With the instincts of a true hostess, Patty had slipped from the room unobserved, and had held a short Confab with her two trusty servitors in the kitchen.
"But, Miss Patty," expostulated Mancy, "dey ain't nuffin' fit to set befo' dem fren's ob yo's. Dey ain't nuffin' skacely in de house, ceptin' some bits ob candies an' cakaroons le' from yo' las' night's supper."
"Well, that's all right," said Patty; "let Pansy arrange those nicely on the dining-room table. Use the silver dishes, Pansy, and fix them just as I told you."
"Yes, Miss Patty," said Pansy, "but there aren't very many left."
"Well, then, Mancy, I'll tell you what: you make us a nice pot of chocolate, and fix us some thin bread and butter, and cut up some of the fruit cake to put with those little fancy cakes; won't that do?"
"Yas'm, I spec' so; but it's a mighty slim layout, 'specially for dem hearty young chaps. But you go 'long, honey, I'll fix it somehow."
And, sure enough, she did fix it somehow; for when, a little later, Patty invited her young friends out into the dining-room, the thin bread and butter had doubled itself up into most attractive and satisfying chicken-sandwiches, and there was also a plate of delicious toasted crackers and cheese.
Mr. Fairfield added a box of candy which he had brought home from New York, and the unpretentious little feast proved most enjoyable to all concerned.
"I should think you would feel all the time as if you were acting a play yourself, Patty," said Elsie Morris, taking her seat at the prettily laid table.
"I do," said Patty as she took her own place at the head; "it's awfully hard to realise that I am monarch of all I survey."
"But you have someone to dispute your right," said her father.
"And I'm glad of it," said Patty. "Whatever should I do living here all alone just with my rights?"
"By her rights, she means her cousins," put in Frank.
"Yes," said Patty; "they're about as right as anything I know."
And so the evening passed in merry chaff and good-natured fun; and at its close the young guests all went away except Marian, who was going to spend the night at Boxley Hall.
After her cousin had gone upstairs to her pretty blue bedroom, Patty lingered a moment in the library for a word with her father.
"How am I getting along, papa?" she said. "How about the proportion to-night?"
"The market seems pretty strong on proportion to-day, Patty, dear; your housekeeping is beginning wonderfully well. That little dinner you gave us was first-class in every respect, and the simple refreshments you had this evening were very pretty and graceful."
"Don't praise me too much, papa, or I'll grow conceited."
"You'll get praise from me, my lady, just when you deserve it, and at no other time. Now, skip along to bed, or you'll have too great a proportion of late hours."
With a good-night kiss Patty went singing upstairs, feeling sure that she was the happiest and most fortunate little girl in the world.
So impressed was she with her realisation of this fact that she announced it to Marian.
Marian looked at her curiously.
"Youarefortunate in some ways," she said; "but the real reason you're always so happy, I think, is because of your happy disposition. A great many girls with no mother or brother or sister, who had all the care and responsibility of a big house, and whose father was away all day, would think they had a pretty miserable life. But that never seems to occur to you."
"No," said Patty contentedly; "and I don't believe it ever will."
The next morning Patty devoted all her energy to getting ready for theTea Club. She declined Marian's offers of help, saying:
"No, I really don't need any help. If I can keep Pansy out of the conservatory, we three can accomplish all there is to be done; so you go and sit by the library fire, and toast your toes and read, or play with the cat, or do whatever you please. Remember, whenever you come here, you're one of the family."
So Marian went off by herself and played on the piano, and read, and had various kinds of good times, scrupulously keeping out of the way of her busy and preoccupied cousin.
"Now, Pansy," said Patty, as she captured that culprit in the conservatory, and led her off to the kitchen, "I want you to try especially hard to-day to do just as I want you to, and to help me in every possible way."
"Can I fix the flowers, Miss Patty?" said Pansy Potts, her eyes sparkling with delight.
"Where are there any flowers to fix? You've fussed over those in the conservatory until you've nearly worn them all out."
"Oh, Miss Patty, they're thriving beautifully. But I mean that big box of flowers that just came up from the flower man's. He said Mr. Fairfield sent it."
"Oh!" exclaimed Patty, "did papa really send me up flowers for the Tea Club? How perfectly lovely! I meant to order some myself, but I know his will be nicer."
By this time Patty was diving into the big box and scattering tissue paper all about.
"They're beautiful," she exclaimed, "and what lots of them! Yes, Pansy, you may arrange them; you really do it better than I do. Keep all the pink ones for the dining-room, and put the others wherever you like. Now, Mancy," she went on, "we'll discuss what to eat."
"Yas'm, and I s'pose it'll be some ob dem highfalutin fandangoes ob yo's, what nobody can't eat."
"You guessed right the very first time," said Patty, smiling back at the good-natured old cook, whose bark was so much worse than her bite. "You see, Mancy, this is my own party, and so I can have just what I like at it. Not even papa can object to the things that I have for my own Tea Club."
"Dat's so, chile, but co'se yo' knows you'se mighty likely to spoil dem good t'ings befo' yo' get 'em made."
"Oh, I don't think I will this time," said Patty, with that assured little toss of her head which always meant perfect confidence in her own ability.
Mancy said nothing, but grunted somewhat doubtfully as Patty went on to describe the beautiful things she intended to have.
"I want rissoles," she said, as she turned over the cookery-book, and looked in the index for R. "They're awfully good."
"What's dem, missy? I never heard tell of 'em."
"I forget what they are," said Patty, "but we had them at Delmonico's one day, when papa and I were there at lunch, and I remember thinking then they'd be nice for the Tea Club. They were either some little kind of a cake, or else a sort of croquette. Either would be nice, you know. Why, they're not here. What a silly book not to have them in! Oh, well, never mind, here's 'Richmond Maids of Honour.' We used to have those at Aunt Isabel's, and they're the loveliest things. I'll make those, Mancy; and while I'm doing it you make me some wine jelly and some Bavarian cream, and then I can put them together withmarronsand candied cherries and whipped cream and things, and make a Royal Diplomatic Pudding."
"'Pears like yo's makin' things fine enough for a weddin'," growled Mancy.
"Well, now, look here, last night you thought the things I had for my evening company were too plain, and now you're grumbling because they're too fancy."
"Laws, honey, can't you see no diffunce 'tween plain bread and butter and a lot of pernicketty gimcracks that never turns out right nohow?"
A haunting doubt regarding the proportion between her elaborate plans and the simple Tea Club hovered round Patty's mind, but she resolutely put it aside, thinking to herself, "I don't care, it's my first function, and I'm going to have it just as nice as I can."
Patty always felt particularly grand and grown up when she used the wordfunction, and now that she had mentally applied it to the Tea Club meeting, that simple affair seemed to take on a gigantic amplitude and fairly seemed to cry out for elaborate devices of all sorts.
"Never you mind, Mancy," she said, "you just go ahead and do as I tell you. Get the jelly and cream ready, and I'll do the rest."
"But ain't yo' gwine to have no solidstantial kind o' food?"
"Oh, yes, of course. I want acroustadeof chicken and club-sandwiches."
"Humph," said Mancy, her patience giving out at this, "ef yo' does, yo'll hab to talk English."
Patty laughed. "You must get used to these names, Mancy, because these are the kind of things I like. Well, you just boil a couple of chickens, and cut them up small, and see that there are two loaves of bread ready, those long round, crimply ones, you know, and then I'll put it all together and all you'll have to do is to brown it. And I'll show you how to make the club-sandwiches after lunch. You might as well learn once for all, you know. There's bacon in the house, isn't there?"
"No, dey ain't; is yo' fren's gwine stay ter breakfus'?"
"Oh, no, I'd want the bacon for the club-sandwiches. Don't worry, Mancy, they'll all come out right."
"Dey mought and den again dey moughtn't," grumbled the old woman, but undaunted Patty went on measuring and weighing with a surety of success that is found only in the young and inexperienced.
At one o'clock Marian walked out into the kitchen.
"Good gracious, Patty Fairfield," she exclaimed, "what are you doing? And what are all those things? Do you expect the Democratic Convention to be entertained here, or are you going to give the Sunday-school a picnic? And are we never to have lunch? I'm simply starving!"
Patty turned a flushed face to her cousin, and looked dazed and bewildered.
"Two and five-eighths ounces of sugar," she said, "spun to a thread; add chopped nuts and the well-beaten whites of six eggs; brown with a salamander. Marian, I haven't any salamander!"
The tragic tone of Patty's awful avowal was too much for Marian, and she dropped into a kitchen chair and went off into peals of laughter.
"Patty," she cried, "you goose! What are you doing? Just making up the whole recipe-book, page by page? I believe you're crazy!"
"It's for the Tea Club," exclaimed Patty, "and I want things to be nice."
"H'm," said Marian, "andarethey nice?"
She glanced at some of the completed delicacies on the table, and Patty, seeing the look, turned red again, but this time it was not the effect of the kitchen range.
"Well," she said, "some of them aren't quite right, but I think the others will be."
"And I think you're working too hard," said Marian kindly. "You come away with me now, and rest a little bit; and, Mancy, you put a little lunch for us on the dining-room table, won't you? Just anything will do, you know."
Patty rebelled at being overruled in this manner, but Marian had some Fairfield firmness of her own, and taking her cousin's arm led her to the library and plumped her down upon the couch in a reclining position, while she vigorously jammed pillows under her head.
"There, miss," she announced, "you will please stay there until luncheon is announced."
"But, Marian," pleaded Patty, seeing that resistance was useless, "I've such a lot of things to do, and the girls will be here before I get them all done."
"Let them come," said the hard-hearted Marian, "it won't hurt them a bit, and you've got enough things done now to feed the Russian army."
"But they're not finished," said Patty, "and they'll spoil standing."
"You'll more likely spoil them by finishing them. Now you stay right where you are."
So Patty rested, until Pansy came and called them to a most appetising little lunch spread very simply on the dining-table.
The two hungry girls did full justice to it, and then Patty said:
"Now, Marian, you're a duck, and you mean well, I know; but this is my house and my tea-party, and now you must clear out and leave me to fix it up pretty in my own way."
"All right," said Marian, "I rescued you once, now this time I'll leave you to your fate; but I'll give you fair warning that those Tea Club girls would rather have a few nice little things like we had at lunch, than all those ridiculous contraptions that you've got out there half baked."
"Oh me, oh me!" sighed Patty, in mock despair. "Nobody appreciates me; nobody realises or cares for my one great talent. I believe I'll go and drown myself."
"Do," said Marian, "drown yourself in that tub of wine-jelly, for it will never stiffen. I can tell that by looking at it."
"Bye, bye," said Patty, pushing Marian out of the dining-room, "run along now, and take a little nap like a good little girl. Cousin Patty must set the table all nice for the pretty ladies."
"Goose!" was the only comment Marian vouchsafed as she walked away.
Then Patty, with the assistance of Pansy Potts, proceeded to lay the table. Elaborate decoration was her keynote and she kept well in tune. Along the centre of the table over the damask cloth, she spread a rich lace "runner" and over this, crossed bands of wide, pink, satin ribbon ran the entire diagonal length of the table. In the centre was a large cut-glass bowl of pink roses, and at each corner slender vases of a single rose in each. Also single roses with long stems and leaves were laid at intervals on the cloth. Asparagus fern was lavishly used, and pink-shaded candles in silver candlesticks adorned the table. Small silver dishes of almonds, olives, and confectionery were dotted about, and finger-bowls with plates were set out on the side-table.
Certainly it was all very beautiful, and Patty surveyed it with feelings of absolute satisfaction.
"We will have tea at five o'clock, Pansy," she said, "and just before that, you light the candles and fill the glasses and see that everything is ready."
"Yes, Miss Patty," said Pansy, who adored her young mistress, and who was especially quick in learning to do exactly what was expected of her.
The afternoon was slipping away, and Patty suddenly discovered that she had only time to get dressed before the girls would arrive.
So she announced to Mancy that she must finish up such things as were not finished, and without waiting to hear the old woman's remarks of disapproval, Patty ran up to her room.
There she found that Marian had kindly laid out her dress and ribbons for her, and was ready to help do her hair.
"You're a good old thing, Marian," she said, as she dropped into a chair in front of her toilet mirror, "I'm as tired as a bicycle wheel, and besides, I do love to have somebody do my hair. Sometimes Pansy does it, but to-day she's too busy."
"Taking days as they go," said Marian in an impersonal manner, "I don't think I ever saw a more busy one than to-day has seemed to be. The Tea Club does seem to make a most awful amount of fluster in a new house."
"Yes, itisexacting, isn't it?" said Patty, who caught her cousin's eye in the mirror and looked very demure, though she refused to smile.
"There are some of the girls coming in at the front gate now," saidMarian as she tied the big white bow on Patty's pretty, fluffy hair."Didn't I time this performance just right?"
"You did indeed," said Patty, and kissing her cousin, she ran gaily downstairs.
How the Tea Club girls did chatter that afternoon! there was so much to see and talk about in Patty's new home, and there were also other weighty matters to be discussed.
The proposed entertainment was an engrossing subject, and as various opinions were held, the arguments were lively and outspoken.
"You can talk all you like," said Helen Preston, "but you'll find that a bazaar will be the most sensible thing after all. You're sure to make a lot of money, and the boys will help, and we all know exactly what to do and how to go about it."
"It may be sensible," said Laura Russell, "but it won't be a bit of fun. Stupid, poky, old chestnut; nobody wants to come to buy things, they only come because they think they have to. Now if we had a play—"
"Yes," said Elsie Morris, "a play would be the very nicest thing. I've brought two books for us to look over. One's that Shakespeare thing, and the other is called 'A Reunion at Mother Goose's.' It's awfully funny; I think it's better than the Shakespeare."
"I think Mother Goose things are silly," said Ethel Holmes. "Who wants to go around dressed up like Little Bo-peep, and say 'Ba, ba, black sheep,' all the time?"
"Yes, or who wants to be Red Riding Hood's wolf and eat up Mary's little lamb?"
"Oh, it isn't like that; it's a reunion, you know, and all the MotherGoose children are grown up, and they talk about old times."
"It does sound nice," said Patty, "let's read it."
They read both the plays, and so interested were they in the reading and discussing them that before they knew it the afternoon slipped away, and Pansy Potts came in to announce that the tea was ready.
"Goodness," cried Patty, "I forgot all about it! Come on, girls, we can discuss the play just as well at the table."
"Yes, and better," said Elsie.
Such a shout of exclamation as went up from the Tea Club girls when they saw Patty's table.
"Why didn't you tell us there was to be a wedding?" said Ethel, "and we would have brought presents."
"Is it an African jungle?" said Laura, "or is it only Smith's flower store moved up here bodily?"
"I think it looks like a page out of theMisses' Home Guide" said Polly Stevens. "You ought to have this table photographed, it would take the first prize! But where are we going to eat? Surely you don't expect us to sit down at this Louis XlV. gimcrack?"
"Nonsense," said Patty. "I fixed it up pretty because I thought it would please you. If you don't like it—"
"Oh, we like it," cried Christine Converse, "we love it! We want to take it home with us and put it under a glass case."
"Stop your nonsense, girls," said Marian, who had noticed Patty's rising colour, "and take your places. It's a beautiful party, and a lot too good for such ungrateful wretches! If you can read writing, you'll find your names on your cards."
"I can read writing," said Lillian Desmond, "but not such elegant gold curlycues as these. Won't you please spell it out for me, Miss Fairfield?"
"Oh, take any place you choose," said Patty, laughing good-naturedly. She didn't really mind their chaff, but she began to think herself that she had been a little absurd.
Then Pansy brought in the various dishes that Patty had worked so hard over, and perhaps you will not be surprised to learn that they were almost uneatable, or, at least, very far from the dainty perfection they ought to have shown.
On discovering this, the girls, who were really well-bred, in spite of their love of chaffing, quite changed their manner and, ignoring the situation, began merrily to discuss the play.
But as the various viands proved a continuous succession of failures,Patty became really embarrassed and began to make apologies.
"Don't say a word," said Marian; "it was all my fault. I insisted on spending the day here, and I nearly bothered the life out of my poor cousin. Indeed, I carried her off bodily from the kitchen just at a dozen critical moments."
"No, it wasn't that," said honest Patty, "but I did just what I'm always doing, trying to make a lot of things I don't know anything about"
"Well," said Elsie, "if you couldn't try them on us girls, I don't know who you could try them on; I'm more than willing to be a martyr to the cause, and I say three cheers for our noble President!"
The cheers were given with a will, and Patty's equanimity being restored, she was her own merry self again, and they all laughed and chatted as only a lot of happy girls can.
And that's how it happened that when Mr. Fairfield reached home at about six o'clock he heard what sounded like a general pandemonium in the dining-room. As he appeared in the doorway he was greeted by a merry ovation, for most of the Tea Club members knew and liked Patty's pleasant and genial father.
Then the girls, realising how late it was, began to take their leave. Marian went with them, and Patty, after the last one had gone, returned to the dining-room, to find her father regarding the table with a look of comical dismay.
It was indeed a magnificent ruin. Besides the dishes of almost untasted delicacies, the flowers had been pushed into disarray, one small vase had been upset and broken; owing to improper adjustment the candles had dripped pink wax on the table-cloth; and the ice cream, which Pansy had mistakenly served on open-work plates, had melted and run through.
Patty didn't say a word, indeed there was nothing to say. She went and stood very close to her father, as if expecting him to put his arm around her, which he promptly did.
"You see, Pitty-Pat," he said, "it wouldn't have made any difference at all—notanydifference at all,exceptthat I have brought my friend Mr. Hepworth, the artist, home to dinner; and you see, misled by the experiences of last night, I promised him we would find a tidy little dinner awaiting us."
"Oh, papa," cried Patty, "Iamsorry. If I had only known! I wouldn't have failed you for worlds."
"I know it, my girl, and though this Lucullus feast does seem out of proportion to a young misses' Tea Club, yet we won't say a word about that now. We'll just get snow shovels and set to work and clear this table and let Mancy get a simple little dinner as quickly as she can."
"But, papa," and here Patty met what was, perhaps, so far, the hardest experience of her life, "I forgot to order anything for dinner at all!"
"Why, Patty Fairfield! consider yourself discharged, and I shall suit myself at once with another housekeeperess!"
"You are the dearest, best, sweetest father!" she exclaimed. "How can you be so good-natured and gay when my heart is breaking?"
"Oh, don't let your heart break over such prosaic things as dinners!We'll crawl out of this hole somehow."
"But what can we do, papa? It's after six o'clock, and all the markets are shut up, and there isn't a thing in the house except those horrible things I tried to make."
"Patty," said her father, struck by a sudden thought, "to-morrow isSunday. Do you mean to say you haven't ordered for over Sunday?"
"No, I haven't," said Patty, aghast at the enormity of her offence.
Mr. Fairfield laughed at the horror-stricken look on his daughter's face.
"I always thought you couldn't keep house," he said, with an air of resignation. "On Monday I shall advertise for a housekeeper."
"Oh, please don't," pleaded Patty. "Give me one more trial. I've had a good lesson, and truly I'll profit by it. Let me try again."
"But you can't try again before Monday, and by that time we'll all be dead of starvation."
"Of course we will," said Patty despairingly. "I wish we were RobinsonCrusoes and could eat bark or something."
"Well, baby, I think youhavehad a pretty good lesson, and we can't put old heads on young shoulders all at once, so I'll help you out this time, and then, the next time you go back on me in this heartless fashion, I'll discharge you."
"Papa, you're adear! But what can we do?"
"Well, the first thing for you to do is to go and brush your hair and make yourself tidy, then come down and meet Mr. Hepworth; and then we'll all go over to the hotel for dinner. Meanwhile I'll call in the Street Cleaning Department to attend to this dining-room."
"Patty," said her father, a week or two later, "Mr. Hepworth has invited us to a tea in his studio in New York tomorrow afternoon, and if you care to go, I'll take you."
"Yes, I'd love to go; I've always wanted to go to a studio tea. It's very kind of Mr. Hepworth to ask us after the way he was treated here."
Mr. Fairfield laughed, but Patty looked decidedly sober. She still felt very much crestfallen to think that the first guest her father brought home should be obliged to dine at the hotel, or at a neighbour's. Aunt Alice had invited them to dinner on that memorable Sunday, and though she said she had expected to ask the Fairfields anyway, still Patty felt that, as a housekeeper, she had been weighed in the balances and found sadly wanting.
According to arrangement, she met her father in New York the day of the tea, and together they went to Mr. Hepworth's studio.
It gave Patty a very grown-up feeling to find herself amongst such strange and unaccustomed surroundings.
The studio was a large room, on the top floor of a high building. It was finished in dark wood and decorated with many unframed pictures and dusty casts. Bits of drapery were flung here and there, quaint old-fashioned chairs and couches were all about, and at one side of the room was a raised platform. A group of ladies and gentlemen sat in one corner, another group surrounded a punch bowl, and many wise and learned-looking people were discussing the pictures and drawings.
Patty was enchanted. She had never been in a scene like this before, and the whole atmosphere appealed to her very strongly.
The guests, though kind and polite to her, treated her as a child, and Patty was glad of this, for she felt sure she never could talk or understand the artistic jargon in which they were conversing. But she enjoyed the pictures in her own way, and was standing in delighted admiration before a large marine, which was nothing but the varying blues of the sea and sky, when she heard a pleasant, frank young voice beside her say:
"You seem to like that picture."
"Oh, I do!" she exclaimed, and turning, saw a pleasant-faced boy of about nineteen smiling at her.
"It is so real," she said. "I never saw a realer scene, not even down atSandy Hook; why, you can fairly feel the dampness from it."
"Yes, I know just what you mean," said the boy; "it's a jolly picture, isn't it? They say it's one of Hepworth's best."
"I don't know anything about pictures," said Patty frankly, "and so I don't like to express definite opinions."
"It's always wiser not to," said the boy, still smiling.
"That's true," said Patty, "I only did express an opinion once this afternoon, and then that lady over there, in a greenish-blue gown, looked at me through her lorgnette and said:
"Oh, I thought you were temperamental, but you're only an imaginative realist."
"Now, what could she have meant by that?" said the boy, laughing. "But you're very imprudent. How do you know that lady isn't my—my sister, or cousin, or something?"
"Well, even if she is," said Patty, "I haven't said anything unkind, have I?"
"No more you haven't; but as I don't see anyone just now at leisure to introduce us, suppose we introduce ourselves? They say the roof is an introduction, but I notice it never pronounces names very distinctly. Mine is Kenneth Harper."
"And mine is Patricia Fairfield, but I'm usually called Patty."
"I should think you would be, it suits you to a dot. Of course the boys call me Ken. I'm a Columbia student."
"Oh, are you?" said Patty. "I've never known a college boy, and I've always wanted to meet one."
"Well, you see in me a noble specimen of my kind," said young Harper, straightening up his broad shoulders and looking distinctly athletic.
"You must be," said Patty; "you look just like all the pictures of college boys I've ever seen."
"And I flattered myself that my beauty was something especial and individual."
"You ought to be thankful that you're beautiful," said Patty, "and not be so particular about what kind of beauty it is."
"But some kinds of beauty are not worth having," went on young Harper; "look at that man over there with a lean pale face and long lank hair. That's beauty, but I must say I prefer a strong, brave, manly type, like this good-looking chap just coming toward us."
"Oh, you do?" said Patty. "Well, as that good-looking chap happens to be my father, I'll take pleasure in introducing you."
"I am glad to see you, sir," said Kenneth Harper, as Patty presented him to her father, "and I may as well own up that I was just making remarks on your personal appearance, which accounts for my blushing embarrassment."
"I won't inquire what they were," said Mr. Fairfield, "lest I, too, should become embarrassed. But, Patty, my girl, if we're going back to Vernondale on the six-o'clock train, it's time we were starting."
"Oh, do you live in Vernondale?" inquired Kenneth. "I have an aunt there. I wonder if you know her. Her name is Daggett—Miss Rachel Daggett."
"Indeed I do know her," said Patty. "She is my next-door neighbour."
"Is she really? How jolly! And don't you think she's an old dear? I'm awfully fond of her. I run out to see her every chance I can get, though I haven't been much this winter, I've been digging so hard."
"Sheisa dear," said Patty. "I've only seen her once, but I know I shall like her as a neighbour."
"Yes, I'm sure you will, but let me give you a bit of confidential advice. Don't take the initiative, let her do that; and the game will be far more successful than ifyoumake the overtures."
Patty smiled. "Miss Daggett told me that herself," she said; "in fact, she was quite emphatic on the subject."
"I can well believe it," said Kenneth, "but I'm sure you'll win her heart yet."
"I'm sure she will too," said Mr. Fairfield, with an approving glance at his pretty daughter; "and whenever you are in Vernondale, Mr. Harper, I hope you will come to see us."
"I shall be very glad to," answered the young man, "and I hope to run out there soon."
"Come out when we have our play," said Patty; "it's going to be beautiful."
"What play is that?"
"We don't know yet, we haven't decided on it."
"I know an awfully good play. One of the fellows up at college wrote it, and so it isn't hackneyed yet."
"Oh, tell me about it," said Patty. "Papa, can't we take the next later train home?"
"Yes, chick, I don't mind if you don't; or, better still, if Mr. Harper can go with us, I'll take both of you children out to dinner in some great, glittering, noisy hotel."
"Oh, gorgeous!" cried Patty. "Can you go, Mr. Harper?"
"Indeed I can, and I shall be only too glad. College boys are not overcrowded with invitations, and I am glad to say I have no other for to-night."
"You'll have to telephone to Emancipation Proclamation, papa," said Patty, "or she'll get out all the bell-ringers, and drag the river for us."
"So she will," said Mr. Fairfield. "I'll set her mind at rest the first thing."
"That's our cook," explained Patty.
"It's a lovely name," observed Kenneth, "but just a bit lengthy for every-day use."
"Oh, it's only for Sundays and holidays," said Patty; "other days we contract it to Mancy."
Seated at table in a bright and beautiful restaurant, Patty and her new friend began to chatter like magpies while Mr. Fairfield ordered dinner.
"Now tell me all about your friend's play," said Patty, "for I feel sure it's going to be just what we want"
"Well, the scene," said Kenneth, "is on Mount Olympus, and the characters are all the gods and goddesses, you know, but they're brought up to date. In fact, that's the name of the play, 'Mount Olympus Up to Date.' Aurora, you know, has an automobile instead of her old-fashioned car."
"But you don't have the automobile on the stage?"
"Oh, no! Aurora just comes in in her automobile rig and talks about her 'bubble.' Mercury has a bicycle; he's a trick rider, and does all sorts of stunts. And Venus is a summer girl, dressed up in a stunning gown and a Paris hat. And Hercules has a punching-bag—to make himself stronger, you know. And Niobe has quantities of handkerchiefs, dozens and dozens of them; she's an awfully funny character."
"Oh, I think it would be lovely!" said Patty. "Where can we get the book?"
"I'll send you one to-morrow, and you can see if you like it; and then if you do, you can get more."
"Oh, I'm sure the girls will all like it; and will you come out to see it?"
"Yes, I'd be glad to. I was in it last winter. I was Mercury."
"Oh, can you do trick work on bicycles?"
"Yes, a little," said Kenneth modestly.
"I wish you'd come out and be Mercury in our play."
"Aren't you going ahead rather fast, Patty, child?" said her father."Your club hasn't decided to use this play yet."
"I know it, papa, and of course I mean if wedouse it; but anyway, I'm president of the club, and somehow, if I want a thing, the rest of the girls generally seem to want it too."
"That's a fine condition of affairs that any president might be glad to bring about. You ought to be a college president."
"Perhaps I shall be some day," said Patty.
The dinner hour flew by all too quickly. Patty greatly enjoyed the sights and sounds of the brilliant, crowded room. She loved the lights and the music, the flowers and the palms, and the throngs of gaily dressed people.
Kenneth Harper enjoyed it too, and thought he had rarely met such attractive people as the Fairfields.
When he took his leave he thanked Mr. Fairfield courteously for his pleasant evening, and promised soon to call upon them at Boxley Hall.
They reached home by a late train, and Patty went up to her pretty bedroom, with her usual happy conviction that she was a very fortunate little girl and had the best father in the world.
Kenneth Harper did send the book, and, as Patty confidently expected, the girls of the club quite agreed with her that it was the best play for them to use.
At a meeting at Marian's, plans were made and parts were chosen. The goddesses were allotted to the members of the club, and the gods were distributed among their brothers and friends.
Guy Morris, being of gigantic mould, was cast for Hercules, and Frank Elliott for Ajax. When Patty told the girls that Kenneth Harper could do trick riding on a bicycle, they unanimously voted to invite him to take part in their entertainment.
It was decided to have the play about the middle of February, and the whole Tea Club grew enthusiastic over the plans for the wonderful performance.
One morning Patty sat in the library studying her part. She was very happy. Of course, Patty always was happy, but this morning she was unusually so. Her housekeeping was going on smoothly; the night before her father had expressed himself as being greatly pleased with the system and order which seemed everywhere noticeable in the house. It was Saturday morning, and she didn't have to go to school.
Moreover, she was very much interested in the play and in her own part in it, and had already planned a most beautiful gown, which the dressmaker, Madame LaFayette, was to make for her.
Patty's part in the play was that of Diana, and her costume was to be a beautiful one of hunter's green cloth with russet leather leggings and a jaunty cap. Being up-to-date, instead of being a huntress she was to represent an agent of the S.P.C.A.
This suited Patty exactly, for she had a horror of killing live things, and very much preferred doing all she could to prevent such slaughter. Moreover, the humour of the thing appealed to her, and the funny effect of the huntress Diana going around distributing S.P.C.A. leaflets, and begging her fellow-Olympians not to shoot, seemed to Patty very humourous and attractive.
This Saturday, then, she had settled down in the library to study her lines all through the long cosey morning, when, to her annoyance, the doorbell rang.
"I hope it's none of the girls," she thought. "I did want this morning to myself."
It wasn't any of the girls, but Pansy announced that a messenger had come from Miss Daggett's, and that Miss Daggett wished Miss Fairfield to return her call at once.
Patty smiled at the unusual message, but groaned at the thought of her interrupted holiday.
However, Miss Daggett was not one to be ignored or lightly set aside, soPatty put on her things and started.
Although Miss Daggett's house was next door to Boxley Hall, yet it was set in the middle of such a large lot, and was so far back from the street, and so surrounded by tall, thick trees, that Patty had never had a really good view of it.
She was surprised, therefore, to find it a very large, old-fashioned stone house, with broad veranda and steps guarded by two stone lions.
Patty rang the bell, and the door was opened very slightly. A small, quaint-looking old coloured man peeped out.
"Go 'way," he said, "go 'way at once! We don't want no tickets."
"I'm not selling tickets," said Patty, half angry and half amused.
"Well, we don't want no shoelacers, nor lead pencils, nor nuffin! Youmustbe selling something."
"I am not selling anything," said Patty. "I came over because MissDaggett sent for me."
"Laws 'a' massy, child, why didn't you say so before you spoke? Be youMiss Fairfield?"
"Yes," said Patty; "here's my card."
"Oh, never mind the ticket; if so be you's Miss Fairfield, jes' come right in, come right in."
The door was flung open wide and Patty entered a dark, old-fashioned hall. From that she was led into a parlour, so dark that she could scarcely see the outline of a lady on the sofa.
"How do you do, Miss Daggett?" she said, guessing that it was probably her hostess who seemed to be sitting there.
"How do you do?" said Miss Daggett, putting out her hand, without rising.
"I'm quite well, thank you," said Patty, and her eyes having grown a little accustomed to the dark, she grasped the old lady's hand, although, as she told her father afterwards, she was awfully afraid she would tweak her nose by mistake.
"And how are you, Miss Daggett?"
"Not very well, child, not very well, but you won't stay long, will you? I sent for you, yes, I sent for you on an impulse. I thought I'd like to see you, but I'd no sooner sent than I wished I hadn't. But you won't stay long, will you, dearie?"
"No," said Patty, feeling really sorry for the queer old lady. "No, I won't stay long, I'll go very soon; in fact, I'll go just as soon as you tell me to. I'll go now, if you say so."
"Oh, don't be silly. I wouldn't have sent for you if I'd wanted you to go right away again. Sit down, turn your toes out, and answer my questions."
"What are your questions?" said Patty, not wishing to make any rash promises.
"Well, first, are you really keeping that big house over there all alone by yourself?"
"I'm keeping house there, yes, but I'm not all alone by myself. My father's there, and two servants."
"Don't you keep a man?"
"No; a man comes every day to do the hard work, but he doesn't live with us."
"Humph, I suppose you think you're pretty smart, don't you?"
"I don't know," said Patty slowly, as if considering; "yes, I think I'm pretty smart in some ways, and in other ways I'm as stupid as an owl."
"Well, you must be pretty smart, because you haven't had to borrow anything over here yet."
"But I wouldn't borrow anything here, anyway, Miss Daggett; you specially asked me not to."
Miss Daggett's old wrinkled face broke into a smile.
"And so you remember that. Well, well, you are a nice little girl; you must have had a good mother, and a good bringing-up."
"My mother died when I was three, and my father brought me up."
"He did, hey? Well, he made a fairly good job of it. Now, I guess you can go; I'm about tired of talking to you."
"Then I will go. But, first, Miss Daggett, let me tell you that I met your nephew the other day."
"Kenneth! For the land's sake! Well, well, sit down again. I don't want you to go yet; tell me all about him. Isn't he a nice boy? Hasn't he fine eyes? And gentlemanly manners? And oh, the lovely ways with him!"
"Yes, Miss Daggett, he is indeed a nice boy; my father and I both think so. His eyes and his manners are fine. He says he wants to come out to see you soon."
"Bless his heart, I hope he'll come! I do hope he'll come."
"Then you like to have him come to see you?" said Patty, a little roguishly.
"Yes, and I like to have you, too. Land, child! you mustn't mind my quick ways."
"I don't mind how quick you are," said Patty; "but when you tell me to be sure and not come to see you, of course I don't come."
"Oh, that's all right," said Miss Daggett, "that's all right; I'll always send for you when I want you.
"But perhaps I can't always come," said Patty. "I may be busy with my housekeeping."
"Now, wouldn't that be annoying!" said Miss Daggett. "I declare that would be just my luck. I always do have bad luck."
"Perhaps it's the way you look at it," said Patty. "Now, I have some things that seem like bad luck, at least, other people think they do; but if I look at them right—happy and cheerful, you know—why, they just seem like good luck."
"Really," said Miss Daggett, with a curious smile; "well now, youarea queer child, and I'm not at all sure but I'd like to have you come again. Do you want to see around my house?"
"I'd like to very much, but it's so dark a bat couldn't see things in this room."
"But I can't open the shades, the sun would fade all the furniture coverings."
"Well, then, you could buy new ones," said Patty; "that would be better than living in the dark."
"Dark can't hurt anybody," said Miss Daggett gloomily.
"Oh, indeed it can," said Patty earnestly. "Why, darkness—I mean darkness in the daytime—makes you all stewed up and fidgety and horrid; and sunshine makes you all gay and cheerful and glad."
"Like you," said Miss Daggett.
"Yes, like me," said Patty; "I am cheerful and glad always. I like to be."
"I would like to be, too," said Miss Daggett.
"Do you suppose if I opened the shutters I would be?"
"Let's try it and see," said Patty, and running to the windows, she flung open the inside blinds and flooded the room with sunshine.
"Oh, what a beautiful room!" she exclaimed, as she turned around. "Why, Miss Daggett, to think of keeping all these lovely things shut up in the dark. I believe they cry about it when you aren't looking."
Already the old lady's face seemed to show a gentler and sunnier expression, and she said:
"Yes, I have some beautiful things, child. Would you like to look through this cabinet of East Indian curiosities?"
"I would very much," said Patty, "but I fear I can't take the time this morning; I have to study my part in a play we're going to give. It's a play your nephew told us about," she added quickly, feeling sure that this would rouse the old lady's interest in it.
"One of Kenneth's college plays?" she said eagerly.
"Yes, that's just what it is. A chum of his wrote it, and oh, Miss Daggett, we're going to invite Mr. Harper to come to Vernondale the night of the play, and take the same part that he took at college last year; you see, he'll know it, and he can just step right in."
"Good for you! I hope he'll come. I'll write at once and tell him how much I want him. He can stay here, of course, and perhaps he can come sooner, so as to be here for one or two rehearsals."
"That would be a good help. I hope he will do that; he could coach the rest of us."
"I don't know just what coach means, but I'm sure Kenneth can do it, he's a very clever boy; he says he can run an automobile, but I don't believe it. Run away home now, child, I'm tired of having company; and besides I want to compose my mind so I can write a letter to Kenneth."
"And will you leave your blinds open till afternoon?" said Patty, who was beginning to learn her queer old neighbour.
"Yes, I will, if I don't forget it. Clear out, child, clear out now; run away home and mind you're not to borrow anything and you're not to come back till I send for you."
"All right," said Patty. "Good-bye, and mind, you're to keep bright and cheerful, and let the sunlight in all the time."
Patty's plans for systematic housekeeping included a number of small Russia-leather account books, and she looked forward with some eagerness to the time when the first month's bills should come in, and she could present to her father a neat and accurate statement of the household expenses for the month.
The 1st of February was Sunday, but on Monday morning the postman brought a sheaf of letters which were evidently bills.
Patty had no time to look at these before she went to school, so she placed them carefully in her desk, determined to hurry home that afternoon and get her accounts into apple-pie order before her father came home. After school she returned to find a supplementary lot of bills had been left by the postman, and also Mancy presented her with a number of bills which the tradesmen had left that morning.
Patty took the whole lot to her desk, and with methodical exactness noted the amounts on the pages of her little books. She and her father had talked the matter over, more or less, and Patty knew just about what Mr. Fairfield expected the bills to amount to.
But to her consternation she discovered, as she went along, that each bill was proving to be about twice as large as she had anticipated.
"There must be some mistake," she said to herself, "we simplycan'thave eaten all those groceries. Anybody would think we ran a branch store. And that butcher's bill is big enough for the Central Park menagerie! They must have added it wrong."
But a careful verification of the figures proved that they were added right, and Patty's heart began to sink as she looked at the enormous sum-totals.
"To think of all that for flowers! Well, papa bought some of them, that's a comfort; but I had no idea I had ordered so many myself. I think bills are perfectly horrid! And here's my dressmaker's bill. Gracious, how Madame LaFayette has gone up in her prices! I believe I'll make my own clothes after this; but the market bills are the worst I don't see how wecouldhave eaten all these things. Mancy must be a dreadful waster, but it isn't fair to blame her; if that's where the trouble is, I ought to have looked after it myself. Hello, Marian, is that you? I didn't hear you come in. Do come here, I'm in the depths of despair!"
"What's the matter, Patsie? and what a furious lot of bills! You look like a clearinghouse."
"Oh, Marian, it's perfectly fearful! Every bill is two or three times as much as I thought it would be, and I'm so sorry, for I meant to be such a thrifty housekeeper."
"Jiminetty Christmas!" exclaimed Marian, looking at some of the papers, "I should think these billswerebig! Why, that's more than we pay a month for groceries, and look at the size of our family."
"I know it," said Patty hopelessly. "I don't see how it happened."
"You are an extravagant little wretch, Patty, there's no doubt about it."
"I suppose I am; at least, I suppose I have been, but I'm not going to be any more. I'm going to reform, suddenly and all at once and very thoroughly! Now, you watch me. We're not going to have any more fancy things, no more ice cream from Pacetti's. Why, that caterer's bill is something fearful."
"And so you're going to starve poor Uncle Fred?"
"No, that wouldn't be fair, would it? The economy ought to fall entirely on me. Well, I've decided to make my own clothes after this, anyway."
"Oh, Patty, what a goose you are! You couldn't make them to save your neck, and after you made them you couldn't wear them."
"I could, too, Marian Elliott! Just you wait and see me make my summer dresses. I'm going to sew all through vacation."
"All right," said Marian, "I'll come over and help you, but you can't make any dresses this afternoon, so put away those old bills and get ready for a sleigh ride. It's lovely out, and father said he'd call for us here at four o'clock."
"All right, I will, if we can get back by six. I want to be here when papa comes home."
"Yes, we'll be back by six. I expect Uncle Fred will shut you up in a dark room and keep you on bread and water for a week when he sees those bills."
"That's just the worst of it," said Patty forlornly. "He's so good and kind, and spoils me so dreadfully that it makes me feel all the worse when I don't do things right."
A good long sleigh ride in the fresh, crisp winter air quite revived Patty's despondent spirits. She sat in front with Uncle Charley, and he let her drive part of the way, for it was Patty's great delight to drive two horses, and she had already become a fairly accomplished little horsewoman.
"Fred tells me he's going to get horses for you this spring," said UncleCharley. "You'll enjoy them a lot, won't you, Patty?"
"Yes, indeed—that is—I don't know whether we'll have them or not."
For it just occurred to Patty that, having run her father into such unexpected expense in the household, a good way to economise would be to give up all hopes of horses.
"Oh, yes, you'll have them all right," said Uncle Charley, in his gay, cheery way, having no idea, of course, what was in Patty's mind. "And you must have a little pony and cart of your own. It would give you a great deal of pleasure to go out driving in the spring weather."
"I just guess it would," said Patty, "and I'm sure I hope I'll have it."
She began to wonder if she couldn't find some other way to economise rather than on the horses, for she certainly did love to drive.
Promptly at six o'clock Uncle Charley left her at Boxley Hall, and as she entered the door Patty felt that strange sinking of the heart that always accompanies the resuming of a half-forgotten mental burden.
"I know just how thieves and defaulters and forgers feel," she said to herself, as she took off her wraps. "I haven't exactly stolen, but I've betrayed a trust, and that's just as bad. I wonder what papa will say?"
At dinner Patty was subdued and a little nervous.
Mr. Fairfield, quick to notice anything unusual in his daughter, surmised that she was bothered, but felt sure that in her own time she would tell him all about it, so he endeavoured to set her at her ease by chatting pleasantly about the events of his day in the city, and sustaining the burden of the conversation himself.
But after dinner, when they had gone into the library, as they usually did in the evening, Patty brought out her fearful array of paper bugbears and laid them before her father.
"What are these?" said Mr. Fairfield cheerily. "Ah, yes, I see. The 1st of the month has brought its usual crop of bills."
"I do hope it isn't the usual crop, papa; for if they always come in like this, we'll have to give up Boxley Hall and go to live in the poor-house."
"Oh, I don't know. We haven't overdrawn our bank account yet Whew!Pacetti's is a stunner, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Patty, in a meek little voice.
"And Fisher & Co. seem to have summed up quite a total; and Smith's flower bill looks like a good old summer time."
"Oh, papa, please scold me; I know I deserve it. I ought to have looked after these things and kept the expenses down more."
"Why ought you to have done so, Patty? We have to have food, don't we?"
"Yes; but, papa, you know we estimated in the beginning, and these old bills come up to about twice as much as our estimate."
"That's a fact, baby, they do," said Mr. Fairfield, looking over the statements with a more serious air. "These are pretty big figures to represent a month's living for just you and me and our small retinue of servants."
"Yes; and, papa, I think Mancy is rather wasteful. I don't say this to blame her. I know it is my place to see about it, and be careful that she utilises all that is possible of the kitchen waste."
Patty said this so exactly with the air of aYoung Housekeeper's GuideorCooking School Manual, that Mr. Fairfield laughed outright.
"Chickadee," he said, "you'll come out all right. You have the true elements of success. You see where you've fallen into error, you're willing to admit it, and you're ready to use every means to improve in the future. I'm not quite so surprised as you are at the size of these bills; for, though we made our estimates rationally, yet we have been buying a great many things and having a pretty good time generally. I foresaw this experience at the end of the month, but I preferred to wait and see how we came out rather than interfere with the proceedings; and another thing, Patty, which may comfort you some, is the fact that I quite believe that some of these tradespeople have taken advantage of your youth and inexperience and padded their bills a little bit in consequence."
"But, papa, just look at Madame LaFayette's bill. I don't think she ought to charge so much."
"These do seem high prices for the simple little frocks you wear; but they are always so daintily made, and in such good taste, that I think we'll have to continue to employ her. Dressmakers, you know, are acknowledged vampires."
"I like the clothes she makes, too," said Patty, "but I had concluded that that was the best way for me to economise, and I thought after this I would make my own dresses."
"I don't think you will, my child," said Mr. Fairfield decidedly. "You couldn't make dresses fit to be seen, unless you took a course of instruction in dressmaking, and I'm not sure that you could then; and you have quite enough to do with your school work and your practising. When did you propose to do this wonderful sewing?"
"Oh, I mean in vacation—to make my summer dresses."
"No; in vacation you're to run out of doors and play. Don't let me hear any more about sewing."
"All right," said Patty, with a sigh of relief. "I'm awfully glad not to, but I wanted to help somehow. I thought I'd make my green cloth costume for Diana in the play."
"Yes, that would be a good thing to begin on," said Mr. Fairfield. "Broadcloth is so tractable, so easy to fit; and that tailor-made effect can, of course, be attained by any well-meaning beginner."
Patty laughed. "I know it would look horrid, papa," she said, "but as I am to blame for all this outrageous extravagance, I want to economise somewhere to make up for it."
"And do you call it good proportion to buy a great deal too much to eat and then go around in botchy, home-made clothes to make up for it?"
"No," said Patty, "I don't believe it is. What can I do? I want to do something, and I don't—oh, papa, Idon'twant to give up those horses that you said you'd buy."
"Well, we'll fix it up this way, Patty, girl; we'll just pay off all these bills and start fresh. The extra expense we'll charge to experience account—experience is an awfully high-priced commodity, you know—and next month, while we won't exactly scrimp ourselves, we'll keep our eye on the accounts and watch them as they progress. As I've told you before, my darling, I don't expect you to become perfect, or even proficient, in these things all at once. You will need years of experience before the time can come when your domestic machinery will run without a flaw, if, indeed, it ever does. Now, never think of these January bills again. They are things of the past. Go and get your play-book, and let me hear you speak your piece."