CHAPTER XIXROSABEL
“Rosabel who?” exclaimed Nan, as Patty came up on the verandah with the baby in her arms.
“I don’t know, I’m sure. You may call her Rosabel anything you like. We picked her up by the wayside.”
“Yes,” said Dick Phelps, who had followed Patty up the steps. “Miss Rosabel seemed lonely without anyone to talk to, so we brought her back here to visit you.”
“You must be crazy!” cried Nan, “but what a cunning baby it is! Let me take her.”
Nan took the good-natured little midget and sat down in a verandah rocker, with the baby in her arms.
“Tell a straight story, Patty,” said her father, “is it one of the neighbour’s children, or did you kidnap it?”
“Neither,” said Patty, turning to her father; “we found the baby lying right near the edge of a wood, in plain sight from the road. Andthere was nobody around, and Papa, I just know that the child’s wretch of a mother deserted it, and left it there to die!”
“Nonsense,” said her father. “Mothers don’t leave their little ones around as carelessly as that.”
“Well, what else could it be?” said Patty. “There was the baby all alone, smiling and talking to herself, and no one anywhere near, although we waited for some time.”
“It does seem strange,” said Mr. Fairfield, “perhaps the mother did mean to desert the child, but if so, she was probably peeping from some hiding-place, to make sure that she approved of the people who took it.”
“Well,” said Mr. Phelps, “she evidently thought we were all right; at any rate she made no objection.”
“But isn’t it awful,” said Nan, “to think of anybody deserting a dear little thing like this. Why, the wild animals might have eaten her up.”
“Of course they might,” said Mr. Phelps, gravely, “the tigers and wolves that abound on Long Island are of the most ferocious type.”
“Well, anyway,” said Patty, “something dreadful might have happened to her.”
“It may yet,” said Mr. Phelps cheerfully, “when we take her back to-morrow and put her in the place we found her. For I don’t suppose you intend to keep Miss Rosabel, do you?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty, “but I know one thing, we certainly won’t put her back where we found her. What shall we do with her, Papa?”
“I don’t know, my child, she’s your find, and I suppose it’s a case of ‘findings is keepings.’”
“Of course we can’t keep her,” said Patty, “how ridiculous! We’ll have to put her in an orphan asylum or something like that.”
“It’s a shame,” said Nan, “to put this dear little mite in a horrid old asylum. I think I shall adopt her myself.”
Little Rosabel had begun to grow restless, and suddenly without a word of warning she began to cry lustily, and not a quiet well-conducted cry either, but with ear-splitting shrieks and yells, indicative of great discomfort of some sort.
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Nan, abruptly. “I don’t want to adopt any such noisy young person as that. Here, take her, Patty, she’s your property.”
Patty took the baby, and carried her into the house, fearing that passers-by would think theymust be torturing the child to make her scream like that.
Into the dining-room went Patty, and on to the kitchen, where she announced to the astonished cook that she wanted some milk for the baby and she wanted it quick.
“Is there company for dinner, Miss Patty?” asked the cook, not understanding how a baby could have arrived as an only guest.
“Only this one,” said Patty, laughing, “what do you think she ought to eat?”
“Bread and milk,” said the cook, looking at the child with a judicial air.
“All right, Kate, fix her some, won’t you?”
In a few moments Patty was feeding Rosabel bread and milk, which the child ate eagerly.
Impelled by curiosity, Nan came tip-toeing to the kitchen, followed by the two men.
“I thought she must be asleep,” said Nan, “as the concert seems to have stopped.”
“Not at all,” said Patty, calmly, “she was only hungry, and the fact seemed to occur to her somewhat suddenly.”
Little Rosabel, all smiles again, looked up from her supper with such bewitching glances that Nan cried out, “Oh, she is a darling! Let me help you feed her, Patty.”
In fact they all succumbed to the charm of their uninvited guest. During dinner Rosabel sat at the table, in a chair filled with pillows, and was made happy by being given many dainty bits of various delicacies, until Nan declared the child would certainly be ill.
“I don’t believe she is more than a year old,” said Nan, “and she’s probably unaccustomed to those rich cakes and bonbons.”
“I think she’s more than a year,” said Patty, sagely, “and anyway, I want her to have a good time for once.”
“She seems to be having the time of her life,” said Dick Phelps, as he watched the baby, who with a macaroon in one hand, and some candied cherries in the other, was smiling impartially on them all.
“She’s not much of a conversationalist,” remarked Mr. Fairfield.
“Give her time,” said Patty, “she feels a little strange at first.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Phelps, “I think after two or three years she’ll be much more talkative.”
“Well, there’s one thing certain,” said Patty, “she’ll have to stay here to-night, whatever we do with her to-morrow.”
“In a few minutes Patty was feeding Rosabel bread and milk”
“In a few minutes Patty was feeding Rosabel bread and milk”
After dinner they took their new toy with them to the parlour, and Miss Rosabel treated them all to a few more winning smiles, and then quietly, but very decidedly fell asleep in Patty’s arms.
“I can’t help admiring her decision of character,” said Patty, as she shook the baby to make her awaken, but without success.
“Don’t wake her up,” said Nan. “Come, Patty, we’ll take her upstairs, and put her to bed somewhere.”
This feat being accomplished, Nan and Patty rejoined the men, who sat smoking on the front verandah.
“Now,” said Patty, “we really must decide what we’re going to do with that infant; for I warn you, Papa Fairfield, that if we keep that dear baby around much longer, I shall become so attached to her that I can’t give her up.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Fairfield, “she must be turned over to the authorities. I’ll attend to it the first thing in the morning.”
A little later Mr. Fairfield and Nan strolled down the road to make a call on a neighbour, and Patty and Dick Phelps remained at home.
Patty had declared she wouldn’t leave the house lest Rosabel should waken and cry out,so promising to make but a short call, Mr. Fairfield and Nan went away.
Soon after they had gone, a strange young man came walking toward the house. He turned in at the gate and approached the front steps.
“Is this Mr. Richard Phelps?” he asked, addressing himself to Dick.
“It is; what can I do for you?”
“Do you own a large black racing automobile?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Phelps.
“And were you out in it this afternoon,” continued the stranger, “driving rapidly between here and North Point?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Phelps again, wondering what was the intent of this peculiar interview.
“Then you’re the man I’m after,” declared the stranger, “and I’m obliged to tell you, sir, that you are under arrest.”
“For what offence?” enquired Mr. Phelps, rather amused at what he considered a good joke, and thinking that it must be a case of mistaken identity somehow.
“For kidnapping little Mary Brown,” was the astonishing reply.
“Why, we didn’t kidnap her at all!” exclaimed Patty, breaking into the conversation.“The idea, to think we would kidnap a baby! and anyway her name isn’t Mary, it’s Rosabel.”
“Then you know where the child is, Miss,” said the man, turning to Patty.
“Of course I do,” said Patty, “she’s upstairs asleep. But it isn’t Mary Brown at all. It’s Rosabel,—I don’t know what her last name is.”
Mr. Phelps began to be interested.
“What makes you think we kidnapped a baby, my friend?” he said to their visitor.
The man looked as if he had begun to think there must be a mistake somewhere. “Why, you see, sir,” he said, “Mrs. Brown, she’s just about crazy. Her little girl, Sarah, went out into the woods this afternoon, and took the baby, Mary, with her. The baby went to sleep, and Sarah left it lying on a blanket under a tree, while she roamed around the wood picking blueberries. Somehow she strayed away farther than she intended and lost her way. When she finally managed to get back to the place where she left the baby, the child was gone, and she says she could see a large automobile going swiftly away, and the lady who sat in the front seat was holding little Mary. Sarah screamed, and called after you, but the car only went on more andmore rapidly, and was soon lost to sight. I’m a detective, sir, and I looked carefully at the wheel tracks in the dust, and I asked a few questions here and there, and I hit upon some several clues, and here I am. Now I’d like you to explain, sir, if you didn’t kidnap that child, what you do call it?”
“Why, it was a rescue,” cried Patty, indignantly, without giving Mr. Phelps time to reply. “The dear little baby was all alone in the wood, and anything might have happened to her. Her mother had no business to let her be taken care of by a sister that couldn’t take care of her any better than that! We waited for some time, and nobody appeared, so we picked up the child and brought her home, rather than leave her there alone. But I don’t believe it’s the child you’re after anyway, for the name Rosabel is embroidered on the blanket.”
“It is the same child, Miss,” said the man, who somehow seemed a little crestfallen because his kidnapping case proved to be only in his own imagination. “Mrs. Brown described to me the clothes the baby wore, and she said that blanket was given to her by a rich lady who had a little girl named Rosabel. The Browns are poor people, ma’am, and the mother is a hard-workingwoman, and she’s nearly crazed with grief about the baby.”
“I should think she would be,” said Patty, whose quick sympathies had already flown to the sorrowing mother. “She oughtn’t to have left an irresponsible child in charge of the little thing. But it’s dreadful to think how anxious she must be! Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do; Mr. Phelps, if you’ll get out your car, I’ll just bundle that child up and we’ll take her right straight back home to her mother. We’ll stop at the Ripleys’ for Papa and Nan, and we’ll all go over together. It’s a lovely moonlight night for a drive, anyway, and even if it were pitch dark, or pouring in torrents, I should want to get that baby back to her mother just as quickly as possible. I don’t wonder the poor woman is distracted.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Phelps, who would have driven his car to Kamschatka if Patty had asked him to, “and we’ll take this gentleman along with us, to direct us to Mrs. Brown’s.”
Mr. Phelps went for his car, and Patty flew to bundle up the baby. She did not dress the child, but wrapped her in a warm blanket, and then in a fur-lined cape of her own. Then making a bundle of the baby’s clothes, she presentedherself at the door, just as Mr. Phelps drove up with his splendid great car shining in the moonlight.
A few moments’ pause was sufficient to gather in Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield, and away they all flew through the night, to Mrs. Brown’s humble cottage.
They found the poor woman not only grieving about the loss of her child, but angry and revengeful against the lady and gentleman in the motor-car, who, she thought, had stolen it.
And so when the car stopped in front of her door, she came running out followed by her husband and several children.
Little Sarah recognised the car, which was unusual in size and shape, and cried out, “That’s the one, that’s the one, mother! and those are the people who stole Mary!”
But the young detective, whose name was Mr. Faulks, sprang out of the car and began to explain matters to the astonished family. Then Patty handed out the baby, and the grief of the Browns was quickly turned to rejoicing, mingled with apologies.
Mr. Fairfield explained further to the somewhat bewildered mother, and leaving with her a substantial present of money as an evidence ofgood faith in the matter, he returned to his place in the car, and in a moment they were whizzing back toward home.
“I’m glad it all turned out right,” said Patty with a sigh, “but I do wish that pretty baby had been named Rosabel instead of Mary. It really would have suited her a great deal better.”
CHAPTER XXTHE ROLANDS
“There’s a new family in that house across the road,” said Mr. Fairfield one evening at dinner.
“The Fenwick house?” asked Nan.
“Yes; a man named Roland has taken it for August. I know a man who knows them, and he says they’re charming people. So, if you ladies want to be neighbourly, you might call on them.”
Nan and Patty went to call and found the Roland family very pleasant people, indeed. Mrs. Roland seemed to be an easy-going sort of lady who never took any trouble herself, and never expected anyone else to do so.
Miss Roland, Patty decided, was a rather inanimate young person, and showed a lack of energy so at variance with Patty’s tastes that she confided to Nan on the way home she certainly did not expect to cultivate any such lackadaisical girl as that.
As for young Mr. Roland, the son of the house, Patty had great ado to keep from laughing outright at him. He was of the foppish sort, and though young and rather callow, he assumed airs of great importance, and addressed Patty with a formal deference, as if she were a young lady in society, instead of a schoolgirl.
Patty was accustomed to frank, pleasant comradeship with the boys of her acquaintance; and the young men, such as Mr. Hepworth and Mr. Phelps, treated Patty as a little girl, and never seemed to imply anything like grown-up attentions.
But young Mr. Roland, with an affected drawl, and what were meant to be killing glances of admiration, so conducted himself that Patty’s sense of humour was stirred, and she mischievously led him on for the fun of seeing what he would do next.
The result was that young Mr. Roland was much pleased with pretty Patty, and fully believed that his own charms had made a decided impression on her.
He asked permission to call, whereupon Patty told him that she was only a schoolgirl, and did not receive calls from young men, but referredhim to Mrs. Fairfield, and Nan being in an amiable mood, kindly gave him the desired permission.
“Well,” said Patty, as they discussed the matter afterward, “if that young puff-ball rolls himself over here, you can have the pleasure of entertaining him. I’m quite ready to admit that another season of his conversation would affect my mind.”
“Nonsense,” said Nan, carelessly, “you can’t expect every young man to be as interesting as Mr. Hepworth, or as companionable as Kenneth Harper.”
“I don’t,” said Patty, “but I don’t have to bore myself to death talking to them, if I don’t like them.”
“No,” said Nan, “but you must be polite and amiable to everybody. That’s part of the penalty of being an attractive young woman.”
“All right,” said Patty, “since that’s the way you look at it, you surely can’t have any objection to receiving Mr. Roland if he calls, for I warn you that I shan’t appear.”
But it so happened that when a caller came one afternoon, Nan was not at home, and Patty was.
The maid brought the card to Patty, who wasreading in her own room, and when she looked at it and saw the name of Mr. Charles Roland upon it, she exclaimed in dismay.
“I don’t want to go down,” she said, “I wish he hadn’t come.”
“It’s a lady, Miss Patty,” said the girl.
“A lady?” said Patty, wonderingly, “why this is a gentleman’s card.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know it, but it’s a lady that called. She’s down in the parlour, waiting, and that’s the card she gave me. She’s a large lady, Miss Patty, with greyish hair, and she seems in a terrible fluster.”
“Very mysterious,” said Patty, “but I’ll go down and see what it’s all about.”
Patty went down to the parlour, and found Mrs. Roland there. She did indeed look bewildered, and as soon as Patty entered the room she began to talk volubly.
“Excuse my rushing over like this, my dear,” she said, “but I am in such trouble, and I wonder if you won’t help me out. We’re neighbours, you know, and I’m sure I’d do as much for you. I asked for Mrs. Fairfield, but she isn’t at home, so I asked for you.”
“But the card you sent up had Mr. Charles Roland’s name on it,” said Patty, smiling.
“Oh, my dear, is that so? What a mistake to make! You see I carry Charlie’s cards around with my own, and I must have sent the wrong one. I’m so nearsighted I can’t see anything without my glasses, anyway, and my glasses are always lost.”
Patty felt sorry for the old lady, who seemed in such a bewildered state, and she said, “No matter about the card, Mrs. Roland, what can I do for you?”
“Why it’s just this,” said her visitor. “I want to borrow your house. Just for the night, I’ll return it to-morrow in perfect order.”
“Borrow this house?” repeated Patty, wondering if her guest were really sane.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Roland; “now wait, and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m expecting some friends to dinner and to stay over night, and would you believe it, just now of all days in the year, the tank has burst and the water is dripping down all through the house. We can’t seem to do anything to stop it. The ceilings had fallen in three rooms when I came away, and I dare say the rest of them are down by this time. And my friends are very particular people, and awfully exclusive. I wouldn’t like to take them to the hotel; and I don’t think it’sa very nice hotel anyway, and so I thought if you’d just lend me this house over night, I could bring my friends right here, and as they leave to-morrow morning, it wouldn’t be long, you know. And truly I don’t see what else I can do.”
“But what would become of our family?” said Patty, who was greatly amused at the unconventional request.
“Why, you could go to our house,” said Mrs. Roland dubiously; “that is, if any of the ceilings will stay up over night; or,” she added, her face brightening, “couldn’t you go to the hotel yourselves? Of course, it isn’t a nice place to entertain guests, but it does very well for one’s own family. Oh, Miss Fairfield, please help me out! Truly I’d do as much for you if the case were reversed.”
Although the request was unusual, Mrs. Roland did not seem to think so, and the poor lady seemed to be in such distress, that Patty’s sympathies were aroused, and after all it was a mere neighbourly act of kindness to borrow and lend, even though the article in question was somewhat larger than the lemon or the egg usually borrowed by neighbourly housekeepers.
So Patty said, “What about the servants,Mrs. Roland? Do you want to borrow them too?”
“I don’t care,” was the reply, “just as it suits you best. You may leave them here; or take them with you, and I’ll bring my own. Oh, please, Miss Fairfield, do help me somehow.”
Patty thought a minute. It was a responsibility to decide the question herself, but if she waited until Nan or her father came home, it would be too late for Mrs. Roland’s purpose.
Then she said, “I’ll do it, Mrs. Roland. You shall have the house and servants at your disposal until noon to-morrow. You may bring your own servants also, or not, just as you choose. We won’t go to your house, thank you, nor to the hotel. But Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield and myself will go over to my aunt, Mrs. Barlow’s, to dine and spend the night. They can put us up, and they won’t mind a bit our coming so unexpectedly.”
“Oh, my dear, how good you are!” said Mrs. Roland in a burst of gratitude. “I cannot tell you how I appreciate your kindness! Are you sure your parents won’t mind?”
“I’m not at all sure of that,” said Patty, smiling, “but I don’t see as they can help themselves;when they come home, you will probably be in possession, and your guests will be here, so there’ll be nothing for my people to do but to fall in with my plans.”
“Oh, how good you are,” said Mrs. Roland. “I will surely make this up to you in some way, and now, will you just show me about the house a bit, as I’ve never been here before?”
So Patty piloted Mrs. Roland about the house, showed her the various rooms, and told the servants that they were at Mrs. Roland’s orders for that night and the next morning.
After Mrs. Roland had gone back home, made happy by Patty’s kindness, Patty began to think that she had done a very extraordinary thing, and wondered what her father and Nan would say.
“But,” she thought to herself, “I’m in for it now, and they’ll have to abide by my decision, whatever they think. Now I must pack some things for our visit. But first I must telephone to Aunt Grace.”
“Hello, Auntie,” said Patty, at the telephone, a few moments later. “Papa and Nan and I want to come over to the Hurly-Burly to dinner, and to stay all night. Will you have us?”
“Why, of course, Patty, child, we’re glad to have you. Come right along and stay as long as you like. But what’s the matter? Has your cook left, or is the house on fire?”
“Neither, Aunt Grace, but I’ll explain when I get there. Can you send somebody after me in a carriage? Papa and Nan have gone off in the cart, and I have two suit cases to bring.”
“Certainly, Patty, I’ll send old Dill after you right away, and I’ll make him hurry, too, as you seem to be anxious to start.”
“I am,” said Patty, laughing. “Good-bye.”
Then she gathered together such clothing and belongings as were necessary for their visit, and had two suit cases ready packed when her aunt’s carriage came for her.
Patty looked a little dubious as she left the house, but she didn’t feel that she could have acted otherwise than as she had done, and, too, since their own trusty servants were to stay there, certainly no harm could come to the place.
So, giggling at the whole performance, Patty jumped into the Barlow carriage and went to the Hurly-Burly.
“Well, of all things!” said her Aunt Grace,after Patty had told her story. “I’ve had a suspicion, sometimes, that we Barlows were an unconventional crowd, but we never borrowed anybody’s house yet! It’s ridiculous, Patty, and you ought not to have let that woman have it!”
“I just couldn’t help it, Aunt Grace, she was in such a twitter, and threw herself on my mercy in such a way that I felt I had to help her out.”
“You’re too soft-hearted, Patty; you’d do anything for anybody who asked you.”
“You needn’t talk, Aunt Grace, you’re just the same yourself, and you know that if somebody came along this minute and wanted to borrow your house you’d let her have it if she coaxed hard enough.”
“I think very likely,” said Aunt Grace, placidly. “Now, how are you going to catch your father and Nan?”
“Why, they’ll have to drive past here on their way home,” said Patty, “and I mean to stop them and tell them about it. We can put the horse in your barn, I suppose.”
“Yes, of course. And now we’ll go out on the verandah, and then we can see the Fairfield turn-out when it comes along.”
The Fairfields were waylaid and stopped as they drove by the house, which was not astonishing, as Patty and Bumble and Mrs. Barlow watched from the piazza, while Bob was perched on the front gate post, and Uncle Ted was pacing up and down the walk.
“What’s the matter?” cried Mr. Fairfield, as he reined up his horse in response to their various salutations.
“The matter is,” said Patty, “that we haven’t any home of our own to-night, and so we’re visiting Aunt Grace.”
“Earthquake swallowed our house?” inquired Mr. Fairfield, as he turned to drive in.
“Not quite,” said Patty, “but one of the neighbours wanted to borrow it, so I lent it to her.”
“That Mrs. Roland, I suppose,” said Nan; “she probably mislaid her own house, she’s so careless and rattle-pated.”
“It was Mrs. Roland,” said Patty, laughing, “and she’s having a dinner-party, and their tank burst, and most of the ceilings fell, and really, Nan, you know yourself such things do upset a house, if they occur on the day of a dinner-party.”
Fuller explanations ensued, and though theFairfields thought it a crazy piece of business, they agreed with Patty, that it would have been difficult to refuse Mrs. Roland’s request.
And it really didn’t interfere with the Fairfields’comfort at all, and the Barlows protested that it was a great pleasure to them to entertain their friends so unexpectedly, so, as Mr. Fairfield declared, Mrs. Roland was, after all, a public benefactor.
“You’d better wait,” said Nan, “until you see the house to-morrow. I know a little about the Rolands, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find things pretty much upside down.”
It was nearly noon the next day when Mrs. Roland telephoned to the Hurly-Burly and asked for Mrs. Fairfield.
Nan responded, and was told that the Rolands were now leaving, and that the Fairfields might again come into their home.
Mrs. Roland also expressed voluble thanks for the great service the Fairfields had done her, and said that she would call the next day to thank them in person.
So the Fairfields went back home, and happily Nan’s fears were not realised. Nothing seemed to be spoiled or out of order, and the servants said that Mrs. Roland and her family andfriends had been most kind, and had made no trouble at all.
“Now, you see,” said Patty, triumphantly, “that it does no harm to do a kind deed to a neighbour once in a while, even though it isn’t the particular kind deed that you’ve done a hundred times before.”
“That’s true enough, Patty,” said her father, “but all the same when you lend our home again, let it be our own house, and furnished with our own things. I don’t mind owning up, now that it’s all over, that I did feel a certain anxiety arising from the fact that this is a rented house, and almost none of the household appointments are our own.”
“Goodness, gracious me!” said Patty. “I never once thought of that! Well, I’m glad they didn’t smash all the china and bric-a-brac, for they’re mortal homely, and I should certainly begrudge the money it would take to replace them.”
CHAPTER XXITHE CRUSOES
Plans were on foot for a huge fair and bazaar to be held in aid of the Associated Charities. Everybody in and around Sandy Cove was interested, and the fair, which would be held the last week in August, was expected to eclipse all previous efforts of its kind.
All three of the Fairfields were energetically assisting in the work, and each was a member of several important committees.
The Barlows, too, were working hard, and the Rolands thought they were doing so, though somehow they accomplished very little. As the time drew near for the bazaar to open, Patty grew so excited over the work and had such a multitude of responsibilities, that she flew around as madly as when she was preparing for the play at school.
“But I’m perfectly well, now,” she said to her father when he remonstrated with her, “andI don’t mind how hard I work as long as I haven’t lessons to study at the same time.”
Aside from assisting with various booths and tables, Patty had charge of a gypsy encampment, which she spared no pains to make as gay and interesting as possible.
The “Romany Rest” she called the little enclosure which was to represent the gypsies’home, and Patty not only superintended the furnishing and arranging of the place, but also directed the details of the costumes which were to be worn by the young people who were to represent gypsies.
The Fairfields’ house was filled with guests who had come down for the fair.
Patty had invited Elise and Roger Farrington, and Bertha and Winthrop Warner. Mr. Hepworth and Kenneth Harper were there, too, and the merry crowd of young people worked zealously in their endeavours to assist Patty and Nan.
Mr. Hepworth, of course, was especially helpful in arranging the gypsy encampment, and designing the picturesque costumes for the girls and young men who were to act as gypsies. The white blouses with gay-coloured scarfs and broad sombreros were beautiful to look at, evenif, as Patty said, they were more like Spanish fandangoes than like any gypsy garments she had ever seen.
“Don’t expose your ignorance, my child,” said Mr. Hepworth, smiling at her. “A Romany is not an ordinary gypsy and is always clothed in this particular kind of garb.”
“Then that’s all that’s necessary,” said Patty. “I bow to your superior judgment, and I feel sure that all the patrons of the fair will spend most of their time at the ‘Romany Rest.’”
The day on which the fair was to open was a busy one, and everybody was up betimes, getting ready for the grand event.
A fancy dress parade was to be one of the features of the first evening, and as a prize was offered for the cleverest costume, all of the contestants were carefully guarding the secret of the characters their costumes would represent. Although Roger had given no hint of what his costume was to be, he calmly announced that he knew it would take the prize. The others laughed, thinking this a jest, and Patty was of a private opinion that probably Mr. Hepworth’s costume would be cleverer than Roger’s, as the artist had most original and ingenious ideas.
The fair was to open at three in the afternoon,and soon after twelve o’clock Patty rushed into the house looking for somebody to send on an errand. She found no one about but Bertha Warner, who was hastily putting some finishing touches to her own gypsy dress.
“That’s almost finished, isn’t it, Bertha?” began Patty breathlessly.
“Yes; why? Can I help you in any way?”
“Indeed you can, if you will. I have to go over to Black Island for some goldenrod. It doesn’t grow anywhere else as early, at least I can’t find any. I’ve hunted all over for somebody to send, but the boys are all so busy, and so I’m just going myself. I wish you’d come along and help me row. It’s ever so much quicker to go across in a boat and get it there, than to drive out into the country for it.”
“Of course I will,” said Bertha, “but will there be time?”
“Yes, if we scoot right along.”
The girls flew down to the dock, jumped into a small rowboat and began to row briskly over to Black Island. It was not very far, and they soon reached it. They scrambled out, pulled the boat well up onto the beach, and went after the flowers.
Sure enough, as Patty had said, there wasa luxuriant growth of goldenrod in many parts of the island. Patty had brought a pair of garden shears, and by setting to work vigorously, they soon had as much as they could carry.
“There,” said Patty, triumphantly, as she tied up two great sheaves, “I believe we gathered that quicker than if we had brought some boys along to help. Now let’s skip for home.”
The island was not very large, but in their search for the flowers they had wandered farther than they thought.
“It’s nearly one o’clock,” said Patty, looking at her watch, and carrying their heavy cargo of golden flowers, they hastened back to where they had left their boat.
But no boat was there.
“Oh, Bertha,” cried Patty, “the boat has drifted away!”
“Oh, pshaw,” said Bertha, “I don’t believe it. We pulled it ever so far up on the sand.”
“Well, then, where is it?”
“Why, I believe Winthrop or Kenneth or somebody came over and pulled it away, just to tease us. I believe they’re around the corner waiting for us now.”
Patty tried to take this view of it, but shefelt a strange sinking of her heart, for it wasn’t like Kenneth to play a practical joke, and she didn’t think Winthrop would, either.
Laying down her bundle of flowers, Bertha ran around the end of the island, fully expecting to see her brother’s laughing face.
But there was no one to be seen, and no sign of the boat.
Then Bertha became alarmed, and the two girls looked at each other in dismay.
“Look off there,” cried Patty, suddenly, pointing out on the water.
Far away they saw an empty boat dancing along in the sunlight!
Bertha began to cry, and though Patty felt like it, it seemed really too babyish, and she said, “Don’t be a goose, Bertha, we’re not lost on a desert island, and of course somebody will come after us, anyway.”
But Patty was worried more than she would admit. For no one knew where they had gone, and the empty boat was drifting away from Sandy Cove instead of toward it.
At first, the girls were buoyed up by the excitement of the situation, and felt that somebody must find them shortly. But no other boat was in sight, and as Patty said, everybodywas getting ready for the fair and no one was likely to go out rowing that day.
One o’clock came, and then half-past one, and though the girls had tried to invent some way out of their difficulty they couldn’t think of a thing to do, but sit still and wait. They had tied their handkerchiefs on the highest bushes of the island, there being no trees, but they well knew that these tiny white signals were not likely to attract anybody’s attention.
They had shouted until they were hoarse, and they had talked over all the possibilities of the case.
“Of course they have missed us by this time,” said Patty, “and of course they are looking for us.”
“I don’t believe they are,” said Bertha disconsolately, “because all the people at the house will think we’re down at the fair grounds, and all the people there will think we’re up at the house.”
“That’s so,” Patty admitted, for she well knew how everybody was concerned with his or her own work for the fair, and how little thought they would be giving to one another at this particular time.
And yet, though Patty would not mention it,and would scarcely admit the thought to herself, she couldn’t help feeling sure that Mr. Hepworth would be wondering where she was.
“The only hope is,” she said to Bertha, “if somebody should want to see me especially, about some of the work, and should try to hunt me up.”
“Well,” said Bertha, “even if they did, it never would occur to them that we are over here.”
“No, they’d never think of that; even if they do miss us, and try to hunt for us. They’ll only telephone to different houses, or something like that. It will never occur to them that we’re over here, and why should it?”
“I’m glad I came with you,” said Bertha, affectionately. “I should hate to think of you over here all alone.”
“If I were here alone,” said Patty, laughing, “you wouldn’t be thinking of me as here alone. You’d just be wondering where I was.”
“So I would,” said Bertha, laughing, too; “but oh, Patty, do let’s dosomething!It’s fearful to sit here helpless like this.”
“I know it,” said Patty, “but what can we do? We’re just like Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, except that we haven’t any goat.”
“No, and we haven’t any raft, from which to select that array of useful articles that he had at his disposal. Do you remember the little bag, that always held everything that could possibly be required?”
“Oh, that was in ‘Swiss Family Robinson,’” said Patty; “your early education is getting mixed up. I hope being cast on a desert island hasn’t affected your brain. I don’t want to be over here with a lunatic.”
“You will be, if this keeps up much longer,” said poor Bertha, who was of an emotional nature, and was bravely trying hard not to cry.
“We might make a fire,” said Patty, “if we only had some paper and matches.”
“I don’t know what good a fire would do. Nobody would think that meant anything especial. I wish we could put up a bigger signal of some sort.”
“We haven’t any bigger signal, and if we had, we haven’t any way of raising it any higher than these silly low bushes. I never saw an island so poorly furnished for the accommodation of two young lady Crusoes.”
“I never did, either. I’m going to shout again.”
“Do, if it amuses you, but truly they can’t hear you. It’s too far.”
“What do you think will happen, Patty? Do you suppose we’ll have to stay here all night?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty, slowly. “Of course when it’s time for the fair to open, and we’re not there, they’ll miss us; and of course papa will begin a search at once. But the trouble is, Bertha, they’ll never think of searching over here. They’ll look in every other direction, but they’ll never dream that we came out in the boat.”
So the girls sat and waited, growing more and more down-hearted, with that peculiar despondency which accompanies enforced idleness in a desperate situation.
“Look!” cried Patty, suddenly, and startled, Bertha looked where Patty pointed.
Yes, surely, a boat had put out from the shore, and was coming toward them. At least it was headed for the island, though not directly toward where they sat.
“They’re going to land farther down,” cried Patty, excitedly, “come on, Bertha.”
The two girls rushed along the narrow rough beach, wildly waving their handkerchiefs at the occupants of the boat.
“It’s Mr. Hepworth,” cried Patty, though the knowledge seemed to come to her intuitively, even before she recognised the man who held the stroke oar.
“And Winthrop is rowing, too,” said Bertha, recognising her brother, “and I think that’s Kenneth Harper, steering.”
By this time the boat was near enough to prove that these surmises were correct.
Relieved of her anxiety, mischievous Patty, in the reaction of the moment, assumed a saucy and indifferent air, and as the boat crunched its keel along the pebbly beach she called out, gaily, “How do you do, are you coming to call on us? We’re camping here for the summer.”
“You little rascals!” cried Winthrop Warner. “What do you mean by running away in this fashion, and upsetting the whole bazaar, and driving all your friends crazy with anxiety about you?”
“Our boat drifted away,” said Bertha, “and we couldn’t catch it, and we thought we’d have to stay here all night.”
“I didn’t think we would,” said Patty. “I felt sure somebody would come after us.”
“I don’t know why you thought so,” said Winthrop, “for nobody knew where you were.”
“I know that,” said Patty, smiling, “and yet I can’t tell you why, but I just felt sure that somebody would come in a boat, and carry us safely home.”
“Whom did you expect?” asked Kenneth, “me?”
Patty looked at Kenneth, and then at Mr. Hepworth, and then dropping her eyes demurely, she said:
“I didn’t knowwhowould come, only I just knewsomebodywould.”
“Well, somebody did,” said Kenneth, as he stowed the great bunches of goldenrod in the bow of the boat.
“Yes, somebody did,” said Patty, softly, flashing a tiny smile at Mr. Hepworth, who said nothing, but he smiled a little, too, as he bent to his oars.