Mr. Hepworth came again to visit Boxley Hall, and while there heard about the play, and became so interested in the preparations that he offered to paint some scenery for it.
Patty jumped for joy at this, for the scenery had been their greatest stumbling-block.
And so the Saturday morning before the performance the renowned New York artist, Mr. Egerton Hepworth, walked over to Library Hall, escorted by a dozen merry young people of both sexes.
As a scenic artist Mr. Hepworth proved a great success and a rapid workman beside, for by mid-afternoon he had completed the one scene that was necessary—a view of Mount Olympus as supposed to be at the present date.
Though the actual work was sketchily done, yet the general effect was that of a beautiful Grecian grove with marble temple and steps, and surrounding trees and flowers, the whole of which seemed to be a sort of an island set in a sea of blue sky and fleecy clouds.
At least, that is the way Elsie Morris declared it looked, and though Mr. Hepworth confessed that that was not the idea he had intended to convey, yet if they were satisfied, he was. The young people declared themselves more than satisfied, and urged Mr. Hepworth so heartily to attend the performance—offering him the choicest seats in the house and as many as he wanted—that he finally consented to come if he could persuade his friends at Boxley Hall to put him up for the night. Patty demurely promised to try her best to coax her father to agree to this arrangement, and though she said she had little hope of succeeding, Mr. Hepworth seemed willing to take his chances.
At last the great day arrived, and Patty rose early that morning, for there were many last things to be attended to; and being a capable little manager, it somehow devolved on Patty to see that all the loose ends were gathered up and all the minor matters looked after.
Kenneth Harper had been down twice to rehearsals, and had already become a favourite with the Vernondale young people. Indeed, the cheery, willing, capable young man couldn't help getting himself liked wherever he went. He stayed with his aunt, Miss Daggett, when in Vernondale, which greatly delighted the heart of the old lady.
The play was to be on Friday night, because then there would be no school next day; and Friday morning Patty was as busy as a bee sorting tickets, counting out programmes, making lists, and checking off memoranda, when Pansy appeared at her door with the unwelcome announcement that Miss Daggett had sent word she would like to have Patty call on her. Unwelcome, only because Patty was so busy, otherwise she would have been glad of a summons to the house next-door, for she had taken a decided fancy to her erratic neighbour.
Determining she would return quickly, and smiling to herself as she thought that probably she would be asked to do so, she ran over to Miss Daggett's.
"Come in, child, come in," called the old lady from the upper hall, "come right up here. I'm in a terrible quandary!"
Patty went upstairs, and then followed Miss Daggett into her bedroom.
"I've decided," said the old lady, with the air of one announcing a decision the importance of which would shake at least two continents, "I've decided to go to that ridiculous show of yours."
"Oh, have you?" said Patty, "that's very nice, I'm sure."
"I'm glad you're pleased," said the old lady grimly, "though I'm not going for the sake of pleasing you."
"Are you going to please your nephew, Mr. Harper?" said Patty, not being exactly curious, but feeling that she was expected to inquire.
"No, I'm not," said Miss Daggett curtly. "I'm going to please myself; and I called you over here to advise me what to wear. Here are all my best dresses, but there's none of them made in the fashions people wear nowadays, and it's too late to have them fixed over. I wish you'd tell me which one you think comes nearest to being right."
Patty looked in amazement at the great heap of beautiful gowns that lay upon the bed. They were made of the richest velvets and satins and laces, but were all of such an antiquated mode that it seemed impossible to advise anyone to wear them without remodeling. But, as Miss Daggett was very much in earnest, Patty concluded that she must necessarily make some choice.
Accordingly, she picked out a lavender moiré silk, trimmed with soft white lace at the throat and wrist. Although old-fashioned, it was plain and very simply made, and would, Patty thought, be less conspicuous than the more elaborate gowns.
"That's just the one I had decided on myself," said Miss Daggett, "and I should have worn that anyway, whatever you had said."
"Then why did you call me over?" said Patty, moved to impatience by this inconsistency.
"Oh, because I wanted your opinion, and I wanted to ask you about some other things. Kenneth is coming to-night, you know."
"Yes, I know it," said Patty, "and I am very glad."
This frank statement and the clear, unembarrassed light in Patty's eyes seemed to please Miss Daggett, and she kissed the pretty face upturned to hers, but she only said: "Run along now, child, go home, I don't want company now."
"I'm glad of it," Patty thought to herself, but she only said: "Good-bye, then, Miss Daggett; I'll see you this evening."
"Wait a minute, child; come back here, I'm not through with you yet."
Patty groaned in spirit, but went back with a smiling face.
Miss Daggett regarded her steadily.
"You're pretty busy, I suppose, to-day," she said, "getting ready for your play."
"Yes, I am," said Patty frankly.
"And you didn't want to take the time to come over here to see me, did you?"
"Oh, I shall have time enough to do all I want to do," said Patty.
"Don't evade my question, child. You didn't want to come, did you?"
"Well, Miss Daggett," said Patty, "you are often quite frank with me, so now I'll be frank with you, and confess that when your message came I did wish you had chosen some other day to send for me; for I certainly have a lot of little things to do, but I shall get them all done, I know, and I am very glad to learn that you are coming to the entertainment."
"You are a good girl," said Miss Daggett; "you are a good girl, and I like you very much. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," said Patty, and she ran downstairs and over home, determined to work fast enough to make up for the time she had lost.
She succeeded in this, and when her father came home at night, bringing Mr. Hepworth with him, they found a very charming little hostess awaiting them and Boxley Hall imbued throughout with an air of comfortable hospitality.
After dinner Patty donned her Diana costume and came down to ask her father's opinion of it. He declared it was most jaunty and becoming, and Mr. Hepworth said it was especially well adapted to Patty's style, and that he would like to paint her portrait in that garb. This seemed to Mr. Fairfield a good idea, and they at once made arrangements for future sittings.
Patty was greatly pleased.
"Won't it be fine, papa?" she said. "It will be an ancestral portrait to hang in Boxley Hall and keep till I'm an old lady like Miss Daggett."
When they reached Library Hall, where the play was to be given, Patty, going in at the stage entrance, was met by a crowd of excited girls who announced that Florence Douglass had gone all to pieces.
"What do you mean?" cried Patty. "What's the matter with her?"
"Oh, hysterics!" said Elsie Morris, in great disgust. "First she giggles and then she bursts into tears, and nobody can do anything with her."
"Well, she's going to be Niobe, anyway," said Patty, "so let her go on the stage and cut up those tricks, and the audience will think it's all right."
"Oh, no, Patty, we can't let her go on the stage," said Frank Elliott; "she'd queer the whole show."
"Well, then, we'll have to leave that part out," said Patty.
"Oh, dear!" wailed Elsie, "that's the funniest part of all. I hate to leave that part out."
"I know it," said Patty; "and Florence does it so well. I wish she'd behave herself. Well, I can't think of anything else to do but omit it. I might ask papa; he can think of things when nobody else can."
"That's so," said Marian, "Uncle Fred has a positive genius for suggestion."
"I'll step down in the audience and ask him," said Frank.
In five minutes Frank was back again, broadly smiling, and Mr. Hepworth was with him.
"It's all right," said Frank. "I knew Uncle Fred would fix it. All he said was, 'Hepworth, you're a born actor, take the part yourself'; and Mr. Hepworth, like the brick he is, said he'd do it."
"I fairly jumped at the chance," said the young artist, smiling down into Patty's bright face. "I was dying to be in this thing anyway. And they tell me the costume is nothing but several hundred yards of Greek draperies, so I think it will fit me all right."
"But you don't know the lines," said Patty, delighted at this solution of the dilemma, but unable to see how it could be accomplished.
"Oh, that's all right," said Mr. Hepworth merrily. "I shall make up my lines as I go along, and when I see that anyone else wants to talk, I shall stop and give them a chance."
It sounded a little precarious, but as there was nothing else to do, and Florence Douglass begged them to put somebody—anybody—in her place and let her go home, they all agreed to avail themselves of Mr. Hepworth's services.
And it was fortunate they did, for though the rest of the characters were bright and clever representations, yet it was Mr. Hepworth's funny impromptu jokes and humourous actions in the character of Niobe that made the hit of the evening. Indeed, he and Kenneth Harper quite carried off the laurels from the other amateurs; but so delighted were the Vernondale young people at the success of the whole play that they were more than willing to give the praise where it belonged.
Perhaps the only one in the audience who failed to appreciate Mr. Hepworth's clever work was Miss Rachel Daggett. She had eyes only for her beloved nephew, with an occasional side glance for her pretty young neighbour.
After the entertainment there was a little dance for the young people; and Patty, as president of the club, received so many compliments and so much congratulation that it's a wonder her curly head was not turned. But as she walked home between her father and Mr. Hepworth, she declared that the success of the evening was in no way consequent upon her efforts, but depended entirely on the talents of the two travelling comedians from the city.
Spring and summer followed one another in their usual succession, and as the months went by, Boxley Hall became more beautiful and more attractively homelike, both inside and out. Mr. Fairfield bought a pair of fine carriage horses and a pony and cart for Patty's own use. A man was engaged to take care of these and also to look after the lawn and garden.
Patty, learning much from experience and also from Aunt Alice's occasional visits, developed into a sensible and capable little housekeeper. So determined was she to make the keeping of her father's house a real success that she tried most diligently to correct all her errors and improve her powers.
Patty had a natural aptitude for domestic matters, and after some rough places were made smooth and some sharp corners rounded off, things went quite as smoothly as in many houses where the presiding genius numbered twice Patty's years.
With June came vacation, and Patty was more than glad, for she was never fond of school, and now could have all her time to devote to her beloved home.
And, too, she wanted very much to invite her cousins to visit her, which was only possible in vacation time.
"I think, papa," she said, as they sat on the veranda one June evening after dinner, "I think I shall have a house party. I shall invite all my cousins from Elmbridge and Philadelphia and Boston and we'll have a grand general reunion that will be most beautiful."
"You'll invite your aunts and uncles, too?" said Mr. Fairfield.
"Why, I don't see how we'd have room for so many," said Patty.
"And, of course," went on her father, "you'd invite the whole Elliott family. It wouldn't be fair to leave them out of your house-party just because they happen to live in Vernondale."
Then Patty saw that her father was laughing at her.
"I know you're teasing me now, papa," she said, "but I don't see why.Just because I want to ask my cousins to come here and return the visitsI made to them last year."
"But you didn't visit them all at once, my child, and you certainly could not expect to entertain them here all at once. Your list of cousins is a very long one, and even if there were room for them in the house, the care and responsibility of such a house party would be enough to land you in a sanitarium when it was over, if not before."
"There are an awful lot of them," said Patty.
"And they're not altogether congenial," said her father. "Although I haven't seen them as lately as you have, yet I can't help thinking, from what you told me, that the Barlows and the St. Clairs would enjoy themselves better if they visited here at different times, and I'm sure the same is true of your Boston cousins."
"You're right," said Patty, "as you always are, and I don't believe I'd have much fun with all that company at once, either. So I think we'll have them in detachments, and first I'll just invite Ethelyn and Reginald down for a week or two. I don't really care much about having them, but Ethelyn has written so often that she wants to come that I don't see how I can very well get out of it."
"If she wants to come, you certainly ought to ask her. You visited there three months, you know."
"Yes, I know it, and they were very kind to me. Aunt Isabel had parties, and did things for my pleasure all the time. Well, I'll invite them right away. Perhaps I ought to ask Aunt Isabel, too."
"Yes, you might ask her," said Mr. Fairfield, "and she can bring the children down, but she probably will not stay as long as they do."
So Patty wrote for her aunt and cousins, and the first day of July they arrived.
Mrs. St. Clair, who was Patty's aunt only by marriage, was a very fashionable woman of a pretty, but somewhat artificial, type. She liked young people, and had spared no pains to make Patty's visit to her a happy one. But it was quite evident that she expected Patty to return her hospitality in kind, and she had been at Boxley Hall but a few hours before she began to inquire what plans Patty had made for her entertainment.
Now, though Patty had thought out several little pleasures for her cousins, it hadn't occurred to her that Aunt Isabel would expect parties made for her.
She evaded her aunt's questions, however, and waited for an opportunity to speak alone with her father about it.
"Why, papa," she exclaimed that evening after their guests had gone to their rooms, "Aunt Isabel expects me to have a tea or reception or something for her."
"Nonsense, child, she can't think of such a thing."
"Yes, she does, papa, and what's more, I want to do it. She was very kind to me and I'd rather please her than Ethelyn. I don't care much for Ethelyn anyway."
"She isn't just your kind, is she, my girl?"
"No, she isn't like Marian nor any of the club girls. She has her head full of fashions, and beaux, and grown-up things of all sorts. She is just my age, but you'd think she was about twenty, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, she does look almost as old as that, and she acts quite as old.Reginald is a nice boy."
"Yes, but he's pompous and stuck-up. He always did put on grand airs. Aunt Isabel does, too, but she's so kind-hearted and generous nobody can help liking her."
"Well, have a party for her if you want to, chicken. But don't take the responsibility of it entirely on yourself. I should think you might make it a pretty little afternoon tea. Get Aunt Alice to make out the invitation list; she knows better than you what ladies to invite, and then let Pacetti send up whatever you want for the feast. I've no doubt Pansy will be willing to attend to the floral decoration of the house."
"I've no doubt she will," said Patty, laughing. "The trouble will be to stop her before she turns the whole place into a horticultural exhibit."
"Well, go ahead with it, Patty. I think it will please your aunt very much, but don't wear yourself out over it."
Next morning at breakfast Patty announced her plan for an afternoon tea, and Aunt Isabel was delighted.
"You dear child," she exclaimed, "how sweet of you! I hate to have you go to any trouble on my account, but I shall be so pleased to meet the Vernondale ladies. I want to know what kind of people my niece is growing up among."
"I'm sure you'll like them, Aunt Isabel. Aunt Alice's friends are lovely.And then I'll ask the mothers of the Tea Club girls, and my neighbour,Miss Daggett, but I don't believe she'll come."
"Is that the rich Miss Daggett?" asked Aunt Isabel curiously; "the queer one?"
"I don't know whether she's rich or not," said Patty. "I dare say she is, though, because she has lovely things; but she certainly can be called queer. I'm very fond of her, though; she's awfully nice to me, and I like her in spite of her queerness."
"But you'll ask some young ladies, too, won't you?" said Ethelyn. "I don't care very much for queer old maids and middle-aged married ladies."
"Oh, this isn't for you, Ethel," said Patty. "I'll have a children's party for you and Reginald some other day."
"Children's party, indeed," said Ethelyn, turning up her haughty little nose. "You know very well, Patty, I haven't considered myself a child for years."
"Nor I," said Reginald.
"Well, I consider myself one," said Patty. "I'm not in a bit of hurry to be grown-up; but we're going to have a lovely sailing party, Ethelyn, on Fourth of July, and I'm sure you'll enjoy that."
"Are any young men going?" said Ethelyn.
"There are a lot of boys going," said Patty. "But the only young men will be my father and Uncle Charley and Mr. Hepworth."
"Who is Mr. Hepworth?"
"He's an artist friend of papa's, who comes out quite often, and who always goes sailing with us when we have sailing parties."
Aunt Alice was more than willing to help Patty with her project, and the result was a very pretty little afternoon tea at Boxley Hall.
"I'm so glad I brought my white crêpe-de-chine," said Aunt Isabel, as she dressed for the occasion.
"I'm glad, too," said Patty; "for it's a lovely gown and you look sweet in it."
"I've brought a lot of pretty dresses, too," said Ethelyn, "and I suppose I may as well put on one of the prettiest to-day, as there's no use in wasting them on those children's parties you're talking about."
"Do just as you like, Ethelyn," said Patty, knowing that her cousin was always overdressed on all occasions, and therefore it made little difference what she wore.
And, sure enough, Ethelyn arrayed herself in a most resplendent gown which, though very beautiful, was made in a style more suited to a belle of several seasons than a young miss of sixteen.
Patty wore one of her pretty little white house dresses; and Aunt Alice, in a lovely gray gown, assisted her to receive the guests, and to introduce Mrs. St. Clair and her children.
Among the late arrivals was Miss Daggett. Her coming created a sensation, for, as was well known in Vernondale, she rarely attended social affairs of any sort. But, for some unknown reason, she chose to accept Patty's invitation, and, garbed in an old-fashioned brown velvet, she was presented to Mrs. St. Clair.
"I'm so glad to see you," said the latter, shaking hands effusively.
"Humph!" said Miss Daggett. "Why should you be glad to see me, pray?"
"Why, because—because—" Mrs. St. Clair floundered a little, and seemed really unable to give any reason.
"Because you've heard that I'm rich and old and queer?" said MissDaggett.
This was exactly true, but Mrs. St. Clair did not care to admit it, so she said: "Why, no, not that; but I've heard my niece speak of you so often that I felt anxious to meet you."
"Well, I'm not afraid of anything Patty Fairfield said about me; she's a dear little girl; I'm very fond of her."
"Why do you call her little girl?" said Mrs. St. Clair. "Patty is in her seventeenth year; surely that is not quite a child."
"But she is a child at heart," said Miss Daggett, "and I am glad of it. I would far rather see her with her pretty, sunshiny childish ways than to see her like that overdressed little minx standing over there beside her, whoever she may be."
"That's my daughter," said Mrs. St. Clair, without, however, looking as deeply offended as she might have done.
"Oh, is it?" said Miss Daggett, sniffing. "Well, I see no reason to change my opinion of her, if she is."
"No," said Mrs. St. Clair, "of course we are each entitled to our own opinion. Now, I think my daughter more appropriately dressed than my niece. And I think your nephew will agree with me," she added, smiling.
"My nephew!" snapped Miss Daggett. "Do you know him?"
"Oh, yes, indeed; we met Mr. Harper at a reception in New York not long ago, and he was very much charmed with my daughter Ethelyn."
"He may have seemed so," said Miss Daggett scornfully. "He is a very polite young man. But let me tell you, he admires Patty Fairfield more than any other girl he has ever seen. He told me so himself. And now, go away, if you please, I'm tired of talking to you."
Mrs. St. Clair was not very much surprised at this speech, for Patty had told her of Miss Daggett's summary method of dismissing people; and so, with a sweet smile and a bow, the fashionable matron left the eccentric and indignant spinster.
After Aunt Isabel had gone home, Patty devoted herself to the entertainment of her young cousins. And they seemed to require a great deal of entertainment—both Ethelyn and Reginald wanted something done for their pleasure all the time. They did not hesitate to express very freely their opinions of the pleasures planned for them, and as they were sophisticated young persons, they frequently scorned the simple gaieties in which Patty and her Vernondale companions found pleasure. However, they condescended to be pleased at the idea of a sailing party, for, as there was no water near their own home, a yacht was a novelty to them. At first Ethelyn thought to appear interesting by expressing timid doubts as to the safety of the picnic party, but she soon found that the Vernondale young people had no foolish fears of that sort.
Fourth of July was a bright, clear day, warm, but very pleasant, with a good stiff breeze blowing. Patty was up early, and when Ethelyn came downstairs, she found her cousin, with the aid of Mancy and Pansy, packing up what seemed to be luncheon enough for the whole party.
"Doesn't anybody else take anything?" she inquired.
"Oh, yes," said Patty, "they all do. I'm only taking cold chicken and stuffed eggs. You've no idea what an appetite sailing gives you."
Ethelyn looked very pretty in a yachting suit of white serge, while Patty's sailor gown was of more prosaic blue flannel, trimmed with white braid.
"That's a sweet dress, Ethelyn," said Patty, "but I'm awfully afraid you'll spoil it. You know we don't go in a beautiful yacht, all white paint and polished brass; we go in a big old schooner that's roomy and safe but not overly clean."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Ethelyn; "I dare say I shall spoil it, butI've nothing else that's just right to wear."
"All aboard!" shouted a cheery voice, and Kenneth Harper's laughing face appeared in the doorway.
"Oh, good-morning!" cried Patty, smiling gaily back at him; "I'm so glad to see you. This is my cousin, Miss St. Clair. Ethelyn, may I present Mr. Harper?"
Immediately Ethelyn assumed a coquettish and simpering demeanour.
"I've met Mr. Harper before," she said; "though I dare say he doesn't remember me."
"Oh, yes, indeed I do," said Kenneth gallantly. "We met at a reception in the city, and I am delighted to see you again, especially on such a jolly occasion as I feel sure to-day is going to be."
"Do you think it is quite safe?" said Ethelyn, with what she considered a charming timidity. "I've never been sailing, you know, and I'm not very brave."
"Oh, pshaw! of course it's safe, barring accidents; but you're always liable to those, even in an automobile. Hello! here comes Hepworth. Glad to see you, old chap."
Mr. Hepworth received a general storm of glad greetings, was presented to the strangers, and announced himself as ready to carry baskets, boxes, rugs, wraps, or whatever was to be transported.
Mr. Fairfield, as general manager, portioned out the luggage, and then, each picking up his individual charge, they started off. On the way they met the Elliott family similarly equipped and equally enthusiastic, and the whole crowd proceeded down to the wharf. There they found about thirty young people awaiting them. All the girls of the Tea Club were there; and all the boys, who insisted on calling themselves honorary members of the club.
"It's a beautiful day," said Guy Morris, "but no good at all for sailing. The breeze has died down entirely, and I don't believe it will come up again all day."
"That's real cheerful, isn't it?" said Frank Elliott. "I should be inclined to doubt it myself, but Guy is such a weatherwise genius, and he almost never makes a mistake in his prognostications."
"Well, it remains to be seen what the day will bring forth," said UncleCharley; "but in the meantime we'll get aboard."
The laughing crowd piled themselves on board the big schooner, stowed away all the baskets and bundles, and settled themselves comfortably in various parts of the boat; some sat in the stern, others climbed to the top of the cabin, while others preferred the bow, and one or two adventurous spirits clambered out to the end of the long bowsprit and sat with their feet dangling above the water. Ethelyn gave some affected little cries of horror at this, but Frank Elliott reassured her by telling her that it was always a part of the performance.
"Why, I have seen your dignified cousin Patty do it; in fact, she generally festoons herself along the edge of the boat in some precarious position."
"Don't do it to-day, will you, Patty?" besought Ethelyn, with a ridiculous air of solicitude.
"No, I won't," said Patty; "I'll be real good and do just as you want me to."
"Noble girl!" said Kenneth Harper. "I know how hard it is for you to be good."
"It is, indeed," said Patty, laughing; "and I insist upon having due credit."
As a rule the Vernondale parties were exciting affairs. The route was down the river to the sound; from the sound to the bay; and, if the day were very favourable, out into the ocean, and perhaps around Staten Island.
Patty had hoped for this most extended trip today, in order that Ethelyn and Reginald might see a sailing party at its very best.
But after they had been on board an hour they had covered only the few miles of river, and found themselves well out into the sound, but with no seeming prospect of going any farther. The breeze had died away entirely, and as the sun rose higher the heat was becoming decidedly uncomfortable.
Ethelyn began to fidget. Her pretty white serge frock had come in contact with some muddy ropes and some oily screws, and several unsightly spots were the result. This made her cross, for she hated to have her costume spoiled so early in the day; and besides she was unpleasantly conscious that her fair complexion was rapidly taking on a deep shade of red. She knew this was unbecoming, but when Reginald, with brotherly frankness, informed her that her nose looked like a poppy bud, she lost her temper and relapsed into a sulky fit.
"I don't see any fun in a sailing party, if this is one," she said.
"Oh, this isn't one," said Guy Morris good-humoredly; "this is just a first-class fizzle. We often have them, and though they're not as much fun as a real good sailing party, yet we manage to get a good time out of them some way."
"I don't see how," said Ethelyn, who was growing very ill-tempered.
"We'll show you," said Frank Elliott kindly; "there are lots of things to do on board a boat besides sail."
There did seem to be, and notwithstanding the heat and the sunburn—yes, even the mosquitoes—those happy-go-lucky young people found ways to have a real good time. They sang songs and told stories and jokes, and showed each other clever little games and tricks. One of the boys had a camera and he took pictures of the whole crowd, both singly and in groups. Mr. Hepworth drew caricature portraits, and Kenneth Harper gave some of his funny impersonations.
Except for the responsibility of her cousin's entertainment, Patty enjoyed herself exceedingly; but then she was always a happy little girl, and never allowed herself to be discomfited by trifles.
Everybody was surprised when Aunt Alice announced that it was time for luncheon, and though all were disappointed at the failure of the sail, everybody seemed to take it philosophically and even merrily.
"What is the matter?" said Ethelyn. "Why don't we go?"
"The matter is," said Mr. Fairfield, "we are becalmed. There is no breeze and consequently nothing to make our bonny ship move, so she stands still."
"And are we going to stay right here all day?" asked Ethelyn.
"It looks very much like it, unless an ocean steamer comes along and gives us a tow."
Aunt Alice and the girls of the party soon had the luncheon ready, and the merry feast was made. As Frank remarked, it was a very different thing to sit there in the broiling sun and eat sandwiches and devilled eggs, or to consume the same viands with the yacht madly flying along in rolling waves and dashing spray.
The afternoon palled a little. Youthful enthusiasm and determined good temper could make light of several hours of discomfort, but toward three o'clock the sun's rays grew unbearably hot, the glare from the water was very trying, and the mosquitoes were something awful.
Guy Morris, who probably spent more of his time in a boat than any of the others, declared that he had never seen such a day.
Mr. Fairfield felt sorry for Ethelyn, who had never had such an experience before, and so he exerted himself to entertain her, but she resisted all his attempts, and even though Patty came to her father's assistance, they found it impossible to make their guest happy.
Reginald was no better. He growled and fretted about the heat and other discomforts and he was so pompous and overbearing in his manner that it is not surprising that the boys of Vernondale cordially disliked him.
"As long as we can't go sailing," said Ethelyn, "I should think we would go home."
"We can't get home," said Patty patiently. She had already explained this several times to her cousin. "There is no breeze to take us anywhere."
"Well, what will happen to us, then? Shall we stay here forever?"
"There ought to be a breeze in two or three days," said Kenneth Harper, who could not resist the temptation to chaff this ill-tempered young person. "Say by Tuesday or Wednesday, I should think a capful of wind might puff up in some direction."
"It is coming now," said Frank Elliott suddenly; "I certainly feel a draught."
"Put something around you, my boy," said his mother, "I don't want you to take cold."
"Let me get you a wrap," said Frank, smiling back at his mother, who was fanning herself with a folded newspaper.
"The wind is coming," said Guy Morris, and his serious face was a sharp contrast to the merry ones about him, "and it's no joke this time. Within ten minutes there'll be a stiff breeze, and within twenty a howling gale, or I'm no sailor."
As he spoke he was busily preparing to reef the mainsail, and he consulted hurriedly with the sailors.
At first no one could believe Guy's prophecies would come true, but in a few moments the cool breeze was distinctly felt, the sun went under a cloud, and the boat began to move. It was a sudden squall, and the clouds thickened and massed themselves into great hills of blackness; the water turned dark and began to rise in little threatening billows, the wind grew stronger and stronger, and then without warning the rain came. Thunder and lightning added to the excitement of the occasion, and in less than fifteen minutes the smooth sunny glare of water was at the mercy of a fearful storm.
The occupants of the boat seemed to know exactly how to behave in these circumstances. Mrs. Elliott and the girls of the party went down into the little cabin, which held them all, but which was very crowded.
Guy Morris took command, and the other boys, and men, too, for that matter, did exactly as he told them.
Ethelyn began to cry. This was really not surprising, as the girl had never before had such an experience and was exceedingly nervous as well as very much frightened.
Mrs. Elliott appreciated this, and putting her arm around the sobbing child, comforted her with great tact and patience.
The storm passed as quickly as it came. There had been danger, both real and plentiful, but no bad results attended, except that everybody was more or less wet with the rain.
The boys were more and the girls less, but to Ethelyn's surprise, they all seemed to view the whole performance quite as a matter of course, and accepted the situation with the same merry philosophy that they had shown in the morning.
The thermometer had fallen many degrees, and the cold wind against damp clothing caused a most unpleasant sensation.
"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," said Guy. "This breeze will take us home, spinning."
"I'm glad of it," said Ethelyn snappishly; "I've had quite enough of the sailing party."
Frank confided to Patty afterward that he felt like responding that the sailing party had had quite enough of her, but instead he said politely:
"Oh, don't be so easily discouraged! Better luck next time."
To which Ethelyn replied, still crossly, "There'll be no next time for me."
Patty was not sorry when her Elmbridge cousins concluded their visit, and the evening after their departure she sat on the veranda with her father, talking about them.
"It's a pity," she said, "that Ethelyn is so ill-tempered; for she's so pretty and graceful, and she's really very bright and entertaining when she is pleased. But so much of the time she is displeased, and then there's no doing anything with her."
"She's selfish, Patty," said her father; "and selfishness is just about the worst fault in the catalogue. A selfish person cannot be happy. You probably learned something to that effect from your early copybooks, but it is none the less true."
"I know it, papa, and I do think that selfish ness is the worst fault there is; and though I fight against it, do you know I sometimes think that living here alone with you, and having my own way in everything, is making me rather a selfish individual myself."
"I don't think you need worry about that," said a hearty voice, and Kenneth Harper appeared at the veranda steps. "Pardon me, I wasn't eavesdropping, but I couldn't help overhearing your last remark, and I think it my duty to set your mind at rest on that score. Selfishness is not your besetting sin, Miss Patty Fairfield, and I can't allow you to libel yourself."
"I quite agree with you, Ken," said Mr. Fairfield. "My small daughter may not be absolutely perfect, but selfishness is not one of her faults. At least, that's the conclusion I've come to, after observing her pretty carefully through her long and checkered career."
"Well, if I'm not selfish, I will certainly become vain if so many compliments are heaped upon me," said Patty, laughing; "and I'm sure I value very highly the opinions of two such wise men."
"Oh, say a man and a boy," said young Harper modestly.
"All right, I will," said Patty, "but I'm not sure which is which.Sometimes I think papa more of a boy than you are, Ken."
"Now you've succeeded in complimenting us both at once," said Mr.Fairfield, "which proves you clever as well as unselfish."
"Well, never mind me for the present," said Patty; "I want to talk about some other people, and they are some more of my cousins."
"A commodity with which you seem to be well supplied," said Kenneth.
"Indeed I am; I have a large stock yet in reserve, and I think, papa, that I'll ask Bob and Bumble to visit me for a few weeks."
"Do," said Mr. Fairfield, "if you would enjoy having them, but not otherwise. You've just been through a siege of entertaining cousins, and I think you deserve a vacation."
"Oh, but these are so different," said Patty. "Bob and Bumble are nothing like the St. Clairs. They enjoy everything, and they're always happy."
"I like their name," said Kenneth. "Bumble isn't exactly romantic, but it sounds awfully jolly."
"She is jolly," said Patty, "and so is Bob. They're twins, about sixteen, and they're just brimming over with fun and mischief. Bumble's real name is Helen, but I guess no one ever called her that. Helen seems to mean a fair, tall girl, slender and graceful, and rather willowy; and Bumble is just the opposite of that: she's round and solid, and always tumbling down; at least she used to be, but she may have outgrown that habit now. Anyway, she's a dear."
"And what is Bob like?" asked her father. "I haven't seen him since he was a baby."
"Bob? Oh, he's just plain boy; awfully nice and obliging and good-hearted and unselfish, but I don't believe he'll ever be President."
"I think I shall like your two cousins," said Kenneth, with an air of conviction. "When are they coming?"
"I shall ask them right away, and I hope they'll soon come. How much longer shall you be in Vernondale?"
"Oh, I think I'm a fixture for the summer. Aunt Locky wants me to spend my whole vacation here, and I don't know of any good reason why I shouldn't."
"I'm very glad; it will be awfully nice to have you here when the twins are, and perhaps somebody else will be here, too. I'm going to ask Nan Allen."
"Who is she?" inquired Mr. Fairfield.
"Oh, papa, don't you remember about her? She is a friend of the Barlows, and lives near them in Philadelphia, and she was visiting them down at Long Island when I was there last summer. She's perfectly lovely. She's a grown-up young lady, compared to Bumble and me—she's about twenty-two, I think—and I know Kenneth will lose his heart to her. He'll have no more use for schoolgirls."
"Probably not," said Kenneth; "but I'm afraid the adorable young lady will have no use for me. She won't if Hepworth's around, and he usually is. He's always cutting me out."
"Nothing of the sort," said Patty staunchly. "Mr. Hepworth is very nice, but he's papa's friend,"
"And whose friend am I?" said young Harper.
"You're everybody's friend," said Patty, smiling at him. "You're just'Our Ken.'"
Miss Nan Allen was delighted to accept an invitation to Boxley Hall, and it was arranged that she and the Barlow twins should spend August there.
"A month is quite a long visit, Pattikins," said her father.
"Yes, but you see, papa, I stayed there three months. Now, if three of them stay here one month, it will be the same proportion. And, besides, I like them, and I want them to stay a good while. I shan't get tired of them."
"I don't believe you will, but you may get tired of the care of housekeeping, with guests for so long a time. But if you do, I shall pick up the whole tribe of you and bundle off for a trip of some sort."
"Oh, papa, I wish you would do that. I'd be perfectly delighted. I'll do my best to get tired, just so you'll take us."
"But if I remember your reports of your Barlow cousins, it seems to me they would not make the most desirable travelling companions. Aren't they the ones who were so helter-skelter, never were ready on time, never knew where things were, and, in fact, had never learned the meaning of the phrase 'Law and order'?"
"Yes, they're the ones, and truly they are something dreadful. Don't you remember they had a party and forgot to send out the invitations? And the first night I reached there, when I went to visit them, they forgot to have any bed in my room."
"Yes, I thought I remembered your writing to me about some such doings; and do you think you can enjoy a month with such visitors as that?"
"Oh, yes, papa, because they won't upsetmyhouse; and, really, they're the dearest people. Oh, I'm awfully fond of Bob and Bumble I And Nan Allen is lovely. Nobody can help liking her. She's not so helter-skelter as the others, but down at the Hurly-Burly nobody could help losing their things. Why, I even grew careless myself."
"Well, have your company, child, and I'll do all I can to make it pleasant for you and for them."
"I know you will, you dear old pearl of a father. Sometimes I think you enjoy my company as much as I do myself, but I suppose you don't really. I suppose you entertain the young people and pretend to enjoy it just to make me happy."
"I am happy, dear, in anything that makes you happy; though sixteen is not exactly an age contemporary with my own. But I enjoy having Hepworth down, and I like young Harper a great deal. Then, of course, I have my little friends, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, to play with—so I am not entirely dependent on the kindergarten."
The Barlow twins and Nan Allen were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon at four o'clock, and everything at Boxley Hall was in readiness for the arrival of the guests.
"Not that it's worth while to have everything in such spick-and-span order," said Patty to herself, "for the Barlows won't appreciate it, and what's more they'll turn everything inside out and upside down before they've been in the house an hour."
But, notwithstanding her conviction, she made her preparations as carefully as if for the most fastidious visitors and viewed the result with great satisfaction after it was finished.
She went down in the carriage to meet the train, delighted at the thought of seeing again her Barlow cousins, of whom she was really very fond.
"I wish Aunt Grace and Uncle Ted were coming, too," she said to herself; "but I suppose I couldn't take care of so many people at once. It would be like running a hotel."
The train had not arrived when they reached the station, so, telling the coachman to wait, Patty left the carriage and walked up and down the station platform.
"Hello, Patty, haven't your cousins come yet?"
"Why, Kenneth, is that you? No, they haven't come; I think the train must be late."
"Yes, it is a little, but there it is now, just coming into sight around the curve. May I stay and meet them? Or would you rather fall on their necks alone?"
"Oh, stay, I'd be glad to have you; but you'll have to walk back, there's no room in the carriage for you."
"Oh, that's all right. I have my wheel, thank you."
The train stopped, and a number of passengers alighted. But as the train went on and the small crowd dispersed, Patty remarked in a most exasperated tone:
"Well, they didn't come on that train. I just knew they wouldn't. They are the most aggravating people! Now, nobody knows whether they were on that train and didn't know enough to get off, or whether they missed it at the New York end. What time is the next train?"
"I'm not sure," said Kenneth; "let's go in the station and find out."
The next train was due at 4.30, but the expected guests did not arrive on that either.
"There's no use in getting annoyed," said Patty, laughing, "for it's really nothing more nor less than I expected. The Barlows never catch the train they intend to take."
"And Miss Allen? Is she the same kind of an 'Old Reliable'?"
"No, Nan is different; and I believe that, left to herself, she'd be on time, though probably not ahead of time. But I've never seen her except with the Barlows, and when she was down at the Hurly-Burly she was just about as uncertain as the rest of them."
"Is the Hurly-Burly the Barlow homestead?"
"Well, it's their summer home, and it's really a lovely place. But its name just expresses it. I spent three months there last summer, and I had an awfully good time, but no one ever knew what was going to happen next or when it would come off. But everybody was so good-natured that they didn't mind a bit. Well, I suppose we may as well drive back home. There's no telling when these people will come. Very likely not until to-morrow."
Just then a small messenger boy came up to Patty and handed her a telegram.
"Just as I thought!" exclaimed Patty. "They've done some crazy thing."
Opening the yellow envelope, she read:
"Took wrong train. Carried through to Philadelphia. Back this evening. BOB."
"Well, then, they can't get here until that nine-o'clock train comes in," said Kenneth, "so there's no use in your waiting any longer now."
"No, I suppose not," said Patty; "I'm awfully disappointed. I wish they had come."
An east-bound train had just come into the station, and Patty and Kenneth stood idly watching it, when suddenly Patty exclaimed:
"There they are now! Did you ever know such ridiculous people?"
"We didn't have to go to Philadelphia after all," explained Bob, after greetings had been exchanged. "We found we could get off at New Brunswick and come back from there."
"Why didn't you find out that before telegraphing?" laughed Patty.
"Never once thought of it," said Bob, "You know the Barlows are not noted for ingenuity."
"Well, they're noted for better things than that," said Patty, as she affectionately squeezed Bumble's plump arm.
"We wouldn't have thought of it at all," said honest Bob, "if it hadn't been for Nan. She suggested it."
"Well, I was sent along with instructions to look after you two rattle-pated youngsters," said Nan, "and so I had to do something to live up to my privileges; and now, Bob, you look after the luggage, will you?"
"Let me help," said Kenneth. "Where are your checks, Miss Allen?"
"Here are the checks for the trunks, and there are three suit-cases; the one that hasn't any name on is mine, and you tell it by the fact that it has an extra handle on the end. I'm very proud of that handle; I had it put on by special order, and it's so convenient, and it is identification besides. I didn't want my name painted on. I think it spoils a brand-new suit-case to have letters all over it."
"We'll find them all right; come on, Barlow," said Kenneth, and the two young men started off.
They returned in a few moments with the three suit-cases, Bob bringing his own and his sister's, while Kenneth Harper carefully carried the immaculate leather case with the handle on the end. These were deposited in the Fairfield carriage. Patty and her guests were also tucked in, and they started for the house, while Kenneth followed on his wheel.
"Come over to-night," Patty called back to him, as they left him behind; and though his answer was lost in the distance, she had little doubt as to its tenor.
"What a nice young fellow!" said Nan. "Who is he?"
"He's the nephew of our next-door neighbour," said Patty; "and he's spending his vacation with his aunt."
"He's a jolly all-round chap," said Bob.
"Yes, he's just that," said Patty. "I thought you'd like him. You'll like all the young people here. They're an awfully nice crowd."
"I'm so glad to seeyouagain," said Bumble, "I don't care whether I like the other young people or not. And I want to see Uncle Fred, too. I haven't seen him for years and years."
"Oh, he's one of the young people," said Patty, laughing; "he goes 'most everywhere with us. I tell him he's more of a boy than Ken."
As they drove up to the house, Bumble exclaimed with delight at the beautiful flowers and the well-kept appearance of the whole place.
"What a lovely home!" she cried. "I don't see how you ever put up with our tumble-down old place, Patty."
"Nonsense!" said Patty. "I had the time of my life down at theHurly-Burly last summer."
"Well, we're going to have the time of our life at Boxley Hall this summer, I feel sure of that," said Bob, as he sprang out of the carriage and then helped the others out.
"I hope you will," said Patty. "You are very welcome to Boxley Hall, and I want you just to look upon it as your home and conduct yourselves accordingly."
"Nan can do that," said Bumble, "but I'm afraid, if Bob and I did it, your beautiful home would soon lose its present spick-and-span effect."
"All right, let it lose," said Patty. "We'll have a good time anyhow. And now," she went on, as she took the guests to their rooms, "there'll be just about an hour before dinner time but if you get ready before that come down. You'll probably find me on the front veranda, if I'm not in the kitchen."
Bob was the first one to reappear, and he found Patty and her father chatting on the front veranda.
"How do you do, Uncle Fred?" he said. "You may know my name, but I doubt if you remember my features."
"Hello, Bob, my boy," said Mr. Fairfield, cordially grasping the hand held out to him. "As I last saw you with features of infantile vacancy, I am glad to start fresh and make your acquaintance all over again."
"Thank you, sir," said Bob, as he seated himself on the veranda railing. "I didn't know you as an infant, but I dare say you were a very attractive one."
"I think I was," said Mr. Fairfield; "at least I remember hearing my mother say so, and surely she ought to know."
Just then Bumble came out on the porch with her hair-ribbon in her hand.
"Please tie this for me, Patty," she said. "I cannot manage it myself, and get it on quick before Uncle Fred sees me."
"But I am so glad to see you, my dear Bumble," said Mr. Fairfield, "that even that piece of pretty blue ribbon can't make me any gladder."
Bumble smiled back at him in her winning way, and Patty tied her cousin's hair-ribbon with a decided feeling of relief that in all other respects Bumble's costume was tidy and complete.
"Where's Nan?" she inquired; "isn't she ready yet?"
"Why, it's the funniest thing," said Bumble, "I tapped at her door as I came by, but she told me to go on and not wait for her, she would come down in a few minutes."
Just as Pansy appeared to announce dinner, Nan did come down, and Patty stared at her in amazement. Bob whistled, and Bumble exclaimed:
"Well, for goodness gracious sakes! What are you up to now?"
For Nan, instead of wearing the pretty gown which Bumble knew she had brought in her suitcase, was garbed in the complete costume of a trained nurse. A white piqué skirt and linen shirt-waist of immaculate and starched whiteness, an apron with regulation shoulder-straps, and a cap that betokened a graduate of St. Luke's Hospital, formed her surprising, but not at all unbecoming, outfit.
Nan's roguish face looked very demure under the white cap, and she smiled pleasantly when Patty at last recovered her wits sufficiently to introduce her father.
"Nan," she said, "if this is really you, let me present my father; and, papa, this is supposed to be Miss Nan Allen, but I never saw her look like this before."
"I am very glad to meet you, Miss Allen," said Mr. Fairfield, "and though we are all apparently very well at present, one can never tell how soon there may be need of your professional services."
"I hope not very soon," said Nan, laughing; "for my professional knowledge is scarcely sufficient to enable me to adjust this costume properly."
"It seems to be on all right," said Patty, looking at it critically; "but where in the world did you get it? And what have you got it on for? We're not going to a masquerade."
"I put it on," said Nan, "because I couldn't help myself. I wanted to change my travelling gown, and when I opened my suit-case this is all there was in it, except some combs and brushes and bottles."
"Whew!" said Bob. "When I picked up that suit-case I wasn't quite sure I had the right one. You know I went back for it after we left the train at New Brunswick, and you said it was the only one in the world with a handle on the end."
"I thought it was," said Nan, "but it seems somebody else was clever enough to have an end-handle too, and she was a trained nurse, apparently."
"Many of the new suit-cases have handles on the end," said Mr. Fairfield, "though not common as yet I have seen a number of them. But just imagine how the nurse feels who is obliged to wear your dinner gown instead of her uniform."
"I hope she won't spoil it," exclaimed Bumble. "It was that lovely light blue thing, one of the prettiest frocks you own."
"I can imagine her now," said Bob: "she is probably bathing the brow of a sleepless patient, and the lace ruffles and turquoise bugles are helping along a lot. In fact, I think she's looking rather nice going around a sick-room in that blue bombazine."
"It isn't bombazine, Bob," said his sister; "it's beautiful, lovely light-blue chiffon."
"Well, beautiful, lovely light-blue chiffon, then; but anyway, I'm sure the nurse is glad of a chance to wear it instead of her own plain clothes."
"But her own plain clothes are not at all unpicturesque, and are very becoming to Miss Allen," said Mr. Fairfield. "But haven't your trunks come?" he added, as they all went out to dinner.
"No," said Bob; "Mr. Harper and I investigated the baggage-room, but they weren't there."
"Oh, call him Kenneth," said Patty. "You boys are too young for such formality."
"I may be," said Bob, "but he isn't. He's a college man."
"He's a college boy," said Patty; "he's only nineteen, and you're sixteen yourself."
"Going on seventeen," said Bob proudly, "and so is Bumble."
"Twins often are the same age," observed Mr. Fairfield, "and after a few years, Bob, you'll have to be careful how you announce your own age, because it will reveal your sister's."
"Pooh! I don't care," said Bumble. "I'd just as lieve people would know how old I am. Nan is twenty-two, and she doesn't care who knows it."
"You look about fifty in those ridiculous clothes," said Patty.
"Do I?" said Nan, quite unconcernedly. "I don't mind that a bit, but I don't think I can keep them at this stage of whiteness for many days. Can anything be done to coax our trunks this way?"
"We might do some telephoning after dinner," said Mr. Fairfield. "What is the situation up to the present time?"
"Why, you see it was this way," said Bumble. "When the carriage came to take us to the station, the trunks weren't quite ready, and mamma said for us to go on and she'd finish packing them and send them down in time to get that train or the next."
"And did they come for that train?"
"No, they didn't, and so, of course, they must have been sent on the next one; but even so, they ought to be here now, because, you know, we went on through and came back."
"But how did you get your checks if your trunks weren't put on the train?"
"Oh, the baggageman knows us," explained Bob, "and he gave us our checks and kept the duplicates to put on our trunks when they came down to the station. He often does that."
"Yes," said Bumble, "we've never had our trunks ready yet when the man came for them."
"Nan's was ready," put in Bob, who was a great stickler for justice, "but, of course, hers couldn't go till ours did. Oh, I guess they'll turn up all right."
They did turn up all right twenty-four hours later, but the exchange of suit-cases was not so easily effected.
However, after more or less correspondence between Nan and the nurse who owned the uniform, the transfer was finally made, and Nan recovered her pretty blue gown, which certainly bore no evidence of having been worn in a sickroom.
"But I bet she wore it, all the same," said Bob. "She probably neglected her patient and went to a party that night just because she had the frock."