One afternoon Patty and Marie Homer were coming home from a concert.
Patty had grown very fond of Marie. They were congenial in many ways, and especially so in their love of music, and often went together to concerts or recitals.
It was late in March, but as spring had come early the afternoon was warm and Marie proposed, as the two girls got into the Homer limousine, that they go for a ride through the park.
"A short one, then," said Patty, "for I must be home fairly early!"
"Then don't let's go in the park," said Marie, "let's go to my house, instead. For I want you to meet Bee. She's just home for her Easter vacation."
"I can only stay a minute; but I will go. I do want to see Bee. How long will she be at home?"
"More than a fortnight. She has quite a holiday. Oh, there'll be gay doings while Bee's at home. She keeps the house lively with her pranks, and if she and Kit get started they're sure to raise mischief."
"How old is Beatrice?"
"She's just seventeen, but sometimes she acts like a kiddy of twelve. Mother says she doesn't know what to do with her, the child is so full of capers."
As the two girls entered the Homer apartment, Beatrice Homer ran to meet them.
"Oh, you're Patty Fairfield! I KNOW you are! Aren't you the loveliest thing ever! You look like a bisque ornament to set on a mantel-piece. Are you real?"
She poked her finger in Patty's dimpled cheek, but she was so roguish and playful, that Patty could not feel annoyed with her.
"Let me look at you," Patty said, holding her off, "and see what YOU'RE like. Why, you're a gipsy, an elfin sprite, a witch of the woods! You have no business to be named Beatrice."
"I know it," said Bee, dancing around on her toes. "But my nickname isn't so bad for me, is it?" And she waved her arms and hovered around Patty, making a buzzing noise like a real bee.
"Don't sting me!" cried Patty.
"Oh, I don't sting my friends! I'm a honey-bee. A dear, little, busy, buzzy honey-bee!" And she kept on dancing around and buzzing till Patty put out her hand as if to brush her away.
"Buzz away, Bee, but get a little farther off,—you drive me distracted."
"That's the way she always acts," said Marie, with a sigh; "we can't do anything with her! It's a pity she was ever nicknamed Bee, for, when she begins buzzing, she's a regular nuisance."
"Sometimes I'm a drone," Bee announced, and with that she began a droning sound that was worse than the buzzing, and kept it up till it set their nerves on edge.
"Oh, Bee, dear!" Marie begged of her, "WON'T you stop that and be nice?"
Bee's only answer was a long humming drone.
Patty looked at the girl kindly. "I want to like you," she said, "and I think it's unkind of you not to let me do it."
Bee stopped her droning and considered a moment. Then she smiled, and when her elfin face broke into laughter, she was a pretty picture, indeed.
"I DO want you to like me," she said, impulsively, grasping Patty's hands; "and I will be good. You know I'm like the little girl,—the curly girlie, you know,—when she was good she was awful drefful good, and when she was bad she was horrid."
"I'm sure you couldn't be horrid," and Patty smiled at her, "but all the same I don't believe you can be very, VERY good."
"Oh, yes, I can; the goodest thing you ever saw! Now watch me," and sure enough during the rest of Patty's stay, Beatrice was as charming and delightful a companion as any one you'd wish to see. She was bubbling over with fun and merriment, but she refrained from teasing, and Patty took a decided liking to her.
"I'll make a party for you, Bee," she said. "What kind would you like?"
"Not a stiff, stuck-up party. I hate 'em. Can't it be a woodsy kind of a thing?"
"A ramble through the park?"
"More woodsy than that. The park is almost like the city."
"Well, a picnic to Bronx Park, then, or Van Cortlandt."
"That sounds better. But I'll come to any party you make,—I know it will be lovely. Oh, I'll tell you, Patty, what I'd like best. To go on one of your Saturday afternoon jinks; with the queer, poor people, you know."
"They're not queer and they're not always very poor," returned Patty, seriously; "I'm afraid you'd tease them or make fun of them."
"Honest Injun, I wouldn't! Please let me go, and I'll be heavenly nice to them. They'll simply adore me! Please, pretty Patty!"
"Of course I will, since you've promised to be nice to them."
"Oh, you lovely Patty! Don't you sometimes get tired of being so pink and white?"
"Of course I do. I wish I could be brown and dark-eyed like you."
"You'd soon wish yourself back again. Can't you combine the woodsy party and the Happy Chaps, or whatever you call them?"
"I think we can," smiled Patty, who had already planned a Saturday afternoon picnic, and would be glad to include Bee.
"But Bee has to learn to behave properly at formal parties," said Marie. "I'm going to give a luncheon for her, while she's at home, and it's going to be entirely grown-up and conventional."
"Don't want it!" and Bee scowled darkly.
"That doesn't matter. Mother says we must have it, and that you must behave properly. You have to learn these things, you know."
"Oh, Bee will do just exactly right, I know," said Patty, as she rose to go. "If she doesn't, we can't let her come to the picnic. When is the luncheon, Marie?"
"We haven't quite decided yet, but I must send out the invitations in a day or two."
Patty went home, thinking about this sister of Marie's.
"She's an awfully attractive little piece," she said to Nan, later, "but you never can tell what she's going to do next. I think if she had the right training, she'd be a lovely girl, but Mrs. Homer and Marie spoil her with indulgence and then suddenly scold her for her unconventionality. Perhaps the school she's attending will bring her out all right, but she's a funny combination of naughty child and charming girl. She would stop at nothing, and I don't wonder that they say when she and Kit Cameron get together, look out for breakers."
A few days later, Patty received an invitation to Marie's luncheon for her sister.
It was formally written, and the date set was Tuesday, April the eighth, at half-past one. Patty noted the day on her engagement calendar, and thought no more about it at the time. But a day or two later it suddenly occurred to her that she had heard that Beatrice was to return to school on the seventh of April.
"I must be mistaken about her going back," Patty thought, remembering the luncheon on the eighth, and then, lest she herself might be mistaken in the date, she looked at the invitation again. It read "the eighth," and though Marie's handwriting was scrawly and not very legible, the figure eight was large and plain.
"She ought to have spelled it out," said Patty, who was punctilious in such matters.
"Yes," agreed Nan, "it's those little details that count so much among society people."
"Well, the Homers are dears, but they lack just that little something that makes people know when to spell their figures and when not to. I think it's horrid when people spell a date in ordinary correspondence. But an invitation is another thing. But I say, Nan,—Jiminetty crickets!"
"I'm not sure that date-spelling people ought to refer to those crickets," said Nan, lifting her eyebrows.
"Well, Jerusalem crickets, then! and every kind of crickets in the ornithology or whatever they belong in. But, Nan, I've discovered something!"
"What, Miss Columbus?"
"Oh, I'm a Sherlock Holmes! I'm Mr. D. Tective! What DO you think?"
"If you really want to know, I think you're crazy! jumping around like a wild Indian, and you a this season's debutante!"
"Rubbish! most debutantes are wild Indians at times. But, Nan, I've discovered their secret! Hah! the vilyuns! but they shall be foiled! foiled!! FOILED!!!"
Patty raged up and down the room, melodramatically clutching at her hair and staring at Nan with her blue eyes. "It is a deep-laid plot, but it shall be foiled by Patricia Sherlock,—the only lady detective in captivity!"
"Patty, do behave yourself! What is the matter with you? You act like a lunatic!"
"I'll tell you, Nan, honey," and Patty suddenly sat down on the couch, among a pile of pillows. "But first read that invitation and see if you see anything unusual or suspicious about it."
"I can hardly read it; for this writing looks like that on the obelisk,—or at least it's nearly as unintelligible. But it seems to say that Mrs. Robert Homer requests the pleasure of your company at luncheon on Tuesday, April the eighth, at half-past one o'clock. Nothing criminal about that, is there?"
"Is there! There is, indeed! Nan, you're the dearest, sweetest, loveliest lady in the whole world, but you can't see a hole through a ladder. So I'll tell you. The date of that party is really April the FIRST. I mean, Marie wrote April the first! And if you'll observe, somebody else has put a twisty line around that ONE and made it into an EIGHT! Why, it's as plain as day!"
"It certainly is, Patty," and Nan looked at the girl in astonishment and admiration. "How did you ever happen to notice it?"
"Why, it just jumped out at me. See, a different pen was used. The line is thicker. And nobody would make an EIGHT that way. They'd make it all with one pen mark. And this is a straight up-and-down ONE, and that rest of it was put on later. And, anyway, Nan, if there were any doubt, don't you see it isn't TH after it as it ought to be for the eight, it's ST?"
"You can't tell which it is in this crazy handwriting," and Nan scrutinised the page.
"Yes, you can," and Patty stared at it. "You wouldn't notice the difference, if you weren't looking for it, but it IS ST. I see it all, Nan! You know Bee didn't want this luncheon, and to get out of it, she changed that date before the invitations were sent! And you see, by the eighth, she'll be back in school!"
"Are both dates Tuesday?" said Nan, thinking.
"Yes, of course, they are. Isn't it clever? Oh, Bee never got this up all by herself,—that Kit helped her."
"But, Patty, then nobody will go on the first, and the Homers will be all prepared—"
"That's just what Bee wants! One of her practical jokes! Oh, Nan, I do detest practical jokes."
"So do I! I think they're ill-bred."
"But the Homers don't think that, and Kit Cameron doesn't, either. We've discussed that matter lots of times, and we never agree. And, besides, Nan," and Patty had a new inspiration, "don't you see, this party was planned for the first of April, and Bee and Kit will call this thing an April Fool joke, and therefore entirely permissible. April Fool's Day is their Happy Hunting Ground. But I'm going to foil this thing, and don't you forget it! Seems to me it would be a pretty good joke if I'd turn the tables on those two smarties."
"How can you, Patty?"
"I haven't quite thought it out yet, but I have an idea."
"But, Patty, wait a minute. Perhaps they only changed the date on yours,—just to fool you, you know."
"Good gracious, Nan! perhaps that's so! How did you come to think of it? But I'll soon find out."
Patty flew to the telephone, and in a short time learned that both Mona and Elise were invited for the eighth, and she concluded that the plotters had changed the date on all the invitations.
Next she called up Marie, and without letting her know why, asked for a list of the luncheon guests.
Marie told her at once, without asking why she wanted to know.
There were nine beside the Homers, and Patty was acquainted with them all.
She called them up each in turn on the telephone, and explained carefully that a mistake had been made in the invitations, and she hoped they would come on the first instead of the eighth.
Fortunately, all of them were able to do this, and Patty enjoined each one to say nothing about this change of date, until they should arrive at the party.
To a few of her more intimate friends,—Mona, Elise, andChristine,—she told the whole story, and they fell in with her plans.
And so it came about, that on the first of April preparations were going blithely forward in the Homer apartment, for Bee's elaborate luncheon.
It was all true, exactly as Patty had figured it out; and Kit and Beatrice had planned what they considered a first-class and entirely permissible practical joke.
They knew that Mrs. Homer would make elaborate preparations for the luncheon, but they agreed that there would be no other harm done. And to them, the fun of seeing the perplexity of Marie and her mother at the non-appearance of their guests, was sufficient reason for their scheme. Moreover, they fell back on the time-honoured tradition that any joke was justifiable on April Fools' Day.
In addition to all this, Beatrice did not want to attend the luncheon party, and as by chance it had been left to her to seal up and address the invitations that Marie had written, and as Kit came in while she was doing it, their fertile brains had discovered that, as the dates fell on the same day of the week, the first could easily be changed to the eighth! And the two sinners chuckled with glee over the fact that another luncheon would have to be prepared the week following.
As it neared one o'clock on the first of April, Kit strolled into theHomers' apartment.
"Run away, little boy," said his aunt, gaily; "we're having a young ladies' party here to-day, and you're not invited."
"Please let me stay a little while, auntie; I'll run away before your guests arrive. Mayn't I help you fix flowers or something?"
"No, you're more bother than help; now be good, Kit boy, and run away."
"Auntie," and Kit put on his most wheedlesome smile, which was always compelling, "if you'll just let me stay till the first guest comes, I'll scoot out at once."
Bee nearly choked at this, for did she not know that the guests wouldn't arrive for a week yet!
Mrs. Homer was called away to the dining-room then, and the two conspirators indulged in a silent dance of triumph over the success of their scheme. Not for a moment did it strike them as unkind or mean, because they had been used to practical jokes all their life, and this seemed to them the biggest and best they had ever carried off.
At half-past one Patty appeared.
She had laid her plans most carefully, and everything was going smoothly.
Mrs. Homer and Marie greeted her warmly, and Beatrice and Kit were not much surprised to see her, because she was liable to come any day. Beatrice looked a little surprised at Patty's dressed-up appearance, but as no one else appeared, she had no suspicion of what Patty had done.
They all sat in the drawing-room, and the clock ticked away until twenty-five minutes of two, but nobody else arrived.
Mrs. Homer grew restless. She looked at the clock, and turning to Kit, asked him if the time was right by his watch.
"Yes, auntie," replied that scapegrace. "It's almost twenty minutes of two. I thought you invited your friends for one-thirty."
"I did," and Mrs. Homer looked anxious. "How strange that no one is here, except Patty!"
Patty said nothing, but the enigmatic smile which she cast on Kit made him feel that perhaps she knew more than she was telling.
"Do run away, Kit," urged his aunt. "I should think you'd be ashamed to come to a party where you're not invited."
"Perhaps I shall be invited if I wait long enough," and Kit threw a meaning glance at Beatrice. "If your guests don't come, auntie, you'll be glad to have me to help eat up your goodies."
"Not come! Of course they'll come!" cried Mrs. Homer, and Marie turned pale with dismay.
"Well, it seems to me," went on Kit, "that it would be a jolly good April Fool joke on you all, if they didn't come. And"—he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling,—"something tells me that they won't."
"What!" And Marie jumped up, her eyes blazing. Kit's roguish chuckle and Bee's elfin grin made Marie suddenly realise there was something in the air.
But before Kit could reply, Patty rose, and said directly to him, "How strange! I wonder what it is that tells you the luncheon guests won't come. How do you know?"—and she smiled straight at him. "Something tells ME that they WILL come!"
Then Patty herself stepped into the hall, threw open the door, and in came eight merry, laughing girls!
Patty had arranged that Elise should stay downstairs and receive each guest, and keep them there until all had arrived. Then they were to come upstairs, and wait outside the Homers' door, until the dramatic moment.
Although not in favour of practical jokes, Patty couldn't help enjoying Kit's absolutely paralysed face. He looked crestfallen,—but more than that, he looked so bewildered and utterly taken back, that Patty burst into laughter.
Mrs. Homer and Marie were greeting the newcomers, and as yet had hardly realised the whole situation, but quick-witted Beatrice took it all in.
"You Patty!" she cried, "oh, you Patty Fairfield!"
Patty's beaming face left no doubts as to who it was that had circumvented their plan and carried off the honours of the day.
"I'm so sorry you can't stay to luncheon," she said, turning to Kit; "must you really go now?"
"You little rascal!" he cried, "but I'll get even with you for this!"
"Please don't," and Patty spoke seriously. "Truly, Kit, I don't like these things. I'm awfully glad I could save Mrs. Homer and Marie the mortification and annoyance you and Bee had planned for them. But I haven't any right to talk to you like a Dutch aunt. If this is your notion of fun, I've no right even to criticise it; but I will tell you that if you 'get even with me,' as you call it, by playing one of your jokes on me, we'll not be friends any more."
"Patty!" and Kit took both her hands with a mock tragic gesture, "ANYTHING but that! To lose your friendship, Poppycheek, would be to lose all that makes life worth living! Now, if I promise to get even with you, by never trying to get even with you,—how's that?"
"That's just right!" and Patty, as the victorious party, could afford to be generous. "Now run away, Kit. You promised your aunt you'd scoot when her guests arrived."
"Yes, I did, Princess, so off I go! I haven't told you yet what I think of your cleverness in this matter,—by the way, how did you get on to it?"
"I'll tell you some other time; run away, now."
So Kit went away, and Patty turned back to the laughing group who were merrily discussing the joke.
Mrs. Homer and Marie were so horrified when they learned of their narrow escape from trouble, and so gratified that through Patty it had been an escape, that their feelings were decidedly mixed.
Beatrice was by nature what is called a good loser, and she took her defeat gaily.
"I had thought," she said, "that Kit and I were the best practical jokers in the world; but we've been beaten by Patty Fairfield! Now, that you're all here, I'm really glad of it, but I did think it would be fun to see mother and Marie hopping around, waiting for you!"
Then they all went out to luncheon, and among the pretty table decorations and merry first of April jests, Patty managed to smuggle in at Bee's place a funny little figure. It was a bauble doll dressed like a Jester or Court Fool. And he bore a tiny flag in his hand, bearing the legend, April first.
"I AM an April Fool!" Beatrice admitted, as she took her seat, "but I forgive Patty for making me one, if all of the rest of you will forgive me."
Bee made this apology so prettily, and her roguish dark eyes flashed so brightly, that forgiveness was freely bestowed, and indeed, as one of the guests remarked, there was nothing to forgive.
But the story was told over and over again, and Patty was beset with questions as to how she chanced to discover the fraud.
"Why, I just happened to," she said, smiling; "I think I'm a detective by instinct; but there's not much credit due to me, for I knew Beatrice and Mr. Cameron were always planning jokes, and I couldn't believe they'd let the first of April pass by without some special demonstration. So I kept my eyes open,—and I couldn't help seeing what I did see."
"You're a Seer from Seeville," declared Bee, "and I promise I shall never try to trick you again."
"Which means," said Patty, calmly, "that you'll never cease trying until you accomplish it, and you say that to put me off my guard."
The baffled look on Bee's face proved that this was true, and everybody laughed.
It was that very same evening that Kenneth came to call, and Patty merrily told him the whole story.
She was not much surprised that he disapproved heartily of the joke.
"It isn't nice, Patty," he declared; "I may be dull and serious-minded, but I can't stand for jokes of that sort."
"I either, Ken," Patty returned; "but we must remember that people in this world have different ideas and tastes. And especially, they have differing notions of what constitutes humour. So, just because WE don't like practical jokes, we oughtn't to condemn those who do. We may like some things that THEY don't approve."
"What a just little person you are, Patty," and Harper looked at her approvingly. "For all your gaiety and frivolity you have a sound, sweet nature. And more than that, you have real brains in that curly-pate of yours."
"Goodness, Ken, you overwhelm me with these sudden compliments! You'll quite turn my head; I never COULD stand flattery!"
"It isn't flattery," and Kenneth spoke very earnestly; "it's the solemn truth. You are as wise and sensible as you are beautiful."
"Heavens and earth! Ken, WHY these kind words? What do you want?"
Harper looked at her a moment, and then said, steadily: "I want YOU, Patty; I want you more than I can tell you. I didn't mean to blurt this out so soon, but I can't keep it back. Patty, PATTY, can't you care for me a little?"
Patty was about to reply flippantly, but the look in Harper's eyes forbade it, and she said, gently, "Kenneth, dear, PLEASE don't!"
"I know what that means; it means you DON'T care."
"But I DO, Ken——"
"Oh, Patty, DO you? Do you MEAN it?"
Kenneth took her hands in his and his big grey eyes expressed so much love and hope, that Patty was frightened.
"No, I DON'T mean it! I don't mean anything! Oh, Ken, please DON'T!"
"Don't say that, Patty, because I MUST. Listen, dear; I went to see your father to-day. And I asked him if I might tell you all this."
Patty looked at him, not quite comprehending.
"You went to see daddy?" she said, wonderingly; "he never told me."
"Why should he? Don't you understand, dear? I went to him to ask his permission to tell you that I love you, and I want you for my wife. And your father said that I might tell you. And now,—darling——"
"And now it's up to me?" Patty tried to speak lightly.
"Exactly that, Patty," and Kenneth's face was grave and tender. "It's up to you, dear. The happiness of my whole life is up to you,—here and now. What's the answer?"
Patty sat still a moment, and fairly blinked her eyes in her endeavour to realise the situation.
"Ken," she said at last, in a small, far-away voice, "are you—are you—are you proposing to me?"
"I sure am!" and Kenneth's head nodded a firm assent; "the sooner you get that fact into your head, the better. Patty, DEAR little Patty, tell me,—don't keep me waiting——"
"But, Ken, I don't WANT to be proposed to,—and least of all, by YOU!"
"Patty, do you mean that?" and Harper's strained, anxious face took on a look of despair.
"Oh, no, NO, I don't mean THAT! At least, not in the way you think! I only mean we've been such good friends for so long, you're the last one I should think of marrying!"
"And who is the first one you think of marrying?"
Patty burst into laughter. "Oh, Ken, you're so funny when you're sarcastic! Don't be THAT, whatever you are!"
"I won't; Patty, darling, tell me you love me a little bit,—or just that you'll let me love you,—and I'll NEVER be sarcastic! I'll only be tender, and gentle, and loving,—and anything and everything you want me to be!"
"Can you?"
The eager light faded from Kenneth's eyes, as he answered: "No, I'm afraid I can't, dear. I know as well as you do, that I haven't the kind of gaiety you like in a man. I've told you this before. But, Patty,—you've so much of that,—don't you think you've enough for two?"
Patty smiled. "It isn't only that, Ken. Don't think that I care more for foolish, witty speeches than I do for a true, noble heart, like yours."
"DON'T say 'true, noble heart'! It sounds as if you didn't care two cents for me! But my heart, Patty, such as it is, is all yours, and has been ever since Vernondale days. Have you forgotten those?"
"No, indeed, and that's just what I say, Ken, we've been friends from the first,—and we're friends now."
"But the time has come, Patty, to be more than friends. I have known it a long time. And I want you to know it too, dear. Patty,—can't you?"
And then, all of a sudden, Patty KNEW she couldn't. Like a flash, she saw Kenneth just as he was, a strong, brave, true man, for whom she felt a warm friendship, but whom she knew she never could love. She might some time perhaps, in days to come, love somebody, but it would never, never be Kenneth Harper.
The thought made her sad, not for herself, but she hated to give pain to this kind, honest man. She realised the depth of his love for her, and it broke her heart that she could not return it.
"Kenneth," she began, "I can't love you the way you want me to,—I just can't. And, anyway, I'm too young to think about these things."
"No, you're not, Patty. You're almost twenty and I'm twenty-four. That isn't too young,—it's just exactly the right age for lovers. It isn't too young, Patty,—if you love me."
"But I don't, Ken. I'm sorry,—but I don't."
"But you will. Oh, Patty, say you will try to!"
"Kenneth, does love come by trying?" and Patty looked into Kenneth's face, with a wide-eyed, serious gaze.
"I don't know why it shouldn't. Take time, dearest, to think about it, if you want to, but don't say no, irrevocably."
"Is a woman's no ever irrevocable?" And a smile dimpled Patty's face.
"Oh, Patty, you are so sweet when you smile like that! Please say you'll think about it."
"It won't do any good to think about it, Ken. If ever I marry anybody, it'll be somebody that I know I'm in love with, without thinking about it."
"There isn't anybody, is there, Patty, that you know you're in love with?"
"No, there isn't," and Patty's honest eyes showed that she spoke the truth. "But I'll tell you what, Ken, YOU try to like somebody else. Marie Homer is perfectly lovely! or,—there is Elise——"
"Hush, Patty, you don't know what you're talking about. I'm in love with you,—and you needn't suggest other girls to me."
"They're a great deal nicer than I am," said Patty, thoughtfully.
"Rubbish! You're the only girl in the world for me, and I want YOU. Are you sure there's nobody you like better than me, Patty?"
Patty rested her dimpled chin on the backs of her clasped hands and seemed to ponder this question. At last she said: "There's nobody I like better than you, Ken; but I've counted up nine, that I like just exactly as well. Now, what would you do in a case like that?"
[Illustration: "Now, what would you do in a case like that?"]
"Patty, you're a torment! But if I have an even chance with the others, I shall get ahead, somehow. Are you sure you don't like that Cameron chap any better than me?"
"Not a bit better. He's good fun, but I can't imagine anybody falling in love with him."
"And—Van Reypen?"
The pink in Patty's cheeks deepened, and the lids fell over her blue eyes at this question. Af-ter an instant's pause, she said: "I don't think it's fair, Ken, for you to quiz me like that. And, anyway, I can't tell. In some ways, I like you a heap better than Phil Van Reypen,—and then in other ways——"
"You like him a heap better than me!" Kenneth's tone was accusing, andPatty resented it.
"Yes, I do!" she said, honestly. "He's always ready for a good time and willing to give up things for other people. Why, Ken, when you've an important case on, you won't go skating or anything! I have to coax you to come to my parties. Now, Phil is always ready to go anywhere or do anything."
"But he's a millionaire, Patty. He doesn't have to grub for a living, as I do."
"It isn't that, Ken." Patty's quick perceptions had caught the flaw in Kenneth's argument. "It isn't that. It's because you're so absorbed in your work that you'd RATHER dig and delve in it, than to go to parties. That's all right, of course, and much to your credit. But you can't blame me for liking a man who is willing to throw over his business engagements for me."
"That's just like you, Patty, to see through me so quickly. You're right. I don't care an awful lot for society doings. I only go to parties and things to see you. And it's mighty little satisfaction, for you're always so surrounded by rattle-pated men, that there's no getting near you."
"Wait a minute, Ken; is it fair to call them rattle-pated, when you only mean that they enjoy the kind of gay chatter that you look down upon?"
"Oh, Patty, I do love you so! And when you say things like that, that proves what a big, clear mind you have underneath your frivolity, I love you more than ever. Of course, as you saw at once, I call them rattle-pates out of sheer envy and jealousy, because they possess that quality we're speaking of, and I don't. Teach it to me, Patty; teach me to be a gay society man, dancing attendance on gay society girls——"
Patty burst into a peal of laughter at this notion of Kenneth's.
"I could do that, Ken, about as easily as you could teach me to be a quiet, demure, little person like Christine Hepworth. This is Christine:"
Patty sat upright with her hands clasped in her lap, and drew down the corners of her mouth, and rolled her eyes upward with a saint-like expression.
Then, "This is me!" she said. And jumping up, she pirouetted, whirling, around the room, waving her arms like a graceful butterfly skimming over flowers. Faster and faster she went, seeming scarcely to touch the tips of her toes to the floor, and smiling at Kenneth like a tantalising fairy.
Harper gazed at her, fascinated, and then as she hovered near him, jumped up, and caught her in his arms.
"You beauty!" he cried, but Patty slipped away from him.
"You haven't caught me yet, Ken," she said, laughing, "not for keeps, you know." The rollicking dance had restored her gaiety, and relieved the seriousness of the situation.
"You know perfectly well," she went on, standing across the room from him, and shaking a little pink forefinger at him, "you know perfectly well, Kenneth-boy, that we're not a bit suited to each other. I go through life the way I just flew around the room; and you go this way:" Patty dropped her arms at her side and marched stiffly around the room with a military air, gazing straight ahead of her.
"Now, how COULD we ever keep step?" she said, pausing in front of him and looking up into his face.
"I'm afraid you're right, Patty," and Kenneth looked at her with serious eyes. "But I WANT you so!" and he held out his arms.
"Nay, nay, Pauline," and Patty danced away again. "Who gets me, I think, will have to swoop down in an aeroplane, and grabble me all up and fly away with me!"
"Where do they keep aeroplanes for sale?" inquired Kenneth, looking at her meditatively.
"You dear old Ken!" and Patty danced up to him again and laid her hand on his arm. "Isn't that just exactly like you! You'd go right off and buy an airship, I believe, and try to come swooping after me!"
"Indeed I would, if it were practicable and possible."
"Yes, that's your motto: practical and possible. But you see, Mr. Ken,I like the impractical and the impossible."
"Supposing, then, that I take up those things as a serious study?"
"Oh, yes, a SERIOUS study! Is everything serious with you?"
"My love for you is very serious, Patty."
But Patty was not willing to treat it so. "That's the trouble," she said; "now if your love for me were frivolous——"
"Then it wouldn't be worth having, Patty."
"Oh, I—don't—know! At any rate, Ken, can't you mix it? Say three parts seriousness to one part frivolousness? Though I'd rather have the proportions reversed."
"Patty, you're incorrigible!"
"Good gracious! what's that? It must be something awfully nice, if I'm it."
"Well, you are it,—and I don't know what to do with you."
"You mean, you don't know what to do without me!"
"Same thing. But you'll promise me this, won't you? To think it over seriously and not decide at once."
"Yes, I'll promise that. How long do you want me to think it over, Ken?"
"The rest of your life, Patty."
"Ken, if you say such clever things as that, I'm afraid I'll fall in love with you!"
"Patty, darling,—don't tease me like that! If I thought you meant it—-"
"But, anyway, Ken, if I take the rest of my life to think this thing over, I can't give you an answer till my dying day! And that seems late——"
"Patty, stop talking like that! You'll drive me crazy! Now listen, little girl, I'm going now. And you're going to think over what I've said to you. And—try to think kindly,—won't you?"
"I've never thought of you any way but kindly, Ken."
"Well, think more than kindly, then,—think lovingly. Good-night,Patty."
Kenneth held out his hand and Patty put her little hand slowly into it.
As she felt his strong, warm clasp, a mischievous impulse moved her to say, demurely: "I think it would be polite, Ken, if you kissed my hand, instead of squeezing it to pieces!"
Kenneth gave her one look, dropped a light kiss on the back of her little hand, and with a courteous bow left the room.
For a moment Patty stood where he had left her, then, as she heard the front door close, she looked curiously at the back of her hand, almost as if expecting to see a mark there.
"Dear old Ken," she said, softly, to herself, and then she went upstairs.
Notwithstanding the experience of the evening, Patty slept dreamlessly all night, and was only awakened, when Jane came in the morning with her breakfast tray.
"Hello, Jane," she said, sleepily, opening her eyes, "will you ask Mrs.Fairfield to come up here right away?"
"What is it, Patty?" said Nan, appearing a moment later; "are you ill?Jane said you wanted me right away."
"No, I'm not ill," and Patty gave her stepmother a quizzical glance. "Sit down, Nan, and brace yourself for a shock. In me you behold a charming young debutante who has received her first proposal from a most worthy young man."
"Good gracious, Patty! Kenneth?"
"None other!" And Patty waved her hand dramatically.
"Naturally, I'm not overcome with amazement, as he spoke to Fred about it first. Kenneth always has good manners. Well, and what did you say, Patty?"
Patty eyed Nan, provokingly. "What do you think, Nancy?"
"Honestly, Patty, I haven't the slightest idea. Ken is splendid, I think,—but——"
"But what, Nan?" And Patty looked deeply interested.
"First, what did you say?"
"I won't tell you, until you tell me what you meant by 'but.'"
"Why, I only meant that Kenneth is,—well he's a dear and all that, but he's so——"
"Oh, fiddlesticks, Nan, say it out! Dull, prosaic, old-fogy, poky, slow."
"Patty, Patty! those words are too strong! Ken isn't all those things!He's only,—just a little bit——"
"Just a day and a half behind the times. Or else I'm a day and a half ahead of them. Well, Nan, that's what I told him."
"What! that he was dull and old-fogy?"
"Not exactly those terms; but in a few well-chosen words I gave him that impression, or tried to. By the way, Nan, I danced all round the room while he was proposing. Was that correct?"
"Patty, stop your nonsense! Will you never be grown-up? You shall not make fun of Kenneth."
"Oh, Nan, I only wish I could! You might as well try to make fun of the Public Library. Kenneth is an institution. I always feel like saying to him, 'Sail on, sail on, oh, Ship of State!' or something like that. Now, wait a minute, Nan; don't you think I don't appreciate his sterling qualities. Like a Ship of State, he's made of pure granite,—oh, NO, they don't make ships of granite, do they?—I mean like the Public Library, you know. And he has solid foundations,—mental, moral, and physical. But he hasn't any fancy work about him. Even the Public Library has flags flying,—but Ken never thinks of anything as gay as a flag."
"Patty, you're talking a lot, but I do believe you know what you're saying;—it's true, dear. And are you going to marry him?"
"Marry him!" And Patty looked distinctly aggrieved. "Why, Nan, do you think for a moment I'd accept my first proposal? No, sir-ee! After I've had half a dozen, I may take one seriously, but not before. How can I tell until I've seen various sorts? Why, Nan, Kenneth didn't go down on his knees at all! I thought they always did. Didn't father, when he asked you?"
"Oh, Patty, I thought you were up-to-date! Kneeling proposals went out with the Colonials! It's only a tradition, now."
"Gracious, Nan, how experienced you are! But I don't think I shall accept anybody until he kneels to me. But don't tell anybody that, for I don't want them all doing it on purpose."
"Patty," and Nan spoke seriously, "it's all very well for you to rattle on like this, but you mustn't treat Ken's proposal lightly. He's a splendid man and he's terribly in love with you——"
"Wait a minute, Nan," and Patty was quite as earnest as the other. "Ken isn't TERRIBLY in love with me. I'd like it better if he were. He's deeply in love, even earnestly,—almost solemnly, but——"
"That's the best sort, Patty. Remember, dear, flirtation is all very well; but in the man you marry you want those qualities you've just mentioned."
"Oh, Nan, don't you be serious, too! Ken's seriousness almost finished me. And I suppose father will take the same tack! Oh, I don't want to be grown-up,—I think it's HORRID!"
Nan looked sympathetically at Patty.
"I suppose, right here," Patty went on, "I ought to burst into tears. Don't girls always cry over their first proposal? But, Nan, I feel more like giggling. I can't help it. It seems so ridiculous for Kenneth and me to go through that scene we had last evening. We've been friends so long, and then for him, all of a sudden——"
"It wasn't sudden with him, Patty. He's been in love with you for years."
"Yes, so he says. Well, Nan, I don't HAVE to marry him, do I?"
"No, of course not."
"Well, then, I'm not going to! And I don't want to be treated as if I were an ingrate because I don't! Ken is a splendid man, noble souled and all that, but I don't love him and never shall. Now please, Nan, be nice to me."
"Why, Patty, dear, I never dreamed of NOT being nice to you! I do want you to realise what you're throwing away, but if you couldn't be happy with Ken, of course, you mustn't marry him. He's a very different temperament from you, and I think myself he would be a sort of a weight on your buoyant nature. And if you're sure of your own heart, that's all there is about it. But you must tell Ken so, just as kindly as possible, for I know it will be an awful blow to the poor fellow. Did you tell him?"
"Yes, I did, but he insisted that I should think it over."
"Well, think it over. It won't hurt you to do that. And if you keep getting more and more certain that you don't love Kenneth and never will, then you'll know you're right in your decision. You're a dear girl, Patty, and I want you to marry some time, and just the right man."
"As you did."
"Yes, as I did," and Nan gave a happy smile. "You will probably marry some one nearer your own age, Patty, but you can never be any happier than Fred and I are."
"I believe you, you dear old thing! Oh, here's the mail, and I have not touched my breakfast yet."
Jane came in with a lot of letters, and Patty pounced upon one in particular.
"Here's a letter from Adele," she cried. "I hope she's coming to the city, she's been talking of it."
But instead of that news, the letter contained an invitation for Patty to come up to Fern Falls for a visit.
"Come to spend May-day," Adele wrote. "I'm having a small house party; in part, a reunion of our Christmas crowd. Daisy is here and Hal, of course, and we all want you. Invite one or two of your beaux, if you like, but don't bring any more girls; for we have two or three new neighbours with a superfluity of daughters. Come as soon as you can, and stay as long as you will, and bring your prettiest frocks. Oceans of love from me and Jim. Adele."
"That's good," said Nan, as she read the letter. "Why don't you start right off, Patty? Adele says to invite some young men if you like. You might ask Kenneth!"
"No, thank you. I don't want any of the boys. I'll be glad to get away from them for awhile. I must have some new frocks, Nan. Something Springy, you know."
"Yes, we'll go and order them to-day. I'd love to." Nan spoke absentmindedly, for she was reading her own letters, and Patty proceeded to open the rest of her mail.
That evening Kenneth came for his answer.
Patty had talked it over with her father, and had concluded the kindest thing was to tell Kenneth frankly, no.
The scene was not as difficult as Patty had feared, for Kenneth took the cheerful attitude of believing that she would yet relent.
"So long as there is no one else, Patty, girl," he said, very gently, "I'm going to hope that you will yet learn to love me. I shall never despair, until you tell me yourself that you have given your heart to some one else."
"And we'll be good friends, Ken?"
"You bet we will! You needn't think I'm down and out because you've said no, once! I'm not awfully swift, Patty, but I'm terribly persistent,—and I'm just going to keep on loving you, in hope that some day you'll come to me because you want to."
"But there's no promise, Ken."
"No, dear, no promise. Only a hope in my heart, too deep to be rooted out, that some day—"
"So—me day! So—ome day!" chanted Patty in a trilling voice, and Ken smiled in his old, friendly fashion.
"He is awfully nice," Patty said to Nan, afterward, "when he isn't proposing. There's something about Ken you can't help liking."
And Nan smiled and said, "That's so."
The days flew along, the spring frocks materialised and the grass and flowers began to be beautiful up at Fern Falls.
Patty went up there a few days before the first of May, and was welcomed by the Kenerleys with vigorous and jubilant greetings.
"You dear!" exclaimed Adele, as after a rapturous hug she held Patty off to look at her. "I do believe you're prettier than ever!"
"It's the happiness of coming up here," said Patty, smiling. "I'm so glad to come, Adele. The country in spring,—and all that, you know."
"Yes," said Adele, laughing. "You know what the Boston girl said: 'Oh,I just LOVE nature! It ADDS so!' You're like that, aren't you, Patty?"
"Exactly! but spring is all over the city, too. They're selling flowers on every street corner, and all the pedestrians wear big bunches of violets or daffodils or magnolias or something. Daisy, you're looking fine! How long have you been here?"
"I came last week," said Daisy Dow, "and I'm awfully glad to see you again, Patty."
And then Patty was whisked off to her room, and not until tea-time did she see the rest of the house party.
Then her host, Jim Kenerley, appeared, and Hal Ferris, Adele's brother, and, greatly to Patty's surprise, Philip Van Reypen.
"I didn't expect to see you here, Phil," said Patty, after she had greeted the men of the house.
"I'm only here for a short time," returned Philip; "Mrs. Kenerley invited me to stay as long as I behaved myself; but you know, Patty, I can't do that very long."
"No, indeed! You'll be starting to-morrow morning at that rate!"
"Now, Patty, that's unkind of you. However, under your angelic influence, I may behave well enough to stay till the afternoon train."
"You're a beautiful behaver, Mr. Van Reypen," declared his hostess, "and I shan't let naughty Patty cast aspersions."
"What are those things, Adele?" asked Patty; "I'm sure I never cast anything like that at anybody, and I wouldn't hit him if I did. I can't hit the side of a barn."
"I know they say that about women," said Hal Ferris; "but I believe it's a base libel. At least, I think they could be taught to accomplish such a feat. I believe I'll organise a class of young ladies and teach them how to hit the side of a barn."
"But why hit it at all?" asked Daisy; "what has the poor barn done to be hit?"
"Lots of people get hit when they don't deserve it," said Kenerley. "But don't use our barn, Hal, use the neighbour's. Because under your tuition, your pupils might get proficient enough to hit it."
"I'm so glad to be here when it isn't winter," said Patty, looking around her. They were having tea on one of the wide verandas, which, though still enclosed with glass, had many panes open to the spring air.
"From now on, it's lovely here," said Adele; "almost every day we have one more sash open and then pretty soon we take them all out."
"It was lovely last winter, when we had tea by the hall fireplace, but this is better still," and Patty leaned back in her Japanese wicker easy-chair and nibbled contentedly at her plate of little cakes.
The tea hour at the Kenerleys' was always a pleasant affair, and in warm weather neighbours from the nearby country houses were apt to stroll over. On this occasion two or three came and Patty became acquainted with several young ladies.
"You know what I told you," said Adele to Patty, after they had left."We have plenty of girls around here, but not many men. So for theMay-party, I want you to ask a few of your friends to come up."
"All right, I will; the boys will all be glad to come. Which ones do you want?"
"I've already asked Roger Farrington, and we'll see about the others later."
"All right," said Patty, carelessly; "I've one or two new friends whomI'm sure you will like."
The next day Patty had a brilliant idea for a joke on Kit Cameron. It popped into her head quite suddenly, and she gleefully told her scheme to Adele and Daisy, as they sat together in Adele's own pleasant sitting-room.
"Doesn't Mr. Cameron know you're up here?" asked Adele.
"No; I haven't seen him for a week or two. He went South with theHomers and only came home the day I left."
The plan was carefully thought out, amid giggling and laughter, and the final result was achieved by Patty in the form of a much scribbled letter.
"Now I'm going down to copy this on Jim's typewriter," she said. And she flew downstairs to the library, from which opened a small office fitted up for Mr. Kenerley's home use.
Jim Kenerley had gone to business, and Van Reypen and Hal Ferris were playing golf, so Patty had the place to herself; and by dint of slow but persevering pounding on the typewriter, she picked out the following missive:
"Mr. Christopher Cameron: DEAR MR. CAMERON,
A few weeks ago I heard you play the violin at a concert! Oh, if I could tell you the raptures that thrilled my soul at the floods of melody you drew from the insensate strings! Only a poet's spirit, only a high-strung heart could accomplish such strains! I, too, am of a musical spirit; I, too, thrill to the notes of the great masters, if interpreted as they are by you! May I hope that you will not spurn this outburst of a sympathetic nature, and accept this tribute to your genius? Could I look for a line,—just a word,—in response to this, saying that you are glad of my appreciation? Never before have I written to a stranger. That is why I dare not use my own penmanship. Please do not seek to find out who I am, but send just a line that I may know you do not scorn my praise. Address Miss Belle Harcourt, Maple Bank, Conn."
The conspirators had decided upon the Maple Bank Post-office as being safer than Fern Falls, if Kit should by any chance hear that Patty had gone to the Kenerleys'.
"You know," said Patty, as she sealed the letter, "it might be mean to play this trick on anybody else, but Kit plays so many jokes on other people, he deserves it. And while he's not over-conceited, yet he's just vain enough to be tickled to death with this appreciation of his music. 'Miss Harcourt' will get an answer, all right! Come on, girls, let's get ready to go to Maple Bank."
And in a short time the three plotters were motoring over to the adjoining village to post the precious document.
Of course, they did not tell the men about this, and the three kept it an inviolate secret.
"We can hardly expect an answer for two days," said Patty, "but if I know Mr. Kit, he'll reply about as quickly as possible."
And sure enough, when the next day but one the three again invaded the little Maple Bank post-office, there was a letter from New York City for Miss Belle Harcourt.
"Read it, read it!" cried Daisy as they started homeward with their prize.
The three sat side by side in the motor, with Patty in the middle, and they all giggled, as Patty read the letter aloud.
I cannot tell you what pleasure your letter gave me. It is so delightful to learn that a stranger is interested in my poor attempts at making music. And—may I say it?—the personal charm of your letter has thrilled my heart! Only a pure, sweet, young nature could write as you do. May I not see you? Or at least will you not send me your photograph? I know I have no right to ask this, but I would so love to meet one so sympathetic and appreciative of the great art which is the ideal of my life.
With many, many thanks for your welcome letter, I am,
Very sincerely yours, CHRISTOPHER CAMERON."
"I knew he'd do it!" cried Patty. "I knew he'd fall for that flattery! Kit's a perfect dear, but he IS vain of his music, and I don't blame him. He's a wonderful violinist."
"What are you going to do next, Patty?" asked Adele. "Answer that letter?"
"Sure!" returned Patty; "but I'm not running this thing alone. We must all help make up the letter. And, Adele, haven't you some photograph that will be just right to send?"
As soon as they reached home they hunted over Adele's collection of photographs, and finally found one that Patty declared just right.
It was a picture of one of Adele's cousins, a girl of about sixteen, whose sweet young face wore an expression so soulful and languishing that it was almost comical.
"Hester hates that picture," said Adele; "she never looks that way really,—like a sick calf,—but somehow the photographer managed to catch that expression."
"She wouldn't mind if she knew, would she?" said Patty.
"Oh, mercy, no! She'd think it the best joke in the world. She lives inCalifornia, so there's little chance of Mr. Cameron ever seeing her.Now let's write the letter."
After much agony of composition and much gay fooling, the plotters produced this:
I must modify your more formal name a little,—for it seems now as if I almost knew you. I tremble with fear lest some one should discover that I write to you. But I cannot help writing. I am impelled by a feeling in my soul. I send my picture and I wish it were more beautiful. For I know you love only what is good and beautiful. We must not meet, that would be TOO dangerous. But will you not write me one more precious letter that I may keep it forever?
There had been much discussion over the signature. Adele preferred "Yours devotedly"; Daisy wanted "Yours adoringly"; but Patty stood out for the name alone, saying that it meant more that way.
And so the letter enclosing the picture was despatched to Kit, who received it duly.