too.”

“That’s all right,” said Mrs. Allen. “Of course you like them, chickadees, and they look very pretty with your light frocks. It’s no crime, Patty, to be barbaric. It only means you have youth and enthusiasm and a capacity for enjoyment.”

“Indeed I have,” said Patty. “I’m enjoying all this so much that I feel as if I should just burst, or fly away, or something.”

“Don’t fly away yet,” said Ethel. “We can’t spare you. There are lots more things to see.”

And so there were. After the concert they walked on, and on, continually seeing new and interesting scenes of one sort or another. Indeed, they walked so far that Mr. Allen said they must take chairs back. So again they got into the rolling chairs, and rolled slowly back to the hotel.

Patty was thoroughly tired out, but very happy, and went to sleep with the music of the dashing surf sounding in her ears.

CHAPTER IV

LESSONS AGAIN

But all this fun and frolic soon came to an end, and Patty returned to New York to take up her studies again.

Grandma Elliott was waiting for her in the pretty apartment home, and welcomed her warmly.

Mrs. Elliott and Patty were to stay at The Wilberforce only about a fortnight longer. Then Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield were to return and take Patty away with them to the new home on Seventy-second Street. Then the apartment in The Wilberforce was to be given up, and Grandma Elliott would return to Vernondale, where her son’s family eagerly awaited her.

“I’ve had a perfectly beautiful time, Grandma,” said Patty, as she took off her wraps, “but I haven’t time to tell you about it now. Just think, school begins again to-morrow, and I haven’t even looked at my lessons. I thought I would study some in Philadelphia, but goodness me, there wasn’t a minute’s time to do anything but frivol. The wedding was just gorgeous! Nan was a dream, and papa looked like an Adonis. I’ll tell you more at dinner time, but now I really must get to work.”

It was already late in the afternoon, but Patty brought out her books, and studied away zealously until dinner time. Then making a hasty toilette, she went down to the dining-room with grandma, and during dinner gave the old lady a more detailed account of her visit.

After dinner, Lorraine Hamilton and the Hart girls joined them in the parlour. But after chatting for a few moments with them, Patty declared she must go back to her studies.

“It’s awfully hard,” she said to Lorraine, as they walked to school next morning, “to settle down to work after having such a gay vacation. I do believe, Lorraine, that I never was intended for a student.”

“You’re doing too much,” said Lorraine. “It’s perfectly silly of you, Patty, to try to cram two years’ work into one, the way you’re doing.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Patty, “because then I won’t have to go to school next year, and that will be worth all this hard work now.”

“I’m awfully sorry you’re going away from The Wilberforce,” said Lorraine. “I shall miss you terribly.”

“I know it, and I’ll miss you, too; but Seventy-second Street isn’t very far away, and you must come to see me often.”

The schoolgirls all welcomed Patty back, for she was a general favourite, and foremost in all the recreations and pleasures, as well as the classes of the Oliphant school.

“Oh, Patty,” cried Elise Farrington, as she met her in the cloakroom, “what do you think? We’re going to get up a play for commencement. An original play, and act it ourselves, and we want you to write it, and act in it, and stage-manage it, and all. Will you, Patty?”

“Of course I will,” said Patty. “That is, I’ll help. I won’t write it all alone, nor act it all by myself, either. I don’t suppose it’s to be a monologue, is it?”

“No,” said Elise, laughing. “We’re all to be in it, and of course we’ll all help write it, but you must be at the head of it, and see that it all goes on properly.”

“All right,” said Patty, good-naturedly, “I’ll do all I can, but you know I’m pretty busy this year, Elise.”

“I know it, Patty, and you needn’t do much on this thing. Just superintend, and help us out here and there.”

Then the girls went into the class room and the day’s work began.

Patty had grown very fond of Elise, and though some of the other girls looked upon her as rather haughty, and what they called stuck-up, Patty failed to discern any such traits in her friend; and though Elise was a daughter of a millionaire, and lived a petted and luxurious life, yet, to Patty’s way of thinking, she was more sincere and simple in her friendship than many of the other girls.

After school that day Elise begged Patty to go home with her and begin the play.

“Can’t do it,” said Patty. “I must go home and study.”

“Oh, just come for a little while; the other girls are coming, and if you help us get the thing started, we can work at it ourselves, you know.”

“Well, I’ll go,” said Patty, “but I can only stay a few minutes.”

So they all went home with Elise, and settled themselves in her attractive casino to compose their great work.

But as might be expected from a group of chattering schoolgirls, they did not progress very rapidly.

“Tell us all about your fun in Philadelphia, Patty,” said Adelaide Hart.

And as Patty enthusiastically recounted the gaieties of her visit, the time slipped away until it was five o’clock, and not a word had been written.

“Girls, I must go,” cried Patty, looking at her watch. “I have an awful lot of studying to do, and I really oughtn’t to have come here at all.”

“Oh, wait a little longer,” pleaded Elise. “We must get the outline of this thing.”

“No, I can’t,” said Patty, “I really can’t; but I’ll come Saturday morning, and will work on it then, if you like.”

Patty hurried away, and when she reached home she found Kenneth Harper waiting for her.

“I thought you’d never come,” he said, as she arrived. “Your school keeps very late, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I’ve been visiting since school,” said Patty. “I oughtn’t to have gone, but I haven’t seen the girls for so long, and they had a plan on hand that they wanted to discuss with me.”

“I have a plan on hand, too,” said Kenneth. “I’ve been talking it over with Mrs. Elliott, and she has been kind enough to agree to it. A crowd of us are going to the matinée on Saturday, and we want you to go. Mrs. Morse has kindly consented to act as chaperon, and there’ll be about twelve in the party. Will you go, Patty?”

“Will I go!” cried Patty. “Indeed I will, Ken. Nothing could keep me at home. Won’t it be lots of fun?”

“Yes, it will,” said Kenneth, “and I’m so glad you will go. I was afraid you’d say those old lessons of yours were in the way.”

Patty’s face fell.

“I oughtn’t to go,” she said, “for I’ve promised the girls to spend Saturday morning with them, and now this plan of yours means that I shall lose the whole day, and I have so much to do on Saturday; an extra theme to write, and a lot of back work to make up. Oh, Ken, I oughtn’t to go.”

“Oh, come ahead. You can do those things Saturday evening.”

Patty sighed. She knew she wouldn’t feel much like work Saturday evening, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of the gay party Saturday afternoon. So she agreed to go, and Kenneth went away much pleased.

“What do you think, grandma?” said she. “Do you think I ought to have given up the matinée, and stayed at home to study?”

“No, indeed,” said Grandma Elliott, who was an easy-going old lady. “You’ll enjoy the afternoon with your young friends, and, as Kenneth says, you can study in the evening.”

So when Saturday came Patty spent the morning with Elise. The other girls were there, and they really got to work on their play, and planned the scenes and the characters.

“It will be perfectly lovely!” exclaimed Adelaide Hart. “I’m so glad for our class to do something worth while. It will be a great deal nicer than the tableaux of last year.”

“But it will be an awful lot of work,” said Hilda Henderson. “All those costumes, though they seem so simple, will be quite troublesome to get up, and the scenery will be no joke.”

“Perhaps Mr. Hepworth will help us with the scenery,” said Patty. “He did once when we had a kind of a little play in Vernondale, where I used to live. He’s an artist, you know, and he can sketch in scenes in a minute, and make them look as if they had taken days to do. He’s awfully clever at it, and so kind that I think he’ll consent to do it.”

“That will be regularly splendid!” said Elise, “and you’d better ask him at once, Patty, so as to give him as much time as possible.”

“No, I won’t ask him quite yet,” said Patty, laughing. “I think I’ll wait until the play is written, first. I don’t believe it’s customary to engage a scene painter before a play is scarcely begun.”

“Well, then, let’s get at it,” said Hilda, who was practical.

So to work they went, and really wrote the actual lines of a good part of the first act.

“Now, that’s something like,” said Patty, as, when the clock struck noon, she looked with satisfaction on a dozen or more pages, neatly written in Hilda’s pretty penmanship. “If we keep on like that, we can get this thing done in five or six Saturday mornings, and then I’ll ask Mr. Hepworth about the scenery. Then we can begin to rehearse, and we’ll just about be ready for commencement day.”

While Patty was with the girls, her interest and enthusiasm were so great that the play seemed the only thing to be thought of. But when she reached home and saw the pile of untouched schoolbooks and remembered that she would be away all the afternoon, she felt many misgivings.

However, she had promised to go, so off she went to the matinée, and had a thoroughly pleasant and enjoyable time. Mrs. Morse invited her to go home to dinner with Clementine, saying that she would send her home safely afterward.

Clementine added her plea that this invitation might be accepted, but Patty said no. Although she wanted very much to go with the Morses, yet she knew that duty called her home. So she regretfully declined, giving her reason, and went home, determined to work hard at her themes and her lessons. But after her merry day with her young friends, she was not only tired physically, but found great difficulty in concentrating her thoughts on more prosaic subjects. But Patty had pretty strong will-power, and she forced herself to go at her work in earnest. Grandma Elliott watched her, as she pored over one book after another, or hastily scribbled her themes. A little pucker formed itself between her brows, and a crimson flush appeared on her cheeks.

At ten o’clock Mrs. Elliott asserted her authority.

“Patty,” she said, “you must go to bed. You’ll make yourself ill if you work so hard.”

Patty pushed back her books. “I believe I’ll have to, grandma,” she said. “My head’s all in a whirl, and the letters are dancing jigs before my eyes.”

Exhausted, Patty crept into bed, and though she slept late next morning, Grandma Elliott imagined that her face still bore traces of worry and hard work.

“Nonsense, grandma,” said Patty, laughing. “I guess my robust constitution can stand a little extra exertion once in a while. I’ll try to take it easier this week, and I believe I’ll give up my gymnasium work. That will give me more time, and won’t interfere with getting my diploma.”

But though Patty gained a few extra half hours by omitting the gymnasium class, she missed the daily exercise more than she would admit even to herself.

“You’re getting round-shouldered, Patty,” said Lorraine, one day; “and I believe it’s because you work so hard over those old lessons.”

“It isn’t the work, Lorraine,” said Patty, laughing. “It’s the play. I had to rewrite the whole of that garden scene last night, after I finished my lessons.”

“Why, what was the matter with it?”

“It was all wrong. We didn’t think of it at the time, but in one place Elise has to go off at one side of the stage, and, immediately after, come on at the other side, in different dress. Now, of course, that won’t do; it has to be arranged so that she will have time to change her costume. So I had to write in some lines for the others. And there were several little things like that to be looked after, so I had to do over pretty nearly the whole scene.”

“It’s a shame, Patty! We make you do all the hardest of the work.”

“Not a bit of it. I love to do it; and when we all work together and chatter so, of course we don’t think it out carefully enough, and so these mistakes creep in. Don’t say anything about it, Lorraine. The girls will never notice my little changes and corrections, and I don’t want to pose as a poor, pale martyr, growing round-shouldered in her efforts to help her fellow-sisters!”

“You’re a brick, Patty, but I will tell them, all the same. If we’re all going to write this play together, we’re going to do it all, and not have you doing our work for us.”

Lorraine’s loyalty to Patty was unbounded, and as she had, moreover, a trace of stubbornness in her character, Patty knew that no amount of argument would move her from her determination to straighten matters out. So she gave up the discussion, only saying, “You won’t do a bit of good, Lorraine; and anyway, somebody ought to revise the thing, and if I don’t do it, who will?”

Patty said this without a trace of egotism, for she and Lorraine both knew that none of the other girls had enough constructive talent or dramatic capability to put the finishing touches on the lines of the play. That was Patty’s special forte, just as Clementine Morse was the one best fitted to plan the scenic effects, and Elise Farrington to design the costumes.

“That’s so,” said Lorraine, with a little sigh, “and I suppose, Patty, you’ll just go on in your mad career, and do exactly as you please.”

“I suppose I shall,” said Patty, laughing at Lorraine’s hopeless expression; “but I do want this play to be a success, and I mean to help all I can, in any way I can.”

“It’s bound to be a success,” said Lorraine with enthusiasm, “because the girls are all so interested, and I think we’re all working hard in our different ways. Of course I don’t have anything to do except to look after the incidental music, but I do hope that will turn out all right.”

“Of course it will, Lorraine,” said Patty. “Your selections are perfect so far; and you do look after more than that. Those two little songs you wrote are gems, and they fit into the second act just exactly right. I think you’re a real poet, Lorraine, and after the play is over I wish you’d get those little songs published. I’m sure they’re worth it.”

“I wish I could,” said Lorraine, “and I do mean to try.”

CHAPTER V

A NEW HOME

Great was the rejoicing and celebration when Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield returned from their wedding trip. They came to the apartment to remain there for a few days before moving to the new house.

Patty welcomed Nan with open arms, and it was harder than ever for her to attend to her studies when there was so much going on in the family.

The furnishing of the new house was almost completed, but there remained several finishing touches to be attended to. As Patty’s time was so much occupied, she was not allowed to have any hand in this work. Mrs. Allen had come on from Philadelphia to help her daughter, and Grandma Elliott assisted in dismantling the apartment, preparatory to giving it up.

So when Patty started to school one Friday morning, and was told that when the session was over she was to go to her new home to stay, she felt as if she were going to an unexplored country.

It was with joyful anticipations that she put on her hat and coat, after school, and started home.

Her father had given her a latch-key, and as she stepped in at the front door, Nan, in a pretty house dress, stood ready to welcome her.

“My dear child,” she said, “welcome home. How do you like the prospect?”

“It’s lovely,” said Patty, gazing around at as much as she could see of the beautiful house and its well-furnished rooms. “What a lot of new things there are, and I recognise a good many of the old ones, too. Oh, Nan, won’t we be happy all here together?”

“Indeed we will,” said Nan. “I think it’s the loveliest house in the world, and mother and Fred have fixed it up so prettily. Come up and see your room, Patty.”

A large, pleasant front room on the third floor had been assigned to Patty’s use, and all her own special and favourite belongings had been placed there.

“How dear of you, Nan, to arrange this all for me, and put it all to rights. I really couldn’t have taken the time to do it myself, but it’s just the way I want it.”

“And this,” said Nan, opening a door into a small room adjoining, “is your own little study, where you can be quiet and undisturbed, while you’re studying those terrific lessons of yours.”

Patty gave a little squeal of delight at the dainty library, furnished in green, and with her own desk and bookcases already in place.

“But don’t think,” Nan went on, “that we shall let you stay here and grub away at those books much of the time. An hour a day is all we intend to allow you to be absent from our family circle while you’re in the house.”

“An hour a day to study!” exclaimed Patty. “It’s more likely that an hour a day is all I can give you of my valuable society.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Nan, wagging her head wisely. “You see I have some authority now, and I intend to exercise it.”

“Ha,” said Patty, dramatically, “I see it will be war to the knife!”

“To the knife!” declared Nan, as she ran away laughing.

Patty looked about her two lovely rooms with genuine pleasure. She was like a cat in her love of comfortable chairs and luxurious cushions, and she fully appreciated the special and individual care with which Nan and her father had considered her tastes. Had she not been so busy she would have preferred to have a hand in the arranging of her rooms herself, but as it was, she was thankful that someone else had done it for her.

Hastily throwing off her hat and coat, she flung herself into a comfortable easy chair by her library table, and was soon deep in her French lesson.

A couple of hours later Nan came up and found her there.

“Patty Fairfield!” she exclaimed. “You are the worst I ever saw! Get right up and dress for dinner! Your father will be home in a few minutes, and I want you to help me receive properly the master of the house.”

Patty rubbed her eyes and blinked, as Nan pulled the book away from her, and said, “Why, what time is it?”

“Time for you to stop studying, and come out of your shell and mingle with the world. Wake up!” and Nan gave Patty a little shake.

Patty came to herself and jumped up, saying, “Indeed, I’m glad enough to leave my horrid books, and I’m hungry enough to eat any dinner you may set before me. What shall I wear, Nan?”

“Put on that pretty light blue thing of yours, with the lace yoke. This is rather a festival night, and we’re going to celebrate the first dinner in our new home.”

So Patty brushed her curly hair and tied on a white ribbon bow of such exceeding size and freshness that she looked almost as if wings were sprouting from her shoulders. Then she donned her light blue frock, and went dancing downstairs, to find that her father had already arrived.

“Well, Pattikins,” he said, “can you feel at home in this big house, after living so long in our apartment?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, “any place is home where you and Nan are.”

The dinner passed off gaily enough. Only the three were present, as Nan did not want any guests the first night.

Although the dining-room appointments were those that had furnished the Fairfields’Vernondale home, yet they were so augmented by numerous wedding gifts of Nan’s that Patty felt as if she were at a dinner party of unusual splendour.

“It’s lovely to live in a house with a bride,” she said, “because there are such beautiful silver and glass things on the table, and on the sideboard.”

“Yes,” said Nan, glancing around her with satisfaction. “I intend to use all my things. I think it’s perfectly silly to pack them away in a safe, and never have any good of them.”

“But suppose burglars break in and steal them,” said Patty.

“Well, even so,” said Nan, placidly, “they would be gone, but it wouldn’t be much different from having them stored away in a safe deposit company.”

“Nan’s principle is right,” said Mr. Fairfield. “Now, here’s the way I look at it: what you can’t afford to lose, you can’t afford to buy. Remember that, Patty, and if ever you are tempted to invest a large sum of money in a diamond or silver or any portable property, look upon that money as gone forever. True, you might realise on your possession in case of need, but more likely you could not, and, too, there is always the chance of losing it by carelessness or theft. So remember that you can’t afford to buy what you can’t afford to lose.”

“That’s a new idea to me, papa,” said Patty, “but I see what you mean and I know you are right. However, there’s little chance of my investing in silver at present, for I can just as well use Nan’s.”

“Of course you can,” said Nan, heartily; “and whenever you want to have company, or a party of any kind, you’ve only to mention it, and not only my silver, but my servants and my own best efforts are at your disposal.”

“That’s lovely,” said Patty, “and I would love to have parties and invite the schoolgirls and some of the boys, but I can’t take the time now. Why, I couldn’t spare an evening from my studies to entertain the crowned heads of Europe.”

“Nonsense,” said Mr. Fairfield, “you mustn’t work so hard, Puss; and anyway you’ll have to spare this evening, for I asked Hepworth to drop in, and I think two or three others may come, and we’ll have a little informal housewarming.”

“Yes,” said Patty, dubiously, “and Kenneth said he would call this evening, and Elise and Roger may come in. So, as it’s Friday evening, I’ll see them, of course; but after this I must study every evening except Fridays.”

A little later on, when a number of guests had assembled in the Fairfields’ drawing-room, Patty looked like anything but a bookworm, or a pale-faced student. Her eyes danced, and the colour glowed in her pretty face, for she was very fond of merry society, and always looked her prettiest when thus animated.

She and Elise entertained the others by quoting some bits from the school play, Nan sang for them, and Kenneth gave some of his clever and funny impersonations.

Mr. Hepworth declared that he had no parlour tricks, but Patty asserted that he had, and she ran laughing from the room, to return with several large sheets of paper and a stick of drawing charcoal. Then she decreed that Mr. Hepworth should draw caricature portraits of all those present. After a little demurring, the artist consented, and shrieks of laughter arose as his clever pencil swiftly sketched a humorous portrait of each one.

“It’s right down jolly,” said Kenneth to Patty, “your having a big house of your own like this. Mayn’t I come often to see you? Mrs. Nan is so kind, she always has a welcome for me.”

“You may come and accept her welcome whenever you like,” said Patty, “but I can’t promise to see you, Ken, except Friday evenings. Honestly, I don’t have one minute to myself. You see, we rehearse the play afternoons, and evenings I have to study, and Saturday is crammed jam full.”

“But she will see you, Kenneth,” said Nan, who had heard these remarks. “We’re not going to let her retire from the world in any such fashion as she proposes; so you come to see us whenever you like, and my word for it, Patty will be at home to you.”

Nan passed on, laughing, and Patty turned to Kenneth with an appealing glance.

“You know how it is, don’t you, Ken? I just have to stick to my work like everything, or I won’t pass those fearful examinations, and now that I’ve made up my mind to try for them, I do want to succeed.”

“Yes, I know, Patty, and I fully sympathise with your ambitions. Stick to it, and you’ll come out all right yet; and if I should call sometimes when you’re studying, just say you’re too busy to see me, and it will be all right.”

“What an old trump you are, Ken. You always seem to understand.”

But as the days passed on, Patty found that other people did not understand. Her study hours were continually interrupted. There were occasional callers in the afternoon, and when Nan presented herself at the study door, and begged so prettily that Patty would come down just this once, the girl hadn’t the heart to refuse. Then there was often company in the evenings, and again Patty would be forced to break through her rules. Or there were temptations which she really couldn’t resist,—such as when her father came home to dinner, bringing tickets for the opera, or for some especially fine play.

Then, Nan had a day each week on which she received her friends, and on these Thursdays Patty was supposed also to act as hostess. Of course this pleasant duty was imperative, and Patty always enjoyed the little receptions, though she felt guilty at losing her Thursday afternoons. Almost invariably, too, some of the guests accepted Nan’s invitation to remain to dinner, and that counted out Thursday evening as well.

Altogether, poor Patty was at her wits’ end to find any time to herself. She tried rising very early in the morning and studying before breakfast, but she found it difficult to awaken early, and neither Nan nor her father would allow her to be called.

So she was forced to resort to sitting up late, and studying after the rest of the household had retired. As her room was on the third floor, she had no difficulty in pursuing this plan without anyone being aware of it, but burning the midnight oil soon began to tell on her appearance.

One morning at breakfast, her father said, “Patty, child, what is the matter with you? Your eyes look like two holes burnt in a blanket! You weren’t up late last night?”

“Not very,” said Patty, dropping her eyes before her father’s searching gaze.

Nothing more was said on the subject, but though Patty hated to do anything secretly, yet she felt she must continue her night work, as it was really her only chance.

So that night as she sat studying until nearly midnight, her door slowly opened, and Nan peeped in. She wore a kimono, and her hair was in a long braid down her back.

“Patty Fairfield,” she said, “go to bed at once! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to sit up so late when you know your father doesn’t want you to.”

“Now, look here, Nan,” said Patty, talking very seriously, “I have to sit up late like this, because I can’t get a minute’s time through the day. You know how it is. There’s always company, or something going on, and I can’t wake up early in the morning, and I have to sit up late at night, even if it does make me tired and sleepy and good for nothing the next day. Oh, Nan, instead of hindering and making fun of me, and bothering me all you can, I think you might try to help me!”

Patty threw herself on her knees, and burying her face in Nan’s lap, burst into a convulsive flood of tears.

Nan was thoroughly frightened. She had never before seen Patty cry, and this was more than crying. It was almost hysterical.

Then, like a flash, Nan saw it all. Overwork and worry had so wrought on Patty’s nerves that the girl was half sick and wholly irresponsible for her actions.

With a ready tact, Nan patted the golden head, and gently soothed the excited child.

“Never mind, Patty, darling,” she said, “and try to forgive me, won’t you? I fear I have been rather blind to the true state of the case, but I see more plainly now, and I will help you, indeed I will. I will see to it that you shall have your hours for study just as you want them, and you shall not be interrupted. Dear little girl, you’re all tired out, and your nerves are all on edge, and no wonder. Now, hop along to bed, and you’ll see that things will go better after this.”

As she talked, Nan had gently soothed the excited girl, and in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, she helped her prepare for bed, and finally tucked her up snugly under her down coverlet.

“Good-night, dearie,” she said; “go to sleep without a bother on your mind, and remember that after this Nan will see to it that you shall have other times to study than the middle of the night.”

“Good-night,” said Patty, “and I’m sorry I made such a baby of myself. But truly, Nan, I’m bothered to death with those old lessons and the play and everything.”

“That’s all right; just go to sleep and dream of Commencement Day, when all the bothers will be over, and you’ll get your diploma and your medal, and a few dozen bouquets besides.”

And with a final good-night kiss, Nan left the worn-out girl and returned thoughtfully to her own room.

CHAPTER VI

BUSY DAYS

Nan was as good as her word. Instead of trying to persuade Patty not to study so hard, she did all she could to keep the study hours free from interruption.

Many a time when Nan wanted Patty’s company or assistance, she refrained from telling her so, and unselfishly left the girl to herself as much as possible.

The result of this was that Patty gave herself up to her books and her school work to such an extent that she allowed herself almost no social recreation, and took little or no exercise beyond her walks to and from school.

This went on for a time, but Patty was, after all, of a sensitive and observing nature, and she soon discovered, by a certain wistful expression on Nan’s face, or a tone of regret in her voice, that she was often sacrificing her own convenience to Patty’s.

Patty’s sense of proportion rebelled at this, and she felt that she must be more obliging to Nan, who was so truly kind to her.

And so she endeavoured to cram more duties into her already full days, and often after a hard day’s work in school, when she would have been glad to throw on a comfortable house gown and rest in her own room, she dressed herself prettily and went out calling with her stepmother, or assisted her to receive her own guests.

Gay-hearted Nan was not acutely observant, and it never occurred to her that all this meant any self-sacrifice on Patty’s part. She accepted with pleasure each occasion when Patty’s plans fell in with her own, and the more this was the case, the more she expected it, so that poor Patty again found herself bewildered by her multitude of conflicting duties.

“I have heard,” she thought to herself one day, “that duties never clash, but it seems to me they never do anything else. Now, this afternoon I’m sure it’s my duty to write my theme, and yet I promised the girls I’d be at rehearsal, and then, Nan is so anxious for me to go shopping with her, that I honestly don’t know which I ought to do; but I believe I’ll write my theme, because that does seem the most important.”

“Patty,” called Nan’s voice from the hall, “you’ll go with me this afternoon, won’t you? I have to decide between those two hats, you know, and truly I can’t take the responsibility alone.”

“Oh, Nan,” said Patty, “it really doesn’t matter which hat you get, they’re both so lovely. I’ve seen them, you know, and truly I think one is just as becoming as the other. And honest, I’m fearfully busy to-day.”

“Oh, pshaw, Patty. I’ve let you alone afternoons for almost a week now, or at least for two or three days, anyhow. I think you might go with me to-day.”

Good-natured Patty always found it hard to resist coaxing, so with a little sigh she consented, and gave up her whole afternoon to Nan.

That meant sitting up late at night to study, but this was now getting to be the rule with Patty, and not the exception.

So the weeks flew by, and as commencement day drew nearer, Patty worked harder and her nerves grew more strained and tense, until a breakdown of some sort seemed imminent.

Mr. Fairfield at last awoke to the situation, and told Patty that she was growing thin and pale and hollow-eyed.

“Never mind,” said Patty, looking at her father with an abstracted air, “I haven’t time now, Papa, even to discuss the subject. Commencement day is next week, to-morrow my examinations begin, and I have full charge of the costumes for the play, and they’re not nearly ready yet.”

“You mustn’t work so hard, Patty,” said Nan, in her futile way.

“Nan, if you say that to me again, I’ll throw something at you! I give you fair warning, people, that I’m so bothered and worried that my nerves are all on edge, and my temper is pretty much the same way. Now, until after commencement I’ve got to work hard, but if I just live through that, I’ll be sweet and amiable again, and will do anything you want me to.”

Patty was half laughing, but it was plain to be seen she was very much in earnest.

Commencement was to occur the first week in June, and the examinations, which took place the week before, were like a nightmare to poor Patty.

Had she been free to give her undivided attention, she might have taken them more calmly. But her mind was so full of the troubles and responsibilities consequent on the play, that it was almost impossible to concentrate her thoughts on the examination work. And yet the examinations were of far more importance than the play, for Patty was most anxious to graduate with honours, and she felt sure that she knew thoroughly the ground she had been over in her studies.

At last examinations were finished, and though not yet informed of her markings, Patty felt that on the whole she had been fairly successful, and Friday night she went home from school with a heart lighter than it had been for many weeks.

“Thank goodness, it’s over!” she cried as she entered the house, and clasping Nan around the waist, she waltzed her down the hall in a mad joy of celebration.

“Well, I am glad,” said Nan, after she had recovered her breath; “now you can rest and get back your rosy cheeks once more.”

“Not yet,” said Patty gaily; “there is commencement day and the play yet. They’re fun compared to examinations, but still they mean a tremendous lot of work. To-morrow will be my busiest day yet, and I’ve bought me an alarm clock, because I have to get up at five o’clock in order to get through the day at all.”

“What nonsense,” said Nan, but Patty only laughed, and scurried away to dress for dinner.

When the new alarm clock went off at five the next morning, Patty awoke with a start, wondering what in the world had happened.

Then, as she slowly came to her senses, she rubbed her sleepy eyes, jumped up quickly, and began to dress.

By breakfast time she had accomplished wonders.

“I’ve rewritten two songs,” she announced at the breakfast table, “and sewed for an hour on Hilda’s fairy costume, and cut out a thousand gilt stars for the scenery, and made two hundred paper violets besides!”

“You are a wonder, Patty,” said Nan, but Mr. Fairfield looked at his daughter anxiously. Her eyes were shining with excitement, and there was a little red spot on either cheek.

“Be careful, dear,” he said. “It would be pretty bad if, after getting through your examinations, you should break down because of this foolish play.”

“It isn’t a foolish play, Papa,” said Patty gaily; “it’s most wise and sensible. I ought to know, for I wrote most of it myself, and I’ve planned all the costumes and helped to make many of them. One or two, though, we have to get from a regular costumer, and I have to go and see about them to-day. Want to go with me, Nan?”

“I’d love to go,” said Nan, “but I haven’t a minute to spare all day long. I’m going to the photographer’s, and then to Mrs. Stuart’s luncheon, and after that to a musicale.”

“Never mind,” said Patty, “it won’t be much fun. I just have to pick out the costumes for Joan of Arc and Queen Elizabeth.”

“Your play seems to include a variety of characters,” said Mr. Fairfield.

“Yes, it does,” said Patty, “and most of the dresses we’ve contrived ourselves; but these two are beyond us, so we’re going to hire them. Good-bye, now, people; I must fly over to see Elise before I go down town.”

“Who’s going with you, Patty, to the costumer’s?” asked her father.

“Miss Sinclair, Papa; one of the teachers in our school. I am to meet her at the school at eleven o’clock. We are going to the costume place, and then to the shops to buy a few things for the play. I’ll be home to luncheon, Nan, at one o’clock.”

Patty flew away on her numerous errands, going first to Elise Farrington’s to consult on some important matters. Hilda and Clementine were there, and there was so much to be decided that the time passed by unnoticed, until Patty exclaimed, “Why, girls, it’s half-past eleven now, and I was to meet Miss Sinclair at eleven! Oh, I’m so sorry! I make it a point never to keep anybody waiting. I don’t know when I ever missed an engagement before. Now, you must finish up about the programmes and things, and I’ll scurry right along. She must be there waiting for me.”

The school was only two blocks away, and Patty covered the ground as rapidly as possible. But when she reached there Miss Sinclair had gone. Another teacher who was there told Patty that Miss Sinclair had waited until twenty minutes after eleven, and then she had concluded that she must have mistaken the appointment, and that probably Patty had meant she would meet her at the costumer’s. So she had gone on, leaving word for Patty to follow her there, if by any chance she should come to the school looking for her.

Patty didn’t know what to do. The costumer’s shop was a considerable distance away, and Patty was not in the habit of going around the city alone. But this seemed to her a special occasion, and, too, there was no time to hesitate.

She thought of telephoning to Nan, but of course she had already gone out. She couldn’t call her father up from down town, and it wouldn’t help matters any to ask Elise or any of the other girls to go with her. So, having to make a hasty decision, Patty determined to go alone.

She knew the address, and though she didn’t know exactly how to reach it, she felt sure she could learn by a few enquiries. But, after leaving the Broadway car, she discovered that she had to travel quite a distance east, and there was no cross-town line in that locality. Regretting the necessity of keeping Miss Sinclair waiting, Patty hurried on, and after some difficulty reached the place, only to find that the costumer had recently moved, and that his new address was some distance farther up town.

Patty did not at all like the situation. She was unfamiliar with this part of the town, she felt awkward and embarrassed at being there alone, and she was extremely sorry not to have kept her engagement with Miss Sinclair.

All of this, added to the fact that she was nervous and overwrought, as well as physically tired out, rendered her unable to use her really good judgment and common sense.

She stood on a street corner, uncertain what to do next; and her uncertainty was distinctly manifest on her countenance.

The driver of a passing hansom called out, “Cab, Miss?” And this seemed to Patty a providential solution of her difficulty.

Recklessly unheeding the fact that she had never before been in a public cab alone, she jumped in, after giving the costumer’s number to the driver. As she rode up town she thought it over, and concluded that, after all, she had acted wisely, and that she could explain to her father how the emergency had really necessitated this unusual proceeding.

It was a long ride, and when Patty jumped out of the cab and asked the driver his price, she was a little surprised at the large sum he mentioned.

However, she thought it was wiser to pay it without protest than to make herself further conspicuous by discussing the matter.

She opened the little wrist-bag which she carried, only to make the startling discovery that her purse was missing.

Even as she realised this, there flashed across her memory the fact that her father had often told her that it was a careless way to carry money, and that she would sooner or later be relieved of her purse by some clever pickpocket.

Patty could not be sure whether this was what had happened in the present instance, or whether she had left her purse at home. As she had carried change for carfare in her coat pocket, she had not expected to need a large sum of money, and her confused brain refused to remember whether she had put her purse in her bag or not.

She found herself staring at the cabman, who was looking distrustfully at her.

“I think I have had my pocket picked,” she said slowly, “or else I left my purse at home. I don’t know which.”

“No, no, Miss, that won’t go down,” said the cabman, not rudely, but with an uncomfortable effect of being determined to have his fare. “Pay up, now, pay up,” he went on, “and you’ll save yourself trouble in the end.”

“But I can’t pay you,” said Patty. “I haven’t any money.”

“Then you didn’t ought to ride. It ain’t the first time I’ve knowed a swell young lady to try to beat her way. Come, Miss, if you don’t pay me I’ll have to drive you to the station house.”

“What!” cried Patty, her face turning white with anger and mortification.

“Yes, Miss, that’s the way we do. I s’pose you know you’ve stole a ride.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” said Patty; “let me think.”

“Think away, Miss; perhaps you can remember where you’ve hid your money.”

“But I tell you I haven’t any,” said Patty, her indignation rising above her fear. “Now, look here, I have a friend right in here at this address; let me speak to her, and she’ll come out and pay you.”

“No, no, Miss; you can’t ketch me that way. I’ve heard of them friends before. But I’ll tell you what,” he added, as Patty stood looking at him blankly, “I’ll go in there with you, and if so be’s your friend’s there and pays up the cash, I’ve nothing more to say.”

The hansom-driver climbed down from his seat and went with Patty into the costumer’s shop.

A stolid-looking woman of Italian type met them and enquired what was wanted.

“Is Miss Sinclair here?” asked Patty eagerly.

“No, Miss, there’s nobody here by way of a customer.”

“But hasn’t a lady been here in the last hour, to look at costumes for a play?”

“No, Miss, nobody’s been here this whole morning.”

“You see you can’t work that game,” said the cabman. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I guess you’ll have to come along with me.”

CHAPTER VII

A RESCUE

Perhaps it was partly owing to Patty’s natural sense of humour, or perhaps her overwrought nerves made her feel a little hysterically inclined, but somehow the situation suddenly struck her as being very funny. To think that she, Patty Fairfield, was about to be arrested because she couldn’t pay her cab fare, truly seemed like a joke.

But though it seemed like a joke, it wasn’t one. As Patty hesitated, the cabman grew more impatient and less respectful.

Patty’s feeling of amusement passed as quickly as it came, and she realised that she must do something at once. Nan was not at home, her father was too far away, and, curiously, the next person she thought of as one who could help her in her trouble was Mr. Hepworth.

This thought seemed like an inspiration. Instantly assuming an air of authority and dignity, she turned to the angry cabman and said, “You will be the one to be arrested unless you behave yourself more properly. Come with me to the nearest public telephone station. I have sufficient money with me to pay for a telephone message, and I will then prove to your satisfaction that your fare will be immediately paid.”

Patty afterward wondered how she had the courage to make this speech, but the fear of what might happen had been such a shock to her that it had reacted upon her timidity.

And with good results, for the cabman at once became meek and even cringing.

“There’s a telephone across the street, Miss,” he said.

“Very well,” said Patty; “come with me.”

“There’s a telephone here, Miss,” said the Italian woman, “if you would like to use it.”

“That’s better yet,” said Patty; “where’s the book?”

Taking the telephone book, Patty quickly turned the leaves until she found Mr. Hepworth’s studio number.

She had an aversion to speaking her own name before her present hearers, so when Mr. Hepworth responded she merely said, “Do you know who I am?”

Of course the others listening could not hear when Mr. Hepworth responded that he did know her voice, and then called her by name.

“Very well,” said Patty, still speaking with dignity, “I have had the misfortune to lose my purse, and I am unable to pay my cab fare. Will you be kind enough to answer the cabman over this telephone right now, and inform him that it will be paid if he will drive me to your address, which you will give him?”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Hepworth politely, though he was really very much amazed at this message.

Patty turned to the cabman and said, somewhat sternly, “Take this receiver and speak to the gentleman at the other end of the wire.”

Sheepishly the man took the receiver and timidly remarked, “Hello.”

“What is your number?” asked Mr. Hepworth, and the cabman told him.

“Where are you?” was the next question, and the cabman gave the address of the costumer, which Patty had not remembered to do.

Mr. Hepworth’s studio was not very many blocks away, and he gave the cabman his name and address, saying, “Bring the young lady around here at once, as quickly as you can. I will settle with you on your arrival.”

Mr. Hepworth hung up his own receiver, much puzzled. His first impulse was to go to the address where Patty was, but as it would take some time for him to get around there by any means, he deemed it better that she should come to him.

As Patty felt safe, now that she was so soon to meet Mr. Hepworth, she gave her remaining change to the Italian woman, who had been kind, though stolidly disinterested, during the whole interview.

The cabman, having given his number to Mr. Hepworth, felt a responsibility for the safety of his passenger, and assisted her into the cab with humble politeness.

A few moments’ ride brought them to the large building in which was Mr. Hepworth’s studio, and that gentleman himself, hatted and gloved, stood on the curb awaiting them.

“What’s it all about?” he asked Patty, making no motion, however, to assist her from the cab.

But the reaction after her fright and embarrassment had made Patty so weak and nervous that she was on the verge of tears.

“I didn’t have any money,” she said; “I don’t know whether I lost it or not, and if you’ll please pay him, papa will pay you afterward.”

“Of course, child; that’s all right,” said Mr. Hepworth. “Don’t get out,” he added, as Patty started to do so. “Stay right where you are, and I’ll take you home.” He gave Patty’s address to the driver, swung himself into the cab beside Patty, and off they started.

“I wasn’t frightened,” said Patty, though her quivering lip and trembling hands belied her words; “but when he said he’d arrest me, I—I didn’t know what to do, and so I telephoned to you.”

“Quite right,” said Hepworth, in a casual tone, which gave no hint of the joy he felt in being Patty’s protector in such an emergency. “But I say, child, you look regularly done up. What have you been doing? Have you had your luncheon?”

“No,” said Patty, faintly.

“And it’s after two o’clock,” said Hepworth, sympathetically. “You poor infant, I’d like to take you somewhere for a bite, but I suppose that wouldn’t do. Well, here’s the only thing we can do, and it will at least keep you from fainting away.”

He signalled the cabman to stop at a drug shop, where there was a large soda fountain. Here he ordered for Patty a cup of hot bouillon. He made her drink it slowly, and was rejoiced to see that it did her good. She felt better at once, and when they returned to the cab she begged Mr. Hepworth to let her go on home alone, and not take any more of his valuable time.

“No, indeed,” said that gentleman; “it may not be according to the strictest rules of etiquette for me to be going around with you in a hansom cab, but it’s infinitely better than for you to be going around alone. So I’ll just take charge of you until I can put you safely inside your father’s house.”

“And the girls are coming at two o’clock for a rehearsal!” said Patty. “Oh, I shall be late.”

“The girls will wait,” said Mr. Hepworth, easily, and then during the rest of the ride he entertained Patty with light, merry conversation.

He watched her closely, however, and came to the conclusion that the girl was very nervous, and excitable to a degree that made him fear she was on the verge of a mental illness.

“When is this play of yours to come off?” he enquired.

“Next Thursday night,” said Patty, “if we can get ready for it, and we must; but oh, there is so much to do, and now I’ve wasted this whole morning and haven’t accomplished a thing, and I don’t know where Miss Sinclair is, and I didn’t see about the costumes, after all, and now I’ll be late for rehearsal. Oh, what shall I do?”

Mr. Hepworth had sufficient intuition to know that if he sympathised with Patty in her troubles she was ready to break down in a fit of nervous crying.

So he said, as if the matter were of no moment, “Oh, pshaw, those costumes will get themselves attended to some way or another. Why, I’ll go down there this afternoon and hunt them up, if you like. Just tell me what ones you want.”

This was help, indeed. Patty well knew that Mr. Hepworth’s artistic taste could select the costumes even better than her own, and she eagerly told him the necessary details.

Mr. Hepworth also promised to look after some other errands that were troubling Patty’s mind, so that when she finally reached home she was calm and self-possessed once more.

Mr. Hepworth quickly settled matters with the cabman, and then escorted Patty up the steps to her own front door, where, with a bow and a few last kindly words, he left her and walked rapidly away.

The girls who had gathered for rehearsal greeted her with a chorus of reproaches for being so late, but when Patty began to tell her exciting experiences, the rehearsal was forgotten in listening to the thrilling tale.

“Come on, now,” said Patty, a little later, “we must get to work. Get your places and begin your lines, while I finish these.”

Patty had refused to go to luncheon, and the maid had brought a tray into the library for her. So, with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, she directed the rehearsal, taking her own part therein when the time came.

So the days went on, each one becoming more and more busy as the fateful time drew near.

Also Patty became more and more nervous. She had far more to do than any of the other girls, for they depended on her in every emergency, referred every decision to her, and seemed to expect her to do all the hardest of the work.

Moreover, the long strain of overstudy she had been through had left its effects on her system, and Patty, though she would not admit it, and no one else realised it, was in imminent danger of an attack of nervous prostration.

The last few days Nan had begun to suspect this, but as nothing could be done to check Patty’s mad career, or even to assist her in the many things she had to do, Nan devoted her efforts to keeping Patty strengthened and stimulated, and was constantly appearing to her with a cup of hot beef tea, or of strong coffee, or a dose of some highly recommended nerve tonic.

Although these produced good temporary effects, the continued use of these remedies really aggravated Patty’s condition, and when Thursday came she was almost a wreck, both physically and mentally, and Nan was at her wits’ end to know how to get the girl through the day.

At the summons of her alarm clock Patty rose early in the morning, for there was much to do by way of final preparation. Before breakfast she had attended to many left-over odds and ends, and when she appeared at the table she said only an absent-minded “good-morning,” and then knit her brows as if in deep and anxious thought.

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield looked at each other. They knew that to say a word to Patty by way of warning would be likely to precipitate the breakdown that they feared, so they were careful to speak very casually and gently.

“Anything I can do for you to-day, Puss?” said her father, kindly.

“No,” said Patty, still frowning; “but I wish the flowers would come. I have to make twenty-four garlands before I go over to the schoolroom, and I must be there by ten o’clock to look after the building of the platform.”

“Can’t I make the garlands for you?” asked Nan.

“No,” said Patty, “they have to be made a special way, and you’d only spoil them.”

“But if you showed me,” urged Nan, patiently. “If you did two or three, perhaps I could copy them exactly; at any rate, let me try.”

“Very well,” said Patty, dully, “I wish you could do them, I’m sure.”

The flowers were delayed, as is not unusual in such cases, and it was nearly ten when they arrived.

Patty was almost frantic by that time, and Nan, as she afterward told her husband, had to “handle her with gloves on.”

But by dint of tact and patience, Nan succeeded in persuading Patty, after making two or three garlands, to leave the rest for her to do. Although they were of complicated design, Nan was clever at such things, and could easily copy Patty’s work. And had she been herself, Patty would have known this. But so upset was she that even her common sense seemed warped.

When she reached the schoolroom there were a thousand and one things to see to, and nearly all of them were going wrong.

Patty flew from one thing to another, straightening them out and bringing order from confusion, and though she held herself well in hand, the tension was growing tighter, and there was danger of her losing control of herself at any minute.

Hilda Henderson was the only one who realised this, and, taking Patty aside, she said to her, quietly, “Look here, girl, I’ll attend to everything else; there’s not much left that needs special attention. And I want you to go right straight home, take a hot bath, and then lie down and rest until time to dress for the afternoon programme. Will you?”

Patty looked at Hilda with a queer, uncomprehending gaze. She seemed scarcely to understand what was being said to her.

“Yes,” she said, but as she turned she half stumbled, and would have fallen to the floor if Hilda had not caught her strongly by the arm.

“Brace up,” she said, and her voice was stern because she was thoroughly frightened. “Patty Fairfield, don’t you dare to collapse now! If you do, I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do to you! Come on, now, I’ll go home with you.”

Hilda was really afraid to let Patty go alone, so hastily donning her hat and coat she went with her to her very door.

“Take this girl,” she said to Nan, “and put her to bed, and don’t let her see anybody or say anything until the programme begins this afternoon. I’ll look after everything that isn’t finished, if you’ll just keep her quiet.”

Nan was thoroughly alarmed, but she only said, “All right, Hilda, I’ll take care of her, and thank you very much for bringing her home.”

Patty sank down on a couch in a limp heap, but her eyes were big and bright as she looked at Hilda, saying, “See that the stars are put on the gilt wands, and the green bay leaves on the white ones. Lorraine’s spangled skirt is in Miss Oliphant’s room, and please be sure,—” Patty didn’t finish this sentence, but lay back among the cushions, exhausted.

“Run along, Hilda,” said Nan; “do the best you can with the stars and things, and I’ll see to it that Patty’s all right by afternoon.”

CHAPTER VIII

COMMENCEMENT DAY

Nan was a born nurse, and, moreover, she had sufficient common sense and tact to know how to deal with nervous exhaustion. Instead of discussing the situation she said, cheerily, “Now everything will be all right. Hilda will look after the stars and wands, and you can have quite a little time to rest before you go back to the schoolroom. Don’t try to go up to your room now, just stay right where you are, and I’ll bring you a cup of hot milk, which is just what you need.”

Patty nestled among the cushions which Nan patted and tucked around her, and after taking the hot milk felt much better.

“I must get up now, Nan,” she pleaded, from the couch where she lay, “I have so many things to attend to.”

“Patty,” said Nan, looking at her steadily, “do you want to go through with the commencement exercises this afternoon and the play to-night successfully, or do you want to collapse on the stage and faint right before all the audience?”

“I won’t do any such foolish thing,” said Patty, indignantly.

“You will,” said Nan, “unless you obey me implicitly, and do exactly as I tell you.”

Nan’s manner more than her words compelled Patty’s obedience, and with a sigh, the tired girl closed her eyes, saying, “All right, Nan, have your own way, I’ll be good.”

“That’s a good child,” said Nan, soothingly, “and now first we’ll go right up to your own room.”

Then Nan helped Patty into a soft dressing gown, made her lie down upon her bed, and threw a light afghan over her.

Then sitting beside her, Nan talked a little on unimportant matters and then began to sing softly. In less than half an hour Patty was sound asleep, and Nan breathed a sigh of relief at finding her efforts had been successful.

But there was not much time to spare, for the commencement exercises began at three o’clock.

So at two o’clock Patty found herself gently awakened, to see Nan at her bedside, arranging a dainty tray of luncheon which a maid had brought in.

“Here you are, girlie,” said the cheery voice, “sit up now, and see what we have for you here.”

Patty awoke a little bewildered, but soon gathered her scattered senses, and viewed with pleasure the broiled chicken and crisp salad before her.

Exhaustion had made her hungry, and while she ate, Nan busied herself in getting out the pretty costume that Patty was to wear at commencement.

But the sight of the white organdie frock with its fluffy ruffles and soft laces brought back Patty’s apprehensions.

“Oh, Nan,” she cried in dismay, “I’m not nearly ready for commencement! I haven’t copied my poem yet, and I haven’t had a minute to practice reading it for the last two weeks. What shall I do?”

“That’s all attended to,” said Nan,—“the copying, I mean. You’ve been so busy doing other people’s work, that of course you haven’t had time to attend to your own, so I gave your poem to your father, and he had it typewritten for you, and here it is all ready. Now, while you dress, I’ll read it to you, and that will bring it back to your memory.”

“Nan, you are a dear,” cried Patty, jumping up and flying across the room to give her stepmother a hearty caress. “Whatever would I do without you? I’m all right now, and if you’ll just elocute that thing, while I array myself in purple and fine linen, I’m sure it will all come back to me.”

So Nan read Patty’s jolly little class poem line by line, and Patty repeated it after her as she proceeded with her toilette.

She was ready before the appointed time, and the carriage was at the door, but Nan would not let her go.

“No, my lady,” she said, “you don’t stir out of this house until the very last minute. If you get over there ahead of time, you’ll begin to make somebody a new costume, or build a throne for the fairy queen, or some foolish trick like that. Now you sit right straight down in that chair and read your poem over slowly, while I whip into my own clothes, and then we’ll go along together. Fred can’t come until a little later anyway. Sit still now, and don’t wriggle around and spoil that pretty frock.”

Patty obeyed like a docile child, and Nan flew away to don her own pretty gown for the occasion.

When she returned in a soft grey crêpe de chine, with a big grey hat and feathers, she was such a pretty picture that Patty involuntarily exclaimed in admiration.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Nan, “I want to look my best so as to do you credit, and in return I want you to do your best so as to do me credit.”

“I will,” said Patty, earnestly, “I truly will. You’ve been awfully good to me, Nan, and but for you I don’t know what I should have done.”

Away they went, and when they reached the schoolroom, and Patty went to join her classmates, while Nan took her place in the audience, she said as a parting injunction, “Now mind, Patty, this afternoon you’re to attend strictly to your own part in the programme. Don’t go around helping other people with their parts, because this isn’t the time for that. You’ll have all you can do to manage Patty Fairfield.”

Patty laughed and promised, and ran away to the schoolroom.

The moment she entered, half a dozen girls ran to her with questions about various details, and Nan’s warning was entirely forgotten. Indeed had it not been for Hilda’s intervention, Patty would have gone to work at a piece of unfinished scenery.

“Drop that hammer!” cried Hilda, as Patty was about to nail some branches of paper roses on to a wobbly green arbour. “Patty Fairfield, are you crazy? The idea of attempting carpenter work with that delicate frock on! Do for pity’s sake keep yourself decent until after you’ve read your poem at least!”

Patty looked at Hilda with that same peculiar vacantness in her glance which she had shown in the morning, and though Hilda said nothing, she was exceedingly anxious and kept a sharp watch on Patty’s movements.

But it was then time for the girls to march onto the platform, and as Patty seemed almost like herself, though unusually quiet, Hilda hoped it was all right.

The exercises were such as are found on most commencement programmes, and included class history, class prophecy, class song and all of the usual contributions to a commencement programme.

Patty’s class poem was near the end of the list, and Nan was glad, for she felt it would give the girl more time to regain her poise. Mr. Fairfield had arrived, and both he and Nan waited anxiously for Patty’s turn to come.

When it did come, Patty proved herself quite equal to the occasion.

Her poem was merry and clever, and she read it with an entire absence of self-consciousness, and an apparent enjoyment of its fun. She looked very sweet and pretty in her dainty white dress, and she stood so gracefully and seemed so calm and composed, that only those who knew her best noticed the feverish brightness of her eyes and a certain tenseness of the muscles of her hands.

But this was not unobserved by one in the audience. Mr. Hepworth, though seated far back, noted every symptom of Patty’s nervousness, however little it might be apparent to others.

Although she went through her ordeal successfully, he knew how much greater would be the excitement and responsibility of the evening’s performance and he wished he could help her in some way.

But there seemed to be nothing he could do, and though he had sent her a beautiful basket of roses, it was but one floral gift among so many that he doubted whether Patty even knew that he sent it; and he also doubted if she would have cared especially if she had known it.

Like most of the graduates, Patty received quantities of floral tributes. As the ushers came again and again with clusters or baskets of flowers, the audience heartily applauded, and Patty, though embarrassed a little, preserved a pretty dignity, and showed a happy enjoyment of it all.

As soon as the diplomas were awarded, and Patty had her cherished roll tied with its blue ribbon, Nan told Mr. Fairfield that it was imperative that Patty should be made to go straight home.

“If she stays there,” said Nan, “she’ll get excited and exhausted, and be good for nothing to-night. I gave her some stimulants this noon, although she didn’t know it, but the effects are wearing off and a reaction will soon set in. She must come home with us at once.”

“You are right, Mrs. Fairfield,” said Mr. Hepworth, who had crossed the room and joined them just in time to hear Nan’s last words. “Patty is holding herself together by sheer nervous force, and she needs care if she is to keep up through the evening.”

“That is certainly true,” said Nan. “Kenneth,” she added, turning to young Harper, who stood near by, “you have a good deal of influence with Patty. Go and get her, won’t you? Make her come at once.”

“All right,” said Kenneth, and he was off in a moment, while Mr. Hepworth looked after him, secretly wishing that the errand might have been entrusted to him.

But Kenneth found his task no easy one. Although Patty willingly consented to his request, and even started toward the dressing-room to get her wraps, she paused so many times to speak to different ones, or her progress was stopped by anxious-looking girls who wanted her help or advice, that Kenneth almost despaired of getting her away.

“Can’t you make her come, Hilda?” he said.

“I’ll try,” said Hilda, but when she tried, Patty only said, “Yes, Hilda, in just a minute. I want to coach Mary a little in her part, and I want to show Hester where to stand in the third act.”

“Never mind,” said Hilda, impatiently. “Let her stand on the roof, if she wants to, but for goodness’ sake go on home. Your people are waiting for you.”

Again Patty looked at her with that queer vacant gaze, and then Lorraine Hart stepped forward and took matters in her own hands.

“March!” she said, as she grasped Patty’s arm, and steered her toward the dressing-room. “Halt!” she said after they reached it, and then while Patty stood still, seemingly dazed, Lorraine put her cloak about her, threw her scarf over her head, wheeled her about, and marched her back to where Kenneth stood waiting.

“Take her quick,” she said. “Take her right to the carriage; don’t let her stop to speak to anybody.”

So Kenneth grasped Patty’s arm firmly and led her through the crowd of girls, out of the door, and down the walk to the carriage. Ordinarily, Patty would have resented this summary treatment, but still in a half-dazed way she meekly went where she was led.

Once in the carriage, Nan sat beside her and Mr. Fairfield opposite, and they started for home. No reference was made to Patty herself, but the others talked lightly and pleasantly of the afternoon performance.

On reaching home, Nan put Patty to bed at once, and telephoned for the Doctor.

But when Dr. Martin came, Nan met him downstairs, and told him all about the case. They then decided that the Doctor should not see Patty, as to realise the fact that she was in need of medical attendance might prove a serious shock.

“And really, Doctor,” said Nan, “if the girl shouldn’t be allowed at least to try to go through with the play this evening, I wouldn’t like to answer for the consequences.”

“I understand,” said Dr. Martin, “and though I think that with the aid of certain prescriptions I shall give you, she can probably get through the evening, it would be far better if she did not attempt it.”

“I know it Doctor,” said Nan, “and with some girls it might be possible to persuade them to give it up, but I can’t help feeling that if we even advised Patty not to go to-night, she would fly into violent hysterics.”

“Very likely,” said Dr. Martin, “and I think, Mrs. Fairfield, you are right in your diagnosis. If you will give her these drops exactly as I have directed, I think she will brace up sufficiently to go through her part all right.”

Nan thanked the Doctor, and hurried back to Patty’s room to look after her charge. She found Patty lying quietly, but in a state of mental excitement. When Nan came in, she began to talk rapidly.

“It’s all right, Nan, dear,” she said. “I’m not ill a bit. Please let me get up now, and dress so I can go around to the schoolroom a little bit early. There are two or three things I must look after, and then the play will go off all right.”

“Very well,” said Nan, humouring her, “if you will just take this medicine it will brace you up for the evening, and you can go through with the play as successfully as you did your part this afternoon.”

Patty agreed, and took the drops the Doctor had left, without a murmur.

Soon their soothing effect became apparent, and Patty’s nervous enthusiasm quieted down to such an extent that she seemed in no haste to go.

She ate her dinner slowly, and dawdled over her dressing, until Nan again became alarmed lest the medicine had been too powerful.

Poor Nan really had a hard time of it. Patty was not a tractable patient, and Nan was frequently at her wits’ end to know just how to manage her.

But at last she was ready, and they all started for the school again. Although Patty’s own people, and a few of her intimate girl friends knew of her overwrought state, most of the class and even the teachers had no idea how near to a nervous breakdown she was. For her demeanour was much as usual, and though she would have moments of dazed bewilderment, much of the time she was unusually alert and she flew about attending to certain last details in an efficient and clear-headed manner.

CHAPTER IX

THE PLAY

The play went through beautifully. Every girl did her part wonderfully well, but Patty surpassed them all. Buoyed up by excitement, she played her part with a dash and sprightliness that surprised even the girls who had seen her at rehearsal. She was roguish, merry and tragic by turns, and she sang her solos with a dramatic effect that brought down the house. She looked unusually pretty, which was partly the effect of her intense excitement, and though Nan and Mr. Fairfield could not help admiring and applauding with the rest, they were very anxious and really alarmed, lest she might not be able to keep up to these emotional heights until the end of the play.

Without speaking his thoughts to anyone else, Mr. Hepworth, too, was very much concerned for Patty’s welfare. He realised the danger she was in, and noted every evidence of her artificial strength and merriment. Seeing Dr. Martin in a seat near the back of the room, he quietly rose and went and sat beside the old gentleman.

“Doctor,” he said, “I can’t help fearing that a collapse of some sort will follow Miss Fairfield’s performance.”

“I am sure of it,” said the Doctor, looking gravely at Mr. Hepworth.

“Then don’t you think perhaps it would be wise for you to go around behind the scenes, presently, and be there in case of emergency.”

“I will gladly do so,” said Dr. Martin, “if Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield authorise it.”

Mr. Hepworth looked at his programme, and then he looked at Patty. He knew the play pretty thoroughly, and he knew that she was making one of the final speeches. He saw too, that she had nearly reached the limit of her endurance, and he said, “Dr. Martin, I wish you would go on my authority. The Fairfields are sitting in the front part of the house, and it would be difficult to speak to them about it without creating a commotion. And besides, I think there is no time to be lost; this is almost the end of the play, and in my judgment, Miss Fairfield is pretty nearly at the end of her self-composure.”

Dr. Martin gave the younger man a searching glance, and then said, “You are right, Mr. Hepworth. It may be advisable that I should be there when Miss Fairfield comes off the stage. I will go at once. Will you come with me?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, and the two men quietly left the room, and hastened around the building to the side entrance.

As Mr. Hepworth had assisted with the scenery for the play, and had been present at one or two rehearsals, he knew his way about, and guided Dr. Martin through the corridors to the room where the girls were gathered, waiting their cue to go on the stage for the final tableau and chorus.

Lorraine and Hilda looked at each other comprehendingly, as the two men appeared, but the other girls wondered at this apparent intrusion.

Then as the time came, they all went on the stage, and Dr. Martin and Mr. Hepworth, watching from the side, saw them form the pretty final tableau.

Patty in a spangled dress and tinsel crown, waving a gilt wand, stood on a high pedestal. Around her, on lower pedestals, and on the floor, were the rest of the fairy maidens in their glittering costumes.

The last notes of the chorus rang out, and amidst a burst of applause the curtain fell. The applause continued so strongly that the curtain was immediately raised again, and the delighted audience viewed once more the pretty scene.

Mr. Hepworth was nearer the stage than Dr. Martin, in fact, in his anxiety, he was almost edging on to it, and while the curtain was up, and the audience was applauding, and the orchestra was playing, and the calcium lights were flashing their vari-coloured rays, his intense watchfulness noticed a slight shudder pass over Patty’s form, then she swayed slightly, and her eyes closed.

In a flash Mr. Hepworth had himself rung the bell that meant the drop of the curtain, and as the curtain came down, he sprang forward among the bewildered girls, and reached the tall pedestal just in time to catch Patty as she tottered and fell.

“She has only fainted,” he said, as he carried her off the stage, “please don’t crowd around, she will be all right in a moment.”

He carried her to the dressing-room and gently laid her on a couch. Dr. Martin followed closely, and Mr. Hepworth left Patty in his charge.

“You, Miss Hamilton, go in there,” he said to Lorraine, at the door, “and see if you can help Dr. Martin. I will speak to the Fairfields and see that the carriage is ready. I don’t think the audience knows anything about it, and there need be no fuss or commotion.”

Quick-witted Hilda grasped the situation, and kept the crowd of anxious girls out of the dressing-room, while Dr. Martin administered restoratives to Patty.

But it was not so easy to overcome the faintness that had seized upon her. When at last she did open her eyes, it was only to close them again in another period of exhaustion.

However, this seemed to encourage Dr. Martin.

“It’s better than I feared,” he said. “She isn’t delirious. There is no threat of brain fever. She will soon revive now, and we can safely take her home.”

And so when the Doctor declared that she might now be moved, Mr. Fairfield supported her on one side, and Kenneth on the other as they took her to the carriage.

“Get in, Mrs. Fairfield,” said Kenneth, after Patty was safely seated by her father, “and you too, Dr. Martin. I’ll jump up on the box with the driver. Perhaps I can help you at the house.”

So away they went, without a word or a thought for poor Mr. Hepworth, to whose watchfulness was really due the fact of Dr. Martin’s opportune assistance. And too, if Mr. Hepworth had not seen the first signs of Patty’s loss of consciousness, her fall from the high pedestal might have proved a serious accident.

Although Dr. Martin told the family afterward of Mr. Hepworth’s kind thoughtfulness, it went unnoted at the time. But of this, Mr. Hepworth himself was rather glad than otherwise. His affection for Patty was such that he did not wish the girl to feel that she owed him gratitude, and he preferred to have no claim of the sort upon her.

When the party reached the Fairfield house, Patty had revived enough to talk rationally, but she was very weak, and seemed to have lost all enthusiasm and even interest in the occasion.

“It’s all over, isn’t it?” she asked of her father in a helpless, pathetic little voice.

“Yes, Puss,” said Mr. Fairfield, cheerily, “it’s all over, and it was a perfect success. Now don’t bother your head about it any more, but just get rested, and get a good sleep, and then we’ll talk it over.”

Patty was quite willing not to discuss the subject, and with Nan’s assistance she was soon in bed and sound asleep.

Dr. Martin stood watching her. “I don’t know,” he said to Nan, “whether this sleep will last or not. If it does all will be well, but she may wake up soon, and become nervous and hysterical. In that case give her these drops, which will have a speedy effect. I will be around again early to-morrow morning.”

But the doctor’s fears were not realised. Patty slept deeply all through the night, and had not waked when the doctor came in the morning.

“Don’t waken her,” he said, as he looked at the sleeping girl. “She’s all right. There’s no fear of nervous prostration now. The stress is over, and her good constitution and healthy nature are reasserting themselves and will conquer. She isn’t of a nervous temperament, and she is simply exhausted from overwork. Don’t waken her, let her sleep it out.”

And so Patty slept until afternoon, and then awoke, feeling more like her old self than she had for many days.

“Nan,” she called, and Nan came flying in from the next room.

“I’m awful hungry,” said Patty, “and I am pretty tired, but the play is over, isn’t it, Nan? I can’t seem to remember about last night.”

“Yes, it’s over, Patsy, and everything is all right, and you haven’t a thing to do but get rested. Will you have your breakfast now, or your luncheon?—because you’ve really skipped both.”

“Then I’ll have them both,” said Patty with decision. “I’m hungry enough to eat a house.”

Later, Patty insisted on dressing and going downstairs for dinner, declaring she felt perfectly well, but the exertion tired her more than she cared to admit, and when Dr. Martin came in the evening, she questioned him directly.

“I’m not really ill, am I, Dr. Martin? I’ll be all right in a day or two, won’t I? It’s so silly to get tired just walking downstairs.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the old doctor, “you will be all right in a day or two. By day after to-morrow you can walk downstairs, or run down, if you like, without feeling tired at all.”

“Then that’s all right,” said Patty. “I suppose I did do too much with my school work, and the play, and everything, but I couldn’t seem to help it, and if I get over it in a week I’ll be satisfied. In fact, I shan’t mind a bit, lounging around and resting for a few days.”

“That’s just the thing for you to do,” agreed Dr. Martin, “and I’ll give you another prescription. After a week or two of rest, you need recreation. You must get out of the city, and go somewhere in the country. Not seashore or the mountains just yet, but away into the country, where you’ll have plenty of fresh air and nothing to do. You mustn’t look at a book of any sort or description for a month or two at least. Will you promise me that?”

“With great pleasure,” said Patty, gaily, “I don’t think I shall care to see a book all summer long; not a schoolbook anyway. I suppose I may read storybooks.”

“Not at present,” said the doctor. “Let alone books of all sorts for a couple of months, and after that I’ll see about it. What you want is plenty of fresh air and outdoor exercise. Then you’ll get back the roses in your cheeks, and add a few pounds of flesh to your attenuated frame.”

“Your prescription sounds attractive,” said Patty, “but where shall I go?”

“We’ll arrange all that,” said Mr. Fairfield. “I think myself that all you need is recreation and rest, with a fair proportion of each.”

“So do I,” said Patty; “I don’t want to go to an old farmhouse, where there isn’t a thing to do but walk in the orchard; I want to go where I’ll have some fun.”

“Go ahead,” said the doctor, “fun won’t hurt you any as long as it’s outdoor sports or merry society. But don’t get up any plays, or any such foolishness, where fun is only a mistaken name for hard work.”

Patty promised this, and Dr. Martin went away without any doubts as to the speedy and entire recovery of his patient.

Mr. Fairfield and Nan quite agreed with the doctor’s opinion that Patty ought to go away for a rest and a pleasant vacation. The next thing was to decide where she should go. It was out of the question, of course, to consider any strange place for her to go alone, and as Mr. Fairfield could not begin his vacation until July, and Nan was not willing to leave him, there seemed to be no one to accompany Patty.

The only places, therefore, that Mr. Fairfield could think of, were for her to go to Vernondale and visit the Elliotts, or down to the Hurly-Burly where the Barlows had already gone for their summer season.

But neither of these plans suited Patty at all, for she said that Vernondale would be no rest and not much fun. She was fond of her Elliott cousins, but she felt sure that they would treat her as a semi-invalid and coddle her until she went frantic.

The Hurly-Burly, she said, would be just the opposite. They would have no consideration down there for the fact that she wanted a rest, but would make her jog about hither and thither, taking long tramps and going on tiresome picnics whether she wanted to or not.

So neither of these plans seemed just the thing, and Nan’s proposal that Patty go to Philadelphia and spend June with Mrs. Allen wasn’t quite what Patty wanted. Indeed, Patty did not know herself exactly what she wanted, which was pretty good proof that she was not so far from the borders of Nervous Land as they had believed.

And so when Elise came over one afternoon, and brought with her an invitation for Patty, that young woman showed no hesitation in announcing at once that it was exactly what she wanted. The invitation was nothing more nor less than to go on a long motor-car trip with the Farringtons.

“It will be perfectly splendid,” said Elise, “if you’ll only go, Patty.”

“Go!” said Patty, “I should think I would go! It’s perfectly splendid of you to invite me. Who are going?”

“Just father and mother, and Roger and myself,” said Elise, “and you will make five. Roger can run the car, or father can, either, for that matter, so we won’t take a man, and father has had a new top put on his big touring-car and we can pile any amount of luggage up on it, so you can take all the frocks you want to. We’ll stop at places here and there, you know, to visit, and of course, we’ll always stop for meals and to stay over night.”

“But perhaps they wouldn’t want me,” said Patty, “where you go to visit.”

“Nonsense, of course they will. Why, I wrote to Bertha Warner that I wanted to bring you, and she said she’d love to have you come.”

“How could she say so? she doesn’t know me.”

“Well, I told her all about you, and she’s fully prepared to love you as I do. Oh, do you suppose your people will let you go?”

“Of course they will. They’ll be perfectly delighted to have me go.”

Patty was right. When she told her father and Nan about the delightful invitation, they were almost as pleased as she was herself, and Mr. Fairfield gave ready permission.

The projected trip entirely fulfilled Dr. Martin’s requisites of fresh air, out-of-door exercise, and a good time, and when he was told of the plan he also expressed his entire approval.

CHAPTER X

A MOTOR TRIP

Preparations began at once. It was now the first of June and they were to start on the sixth.

There were delightful shopping excursions for the replenishing of Patty’s wardrobe, and Nan gladly assisted Patty to get everything in order for her trip.

At last the day of starting came, and a more beautiful day could not be imagined. It was typical June weather, and the sun shone pleasantly, but not too warmly, from a clear blue sky.

Patty’s only experience in motoring had been her trip to Atlantic City, but that was only a short ride compared to the contemplated tour of the Farringtons.

Mr. Farrington’s huge car seemed to be furnished with everything necessary for a long journey. Although they would usually take their meals at hotels in the towns through which they passed, Mrs. Farrington explained they might occasionally wish to have tea or even luncheon on the road, so the car was provided with both tea-basket and luncheon-kit. The novelty of this paraphernalia was fascinating to Patty, and she peeped into the well-appointed baskets with chuckles of delight at the anticipated pleasure of making use of them.

Patty’s trunk was put up on top among the others, her hand-luggage was stowed away in its place, and with affectionate good-byes to Nan and her father, she took her seat in the tonneau between Mrs. Farrington and Elise, and away they started.

Mr. Farrington and Roger, who sat in front, were in the gayest of spirits and everything was promising for a happy journey.

As they threaded their way through the crowded city streets, Patty rejoiced to think that they would soon be out in the open country where they would have wide roads with comparatively few travellers.

“What is the name of your machine, Mr. Farrington?” she asked, as they whizzed along.

“I may as well own up,” that gentleman answered, laughing. “I have named it ‘The Fact.’”

“‘The Fact,’” repeated Patty, “what a funny name. Why do you call it that? You must have some reason.”

“I have,” said Mr. Farrington, in a tone of mock despair. “I call it The Fact because it is a stubborn thing.”

Patty laughed merrily at this. “I’m afraid it’s a libel,” she said, “I’m sure I don’t see anything stubborn about the way it acts. It’s going beautifully.”

“Yes, it is,” said Mr. Farrington, “and I hope it will continue to do so, but I may as well warn you that it has a most reprehensible habit of stopping now and then, and utterly refusing to proceed. And this, without any apparent reason, except sheer stubbornness.”

“How do you finally induce it to move?” asked Patty, interested by this trait.

“We don’t induce it,” said Elise, “we just sit and wait, and when the old thing gets ready to move, it just draws a long breath and humps itself up and down a few times, and turns a couple of somersaults, and moves on.”

“What an exciting experience,” said Patty. “When do you think it will begin any such performance as that?”

“You can’t tell,” said Mr. Farrington. “It’s as uncertain as the weather.”

“More so,” said Roger. “The weather sometimes gives you warning of its intentions, but The Fact just selects a moment when you’re the farthest possible distance from civilisation or help of any kind, and then it just sits down and refuses to get up.”

“Well, we won’t cross that bridge until we come to it,” said Mr. Farrington. “Sometimes we run a week without any such mishap.”

And truly there seemed no danger at present, for the big car drove ahead as smoothly and easily as a railroad train, and Patty lay back in the luxurious tonneau, feeling that at last she could get rested and have a good time both at once.

The wonderful exhilaration of the swift motion through the soft June air, the delightful sensation of the breeze which was caused by the motion of the car, and the ever-changing natural panorama on either side of her, gave Patty the sensation of having suddenly been transported to some other country than that in which she had been living the past few weeks.

And so pleasantly friendly were her relations with Mrs. Farrington and Elise that it did not seem necessary to make remarks for the sake of keeping up the conversation. There was much pleasant chat and discussion as they passed points of interest or diverting scenes, but then again there were occasional pauses when they all gave themselves up to the enjoyment of the delightful motion of the car.

Patty began to realise what was meant by the phrase, “automobile elation.” She seemed to feel an uplifting of her spirit, and a strange thrill of exquisite happiness, while all trace of nervousness or petty worry was brushed away like a cobweb.

Her lungs seemed filled with pure air, and further, she had a whimsical sense that she was breathing the very blue of the sky.

She said this to Mrs. Farrington, and that lady smiled as she answered, “That’s right, Patty; if you feel that way, you are a true motorist. Not everyone does. There are some who only look upon a motor-car as a machine to transport them from one place to another, but to me it is the very fairyland of motion.”

Patty’s eyes shone in sympathy with this idea, but Roger turned around laughingly, and said, “You’d better be careful how you breathe the blue sky, Patty, for there’s a little cloud over there that may stick in your throat.”

Patty looked at the tiny white cloud, and responded, “If you go much faster, Roger, I’m afraid we’ll fly right up there, and run over that poor little cloud.”

“Let’s do it,” said Roger. “There’s no fine for running over a cloud, is there, Dad?”

As he spoke, Roger put on a higher speed, and then they flew so fast that Patty began to be almost frightened. But her fear did not last long, for in a moment the great car gave a kind of a groan, and then a snort, and then a wheeze, and stopped; not suddenly, but with a provokingly determined slowness, that seemed to imply no intention of moving on again. After a moment the great wheels ceased to revolve, and the car stood stubbornly still, while Mr. Farrington and Roger looked at each other, with faces of comical dismay.

“We’re in for it!” said Mr. Farrington, in a resigned tone.

“Then we must get out for it!” said Roger, as he jumped down from his seat, and opened the tool-chest.

Mrs. Farrington groaned. “Now, you see, Patty,” she said, “how the car lives up to its name. I hoped this wouldn’t happen so soon.”

“What is the matter?” asked Patty. “Why doesn’t it go?”

“Patty,” said Elise, looking at her solemnly, “I see you have yet to learn the first lesson of automobile etiquette. Never, my child, whatever happens, never inquire why a car doesn’t go! That is something that nobody ever knows, and they wouldn’t tell if they did know, and, besides, if they did know, they’d know wrong.”

Mrs. Farrington laughed at Elise’s coherent explanation, but she admitted that it was pretty nearly right, after all. Meanwhile, Mr. Farrington and Roger, with various queer-looking tools, were tinkering at the car here and there, and though they did not seem to be doing any good, yet they were evidently not discouraged, for they were whistling gaily, and now and then made jesting remarks about the hopelessness of ever moving on again.

“I think there’s water in the tubes,” said Roger, “but Dad thinks it’s a choked carburetter. So we’re going to doctor for both.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Farrington, calmly; “as there’s no special scenery to look at about here, I think I shall take a little nap. You girls can get out and stroll around, if you like.”

Mrs. Farrington settled herself comfortably in her corner, and closed her eyes. Elise and Patty did get out, and walked up and down the road a little, and then sat down on the bank by the roadside to chat. For the twentieth time or more they talked over all the details of commencement day, and congratulated themselves anew on the success of their entertainment.

At last, after they had waited nearly two hours, Roger declared that there was no earthly reason why they shouldn’t start if they cared to.

It was part of Roger’s fun, always to pretend that he could go on at any moment if he desired to, and when kept waiting by the misconduct of the car, he always made believe that he delayed the trip solely for his own pleasure.

Likewise, if under such trying circumstances as they had just passed through, he heard other automobiles or wagons coming, he would drop his tools, lean idly against the car, with his hands in his pockets, whistling, and apparently waiting there at his own pleasure.

All this amused Patty very much, and she began, as Elise said, to learn the rules of automobile etiquette. It was not difficult with the Farringtons, for they all had a good sense of humour, and were always more inclined to laugh than cry over spilled milk.

When Roger made this announcement, Elise jumped up, and crying, “Come on, Patty,” ran back to the car and jumped in, purposely waking her mother as she did so.

Mrs. Farrington placidly took in the situation, and remarked that she was in no hurry, but if they cared to go on she was quite ready.

And so with laughter and gay chatter they started on again, and the car ran as smoothly as it had before the halt.

But it was nearly sundown, and there were many miles yet to travel before they reached the hotel where they had expected to dine and stay over night.

“Shall we go on, Mother?” said Mr. Farrington. “Can you wait until nine o’clock or thereabouts for your dinner? Or shall we stop at some farmhouse, and so keep ourselves from starvation?”

“I would rather go on,” said Mrs. Farrington, “if the girls don’t mind.”

The girls didn’t mind, and so they plunged ahead while the sun set and the darkness fell. There was no moon, and a slight cloudiness hid the stars. Roger lighted the lamps, but they cast such weird shadows that they seemed to make the darkness blacker than ever.

Patty was not exactly afraid, but the experience was so new to her that she felt she would be glad when they reached the hotel. Perhaps Mr. Farrington discerned this, for he took especial pains to entertain his young guest, and divert her mind from thoughts of possible danger. So he beguiled the way with jokes and funny stories, until Patty forgot her anxiety, and the first thing she knew they were rolling up the driveway to the hotel.

Floods of light streamed from the windows and the great doors, and strains of music could be heard from within.

“Thank goodness we’re here!” said Mrs. Farrington. “Jump out, girlies, and let us seek shelter at once.”

Roger remained in the car to take it away to the garage, and Mr. Farrington accompanied the ladies into the hotel.

Much as she had enjoyed the ride, Patty felt glad to get into the warm, lighted house, and very soon the party were shown to their rooms.

Patty and Elise shared a large room whose twin beds were covered with spreads of gaily-flowered chintz. Curtains of the same material hung at the windows, and draped the dressing-table.

“What a pleasant, homelike room,” said Patty, as she looked about.

“Yes,” said Elise, “this is a nice old country hotel. We’ve been here before. Hurry, Patty, let’s dress for dinner quickly.”

But Patty was surveying herself in the long pierglass that hung between two windows.

Nan had selected her motoring outfit, and she had donned it that morning so hastily that she hadn’t really had an opportunity to observe herself. But now, as she looked at the rather shapeless figure in the long pongee coat, and the queer shirred hood of the same material, and as she noted the voluminous chiffon veil with its funny little front window of mica, she concluded that she looked more like a goblin in a fairy play than a human being.

“Do stop admiring your new clothes, Patty, and get dressed,” said Elise, who was on her knees before an open suitcase, shaking out Patty’s skirt and bodice. “Get off those togs, and get ready to put these on. This is a sweet little Dresden silk; I didn’t know you had it. Is it new?”

“Yes,” said Patty, “Nan bought it for me. She said it wouldn’t take much room in the suitcase, and would be useful for a dinner dress.”

“It’s lovely,” said Elise. “Now get into it, and I’ll hook you up.”

So Patty got out of what she called her goblin clothes, but was still giggling at them as she hung them away in the wardrobe.

Less than half an hour later the two girls, spick and span in their dainty dresses, and with fresh white bows on their hair, went together down the staircase. They found Mr. and Mrs. Farrington awaiting them, and soon Roger appeared, and they went to the dining-room for a late dinner.

Then Patty discovered what automobile hunger was.

“I’m simply ravenous,” she declared, “but I didn’t know it until this minute.”

“That’s part of the experience,” said Mrs. Farrington, “the appetite caused by motoring is the largest known variety, and that’s why I wanted to push on here, where we could get a good dinner, instead of taking our chances at some farmhouse.”

They were the only guests in the dining-room at that late hour, and so they made a merry meal of it, and after dinner went back to the large parlours, to sit for a while listening to the music. But they did not tarry long, for as Patty discovered, another consequence of a motor ride was a strong inclination to go to bed early.

CHAPTER XI

DICK PHELPS

The travellers did not rise early the next morning, and ten o’clock found them still seated at the breakfast table.

“I do hate to hurry,” said Mrs. Farrington, comfortably sipping her coffee. “So many people think that an automobile tour means getting up early, and hustling off at daybreak.”

“I’m glad those are your sentiments,” said Patty, “for I quite agree with you. I’ve done enough hustling the last month or two, and I’m delighted to take things more slowly for a change.”

“I think,” said Mr. Farrington, “that as it is such a pleasant day, it would be a good plan to take some luncheon with us and picnic by the roadside. We could then get to the Warners’in time for dinner, though perhaps a little late.”

“Lovely!” cried Elise, “I’m perfectly crazy to use that new luncheon-kit. It’s great, Patty! It has the cunningest alcohol stove, and every little contraption you could possibly think of.”

“I know it,” said Patty. “I peeped inside yesterday, and the array of forks and spoons and plates and bottles was perfectly fascinating.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Farrington to her husband, “ask them to fill the kit properly, and I think myself we will enjoy a little picnic.”

So Mr. Farrington went to see about the provisions, and Roger to get the car ready, while the ladies sauntered about the piazza.

The route of their journey lay along the shore of Long Island Sound, and the hotel where they had stayed over night was not far from New Haven, and quite near the water’s edge.

Patty was very fond of the water, and gazed with delight at the sparkling Sound, dotted with white steamers and various sorts of fishing-craft. For her part she would have been glad to stay longer at this hotel, but the Warners, whom they were going to visit, were expecting them to dinner that evening. These people, Patty knew, lived in a beautiful country place called “Pine Branches,” which was near Springfield in Massachusetts. Patty did not know the Warners, but Elise had assured her that they were delightful people and were prepared to give her a warm welcome.

When the car came to the door the ladies were all ready to continue the journey. They had again donned their queer-looking motor-clothes, and though Patty was beginning to get used to their appearance, they still seemed to her like a trio of brownies or other queer beings as they took their seats in the car.

Roger climbed to his place, touched a lever by his side, and swung the car down the drive with an air of what seemed to Patty justifiable pride. The freshly cleaned car was so daintily spick and span, the day was so perfect, and the merry-hearted passengers in such a gay and festive mood, that there was indeed reason for a feeling of general satisfaction.

Away they went at a rapid speed, which Patty thought must be beyond the allowed limit, but Roger assured her to the contrary.

For many miles their course lay along a fine road which followed the shore of the Sound. This delighted Patty, as she was still able to gaze out over the blue water, and at the same time enjoy the wonderful motion of the car.

But soon their course changed and they turned inland, on the road to Hartford. Patty was surprised at Roger’s knowledge of the way, but the young man was well provided with road maps and guidebooks, of which he had made careful study.

“How beautifully the car goes,” said Patty. “It doesn’t make the least fuss, even on the upgrades.”

“You must learn the vocabulary, Patty,” said Roger. “When a machine goes smoothly as The Fact is doing now, the proper expression is that it runs sweetly.”

“Sweetly!” exclaimed Patty. “How silly. It sounds like a gushing girl.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Roger, serenely. “If you go on motor trips, you must learn to talk motor-jargon.”

“All right,” said Patty, “I’m willing to learn, and I do think the way this car goes it is just too sweet for anything!”

They all laughed at this, but their gaiety was short-lived, for just then there was a peculiar crunching sound that seemed to mean disaster, judging from the expressions of dismay on the faces of the Farrington family.

“What is it?” asked Patty, forgetting that she had been told never to ask questions on such occasions.

“Patty,” said Roger, making a comical face at her, “my countenance now presents an expression typical of disgust, irritation, and impatience. I now wave my right hand thus, which is a Delsarte gesture expressing exasperation with a trace of anger. I next give voice to my sentiments, merely to remark in my usual calm and disinterested way, that a belt has broken and the mending thereof will consume a portion of time, the length of which may be estimated only after it has elapsed.”

Patty laughed heartily at this harangue, but gathered from Roger’s nonsense the interesting fact that an accident had occurred, and that a delay was inevitable. Nobody seemed especially surprised. Indeed, they took it quite as a matter of course, and Mrs. Farrington opened a new magazine which she had brought with her, and calmly settled herself to read.

But Elise said, “Well, I’m already starving with hunger, and I think we may as well open that kit of provisions, and have our picnic right here, while Roger is mending the belt.”

“Elise,” said her father jestingly, “you sometimes show signs of almost human intelligence! Your plan is a positive inspiration, for I confess that I myself feel the gnawings of hunger. Let us eat the hard-boiled eggs and ham sandwiches that we have with us, and then if we like, we can stop at Hartford this afternoon for a more satisfying lunch, as I begin to think we will not reach Pine Branches until sometime later than their usual dinner hour.”

They all agreed to this plan, and Roger, with his peculiar sensitiveness toward being discovered with his car at a disadvantage, said seriously: “I see a racing machine coming, and when it passes us I hope you people will act as if we had stopped here only to lunch, and not because this ridiculous belt chose to break itself just now.”

This trait of Roger’s amused Patty very much, but she was quite ready to humour her friend, and agreed to do her part.

She looked where Roger had indicated, and though she could see what looked like a black speck on a distant road, she wondered how Roger could know it was a racing machine that was approaching. However, she realised that there were many details of motoring of which she had as yet no idea, and she turned her attention to helping the others spread out the luncheon. The beautifully furnished basket was a delight to Patty. She was amazed to see how cleverly a large amount of paraphernalia could be stowed in a small amount of space. The kit was arranged for six persons, and contained half-dozens of knives, forks, spoons, and even egg-spoons; also plates, cups, napkins, and everything with which to serve a comfortable meal. There were sandwich-boxes, salad-boxes, butter-jars, tea and coffee cans, salt, pepper, and all necessary condiments. Then there was the alcohol stove, with its water-kettle and chafing dish. At the sight of all these things, which seemed to come out of the kit as out of a magician’s hat, Patty’s eyes danced.

“Let me cook,” she begged, and Mrs. Farrington and Elise were only too glad to be relieved of this duty.

There wasn’t much cooking to do, as sandwiches, cold meats, salad, and sweets were lavishly provided, but Patty made tea, and then boiled a few eggs just for the fun of doing it.

Preparations for the picnic were scarcely under way when the racing-car that Roger had seen in the distance came near them. There was a whirring sound as it approached, and Patty glanced up from her alcohol stove to see that it was occupied by only one man. He was slowing speed, and evidently intended to stop. Long before he had reached them, Roger had hidden his tools, and though his work on the broken belt was not completed, he busied himself with the luncheon preparations, as if that was his sole thought.

The racing-car stopped and the man who was driving it got out.

At sight of him Patty with difficulty restrained her laughter, for though their own garb was queer, it was rational compared to the appearance of this newcomer.

A racing suit is, with perhaps the exception of a diver’s costume, the most absurd-looking dress a man can get into. The stranger’s suit was of black rubber, tightly strapped at the wrists and ankles, but it was his head-gear which gave the man his weird and uncanny effect. It was a combination of mask, goggles, hood, earflaps, and neckshield which was so arranged with hinges that the noseguard and mouthpiece worked independently of each other.

At any rate, it seemed to Patty the funniest show she had ever seen, and she couldn’t help laughing. The man didn’t seem to mind, however, and after he had bowed silently for a moment or two with great enjoyment of their mystification, he pulled off his astonishing head-gear and disclosed his features.

“Dick Phelps!” exclaimed Mr. Farrington, “why, how are you, old man? I’m right down glad to see you!”

Mr. Phelps was a friend of the Farrington family, and quite naturally they invited him to lunch with them.

“Indeed I will,” said the visitor, “for I started at daybreak, and I’ve had nothing to eat since. I can’t tarry long though, as I must make New York City to-night.”

Mr. Phelps was a good-looking young man of about thirty years, and so pleased was he with Patty’s efforts in the cooking line, that he ate all the eggs she had boiled, and drank nearly all the tea, besides making serious inroads on the viands they had brought with them.

“It doesn’t matter if I do eat up all your food,” said the young man, pleasantly, “for you can stop anywhere and get more, but I mustn’t stop again until I reach the city, and I probably won’t have a chance to eat then, as I must push on to Long Island.”

The Farringtons were quite willing to refresh the stranger within their gates, and they all enjoyed the merry little picnic.

“Where are you bound?” asked Mr. Phelps as he prepared to continue his way.

“To Pine Branches first,” said Mrs. Farrington, “the country house of a friend. It’s near Springfield, and from there we shall make short trips, and later on, continue our way in some other direction,—which way we haven’t yet decided.”

“Good enough,” said Mr. Phelps, “then I’ll probably see you again. I am often a guest at Pine Branches myself, and shall hope to run across you.”

As every motorist is necessarily interested in his friend’s car, Mr. Phelps naturally turned to inspect the Farrington machine before getting into his own.

And so, to Roger’s chagrin, he was obliged to admit that he was even then under the necessity of mending a broken belt.

But to Roger’s relief, Mr. Phelps took almost no notice of it, merely saying that a detail defect was liable to happen to anybody. He looked over the vital parts of the motor, and complimented Roger on its fine condition. This pleased the boy greatly, and resuming his work after Mr. Phelps’ departure, he patched up the belt, while the others repacked the kit, and soon they started off again.

Swiftly and smoothly they ran along over the beautiful roads, occasionally meeting other touring-parties apparently as happy as they were themselves. Sometimes they exchanged merry greetings as they passed, for all motorists belong to one great, though unorganised, fraternity.

“I’ve already discovered that trifling accidents are a part of the performance, and I’ve also discovered that they’re easily remedied and soon over, and that when they are over they are quickly forgotten and it seems impossible that they should ever occur again.”

“You’ve sized it up pretty fairly, Patty,” said Roger, “and though I never before thought it out for myself, I agree with you that that is the true way to look at it.”

On they went, leaving the miles behind them, and as Roger was anxious to make up for lost time he went at a slightly higher speed than he would have otherwise done. He slowed down, however, when they passed horses or when they went through towns or villages.

Patty was greatly interested in the many small villages through which they rode, as nearly every one showed quaint or humorous scenes. Dogs would come out and bark at them, children would scream after them, and even the grown-up citizens of the hamlets would stare at them as if they had never seen a motor-car before, though Patty reasoned that surely many of them must have travelled that same road.

“When you meet another village, Roger,” she said, “do go through it more slowly, for I like to see the funny people.”

“Very well,” said Roger, “you may stop and get a drink at the town pump, if you like.”

“No, thank you,” said Patty, “I don’t want to get out, but I would like to stop a minute or two in one of them.”

Roger would willingly have granted Patty’s wish, but he was deprived of this privilege by the car itself. Just as they neared a small settlement known as Huntley’s Corners, another ominous sound from the machine gave warning.

“That belt again!” exclaimed Roger. “Patty, the probabilities are that you’ll have all the time you want to study up this village, and even learn the life history of the oldest inhabitant.”

“What an annoying belt it is,” said Mrs. Farrington in her pleasant way. “Don’t you think, Roger dear, that you had better get a new belt and be done with it?”

“That’s just what I do think, Mother, but somehow I can’t persuade myself that they keep them for sale at this corner grocery.”

The car had reached the only store in the settlement, and stopped almost in front of it.

Patty was beginning to learn the different kinds of stops that a motor-car can make, and she felt pretty sure that this was not a momentary pause, but a stop that threatened a considerable delay.

She said as much to Roger, and he replied, “Patty, you’re an apt pupil. The Fact has paused here not for a day, but for all time, unless something pretty marvellous can be done in the way of belt mending!”

Patty began to think that accidents were of somewhat frequent occurrence, but Elise said, cheerfully, “This seems to be an off day. Why, sometimes we run sweetly for a week, without a word from the belt. Don’t we, Roger?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Roger, “but Patty may as well get used to the seamy side of motoring, and learn to like it.”

“I do like it,” declared Patty, “and if we are going to take up our abode here for the present, I’m going out to explore the town.”

She jumped lightly from the car, and, accompanied by Elise, strolled down the main, and, indeed, the only street of the village.

CHAPTER XII

OLD CHINA

A few doors away from the country store in front of which the automobile stood, the girls saw a quaint old house, with a few toys and candies displayed for sale in a front window.

“Isn’t it funny?” said Elise, looking in at the unattractive collection. “See that old-fashioned doll, and just look at that funny jumping-jack!”

“Yes,” said Patty, whose quick eye had caught sight of something more interesting, “but just look at that plate of peppermint candies. The plate, I mean. Why, Elise, it’s a Millennium plate!”

“What’s that?” said Elise, looking blank.

“A Millennium plate? Why, Elise, it’s about the most valuable bit of old china there is in this country! Why, Nan would go raving crazy over that. I’d rather take it home to her than any present I could buy in the city shop. Elise, do you suppose whoever keeps this little store would sell that plate?”

“No harm in trying,” said Elise, “there’s plenty of time, for it will take Roger half an hour to fix that belt. Let’s go in and ask her.”

“No, no,” said Patty, “that isn’t the way. Wait a minute. I’ve been china hunting before, with Nan, and with other people, and you mustn’t go about it like that. We must go in as if we were going to buy some of her other goods, and then we’ll work around to the plate by degrees. You buy something else, Elise, and leave the plate part to me.”

“Very well, I think I’ll buy that rag doll, though I’m sure I don’t know what I’ll ever do with it. No self-respecting child would accept it as a gift.”

“Well, buy something,” said Patty, as they went in.

The opening of the door caused a big bell to jingle, and this apparently called an old woman in from the back room. She was not very tidy, but she was a good-natured body, and smiled pleasantly at the two girls.

“What is it, young ladies?” she asked, “can I sell you anything to-day?”

“Yes,” said Elise, gravely, “I was passing your window, and I noticed a doll there,—that one with the blue gingham dress. How much is it, please?”

“That one,” said the old lady, “is fifty cents. Seems sorter high, I know, but that ’ere doll was made by a blind girl, that lives a piece up the road; and though the sewin’ ain’t very good, it’s a nine-days’ wonder that she can do it at all. And them dolls is her only support, and land knows she don’t sell hardly any!”

“I’ll give you a dollar for it,” said Elise, impulsively, for her generous heart was touched. “Have you any more of them?”

“No,” said the woman, in some amazement. “Malviny, she don’t make many, ’cause they don’t sell very rapid. But be you goin’ her way? She might have one to home, purty nigh finished.”

“I don’t know,” said Elise, “where does she live?”

“Straight along, on the main road. You can’t miss it, an old yaller house, with the back burnt off.”

It was Patty’s turn now, and she said she would buy the peppermint candies that were in the window.

“All of ’em?” asked the storekeeper, in surprise.

“Yes,” said Patty, “all of them,” and as the old woman lifted the plate in from the window, Patty added, “And if you care to part with it, I’ll buy the plate too.”

“Land, Miss, that ’ere old plate ain’t no good; it’s got a crack in it, but if so be’s you admire that pattern, I’ve got another in the keeping-room that’s just like it, only ’tain’t cracked. ’Tain’t even chipped.”

“Would you care to part with them both?” asked Patty, remembering that this phrase was the preferred formula of all china hunters.

“Laws, yes, Miss, if you care to pay for ’em. Of course, I can’t sell ’em for nothin’, for there’s sometimes ladies as comes here, as has a fancy to them old things. But these two plates is so humbly, that I didn’t have the face to show ’em to anybody as was lookin’ for anteeks.”

Patty’s sense of honesty would not allow her to ignore the old woman’s mistake.

“They may seem homely to you,” she said, “but I think it only right to tell you that these plates are probably the most valuable of any you have ever owned.”

“Well, for the land o’ goodness, ef you ain’t honest! ’Tain’t many as would speak up like that! Jest come in the back room, and look at the other plate.”

The girls followed the old woman as she raised a calico curtain of a flowered pattern, and let them through into the “keeping-room.”

“There,” she said with some pride as she took down a plate from the high mantel. “There, you can see for yourself, there ain’t no chip or crack into it.”

Sure enough, Patty held in her hand a perfect specimen of the Millennium plate, so highly prized by collectors, and there was also the one she had seen in the window, which though slightly cracked, was still in fair condition.

“How much do you want for them?” asked Patty.

The old woman hesitated. It was not difficult to see that, although she wanted to get as high a price as possible for her plates, yet she did not want to ask so much that Patty would refuse to take them.

“You tell me,” she said, insinuatingly, “’bout what you think them plates is worth.”

“No,” said Patty, firmly, “I never buy things that way. You tell me your price, and then I will buy them or not as I choose.”

“Well,” said the old woman, slowly, “the last lady that I sold plates to, she give me fifty cents apiece for three of ’em, and though I think they was purtier than these here, yet you tell me these is more vallyble, and so,” here the old woman made a great show of firmness, “and so my price for these plates is a dollar apiece.”

As soon as she had said it, she looked at Patty in alarm, greatly fearing that she would not pay so much.

But Patty replied, “I will give you five dollars for the two,—because I know that is nearer their value than the price you set.”

“Bless your good heart, and your purty face, Miss,” said the old woman, as the tears came into her eyes. “I’m that obliged to you! I’ll send the money straight to my son John. He’s in the hospital, poor chap, and he needs it sore.”

Elise had rarely been brought in contact with poverty and want, and her generous heart was touched at once. She emptied her little purse out upon the table, and was rejoiced to discover that it contained something over ten dollars.

“Please accept that,” she cried, “to buy things for your son, or for yourself, as you choose.”

“‘There, you can see for yourself, there ain’t no chip or
crack into it’”

The old woman was quite overcome at this kindness, and was endeavouring brokenly to express her thanks, when the bell on the shop door jangled loudly.

Patty being nearest to the calico curtain drew it aside, to find Roger in the little shop, looking very breathless and worried.

“Well, of all things,” he exclaimed. “You girls have given us a scare. We’ve hunted high and low through the whole of this metropolis. And if it hadn’t been that a little girl said she saw you come in here, I suppose we’d now be dragging the brook. Come along, quick, we’re all ready to start.”

“How could you get that belt mended so quickly?” asked Elise.

“Never mind that,” said Roger, “just come along.”

“Wait a minute,” said Patty, hastily gathering up her precious plates, while the old woman provided some newspaper wrapping.

Roger hurried the two girls back to the motor-car, saying as they went, “We’re not in any hurry to start, but Mother thinks you’re drowned, and I want to prove to her that she is mistaken.”

The sight of the car caused Patty to go off into peals of laughter.

In front of the beautiful machine was an old farm wagon, and in front of that were four horses. On the seat of the wagon sat a nonchalant-looking farmer who seemed to take little interest in the proceedings.

“I wouldn’t ask what’s the matter for anything,” said Patty, looking at Roger, demurely, “but I suppose I am safe in assuming that you have those horses there merely because you think they look well.”

“That’s it,” said Roger. “Nothing adds to the good effect of a motor-car like having a few fine horses attached to it. Jump in, girls.”

The girls jumped in, and the caravan started. It was at a decidedly different rate of speed from the way they had travelled before. But Patty soon learned that Roger had found it impossible to fix the belt without going to a repair shop, and there was none nearer than Hartford. With some difficulty, and at considerable expense, he had persuaded the gruff old farmer to tow them over the intervening ten miles.

Patty would have supposed that this would greatly humiliate the proud and sensitive boy, but, to her surprise, Roger treated the affair as a good joke. He leaned back in his seat, apparently pleased with his enforced idleness, and chatted merrily as they slowly crawled along. Occasionally he would plead with the old farmer to urge his horses a trifle faster, and even hint at certain rewards if they should reach Hartford in a given time. But the grumpy old man was proof against coaxing or even bribing, and they jogged along, almost at a snail’s pace.

Perceiving that there was no way of improving the situation, Roger gave up trying, and turning partly around in his seat, proceeded to entertain the girls to the best of his ability.

Patty hadn’t known before what a jolly, good-natured boy Elise’s brother was, and she came to the conclusion that he had a good sense of proportion, to be able to take things so easily, and to keep his temper under such trying circumstances.

Only once did the surly old farmer address himself to his employers. Turning around to face the occupants of the motor-car he bawled out:

“Whar do ye wanter go in Hartford?”

“To the largest repair shop for automobiles,” answered Roger.

“Thought ye wanted ter go ter the State Insane Asylum,” was the response to this, and a suppressed chuckle could be heard, as the old man again turned his attention to his not over-speedy steeds.

Though not a very subtle jest, this greatly amused the motor party, and soon they entered the outskirts of the beautiful city of Hartford.

Mr. Farrington looked at his watch. “I suppose,” he said, “it will take the best part of an hour to have the machine attended to, for there are two or three little matters which I want to have put in order, besides the belt. I will stay and look after it, and the rest of you can take your choice of two proceedings. One is, to go to a hotel, rest and freshen yourselves up a bit, and have some luncheon. The other is, to take a carriage and drive around the city. Hartford is a beautiful place, and if Patty has never seen it, I am sure she will enjoy it.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” said Mrs. Farrington, “which we do; but I’m quite sure I don’t care to eat anything more just at present. We had our picnic not so very long ago, you know.”

“I know,” said Mr. Farrington, “but consider this. When we start from here with the car in good order, I hope to run straight through to Warner’s. But at best we cannot reach there before ten o’clock to-night. So it’s really advisable that you should fortify yourselves against the long ride, for I should hate to delay matters further by stopping again for dinner.”

“Ten o’clock!” exclaimed Mrs. Farrington, “why, they expect us by seven, at latest. It is too bad to keep them waiting like that. Can’t we telephone to them?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Farrington, “and I will attend to that while I am waiting for the car to be fixed. Now what would you people rather do?”

Both the girls declared they could not eat another luncheon at present, and they thought it would be delightful to drive around and see the town.

So Mrs. Farrington settled the matter by deciding to take the drive. And then she said, “We can leave the luncheon-kit at some hotel to be filled, then we can pick it up again, and take it along with us, and when we get hungry we can eat a light supper in the car.”

“Great head, Mother!” cried Roger, “you are truly a genius!”

An open landau was engaged, and Roger and the three ladies started for the drive. They spent a delightful hour viewing the points of interest in the city, which the obliging driver pointed out to them.

They smiled when they came to the Insane Asylum, and though the grounds looked attractive, they concluded not to go there to stay, even though their old farmer friend had seemed to think it an appropriate place for them.

“It’s a strange thing,” said Roger, “that people who do not ride in automobiles always think that people who do are crazy. I’m sure I don’t know why.”

“I wouldn’t blame anybody for thinking Mr. Phelps crazy, if they had seen him this morning,” said Patty.

“That’s only because you’re not accustomed to seeing men in racing costume,” said Roger. “After you’ve seen a few more rigs like that, you won’t think anything of them.”

“That’s so,” said Patty thoughtfully, “and if I had never before seen a farmer in the queer overalls, and big straw hat, that our old country gentleman wore, I daresay I should have thought his appearance quite as crazy as that of Mr. Phelps.”

“You have a logical mind, Patty,” said Mrs. Farrington, “and on the whole I think you are right.”

CHAPTER XIII

A STORMY RIDE

The time passed quickly and soon the drive was over, and after calling for their well-filled luncheon-basket, the quartet returned to the repair shop to find Mr. Farrington all ready to start.

So into the car they all bundled, and Patty learned that each fresh start during a motor journey revives the same feeling of delight that is felt at the beginning of the trip.

She settled herself in her place with a little sigh of contentment, and remarked that she had already begun to feel at home in The Fact, and she only wished it was early morning, and they were starting for the day, instead of but for a few hours.

“Don’t you worry, my lady,” said Roger, as he laid his hands lightly on the steering-wheel, “you’ve a good many solid hours of travel ahead of you right now. It’s four o’clock, and if we reach Pine Branches by ten, I will pat this old car fondly on the head, before I put her to bed.”

The next few hours were perhaps the pleasantest they had yet spent. In June, from four to seven is a delightful time, and as the roads were perfect, and the car went along without the slightest jar or jolt, and without even a hint of an accident of any sort, there was really not a flaw to mar their pleasure.

As the sun set, and the twilight began to close around them, Patty thought she had never seen anything more beautiful than the landscape spread out before them. A broad white road stretched ahead like a ribbon. On either side were sometimes green fields, darkening in the fading light, and sometimes small groves of trees, which stood black against the sky.

Then the sunset’s colours faded, the trees grew blacker and denser, and their shadows ceased to fall across the darkening road.

Roger lighted the lamps, and drew out extra fur robes, for the evening air was growing chill.

“Isn’t it wonderful!” said Patty, almost in a whisper. “Motoring by daylight is gay and festive, but now, to glide along so swiftly and silently through the darkness, is so strange that it’s almost solemn. As it grows darker and blacker, it seems as if we were gliding away,—away into eternity.”

“For gracious’ sake, child,” said Mrs. Farrington, “don’t talk like that! You give me the shivers; say something more lively, quick!”

Patty laughed merrily.

“That was only a passing mood,” she said. “Really, I think it’s awfully jolly for us to be scooting along like this, with our lamps shining. We’re just like a great big fire-fly or a dancing will-o’-the-wisp.”

“You have a well-trained imagination, Patty,” said Mrs. Farrington, laughing at the girl’s quick change from grave to gay. “You can make it obey your will, can’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Patty demurely, “what’s the use of having an imagination, if you can’t make it work for you?”

The car was comfortably lighted inside as well as out, with electric lamps, and the occupants were, as Mr. Farrington said, as cozy and homelike as if they were in a gipsy waggon.

Patty laughed at the comparison and said she thought that very few gipsy waggons had the luxuries and modern appliances of The Fact.

“That may be,” said Mr. Farrington, “but you must admit the gipsy waggon is the more picturesque vehicle. The way they shirr that calico arrangement around their back door, has long been my admiration.”

“It is beautiful,” said Patty, “and the way the stove-pipe comes out of the roof,——”

“And the children’s heads out ’most anywhere,” added Elise; “yes, it’s certainly picturesque.”

“Speaking of gipsy waggons makes me hungry,” said Mrs. Farrington. “What time is it, and how soon shall we reach the Warners’?”

“It’s after eight o’clock, my dear,” said her husband, “and I’m sure we can’t get there before ten, and then, of course, we won’t have dinner at once, so do let us partake of a little light refreshment.”

“Seems to me we are always eating,” said Patty, “but I’m free to confess that I’m about as hungry as a full grown anaconda.”

Without reducing their speed, and they were going fairly fast, the tourists indulged in a picnic luncheon. There was no tea making, but sandwiches and little cakes and glasses of milk were gratefully accepted.

“This is all very well,” said Mrs. Farrington, after supper was over, “and I wouldn’t for a moment have you think that I’m tired or frightened, or the least mite timid. But if I may have my way, hereafter we’ll make no definite promises to be at any particular place at any particular time. I wish when you had telephoned, John, you had told the Warners that we wouldn’t arrive until to-morrow. Then we could have stopped somewhere, and spent the night like civilised beings, instead of doing this gipsy act.”

“It would have been a good idea,” said Mr. Farrington thoughtfully, “but it’s a bit too late now, so there’s no use worrying about it. But cheer up, my friend, I think we’ll arrive shortly.”

“I think we won’t,” said Roger. “I don’t want to be discouraging, but we haven’t passed the old stone quarry yet, and that’s a mighty long way this side of Pine Branches.”

“You’re sure you know the way, aren’t you, Roger?” asked his mother, her tone betraying the first trace of anxiety she had yet shown.

“Oh, yes,” said Roger, and Patty wasn’t sure whether she imagined it, or whether the boy’s answer was not quite as positive as it was meant to sound.

“Well, I’m glad you do,” said Mr. Farrington, “for I confess I don’t. We’re doubtless on the right road, but I haven’t as yet seen any familiar landmarks.”

“We’re on the right road, all right,” said Roger. “You know there’s a long stretch this side of Pine Branches, without any villages at all.”

“I know it,” said Mrs. Farrington, “but it is dotted with large country places, and farms. Are you passing those, Roger? I can’t seem to see any?”

“I haven’t noticed very many, Mother, but I think we haven’t come to them yet. Chirk up, it’s quite some distance yet, but we’ll keep going till we get there.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Farrington, “what if the belt should break, or something give way!”

“Don’t think of such things, Mother; nothing is going to give way. But if it should, why, we’ll just sit here till morning, and then we can see to fix it.”

Mrs. Farrington couldn’t help laughing at Roger’s good nature, but she said, “Of course, I know everything’s all right, and truly, I’m not a bit frightened. But somehow, John, I’d feel more comfortable if you’d come back here with me, and let one of the girls sit in front in your place.”

“Certainly,” said her husband, “hop over here, Elise.”

“Let me go,” cried Patty, who somehow felt, intuitively, that Elise would prefer to stay behind with her parents. As for Patty herself, she had no fear, and really wanted the exciting experience of sitting up in front during this wild night ride.

Roger stopped the car, and the change was soon effected. As Patty insisted upon it, she was allowed to go instead of Elise, and in a moment they were off again.

“Do you know,” said Patty to Roger, after they had started, “when I got out then, I felt two or three drops of rain!”

“I do know it,” said Roger, in a low tone, “and I may as well tell you, Patty, that there’s going to be a hard storm before long. Certainly before we reach Pine Branches.”

“How dreadful,” said Patty, who was awed more by the anxious note in Roger’s voice, than by the thought of the rain storm. “Don’t you think it would be better,” she went on, hoping to make a helpful suggestion, “if we should put in to some house until the storm is over? Surely anybody would give us shelter.”

“I don’t see any houses,” said Roger, “and, Patty, I may as well own up, we’re off the road somehow. I think I must have taken the wrong turning at that fork a few miles back. And though I’m not quite sure, yet I feel a growing conviction that we’re lost.”

Although the situation was appalling, for some unexplainable reason Patty couldn’t help giggling.

“Lost!” she exclaimed in a tragic whisper, “in the middle of the night! in a desolate country region! and a storm coming on!”

Patty’s dramatic summary of the situation made Roger laugh too. And their peals of gaiety reassured the three who sat behind.

“What are you laughing at?” said Elise; “I wish you’d tell me, for I’m ’most scared to death, and Roger, it’s beginning to rain.”

“You don’t say so!” said Roger, in a tone of polite surprise, “why then we must put on the curtains.” He stopped the car, and jumping down from his place, began to arrange the curtains which were always carried in case of rain.

Mr. Farrington helped him, and as he did so, remarked, “Looks like something of a storm, my boy.”

“Father,” said Roger, in a low voice, “it’s going to rain cats and dogs, and there may be a few thunders and lightnings. I hope mother won’t have hysterics, and I don’t believe she will, if you sit by her and hold her hand. I don’t think we’d better stop. I think we’d better drive straight ahead, but, Dad, I believe we’re on the wrong road. We’re not lost; I know the way all right, but to go around the way we are going, is about forty miles farther than the way I meant to go; and yet I don’t dare turn back and try to get on the other road again, for fear I’ll really get lost.”

“Roger,” said Mr. Farrington, “you’re a first-class chauffeur, and I’ll give you a reference whenever you want one, but I must admit that to-night you have succeeded in getting us into a pretty mess.”

Roger was grateful enough for the light way in which his father treated the rather serious situation, but the boy keenly felt his responsibility.

“Good old Dad,” he said, “you’re a brick! Get in back now, and look after mother and Elise. Don’t let them shoot me or anything, when I’m not looking. Patty is a little trump; she is plucky clear through, and I am glad to have her up in front with me. Now I’ll do the best I can, and drive straight through the storm. If I see any sort of a place where we can turn in for shelter, I think we’d better do it, don’t you?”

“I do, indeed,” said his father. “Meantime, my boy, go ahead. I trust the whole matter to you, for you’re a more expert driver than I am.”

It was already raining fast as the two men again climbed into the car. But the curtains all around kept the travellers dry, and with its cheery lights the interior of the car was cozy and pleasant.

In front was a curtain with a large window of mica which gave ample view of the road ahead.

With his strong and well-arranged lights, Roger had no fear of collision, and as they were well protected from the rain, his chief worriment was because they were on the wrong road.

“It’s miles and miles longer to go around this way,” he confided to Patty. “I don’t know what time we’ll ever get there.”

“Never mind,” said Patty, who wanted to cheer him up. “I think this is a great experience. I suppose there’s danger, but somehow I can’t help enjoying the wild excitement of it.”

“I’m glad you like it,” said Roger a little grimly. “I’m always pleased to entertain my guests.”

The storm was increasing, and now amounted to a gale. The rain dashed against the curtains in great wet sheets, and finally forced its way in at a few of the crevices.

Mrs. Farrington, sitting between her husband and daughter, was thoroughly frightened and extremely uncomfortable, but she pluckily refrained from giving way to her nervousness, and succeeded in behaving herself with real bravery and courage.

Still the tempest grew. So wildly did it dash against the front curtain that Patty and Roger could see scarcely a foot before the machine.

“There’s one comfort,” said Roger, through his clenched teeth, “we’re not in danger of running into anything, for no other fools would be abroad such a night as this. Patty, I’m going to speed her! I’m going to race the storm!”

“Do!” said Patty, who was wrought up to a tense pitch of excitement by the war of the elements without, and the novelty of the situation within.

Roger increased the speed, and they flew through the black night and dashed into the pouring rain, while Patty held her breath, and wondered what would happen next.

On they went and on. Patty’s imagination kept pace with her experiences and through her mind flitted visions of Tam O’Shanter’s ride, John Gilpin’s ride and the ride of Collins Graves. But all of these seemed tame affairs beside their own break-neck speed through the wild night!

“Roger,” said his mother, “Roger, won’t you please——”

“Ask her not to speak to me just now, Patty, please,” said the boy, in such a tense, strained voice that Patty was frightened at last, but she knew that if Roger were frightened, that was a special reason for her own calmness and bravery. Turning slightly, she said, “Please don’t speak to him just now, Mrs. Farrington; he wants to put all his attention on his steering.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Farrington, who had not the slightest idea that there was any cause for alarm, aside from the discomfort of the storm. “I only wanted to tell him to watch out for railroad trains.”

And then Patty realised that that was just what Roger was looking out for! She could not see ahead into the blinding rain, but she knew they were going down hill. She heard what seemed like the distant whistle of a locomotive, and suddenly realising that Roger could not stop the car and must cross the track before the train came, she thought at the same moment that if Mrs. Farrington should impulsively reach over and grasp the boy’s arm, or anything like that, it might mean terrible disaster.

Acting upon a quick impulse to prevent this, she turned round herself, and with a voice whose calmness surprised her, she said, “Please, Mrs. Farrington, could you get me a sandwich out of the basket?”

“Bless you, no, child!” said that lady, her attention instantly diverted by Patty’s ruse. “That is, I don’t believe I can, but I’ll try.”

Patty was far from wanting a sandwich, but she felt that she had at least averted the possible danger of Mrs. Farrington’s suddenly clutching Roger, and as she turned back to face the front, the great car whizzed across the slippery railroad track, just as Patty saw the headlight of a locomotive not two hundred feet away from them.

“Oh, Roger,” she breathed, clasping her hands tightly, lest she herself should touch the boy, and so interfere with his steering.

“It’s all right, Patty,” said Roger in a breathless voice, and as she looked at his white face, she realised the danger they had so narrowly escaped.

Those in the back seat could not see the train, and the roar of the storm drowned its noise.

“Patty,” said Roger, very softly, “you saved us! I understood just what you did. I felt sure Mother was going to grab at me, when she heard that whistle. It’s a way she has, when she’s nervous or frightened, and I can’t seem to make her stop it. But you saved the day with your sandwich trick, and if ever we get in out of the rain, I’ll tell you what I think of you!”