When Mrs. St. Clair's purchases were sent home from New York and spread out on view, Patty could scarcely believe her own eyes.
Were all those fine clothes really meant for her?
The materials included silks, satins and velvets in bright colorings and somewhat conspicuous patterns.
Some of the dresses were already made up, and these were befrilled and beflounced, with lace and embroidery. As Patty had always worn delicate shades of material, and her dresses had been very simply made, she couldn't help protesting at all this bewildering array of finery. But her aunt said:
"Nonsense, child, you don't know what you're talking about. You are the guest of the St. Clairs, and your appearance must do us credit. I am not giving you these things, you know; your father wrote me to buy for you whatever was necessary or desirable. I have a lot of new clothes for Ethelyn, too, and I want you to look as well as she does. While you are with us you must be suitably dressed, else I shall feel ashamed of your appearance."
Poor Patty began to wonder whether it was so very nice after all, to have fine clothes if she could have no voice in their selection.
But she thought, what is the use of objecting? Aunt Isabel will do as she pleases anyway, and while I'm staying with her, I ought to agree to what she wants.
Then two dressmakers came to stay a fortnight. Ethelyn and Patty were given a holiday from lessons, the schoolroom was turned into a sewing-room, and Miss Morton and Reginald betook themselves to the library.
Patty was rather sorry to miss her school hours, for the history lessons had become interesting, but she soon found that Aunt Isabel's word was law. It was a law often broken by her own children, but Patty was not of a mutinous heart, and she amiably obeyed Mrs. St. Clair's commands. But she had her own opinion of the household, and she did not hesitate to express it plainly in her letters to her father.
"I begin to see," she wrote to him one day, "what you meant when you explained to me about proportion. In this house, money, and fine clothes, and making a great show, are out of all proportion to everything else. They never think of reading books, or doing charity work, or anything but showing off. And if a thing costs a lot, it's all right, but if it's simple and not expensive, it's no good at all. I can tell you, Mr. Papa, that when we have our home, we'll have less fuss and feathers, and more comfort and common sense. And it isn't only that the things cost so much, but they're always talking about it, and telling how expensive they are. Why, Uncle Robert has told me half-a-dozen times how much his horses and carriages cost, and now he says he's going to get an automobile, so I don't know what he'll do with his horses. Ethelyn is very nice in some ways, but she is affected and rude, and I don't like her as well as Clara Hayden, if sheismy cousin. Reginald is a nice boy, but he's sort of pompous and conceited, and thinks he's better than any one else in the world. Little Florelle is a dear, but she cries so easily that I can't have much fun with her. But there, now I've told you all the bads, I'll tell you some of the goods. Miss Morton, the governess, is a lovely lady, and when Ethelyn is so cross I can't stand her, I go to Miss Morton, and we have a walk or a drive together, and have nice, pleasant talks. And then I am taking singing lessons twice a week. Aunt Isabel says I have a pretty good voice, and I love to sing, and Reginald takes me skating, and that is splendid. I don't know how yet, but he says I am learning pretty well. Aunt Isabel gave an afternoon tea for me, and next week we are going to have a big party, and I think that will be nice. I like parties and dancing-school, only the girls and boys all act so grown up. They are about my age and even younger, and they act as if they were ladies and gentlemen. That isn't good proportion, is it? But I am pretty happy, except that I am often homesick for you. Then I look at your picture, and at the beautiful picture of dear mamma and it helps some. And your letters help me too, so write just as often as you can, won't you?
"From your loving daughter,
The party, as Patty had feared, was a very grown-up affair. For several days beforehand the servants were getting the house ready for it, and all was bustle and confusion.
The furniture and bric-a-brac were all removed from the hall and drawing-room and library, and carried up to the third floor to be out of the way. The portières were taken down from the doorways, and on the day of the party they were replaced by simulated curtains of smilax and flowering vines.
As it was near the Christmas season, the decorations included evergreens, holly and mistletoe, but besides these, quantities of roses and rare flowers of all sorts were used. The florists came early and worked all day, and they transformed the house into a fairy bower.
Patty was delighted with this, and walked through the luxurious rooms, quite lost in admiration of their floral beauty.
Carpenters had enclosed the great veranda which was then hung with red satin and decorated with ropes and wreaths of holly, and, like the rest of the house, was fairly ablaze with electric lights.
The party was to be from eight to twelve, and when Patty went down stairs at a little before eight, she found her uncle berating the musicians, who were a little late in arriving.
"I want you to understand," Mr. St. Clair was saying, "that whenIsend for you, you are to come when I bid you. Don't tell me you couldn't help it,—if there is danger of detention on the road, you should start earlier.Iam accustomed to havingmyorders obeyed, and all who are employed at Villa Rosa must fully understand that. Go on with your music, and next time, see to it that you arrive more promptly."
Uncle Robert strutted away with such a pompous air, that Patty was almost afraid of him herself. But when he saw her, he beamed kindly, and said:
"Come here, my dear, and tell me what you think of all this."
"I think the house looks beautiful, uncle, just like Fairyland, with all the flowers and lights. And I think you are very kind to give this party for me."
"Well, well, child, we have to invite our friends occasionally, you know.Have a good time, and I shall feel amply repaid for my outlay. ThoseAmerican Beauties are fine, aren't they?"
"Indeed they are," said Patty, sniffing at one that reached its rich redness temptingly towards her.
"Oh, don't do that! You'll spoil them. Those roses cost six dollars a dozen. But how fine you look in your new gew-gaws. Turn round, little one. Ah, we have no reason to feel ashamed of our Southern maid to-night."
Patty was glad her uncle was pleased, for she herself felt rather uncomfortable. Her dress, which was made with low neck and short sleeves, was of red silk gauze, with multifold short skirts, accordion-plaited, and edged with thick, full ruches. Great golden butterflies were embroidered at intervals all over the dress, while ribbons and flowers were attached wherever a place could be found for them.
Ethelyn had coaxed Patty to have her hair dressed high on her head, so Elise had arranged a marvelouscoiffurewhich displayed jeweled pins and combs of many sorts, and a necklace and bracelets rivaled them in glitter. Red silk stockings, and red satin slippers with gilt butterflies on them completed this gorgeous costume, and when Patty saw herself in the long mirrors, she thought she looked like one of the paper fairies which she used to hang on her Christmas trees.
When the party began, she stood beside her aunt and Ethelyn and received the guests as they arrived.
About fifty boys and girls came, and to Patty they all seemed like overdressed and artificial little puppets.
The girls put on grown-up airs, walked with mincing steps and giggled behind their fans, while the boys were affected and absurdly formal.
Patty had thought there would be games or amusements of some youthful sort, but dancing and promenading alternated throughout the evening.
However, she was fond of dancing, and as she was quickly becoming a general favorite, her card was soon filled with the names of the nicest boys in the room.
It was all very pleasant for a short time, but soon Patty grew very tired and secretly longed for supper to be announced.
At last this came to pass, and the children marched out to the dining-room where another beautiful sight awaited them.
The caterers had been as skilful as the decorators, and the table was filled with marvelous confections of rich foods.
Patty had never seen such wonderful things, and she almost thought the pheasants were alive; and the big salmon looked as if it had just been taken from the water. Then there were salads and croquettes, and funny little paper dishes filled with strange, delicious mixtures, and after all these, came creams and jellies and ices, and cakes and bonbons in all sorts of odd shapes and colors.
Patty thought these things were too pretty to be eaten, but they were quickly demolished by the young people, who were hearty, hungry boys and girls, in spite of their affected manners.
After supper the dancing and promenading began again, and was kept up until midnight, and Patty was a very tired little girl after she had said good-night to all the guests and the last carriage had rolled away from Villa Rosa.
Ethelyn was tired too, and decidedly cross.
"I didn't have a very good time," she said; "that horrid old Gladys Mahoney had a prettier dress than mine; and I broke my new fan, and my slippers are so tight, they hurt me awfully." "Pooh, I know what makes you cross," said Reginald, "just 'cause Bob Burton didn't dance with you as much as he did with Mabel Miller."
"I'm not cross," retorted Ethelyn, "and I didn't want to dance with Bob Burton. If I were you, I'd try to learn some manners; Lou Smith says you're the rudest boy she ever saw."
"I don't care what Lou Smith says, little, freckle-faced thing! I don't see why she was invited here, anyway."
"Stop quarreling, children," said Mrs. St. Clair, "and go to bed at once. Patricia, I hope you enjoyed the party; I'm sure I tried to have it nice, but everything seemed to go wrong, the salad wasn't fit to eat and the ice cream was half melted."
"Why, Aunt Isabel," said Patty, "I think everything was lovely. I never saw such a supper-table in my life, and the decorations were exquisite."
"Well, I didn't think so. It does seem a shame to pay out so much money, and then not have things to your liking."
"Oh, the party was good enough," said Mr. St. Clair, "you're too fussy about trifles, Isabel. Come, children, scurry off to bed, you'll get no beauty sleep to-night, I fear."
Patty went to her room, and taking her mother's picture, sat down to talk to it, as she did nearly every night.
"Motherdy," she said, "if you had lived to take care of me, I don't believe you'd have liked the party we had to-night. The grown-upness of it was all out of proportion for children, I think, and,—as usual in this house, the expense was out of proportion to everything else. Why, Uncle Robert must have spent a thousand dollars for it,—maybe more,—he'll probably tell us to-morrow just how much everything cost. I liked some of the party,—the supper was lovely, but,—well, I reckon I ate out of proportion too. You see, little mother, it's very hard always to do just right. Now I'm going to bed, and I'm so sleepy, I don't know as I'll wake up before to-morrow afternoon."
She kissed the beautiful face, and putting the picture back where it belonged, she hopped into bed and was soon fast asleep.
The winter slipped away, and as Patty was a little girl who always looked on the bright side of things, she really had very good times at Ville Rosa.
She became a favorite with the Elmbridge boys and girls, and her unfailing good nature kept her from quarreling with her cousins though she was often sorely tried by them.
Lessons were a very uncertain quantity. Sometimes there would be none at all for a week or two weeks, and then perhaps school would keep regularly for a few days, only to be followed by another interruption.
Patty found it only too easy to fall into these careless ways, and if she had stayed all her life at Villa Rosa, I fear she would have become indolent and selfish, for the rule of the whole household seemed to be "Pleasure before Duty," and when that rule is followed it often happens that the duties are not done at all.
In January, to Patty's great delight, there came a heavy snowstorm.
It made fine sleighing, for the roads were in just the right condition and as the weather was clear and cold there was good prospect of many days' fun.
Uncle Robert, always ready to give the young people a good time, instigated a sleighing parade, in which all the society people of Elmbridge were invited to join.
It was to be a grand affair. Every sleigh was to be decorated in beautiful or unique fashion, and there was great rivalry among the families of Elmbridge as to whose sleigh should present the finest spectacle.
"Papa," said Ethelyn, "I shall drive Patricia in my little cutter, of course, and I want you to fix it up, somehow, so that it will beat everybody else all hollow."
"Ethelyn," said her mother, "if you don't stop using those slang phrases, you shan't go in the parade at all. Now promise to talk like a lady, and I'll see to it that your sleigh outshines all the rest."
"All right," said Ethelyn, "I'll promise. Now, how shall we decorate it?"
"Never mind," said her mother, "I wouldn't trust you with the secret. You'd tell everybody before the parade, and give them a chance to imitate it. But just wait and see. You and Patricia shall drive the most beautiful turnout in the whole line."
That day Mrs. St. Clair made a hurried trip to New York and came home with many mysterious packages, and other larger packages came by express. Mr. St. Clair came home early from his business and spent much of his time in the barn, and the preparations grew so exciting that both Patty and Ethelyn were on tiptoe with curiosity and anticipation. The parade was to start the next afternoon at two o'clock. Soon after luncheon, Mrs. St. Clair sent the girls to their rooms to dress for the great event.
Ethelyn gave a little scream of delight, as she saw new garments spread out on her bed, and Patty ran on to her own room to find similar ones there.
Each girl had a long coat of fine white broadcloth, made with a double cape-collar, and trimmed all round with white fur. A broad-brimmed white felt hat, with white ostrich plumes and a fleecy white feather boa, white gloves, and a white muff were there too; and even white shoes and white cloth leggings, so that when the cousins were dressed, there was not a touch of color about them, save their rosy faces and golden hair, and they looked like veritable snow-queens.
They danced down-stairs to find Cupid awaiting them with a brand-new sleigh.
Cupid was Ethelyn's pony, and he was pure white, every bit of him, and it was this fact that had suggested the whole scheme to Mr. St. Clair.
The new sleigh was pure white too, trimmed here and there with silver.
Cupid's harness was all white and silver, and waving white plumes and silver bells were in various places about the sleigh and horse.
There were big white fur robes, and when Mr. St. Clair tucked the girls in, and Ethelyn took the white reins and white whip, it certainly seemed as if no sleigh load could be prettier.
And none was. Everybody agreed that the white sleigh was the pride of the parade. Patty secretly wondered why her aunt was satisfied without more gaudy coloring; as she wrote to her father afterwards, she had half expected to see a red sleigh with blue and yellow robes. "But," she said, "I suppose it was because Cupid happened to be white, and I'm glad he was, for it was all just lovely."
Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair and Florelle went in the parade also, but they contented themselves with the family sleigh, which of course was both handsome and elaborate. They had spent all their energies on the girls' appearance and they were very proud of the result.
Reginald, who was of an ingenious turn of mind, had contrived an affair which was supposed to look like a Roman chariot, and which was, therefore, a bit incongruous on runners.
It was very fancy, being almost entirely covered with gilt paper, and it had two wheels and no back. It jolted fearfully, and Reginald was occasionally thrown out. However, he stuck to it pluckily, until his machine was a total wreck, when he abandoned it, and jumped into his father's sleigh for the rest of the parade.
Patty enjoyed it all hugely. It was such a novel experience to fly along, through the crisp cold air, and over the shining snow roads; and Ethelyn was in such jubilant good-humor, that the whole affair marked a red letter day in the winter calendar.
The "White Flyer" was the talk of the town for weeks after, and Mr. St. Clair never tired of telling any one who would listen, how much it all cost, and how difficult it was to get the white sleigh and harness on such short notice.
Patty grew very tired of this pompous boasting, and, notwithstanding her enjoyment of the luxury at Villa Rosa, she was not altogether sorry when the time drew near for her to go away to Boston to make her next visit.
She was to leave the St. Clairs about the first of March, and spend the next three months with her father's sister, Mrs. Fleming.
As Uncle Robert was her mother's brother, the two families were entirely unacquainted, and the St. Clairs could tell Patty nothing about the new home to which she was going.
"But," said her Aunt Isabel, "I feel sure you won't like them as well as you like us. Are they rich, Patricia?"
"I don't know," answered Patty; "papa never said anything about that. He said that they are a very literary family."
"Humph," said Aunt Isabel, "then I guess they haven't very much money; literary people never do have. Poor child, I suppose they'll turn you into a regular little blue-stocking."
Patty didn't relish this idea, for at Villa Rosa she had fallen into the habit of neglecting her lessons, and already study was losing its charm for her. But she was fond of reading, and she felt sure she would enjoy an atmosphere of books.
On the 14th of February, Aunt Isabel gave a party for the young people, which was a farewell party for Patty, though it was also a festival in honor of St. Valentine's Day.
As usual, the girls had new dresses, and they represented Mrs. St. Clair's idea of valentines.
Ethelyn's was of blue, and Patty's of pink silk, and they were trimmed with innumerable lace flutings and garlands of flowers. They were further decorated with gilt hearts pierced by darts, and with skilfully made artificial doves which perched on the shoulders of the wearers.
The party was a very pretty one, as Aunt Isabel's parties always were.
The rooms were decorated with roses and pink ribbons, and gilt hearts and darts, and feathered doves and wax cupids. At supper the ices and cakes were heart-shaped, and after the children had returned to the drawing-room St. Valentine himself appeared.
As Patty suspected, it was Uncle Robert dressed up to represent the old Saint, with flowing white hair and beard and a gilt paper halo. He wore a long white robe with red hearts dotted all over it, and carried a gilt bow and arrow.
He carried also a pack or pouch full of valentines which he distributed to the guests.
Of course they were very handsome affairs, and in each was hidden some dainty trifle, handkerchief, fan or bonbons.
Besides those at the party, Patty received numerous other valentines, some of which came by mail, and others in the good old-fashioned way, under the front door.
Many of these were from the Elmbridge young people, while several fromRichmond included a beauty from her father, and a pretty one from ClaraHayden.
Although the cousins had varying tastes, they had become very good friends, and both felt sad when the day came for Patty to leave Villa Rosa.
Indeed, the whole family felt sad, for Patty was a very lovable little girl, and had endeared herself to them all. Uncle Robert was to take her to New York and put her on the boat, where Mr. Tom Fleming would meet her and take her to his mother's house in Boston.
Aunt Isabel said she, too, would go to New York with Patty, and of courseEthelyn announced her intention of going.
Then Florelle set up such a howl to go, that Patty begged her aunt to take her, and the child went.
Reginald declined to be left out of such a family affair, so Patty was amply escorted to her destination.
They went on board thePriscilla, a beautiful boat of the Fall River Line, and Mr. St. Clair soon found Mr. Fleming, who had agreed to meet him at a certain spot.
Then Patty was introduced to her Cousin Tom, who was a tall young man of about thirty-five, with a pointed beard, and dark, pleasant eyes.
"So this is my little Southern cousin," he said, cordially, as he took her hand.
Then he chatted affably with the whole party until the warning gong announced that they must go ashore.
Ethelyn was heart-broken at the thought of parting, and flinging her arms round Patty's neck, burst into tears.
This was enough for Florelle, who promptly followed suit, and set up one of her very best howls.
With a good-bye kiss to his niece, Uncle Robert picked up the screaming child and marshaled his family off of the boat, and Patty was left alone with her new-found cousin.
"Now, Patty," said Cousin Tom, as they walked along the saloon, "I am going to hand you over to the stewardess, who will show you your stateroom. Go with her, and she will look after you. I think you would better leave off that heavy coat, as it is too chilly outside to permit of going on deck, and the atmosphere within is quite warm. Ah, here she is. Stewardess, this is Miss Fairfield and here is her stateroom key. See to it that she is made comfortable."
As Mr. Fleming supplemented his request with a pecuniary argument, the stewardess made Patty her especial charge, and assiduously looked after her comfort.
"And, Patty," said her cousin, as she turned away, "when you are ready, come back and you will find me right here. See, just by this staircase. Lock your door and bring the key with you."
Patty felt as if she had suddenly grown several years younger, for Cousin Tom talked to her as to a little child. "It's more like Wonderland than ever," she said to herself. "Only instead of growing big or little, I grow old or young. At Aunt Isabel's I was considered a young lady but Cousin Tom seems to think I'm a small child."
The stewardess, who was a good-natured old colored woman, took Patty to her stateroom, and then helped her to unpack her traveling-bag, and arrange her belongings for the night.
As Aunt Isabel had bought her clothes, of course Patty was absurdly overdressed.
When she took off her blue velvet coat with its ermine collar, her blue silk, lace-trimmed dress looked far more suitable for a grand reception than for traveling.
"Laws, missy," said the voluble stewardess, "how handsome you is!"
Patty thought this a reference to her dress, but the remark was meant for the child herself, whose flower-like face looked out from a most becoming big hat of plaited blue velvet, and her golden hair fell in a loosely tied bunch of long thick curls.
When Patty returned to her Cousin Tom, she found him sitting just where he said he would be, but so deeply absorbed in a book that he didn't see or hear her approach.
Not wishing to disturb his reading, she sat down in the large chair next to him and waited.
She didn't mind this at all, for it was very interesting to watch the people passing up and down, and the saloon itself was beautiful to look at. Patty sat for a long while, but Cousin Tom never moved, except to turn the pages of his book. She did not like to speak to him, as she feared he would think it necessary to lay aside his book and entertain her; she had no wish to trouble him, and beside, she was quite capable of entertaining herself.
So after she had sat still for a long while, she decided to walk about the cabin a bit, always keeping in sight of Cousin Tom, if he should raise his eyes. But he didn't, and Patty strayed farther and farther away from him, until she had explored all the available parts of the boat.
She was much interested in all she saw, and many admiring eyes followed the pretty, graceful child as she walked about.
When she reached the dining-room she looked in, and the sight of the passengers sitting at well-filled tables made her feel very hungry, and she wondered if Cousin Tom would finish his book in time to give her any dinner. Somehow she felt sure he never would look up until hehadfinished the book.
She went back and sat down again beside him with a little sigh. But he didn't hear the little sigh, and kept on reading.
Patty looked at him curiously. There was little hope of his finishing the book, for he was only about half-way through it, and he read very slowly, turning the pages at long intervals. She could see his eyes move eagerly along the printed lines, as if delighted with what he found there.
She waited a while longer, and then said to herself, "I don't care, I'm going to speak to him. I've waited a million hours, and the dinner will be all eaten up."
She didn't speak, but she rose and stood by his side, and then with a sudden impulse she laid her hand with outspread fingers upon the page he was reading.
Cousin Tom jumped as if a firecracker had exploded in his vicinity, and he looked at Patty with a dazed expression.
"Bless my soul!" he said, "why, little one, I forgot all about you. Will you forgive me? Have you been here long? I was reading, you see, and I didn't hear you come."
"I've been here an hour, Cousin Tom," said Patty, demurely.
"An hour? No! Is it possible? You poor child, why didn't you tell me?"
"Oh, I didn't mind," said Patty, "and you seemed to be all wrapped up in your book."
"Yes, I was,—I was. But I'll try to make amends. Come, let's go and have some dinner."
Taking Patty's hand, Cousin Tom strode along the saloon, and down the stairs, and Patty almost had to run to keep up with his long steps.
"Now," said he, as they seated themselves at a table and an obsequious waiter began to put ice and then water into their glasses. "Now, what would you like to eat?"
"Oh, anything at all," said Patty, gaily, "I'm hungry enough to eat,—I don't know what."
"Yes, yes, of course you are,—poor child,—so sorry I forgot you,—quite inexcusable of me."
Mr. Fleming was looking over the bill of fare as he talked, and then he looked doubtfully at Patty, as if uncertain what he ought to order for her.
"What would you like for your dinner, child? Now don't say you don't care, or that you'll leave it to me, for little girls always say that, and I declare I don't know what you ought to have."
"All right," said Patty, who was quite equal to the occasion. "Let's have some lobster mayonnaise, and some mushrooms under glass, and little tiny clams, and tutti-frutti and a Dewey Punch."
Cousin Tom stared at her in amazement.
"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed; "you'd be dead if you ate all those things. Are they on the bill of fare? What is a 'Dewey Punch'?"
"Oh, I don't die so easily as that. Ethelyn and I used to eat worse mixes than that, whenever we lunched at the New York restaurants, A Dewey Punch is a lovely kind of ice cream with strawberry jam or something poured all over it. I don't see it on the list; perhaps they don't have it. Never mind, we'll take meringue glacé."
"Indeed we won't. I've changed my mind and I'll order this dinner myself. You shall have some soup, a broiled chicken, some vegetables and a plain ice cream. There, how do you like that?"
Cousin Tom didn't speak crossly at all, but very decidedly, and there was a pleasant twinkle in his eye that took away all idea of censure, so Patty said, amiably:
"I think it will be very nice and I really don't care what we have, only you told me to suggest something, so I did."
"Certainly, that's all right, but your suggestions were suicidal. Are you familiar with Bacon?"
Oh, thought Patty, he's going to order the breakfast over night, and I hate bacon.
"Yes," she said, "but I don't like it at all."
"You don't? What a perverted taste. But Boston will soon change that. We have a Bacon club, which you shall join. It is a most delightful club, and you will like it, I'm sure. I fancy that in a few weeks I shall see you devouring Bacon with intense enjoyment."
Indeed I won't, thought Patty. She was about to say that her Uncle Robert belonged to a Terrapin Club, but refrained, thinking it might be impolite to imply disparagement to the more lowly bacon.
So she changed the subject, and said:
"Please, Cousin Tom, tell me something of your family. It's so queer to go to see people and not know anything about them beforehand. But so far, my relatives have been very nice."
"Oh, the Flemings are a wonderful family," said Cousin Tom, gaily, "we are all going to do something great, but somehow we haven't hit it off yet."
"Cousin Elizabeth is an author, isn't she?" inquired Patty, a little timidly, for she had never seen a real, live author.
"Yes," said Mr. Fleming, "Elizabeth is an author, that is, she writes novels when she isn't doing anything else; Barbara is a club woman, but she writes too, more or less."
"And what do you do? Are you literary?"
"Yes, I'm writing a book, myself. It's a treatise on The Will, and I flatter myself I have some novel theories; and then there's Ruth, you know."
"Ruth, who is she?"
"Oh, she's our cousin, who lives with us. Not your cousin, you know. She is father's brother's child, and her people live in the country; so, as she has a fine mind, she lives with us in order to have the advantage of a Boston education."
"How old is she?" asked Patty.
"Fourteen or fifteen, I think. She'll be company for you; I think you'll like her, though she is very different from you."
"What is she like?" asked Patty, much interested in this new and unexpected comrade.
"Why, she is quiet, and very studious, and—but you'll see her yourself, to-morrow, so I'll let you form your own opinion."
After dinner they had a short promenade on deck, but the wind was so strong, that Patty was glad to return to the warm, light saloon, and they sat down on one of the red velvet sofas. Cousin Tom didn't resume his book, and Patty felt that he was politely trying to entertain her.
So with a desire to entertain him in return, she asked him to tell her about the book he was writing.
This seemed to please him immensely, and he eagerly launched into a description of its scope and plan.
As the subject was far above Patty's comprehension, she listened without understanding it clearly at all, and after a half hour or so, the continuous conversation, and the soothing motion of the boat caused the little girl quite unintentionally to fall sound asleep.
Mr. Fleming kept on talking for some time after this, when suddenly it occurred to him that his cousin sat very still, and peering round the corner of the big blue velvet hat, he discovered that his audience was quite oblivious to his learned discourse.
At first he looked a little annoyed, then he smiled compassionately, for the tired child seemed to be very peacefully resting, and her pretty head made a lovely picture against the red velvet sofa.
Mr. Fleming sent for the stewardess, and then awoke the little sleeper.
"Come, Patty," said he, gently tapping her on the shoulder, "it's bedtime, little girl, and you must run away to your bunk."
Patty opened her eyes and stared about her.
"Oh, Cousin Tom," she said, as she remembered the circumstances under which she had fallen asleep, "I'msosorry,—I didn't mean to go to sleep, and Iwasinterested."
"That's all right, my small cousin," said Mr. Fleming, "and now go along with the stewardess, and go to sleep and get a good night's rest." Patty did as Cousin Tom directed, and never wakened until she heard the steamer scraping against the dock early the next morning.
She rose and dressed quickly, and when the stewardess came for her, she was quite ready to go to meet Cousin Tom, who awaited her in the cabin.
"I shall give you a roll and a cup of coffee," he said, as if half afraid that Patty would want to order unheard-of dishes, "for they are expecting us home to breakfast, and we have only fifteen minutes before our train starts for Boston."
Patty drank her coffee and ate her roll with a relish, and declared herself ready to start. A short ride in the cars brought them to Boston. They left the train and entered the waiting-room, where Cousin Tom placed Patty in a seat, and told her to stay there and not move while he attended to her trunks.
Patty obediently sat still, and soon she saw Cousin Tom returning. But just before he reached her, he met a man whom he evidently knew, and whom he seemed overjoyed to meet. The two men talked earnestly together, and then both turned and walked away.
Patty had seen instances of her cousin's absent-mindedness, even since he had neglected to take her to dinner the night before, and she guessed at once that he had forgotten her existence, and was going away with his friend.
She had no intention of being deserted in this way, so she left the bags and wraps which she was supposed to be guarding, and ran after him.
"Cousin Tom!" she cried as she caught up with him, "where are you going?"
"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed, staring at her, "I forgot you were with me.What shall I do? Allow me to present Mr. Harding. Ted, this is my cousin,Miss Patty Fairfield; I am supposed to be escorting her home, but if whatyou tell me is so, I must go at once to see Varian. Wait, I have it, Patty;I'll send you home by a messenger; you don't mind, do you?"
"No, indeed, Cousin Tom," said Patty; "send me any way you like."
So Mr. Fleming called a messenger-boy, and giving Patty, and all the wraps and bags into his charge, he sent them to his mother's house. "Tell them I met Harding, and had to go away with him on some very important business," he said to Patty. "I'll be home to-night,—good-bye."
And with a hasty hand-shake, he turned again to his friend and they walked rapidly away.
"Come this way, miss," said the messenger, who was a tall youth, polite and deferential, and who appeared not at all surprised at the order given him. "I'll take you along all right."
He piloted Patty with great care and after riding for some distance on the street cars, they arrived at Mrs. Fleming's house.
The messenger-boy rang the door bell, and a white-capped maid opened the door. When she saw the uniformed youth, she held out her hand for his book, signed it and dismissed him.
Then turning to Patty, she said, "This way, miss," and ushered her into a small reception room.
As Patty wrote to her father afterwards, she felt like a package sent from a department store, and she looked down, almost expecting to find herself wrapped in paper and tied with a string.
After she had waited about ten minutes, a tall young woman came quickly down-stairs and passed along the hall. She had on a hat and jacket, and was evidently going away in a great hurry.
As she went by the reception room, she caught sight of Patty through the open door, and stopped in surprise.
"Good-morning," she said, in a quick, hurried way. "Did you wish to see me?"
"I don't know," said Patty, uncertain whether this was a cousin or a visitor at the house. "I am Patty Fairfield."
"Oh, yes, of course,—our cousin from the South. I'm so glad to see you,"—she shook Patty's hand hastily,—"but I must ask you to excuse me this morning, as I am just going to a meeting of the 'Current Events' Club, and I am already five minutes late."
With an apologetic smile she hastened away, and Patty waited again.
Then she heard another step on the stairs, and another lady entered the room. This time it was Aunt Hester. She was a delicate looking little woman with silver hair, but Patty knew her at once from her resemblance to her father, who was Mrs. Fleming's brother.
"My dear child," said her aunt, as she kissed Patty, affectionately, "we are very glad to have you with us. But where is Tom?"
"He met a friend, Mr. Harding, and went away with him on very important business. He said to tell you he would be home to-night, and he sent me here by a messenger-boy."
"Very well; I am glad you reached here safely. Are you hungry? Have you breakfasted?"
"I had coffee and rolls on the boat, but Iamhungry," said Patty, frankly.
"Of course you are; well, you shall have something to eat. Let me look at you. Yes, you do look a little like brother Fred. How old are you?"
"Fourteen," replied Patty.
"Ah, just the age of Ruth Fleming, who lives with us, and who will be pleasant company for you. I hope you will be happy with us, my dear, and you mustn't mind being left to yourself a bit, for we are very busy people. Life is too short to be wasted in idleness."
"Yes," assented Patty, thinking that this aunt was indeed very different from Aunt Isabel.
"And now," continued Mrs. Fleming, "I am going to send Molly to you, and she will show you to your room, and afterwards give you some breakfast. I must ask you to excuse me this morning, as I have to go to the sewing-class. Ruth is at school, but we will all meet at luncheon which is served promptly at one."
Mrs. Fleming went away, not hurriedly, but with a quick, decided step, and in a few moments Molly, the maid appeared.
She was a merry-looking Irish girl, and her pleasant smile was such a contrast to the preoccupied manners of the ladies, that Patty felt friendly towards her at once.
"Come with me, Miss Fairfield," she said, and taking up Patty's hand-luggage, she led the way to a room on the third floor. It was a good-sized room, very neat and well-furnished, but with none of the luxury and beauty of Patty's room at Villa Rosa.
There was a square dressing-table and exactly in the centre of it was a square pincushion, with a glass toilet bottle on either side and behind it a smaller glass bottle to match. The chairs were stiff and straight, and there was a haircloth sofa with a small, square pillow at each end and one in the middle.
In the centre of the room was a table with books on it, and writing materials, and a drop-light hung over it from the chandelier above.
Though plain in its appointments, the room was light and airy and exquisitely neat and well-kept.
Molly deftly unfastened Patty's bag and shawl-straps, and then said:
"Now, miss, I'll go below, and when you're ready, come down three flights of stairs to the dining-room, and I'll give you some breakfast."
Patty thanked her, and when she had left the room, Patty sat down in the small, straight-backed rocking-chair to "think herself out," as she sometimes expressed it.
She felt a little homesick for the warm-hearted friends at Villa Rosa, and yet she felt sure her Boston relatives were going to be very nice, if only they could ever find time to talk to her.
She wondered if the ladies were always hurrying off to club-meetings, and if Ruth were always studying. She would be glad when Cousin Tom came home, for she was very sure she liked him.
She looked critically at her surroundings and decided that when her trunks came, and she could put the pretty things that she owned all about, the room would look much more cozy and attractive, and so, though her reception had chilled her a little, she thought that perhaps she would have a good time in Boston after all.
She jumped up and began to arrange such things as she had brought with her.
Her pretty silver brushes and trays looked somewhat out of place on the prim dressing-table, but Patty thought them a decided improvement. Then she unwrapped her mother's portrait, and placed it on the writing-table.
"It's a funny place, this, motherdy," she whispered to the picture, "and I don't know whether we'll like it or not; but we'll be happy together, you and I. And I think we'll like Aunt Hester, for she's papa's sister, you know, so she must be nice."
Then Patty went down the three flights of stairs, as directed, in search ofMolly.
"It's funny," she said to herself, "to go down cellar to breakfast. But I'm sure she said three flights," and sure enough, when she reached the basement, Molly met her with a kindly smile, saying,
"Come this way, miss," and Patty found that the front basement was the dining-room.
Its large windows were protected by iron railings, and the whole room had an air of solemn dignity rather than cheerfulness, but Molly was so pleasant and cordial that Patty felt cheerful at once.
The smiling Irish girl brought her some fruit, an omelet, hot rolls and delicious coffee, and after she had finished her solitary meal, Patty felt better able to cope with whatever might be awaiting her.
But apparently, nothing awaited her.
It was about ten o'clock, and as luncheon was announced for one, Patty wondered what she was expected to do in the meantime.
She asked Molly where Miss Elizabeth Fleming was.
"Laws, miss," said Molly, rolling her eyes, "don't make no attempt for to see her. She's writin' a novel, and she's up in her den on the fourth floor. We don't even call her to her meals. If she wants to come, she comes; and if she don't, I takes a few things up and sets 'em outside her door."
"Oh," said Patty, with great interest, "can't you speak to people when they're writing novels?"
"Indade, no, miss. It spiles the whole thing, and they has to begin all over again if a word is spoken to them."
"I think that's wonderful," said Patty, much impressed, "and I'm just crazy to see my Cousin Elizabeth. And Ruth, where is she?"
"Miss Ruth, she's at her school, miss, around on the next block. She'll be home at one o'clock and then you'll see her. Now why don't ye go and lie down and rest yerself?"
"But I'm not tired," said Patty, "I just want to get started; get to living here, you know. Can't I go into the library and look at some of the books?"
"Yes, miss, sure, if there's nobody there. I'll shlip up an' peep."
Molly went softly up-stairs, and Patty followed on tiptoe. It seemed strange to be so quiet, for at Villa Rosa everybody seemed to try to make all the noise possible.
"You can go in," said Molly, after her peep, "nobody's there; but the chairs is all settin' in rows, so I guess a club or somethin' is comin'. But go in, miss, dear, an' amuse yerself."
So Patty went in the library, which was a large back room on the main floor.
It has been said that a house without a library is like a body without a soul, and surely the library was the soul of the Fleming home. It was a beautiful room, built out behind the rest of the house, with a large skylight of stained glass, and a wide bay window whose cushioned seats looked very attractive.
Patty sat down and looked about her. The room was furnished with many well-filled bookcases, several small desks and tables, and a number of reading-chairs, whose broad arms held books and magazines.
Patty began at once to examine the titles of the books, and was delighted to find a large case full of children's books, containing all her old favorites, and many more that she had never read.
She selected "The Water Babies," which belonged to the latter class, and curling herself up on the window-seat, was soon absorbed in the story.
A little later, she heard the street door open and shut, and then Cousin Barbara whisked hurriedly into the library. She didn't see Patty at first, but sat down at a desk at the other end of the room, and hastily sorted over some papers.
"Ten-thirty to eleven-thirty, pigs," she murmured; "eleven-thirty to twelve, write paper on Choctaw costumes; twelve to one, attend Bootblacks' dinner. Ten-thirty! Why it's time for the pigs now."
"Will I interfere with the pigs if I stay here, Cousin Barbara?" saidPatty, curious to see the animals appear, but not wishing to intrude.
"What! are you there, Patty? Yes, you may stay if you like, but make no noise or disturbance of any kind."
"I won't," said Patty, and then Miss Barbara proceeded to ignore her small cousin's presence, and in her hurried way, prepared her books and papers, and laid small slips of paper and pencils in various chairs, and occasionally jotted down something in a small note-book which she took from her pocket.
Soon several strange ladies were ushered into the room by Molly, and Patty was much disappointed by the fact that they brought no pigs with them, and was just hoping that they would arrive later, when the meeting was called to order, and she learned that it was a committee from the Town Improvement Association, to consider ways and means for the amelioration of the general condition of the Common Pig.
Patty thought this was very funny, and wanted to laugh when the ladies discussed it seriously and with great enthusiasm. Sometimes several talked at once, and then Cousin Barbara rapped on her desk with a little hammer and they began all over again.
At half-past eleven, they all went away, and Cousin Barbara whipped out her packets of papers once more. Then she selected several books from the shelves, and sat down to write. Presently she looked up, bewildered.
"Can I help you, Cousin Barbara?" said Patty, eager to be of assistance.
"No,—yes,—" said her cousin, absent-mindedly. "Yes—if you will please hand me the encyclopedia—the one labeled cho—"
Patty easily found the desired volume and carried it to her cousin, who said, "Thank you," and then scribbled away as fast as she could until the clock struck twelve.
"Now," she said, thrusting her papers in her desk, "I must go to the Bootblacks' Dinner," and hastily putting on her jacket and gloves,—she had kept on her hat,—she flew out of the room, and almost instantly the street door closed behind her.
Then Patty resumed her book and read until one o'clock, when a great gong that could be heard all over the house announced luncheon.
Delighted at the thought of seeing the family at last, Patty skipped down-stairs.
Aunt Hester was in the dining-room and greeted her niece cordially.
"Well, my dear," she said, "I hope you found something to amuse you this morning. To-morrow, if you wish, you may go to school with Ruth. Ah, here she comes now. Ruth, this is Patty Fairfield, my brother's child, from Richmond."
"I am very glad to see you," said Patty pleasantly. "Cousin Tom told me you were here, and I hope we shall be good friends."
"I hope so," said Ruth, a little awkwardly, for she was a trifle confused by the graceful elegance of Patty's manner.
Ruth Fleming was a thin slip of a girl, with a very pale face, large gray eyes, and light brown hair which was smoothly brushed back, and tightly braided. She wore a gray dress and her whole effect was plain and colorless.
Her face was pure and intellectual, but so calm and expressionless that Patty wondered if she ever laughed aloud, and if she ever enjoyed herself very much in any way.
Ruth took her place at the table without another word, and Patty sat down beside her determined to make her say something, if she had to pinch her.
But just then Cousin Elizabeth came in, and Patty rose to greet her.
Miss Elizabeth Fleming was a large, handsome woman with black hair, and snapping black eyes, and such a winning smile that Patty liked her at once.
"Well, Patty cousin, have you come at last?" she said. "I've been waiting for you several years, and I'm very glad to see you." She gave Patty an affectionate caress, and kept on talking as she seated herself at the table. Patty afterwards discovered that Cousin Elizabeth always kept on talking, no matter what happened, or who else was talking at the time.
"Yes," she said, "we've all wanted to see our Southern cousin, and now that I have seen you, I think you are delightful. Mother, Geraldine has been the hatefullest thing this morning; she just sat down on a blue satin sofa, and she wouldn't move, nor she wouldn't say a word. I declare I've lost all patience with her."
"Who is Geraldine?" said Patty, "is there any one else in the family?"
"Geraldine is the heroine of my new novel," said Cousin Elizabeth, "and she is lovely, but so intractable. You wouldn't believe how sulky and stupid she gets at times. Ah, Barbara," as her sister bustled into the room, and dropped into a chair at the table, "how are the bootblacks?"
"Oh, they're lovely," said Barbara, "they ate all the dinner, and then stole the forks. I rescued some of them, though—Elizabeth, can't you go to see the Common Council this afternoon about that Statue Fund? I have a Mothers' Meeting at two, and after that we rehearse the Greek pantomime, and oh, mother, did you keep that Greek robe of mine, or did you give it away?"
"I gave it to a peddler," said Mrs. Fleming; "it was full of moth holes, and soiled besides. He gave me two saucepans for it."
"Never mind, sis," said Elizabeth, "you can borrow a Greek robe from Martha Fowler; she has one, I know, and I'll stop there for it, as I return from the Authors' Tea. Ruth, what have you on hand for this afternoon?"
"I practice until three, Cousin Elizabeth, then 'The Golden Branch' from three till four, and after that my French lesson and the Physical Culture class."
"H'm, well,—somebody ought to entertain Patty. Mother, what are your plans?"
"I have to go out to Cambridge this afternoon to collect for the Dorcas Aid Society. Patty can go with me if she likes, but I'm afraid she wouldn't enjoy it very much."
"No, I'll take Patty with me," said Cousin Elizabeth, very decidedly. "She'll like the Authors' Tea, I know, and if we have time, we'll look in at the Library."
When luncheon was over, they all flew away on their respective errands, and Cousin Elizabeth told Patty to put on her hat and coat, and meet her in the reception-room in ten minutes.
Somehow the time passed quickly in Boston; in fact, the Fleming family seemed fairly to push it along, they hurried so.
At any rate they wasted none of it, and after a few weeks, Patty fell into the ways of the household, and hurried along with the rest.
Indeed she had to do so, or be left behind, for her cousins were like Time and Tide, and waited for no man, or little girl either.
She went to school with Ruth, but found herself far behind the New England girl in her studies, so she took her place in a lower class, and Ruth kindly helped her with her lessons at home.
Patty did not know what to make of Ruth; she had never seen a girl like her before. Of course Ruth was pleasant and amiable, but she was so very quiet, seldom talked and almost never laughed.
Patty joked with her, and told her funny stories, but at most she received only a faint smile in response, and sometimes a blank stare.
She wrote to her father: "Ruth is the queerest girl I ever saw, and I believe she is all out of proportion. She studies so hard that she has crowded all the fun out of herself. You know 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' and I verily believe Ruth is the dullest girl in the world."
But Ruth almost always won the prizes offered at school, and was accounted the best of Miss Goodman's pupils.
Patty liked the school, and she liked Miss Goodman, the principal, but the hours, from nine to one, seemed very long to her, and she would often get restless and mischievous.
One day she thought she would clean her ink well. Ruth shared her desk, and as the ink well was intended for the use of both, it was a good-sized one, and chanced to be full of ink.
So Patty must need find something to hold the ink while she washed the inkstand. Not having anything appropriate, she made a cornucopia of a sheet of stiff writing-paper.
She turned up the point securely, poured the ink in, and folded down the top, feeling sure that she could get the ink well ready before the ink soaked through the paper.
Ruth saw this performance and a look of grave disapproval was on her face, but as communication of any kind during school hours was strictly forbidden, she made no sign.
Just as Patty had completed her dangerous little bundle, and held it in her hand, looking at it admiringly, Miss Carter, the teacher, happened to notice her.
Now as the strict discipline of the school prohibited anything which was not directly an aid to education, Miss Carter felt it her duty to confiscate the suspicious-looking package, thatmightbe candy, and that certainly did not pertain to school work.
"Patty Fairfield," said she, in a commanding voice, "you are out of order. You have there something apart from your school duties. Bring it to me at once."
"But, Miss Carter,"—began Patty.
"Silence! not a word! hand me that parcel."
"Oh, Miss Carter, I can't! it's—"
"One word more, and you will be expelled from school. I require implicit obedience. Bring me that parcel."
As there was really nothing else to do, Patty walked up to Miss Carter's desk, gingerly carrying the package of ink.
She knew what would happen if Miss Carter took it, but she had tried to explain, and as she was not allowed to do so, she couldn't help feeling that the result would serve the teacher right for being so unreasonably tyrannical. But she thought she would attempt one more warning, so she said,
"You'll be sorry if you take it, Miss Carter."
Angry at what she considered an impertinent threat, Miss Carter grasped the paper of ink with an indignant clutch, and a black flood streamed over her hand and dress, and spurted out in various directions.
Some drops flew in her face, and on her immaculate white collar, while others decorated her desk and papers with black blots.
The pupils, who had watched the scene with interest, though only Ruth knew what was in the cornucopia, were horror-stricken at the calamity, and sat breathlessly awaiting the explosion of Miss Carter's wrath.
But a drop of ink rolled down that lady's august nose, and involuntarily she put up her hand to brush it away. This produced such an all-over smudge on the ink-spotted face that the girls burst into uncontrollable laughter, and the unfortunate teacher rushed out of the room.
Patty was not expelled from the school, for after hearing Ruth's grave and carefully exact version of the case, Miss Goodman decided that though Patty was blameworthy, yet Miss Carter had been too peremptory in her orders, and so had brought the trouble upon herself.
Patty, who was fun-loving, but not malicious, went to Miss Carter privately, and made her peace with the irate lady, but it was several days before the ink stains entirely disappeared from the teacher's face; and as for the blots on the desk and platform, I shouldn't be surprised if they were there yet.
When Patty told about the ink episode at home, Aunt Hester was exceedingly shocked, but Cousin Tom said, "Patty, you're a genius. What made you think of wrapping up ink in paper?"
"There was nowhere else to put it, Cousin Tom."
"I suppose if you hadn't had any paper you would have dumped it into your pocket, eh?"
"Tom," said his sister Barbara, "how careless you are in your diction. 'Dumped ink!' One can only dump a powdered or granulated substance. By the way I've joined a new club. It's a Society for the Improvement of Advertisers' English, and we work in such a novel and efficacious way. To-day Miss White and I were appointed a committee to go through the shops in a certain district, and call attention to any errors which we noticed on signs or placards. Well, we went into a large dry goods house, and the first thing that caught my eye was a sign 'Dotted Swisses, twenty-five cents.' I sent for the advertising manager and he came. Then I said to him, 'Sir, this is a reliable house, and of course you advertise nothing that you cannot supply. A Swiss is a native of Switzerland, and experience has taught me that a Swiss is often an admirable servant, especially clever as a cook. So if you can sell me a Swiss for twenty-five cents, I'll take one, and I don't care whether he is dotted or not.' The man looked extremely mortified and stammered something about meaning muslin goods sold by the yard. 'Oh' said I, 'if you mean dotted Swiss muslins, why don't you say so?' and Miss White and I stalked out of the shop."
"That club of yours is a good thing," said Mr. Fleming, meditatively, "I hope you will banish the signs which announce 'Boots Blacked Inside,' and those others which always rouse false hopes in the minds of people who have lost their umbrellas, by promising 'Umbrellas recovered while you wait.'"
"Yes, we will, and we're going to do away with those atrocious doggerel rhymes in the street cars and substitute real poetry. It will cost a great deal to get it written, but we have funds, and the public taste must be elevated." The work of such clubs as this, and constant endeavors towards educational or literary attainment of one sort or another, engrossed the attention of the whole Fleming family.
Amusement or recreation not of a literary nature was never indulged in.
So serious were they in their aims and purposes, that all fun was crowded out, and to fun-loving Patty this was a sad state of affairs indeed.
As she wrote to her father, "the worst kind of misproportion is that which leaves out all fun and jokes and laughing. And I'm going to play a joke on the whole family, if I can think of a good one, just to stir them up for once."
Then Patty tried her best to think of some hoax or trick that would be harmless, and yet would startle all the Flemings out of their usual busy routine.
As the first of April drew near, she did think of a plan, and she decided that April Fool's Day gave her a legitimate excuse for teasing her serious-minded relatives.
As a family, their habits were most methodical; meals were served exactly at the appointed hours, and every one appeared in the dining-room as if by magic, punctual to the minute. Breakfast was at eight, and Patty had often heard Cousin Elizabeth say that she always woke on the stroke of seven. None of the others woke earlier than that, as a rule, and rules in the Fleming house had very rare exceptions.
So Patty decided to try a bold scheme, which was nothing less than to set everybody's clock two hours ahead on the morning of the first of April, and let the people waken to find they had apparently overslept.
She could not have managed this very well, except for the fact that Cousin Tom had remarked a few days before that he had left his watch at a jeweler's to be cleaned, and was carrying an old one which was very unreliable.
So mischievous Patty woke very early on the morning of the first of April. Indeed she had waked several times during the night, so anxious was she for the success of her trick.
As soon as the dawn made it light enough for her to see her way indistinctly round the house, she slipped on her dressing-gown, and crept softly down-stairs.
It was just half-past five by the old grandfather's clock in the hall, and Patty opened its glass door, and pushed the hands around until they stood at half-past seven. Then she went to the dining-room and kitchen, and changed those clocks to correspond.
The library clock was harder to manage, for it was a cuckoo-clock, and she had to stand on a table to reach it.
But Patty was a determined little girl, and having set out to fool the family she was not to be baffled by small obstacles. Then she went up to the second floor and into her Aunt Hester's room. She felt a little bit like a burglar when she saw the dear old lady peacefully asleep in her bed.
But it was only the work of a moment to change the time of the little clock that ticked softly on the mantel, and then Patty slipped into the next room. Cousin Elizabeth's watch lay on her dressing-table, and as it was a little stem-winder just like Patty's own, it was easy to turn the tiny hands two hours ahead.
Cousin Barbara's watch was under her pillow, but as the sound sleep of that lady was proverbial, audacious Patty slipped her hand under her cousin's head, took out the watch, changed the time, and replaced it, and Miss Barbara Fleming slept on in blissful ignorance.
Patty was afraid that Cousin Tom would spoil the whole joke. But she knew that he had no clock in his room, and only awoke when his mother knocked at his door each morning. She hoped that in this case he wouldn't look at his watch, or if he did, he would have no faith in the uncertain old chronometer he was carrying at present, and anyway it wouldn't be believed against the testimony of all the other timepieces in the house.
Last of all, she slipped up to the servants' room and changed the time of their alarm clock.
Bridget, the cook, and Molly were sleeping, each in a narrow bed, andBridget was snoring loud enough to wake them both, but she didn't.
Then Patty hurried back to her own room and jumped into bed again to await results.
Ruth had no clock or watch. She seemed to get up at the right time by instinct, and Patty, after carefully thinking it all over, concluded she had done her work very thoroughly.
And so she had,—and her trick was a great success. Of course the alarm clock went off apparently two hours late. Bridget woke with a start, looked at the clock, rubbed her eyes and looked again, and then she turned to Molly.
"Arrah, Molly," she cried, "will yez luke at that now. The alarrum is jist afther goin' off, an' it's eight o'clock! Whativer will happen to us?"
Molly jumped up in great excitement, and the two maids hastily dressed and ran down-stairs. Of course it was really only six, but as the sun was now shining brightly, they had no thought for astronomical calculations, and besides, they were frightened nearly out of their wits. Such a thing had never before happened in the well-regulated Fleming household.