CHAPTER XIXTHEMES
On Friday afternoons the girls of the Oliphant school were required to read original papers which they had written through the week, and which were technically known as “Themes.”
These Themes were Patty’s special delight. Her more prosaic lessons she learned from a sense of duty, and also because of her ambition to achieve the prize which was to be given at Christmas to the pupil with the best general average of marks.
Patty knew she stood high on the list, but Clementine, Adelaide, Hilda, and even Lorraine were also far above most of the other pupils.
The rivalry was a good-natured and generous one. Elise stood no chance for the prize, as she had entered school a fortnight later than the others. Her sympathies were entirely with Patty, and she strongly hoped that she would win the prize.
The markings of the Themes counted for a great deal, and the uniform excellence of Patty’s essays kept her average up in spite of her occasional low marks in mathematics, a study which she detested.
It was no trouble for Patty to write imaginative compositions. Her fertile fancy and her sense of humour provided ample material, and her natural gift of expression made it easy for her to write excellent Themes.
One Wednesday afternoon in November she sat down to write her paper for Friday.
“Give me a subject, Grandma,” she said gaily; “I want to get my Theme done in a jiffy to-day.”
Grandma Elliott looked at the pretty girl who sat at her desk with her pen held above her paper. Patty’s sunshiny face, in its frame of curling gold hair, was an ideal vision of youth and happiness.
“Why don’t you write on the ‘Spirit of Happiness?’ ” said Grandma, “and then you can put yourself right into your work.”
“I’ll do it!” cried Patty; “Iamhappy, and I might as well tell it to the world at large.”
She dashed into her subject, and scribbled rapidly for some time.
“There!” she said, as she finished the last page, “I do believe, Grandma, that’s the best Theme I’ve written; and if you want to read it, you may. I’m much obliged to you for suggesting the subject.”
Grandma read the merry little composition, and quite agreed that it was among the best of Patty’s efforts at literature.
“Now that’s off my mind, for this week,” she said; “I do like to get it done, and then I can frisk about with a clear conscience. Now I’m going to run up to Adelaide’s for a minute, and see what she’s doing.”
Patty ran upstairs to the next floor of The Wilberforce, and rang the bell of the Harts’ apartment.
She found Adelaide also busy at work on her Theme.
“Oh, then I won’t disturb you,” said Patty; “I’ll go away until you get the old thing done, and then you come down and see me.”
“I’ll never get it done,” said Adelaide, disconsolately; “I can’t dash things off in a minute like you do; I have to grub over them, and then they’re no good. I wish you’d stay and help me.”
“All right, I will. I won’t help you enough to make it wrong, you know; suppose I just give you a subject, and a sort of an outline of the points, and then you write it all yourself.”
“Do,” cried Adelaide, eagerly; “what a comfort you are, Patty!”
Easily Patty detailed the foundation of a theme, and then while Adelaide was writing, she left her to herself and went in search of the rest of the family. She made a new bonnet for Jeannette’s doll, and listened to Editha’s new song. Then she helped Mrs. Hart arrange some flowers which had just arrived, and by that time Adelaide’s work was finished, and the two girls went off by themselves for a cosey chat.
“What do you think I heard to-day?” began Adelaide; “Flossy Fisher told me this afternoon when we were in the coat-room, getting our wraps, and I couldn’t tell you on the way home from school because Lorraine was with us. But it’s the most surprising thing I ever heard.”
“Well, what is it? Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”
“Why, it’s just this: Flossy Fisher overheard Miss Oliphant say——”
“Oh, if Flossy was eavesdropping I don’t want to hear what she heard.”
“No, she wasn’t eavesdropping; honest, she wasn’t, Patty. But she was just passing through the hall, and she couldn’t help hearing Miss Oliphant say it to Miss Fenton. Miss Oliphant had just come out of her private study, where she had been making up the averages. And she said to Miss Fenton that you and Lorraine were exactly even.”
“What?Lorraine!”
“Yes; I told you it was surprising. But you know Lorraine hasn’t missed a day, and she generally has her lessons perfect. She’s like me; her greatest trouble is with her Themes. But even they have been pretty good lately, and so, you see, her average has crawled up. So I wanted to tell you as soon as I could, because you must work harder and get ahead of Lorraine, somehow. Of course we all want you to have the prize, but unless you’re careful Lorraine will get it.”
“Iwouldlike to get the general prize,” said Patty, “but I’d like for Lorraine to get it, too. If we’re just even, perhaps Miss Oliphant will divide it between us.”
“She can’t; it’s always a book; a great big gilt-edged affair, of poems, or something like that.”
“It isn’t the book I care for, it’s the honor. Papa would be so pleased if I won the general prize, and so would Grandma, and so would all my friends—and so would I.”
“So would we all of us; and youmustwin it. You can do it easily enough, now that you know you have to spur up a little to get ahead of Lorraine. And of course it isn’t likely that you two will stay just even. If you don’t get ahead of Lorraine, she’ll probably get ahead of you. Only your marks happen to be even just now.”
“I hope they stay even till Christmas, for though I want the prize, I don’t want to take it away from Lorraine.”
“Don’t be silly; you’re not taking it away from her any more than you are from the rest of us.”
“I suppose not; but it seems so, when our marks are just even.”
After Patty went home she thought the matter over seriously. It seemed to her that she had so much happiness in her life, and Lorraine had so little, that Lorraine ought to have the prize for that reason. “If I miss a lesson or two,” thought Patty, “that will throw her marks ahead, for I’m sure she won’t miss any. But even then, I’m afraid I’ll get ahead of her on my Themes. I wonder if it would be right for me to lose some marks on purpose that she may get the prize. I don’t know, I’m sure. And I hate to ask papa anything like this, for it sounds so silly, and so as if I thought myself ‘noble,’ likeSentimental Tommy. I do hate to pose as a martyr. And anyway it isn’t that sort of a spirit at all. It’s only just a fair question of proportion. I have so much to make me happy, and Lorraine has so little, that she really ought to have the prize. She’s trying awfully hard to be cheery and pleasant, and to get the general prize would help her along a lot. So I think it’s right for me to manage to have her get it, if I can do it without actual deceit.”
The more Patty thought it over, the more she felt herself justified in purposely losing the prize. It seemed to be a question entirely between Lorraine and herself. She reasoned that if she didn’t win the prize, it must necessarily go to Lorraine, and though she felt sorry to give up her hope of it, yet she knew she would be more truly pleased for Lorraine to have it. Of course she would never tell anybody the truth of the matter, for that would look like a parade of her unselfishness, and Patty was honestly single-minded in her intent.
But as she thought it over further, she realised that it would take a continuous and systematic missing of lessons to be sure of reducing her average sufficiently. This was not a pleasant outlook, and a shorter way to the same end immediately suggested itself.
If she were marked a total failure on her Theme, just for once, it would set back her record farther than many missed lessons. Now, obviously the only way to get a total failure for a Theme was not to have any. For without undue egotism, Patty knew well that her Themes were better than the other girls’, and of course were marked accordingly. Purposely to write a poor Theme would be silly, and so the only thing to do would be to have no Theme. To accomplish this, it would be necessary to stay away from school some Friday. For to be there without a Theme would be unprecedented and inexplicable. And, too, an absence of a whole day would mean no marks for the day in any lesson, and thus the end desired would surely be attained.
As Patty’s Theme on the “Spirit of Happiness” was beyond all doubt the best one she had ever written, she concluded that that Friday was the day to put her plan in operation.
So on Thursday evening she casually asked her father if she might not stay at home from school the next day.
“Why, are you ill, child?” said Mr. Fairfield, in sudden alarm at this most unusual request.
“No, papa, I’m perfectly well; but I just want you, as a special favour, to let me stay home to-morrow. And another part of the favour is that neither you nor Grandma shall ask why.”
“Why, of course, my dear, if you really want to stay home to-morrow you may. And I promise you that Grandma and myself will never seek to fathom the deep and dark mystery of it all.”
“Good for you, papa, you’re a trump! Perhaps some time I’ll tell you all about it, and perhaps I won’t.”
So on Friday Patty stayed at home.
She busied herself with numberless little occupations, but somehow her plan, now that it was in operation, did not seem quite so attractive as it had done before. She wondered whether, after all, it wasn’t quixotic and ridiculous. But anyway, the deed was done now, and she must abide by it. Patty never cried over spilt milk, and having committed herself to her course, she dismissed all doubts from her mind. To strengthen her purpose she took her Theme from her desk and read it over. Itwasgood; and without a doubt she would have been marked very high for it. Her spirits rose as she realised that even though Lorraine’s Theme might not be marked as high, yet whatever its marking, Lorraine would stand that much ahead in her average.
Grandma, though mystified at Patty’s remaining at home, said nothing whatever on the subject, and the morning passed pleasantly away. Grandma asked Patty if she would like to go out with her after luncheon and do a little shopping, and Patty readily acquiesced.
After they were seated at the luncheon table Patty looked across the room to where the Hamiltons usually sat, and there, to her amazement, sat Mrs. Hamilton and Lorraine.
Patty’s face showed such a bewildered expression that Grandma turned to follow her glance; “Why,” she exclaimed, “Lorraine has also stayed home from school to-day. Did you know she was going to?”
“I certainly didnot,” said Patty emphatically, and then the funny side of the situation struck her and she began to laugh.
At the same time, Lorraine caught sight of Patty, and she, too, looked utterly blank with consternation and dismay, and then she, too, laughed.
After luncheon Patty took possession of Lorraine and carried her up to her own room.
“What in the world are you doing at home to-day?” she demanded.
“First, what areyoudoing at home to-day?” responded Lorraine.
Had it not been for Lorraine’s peculiar expression, and quizzical looks, Patty might have thought she had stayed at home for reasons in no way connected with the general prize. But the girl’s embarrassment and flustered air made Patty wonder if they weren’t both actuated by the same motive.
“Look here, Lorraine Hamilton,” she said, going straight to the point; “did you hear what Flossy Fisher overheard Miss Oliphant say?”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Lorraine, temporising.
“You know very well what I mean.Didyou?”
“Why, Flossy told me that she heard Miss Oliphant say that you and I were even in our markings. But what of that?”
“And you stayed home to-day,” said Patty, grabbing Lorraine by the shoulders, and looking her straight in the eyes, “you stayed home to-day so that I might get ahead of you!”
Lorraine’s eyes opened wider. A sudden thought had struck her.
“If you suspect that,” she said, “it’s just because you’re doing the same thing yourself! Otherwise you never would have thought of it. Patty Fairfield,youstayed home to-day so thatImight get ahead of you!”
The two girls read confession in each other’s eyes, and then they dropped into two chairs and laughed and laughed.
Grandma Elliott, in the next room, heard the shrieks of hilarity, and concluded that some girlish secret was the reason of Patty’s unusual absence from school.
“The idea!” exclaimed Lorraine, as the beauty of Patty’s sacrifice dawned upon her; “howcouldyou do such a thing?”
“The idea!” cried Patty, touched by her sudden realisation of Lorraine’s loyalty to herself, “how couldyoudo such a thing?”
CHAPTER XXTWO CONFIDENTIAL INTERVIEWS
When the two girls realised that they had done identically the same thing, and each had chosen precisely the same way to advance the other’s interests, it will be hard to say which was more pleased. Patty was deeply touched at this proof of Lorraine’s devotion, for she had no idea the girl was so fond of her, and, too, she had not thought Lorraine capable of this particular way of showing affection.
Lorraine, on the other hand, was almost overcome at the thought of the merry, popular Patty caring enough for her to want her to win the prize.
The result was that a strong and real friendship was cemented between the two girls, and Lorraine’s new realisation of what a friendship with Patty stood for went far toward helping her to acquire an habitual good-humour. Indeed, so glad and gay did Lorraine become over the whole affair, that Patty privately concluded she was quite merry enough for a Grig, and determined to have her made a member of the club as soon as possible.
Of course the girls never told of this episode, for each hesitated to exploit her own share in the matter, and the story could not be told by halves.
And so the teachers and the schoolgirls were not able to discover why the two star pupils remained away from school, and so lost their marks for one whole day.
But the fact that Patty and Lorraine had frustrated each other’s plan left their average of marks still even. Although they might fluctuate a little from day to day, yet the two always knew their lessons, and though Patty’s Themes were usually marked higher than Lorraine’s, that was offset by Lorraine’s greater proficiency in mathematics.
Christmas drew nearer, and somehow the girls became aware that Lorraine and Patty were evenly matched for the general prize, and that each was anxious for the other to win it. Not that they told this in so many words, but their fellow-pupils discovered it, and the excitement about it was considerable.
Patty was a favourite in the school, but Lorraine, by the improved disposition she was now showing, had also won many friends.
She had become a member of the Grigs. Elise had by no means been dismissed to make room for her, but had been put in as a ninth member. The other Grigs were all most friendly to her, and honestly tried to show their appreciation of the new Lorraine. Some of them even went so far as to hope that she would win the prize, and that for the very same reason that influenced Patty.
So, sympathy with the two girls was pretty fairly divided, though had it come to a vote, probably the majority would have been in Patty’s favour.
As it came nearer to Christmas the race was most exciting. It seemed now that the two girls aimed only to keep even. It might have been coincidence, but if Lorraine missed in one lesson, Patty was pretty sure to miss in another; and if Patty’s Theme was a little less excellent than usual, somehow Lorraine’s mathematics fell off a trifle.
But Patty had inherited what her father sometimes called the Fairfield stubbornness. Not content with an even record, she determined that Lorraine’s average should finally be found ahead of hers.
So, a few days before the final summing up she went to Miss Oliphant’s study and asked for a private interview.
The girls rarely saw the principal of the school in a personal way, as her intercourse with them was confined almost entirely to addresses from the platform.
Patty was a little daunted when she found herself in the austere presence of Miss Oliphant, for she realised only too well that the request she was about to make was, to say the least, unconventional.
“Good-afternoon, Miss Fairfield,” said Miss Oliphant, not unkindly, but in an impersonal tone that did not invite confidential conversation. “What can I do for you?”
“Why, you see, Miss Oliphant,” said Patty, a little uncertain how to begin, “Lorraine Hamilton and I have just the same number of marks on our record. So, as one of us must take the general prize, I just wanted to ask you if you couldn’t arrange it so that Lorraine will get it. I don’t mean to do anything wrong or unfair,” she added, hastily, as Miss Oliphant’s expression of amazement seemed to rebuke her. “I only mean that if there should be any doubt in marking any of our lessons, that the benefit of the doubt might be given to Lorraine.”
“Do I understand,” said Miss Oliphant, severely, “that you wish Miss Hamilton to be marked higher than she deserves?”
Patty thought this remark a little unjust, in consequence of which her indignation was aroused, and she spoke decidedly, though very courteously.
“No, Miss Oliphant, I do not mean that; but I know that sometimes it is difficult for a teacher to feel quite certain of the exact mark for a lesson or a Theme; and in such cases I would be glad if Lorraine might have all that can conscientiously be given to her.”
“And yourself?”
“Oh, Miss Oliphant,” said Patty, quite forgetting her awe of the stern principal in her eagerness, “I know that what I’m saying sounds ridiculous; but youdoknow—you must know—what I mean! Can’t you somehow fix it that Lorraine shall have a little higher average than I, without committing a State’s Prison offence?”
Miss Oliphant unbent in spite of herself.
“Why do you want to do this, my child?” she asked, more gently than she had spoken before.
“Why because—because—I hardly know how to explain it, Miss Oliphant; but you know Lorraine doesn’t have the best times in the world. And she isn’t very popular with the girls—at least she didn’t use to be; she’s getting more so now—and it will make her so happy to win the general prize. I’m sure you understand, Miss Oliphant, that I don’t mean to have her marked wrongfully. But just a little favouring would throw the balance over to her side.”
Somehow Miss Oliphant seemed more amused than the occasion called for. Patty had been prepared to find her irate, indignant, or even scornful. But positively there was a smile in her eyes which Patty had never seen there before, and which surprised her.
However, Miss Oliphant did not explain her attitude, and only said to Patty: “You are right, Miss Fairfield; thereareoccasions where it is difficult to decide upon the exact marking for a lesson. I’m willing to assure you that in such cases Miss Hamilton’s record shall be treated with all the leniency possible, and your own with a stricter severity.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Oliphant,” said Patty, impulsively grasping the principal’s hand in both her own. “That is just what I want, and you have expressed it exactly right. Thank you very much. And of course—this is a confidential conversation?”
“Inviolably so,” answered Miss Oliphant, and again the amused look came into her eyes.
Patty left the room, feeling that at last she had conquered. If Miss Oliphant did as she had promised—and Patty felt sure she would—Lorraine’s record must stand the highest, and no one could ever guess that Patty had done anything toward bringing it about.
A day or two later Miss Oliphant received a visit from Lorraine.
Partly from the embarrassed attitude of her caller, and partly because Miss Oliphant’s experience had taught her to put two and two together rather successfully, she intuitively felt that Lorraine had come on an errand similar to Patty’s.
And this was the truth. But as Lorraine was of a less ingenuous nature than Patty, and had not as good reasons for confidence in the sympathy of her fellow-beings, she was much more embarrassed than Patty had been, and found it more difficult to make her requests known.
“Miss Oliphant,” she said, “you know Patty Fairfield and I are very close in competition for the general prize; and I do hope she will get it. She deserves it far more than I do.”
“Why?” said Miss Oliphant, with sudden directness.
“Because—because—oh, I don’t know,” stammered poor Lorraine; “because she’s so splendid and so clever, and she always knows her lessons, and she writes such beautiful Themes, and—and I love her so!”
“Then I gather,” said Miss Oliphant, “that you wish the general prize to be awarded to Miss Fairfield because of your affection for her, and not because she has justly won it.”
“Oh no, Miss Oliphant, not that,” said Lorraine, in genuine distress at her inability to make herself understood. “But don’t you see, we’re even now, and if you could just give me a few less marks, and Patty a few more, it would be all right, and I don’t think that would be injustice, and then she’d have the prize.”
Miss Oliphant looked decidedly amused now. The smile in her eyes even showed itself a little on her rarely-smiling lips.
“Your sentiments toward your friend do you great credit, Miss Hamilton,” she said, “but I cannot say that I entirely approve of the means you propose to use. Do you think it right to mark pupils incorrectly?”
“Oh no, not as a general thing, Miss Oliphant. But I thought you wouldn’t mind just a little scanting of my record. No one need ever know.”
“I can’t promise exactly what you ask, Miss Hamilton; but I’m willing to say that in so far as it can be done within the most liberal interpretation of justice, it shall be.”
“Thank you, Miss Oliphant; good-afternoon,” and Lorraine slid away from the awe-inspiring presence, feeling as if she were being carried off wounded after a battle. But she couldn’t help thinking that it had been a victorious battle, for Miss Oliphant’s evident amusement seemed to imply an acquiescence in the plan.
The last day of the school term was nearly a week before Christmas. The closing exercises were of a somewhat elaborate nature and were held in the large assembly-room. The parents of the pupils were invited, and the audience was a large one.
Patty had told her father that she did not expect the general prize, but was confident that Lorraine would get it. Mr. Fairfield had teased her for her lack of ambition in not winning it herself, but Patty had only smiled, and said she had never professed to be a prize scholar, as her talents lay in other directions.
Lorraine had told her mother that she had no expectation of taking the general prize, but strongly believed that Patty Fairfield would win it; and Mrs. Hamilton had responded that if Lorraine couldn’t have it, she certainly hoped it would be given to Patty.
Grandma Elliott and Mrs. Hamilton attended the exercises at the school, and were almost as excited as the girls themselves over the question of the prize.
After the programme, which was not a long one, the prizes were awarded.
Various small honorariums were given for distinctive studies, and, as everybody had expected, Patty received the one for Themes, and Lorraine for Mathematics.
But the interest reached its height when Miss Oliphant took from the table a large and elaborately bound volume of poems, which, she announced, was the general prize, to be awarded to the pupil who had the highest general average of marks in all departments.
“It gives me pleasure,” she said, in her dignified way, “to bestow this upon Miss Hilda Henderson.”
As Patty told her father afterwards, for a moment you could have heard a pin drop, and then most of the schoolgirls, especially the Grigs, broke into an irrepressible, though stifled, giggle.
“Miss Henderson,” Miss Oliphant went on, “has by far the highest record, and has had for the past few weeks. The next highest records are held by Miss Fairfield and Miss Hamilton, but they are many points below that of Miss Henderson’s, though all show good work.”
As Miss Oliphant made these remarks she looked straight at Lorraine and Patty, and though her grave dignity was literally unsmiling, yet that same amused look was in her eyes, and both girls understood that their solicitude for each other’s success had been entirely unnecessary.
At Miss Oliphant’s further disclosures the Grigs became more and more impressed with the humorous side of the affair, and laughed until it was necessary to call them to order.
“Were you ever so surprised in all your life?” cried Clementine, as they all met in the coat-room. “Hilda, you sly-boots, I believe you knew you were ahead all the time.”
“Honestly, I didn’t,” avowed Hilda; “I had no idea where my record stood. Flossy said Patty and Lorraine were at the top, so I supposed they were.”
“I see it all,” said Patty; “Flossy overheard that Lorraine and I were even, and we just took it for granted that we were the highest. Nobody said we were. So much for being conceited.”
Patty and Lorraine never intended to tell each other of their interviews with Miss Oliphant. But owing to the quizzical look on the principal’s face when she made her remarks from the platform, the girls suspected each other.
“Had you said a word to Miss Oliphant about this affair?” said Patty to Lorraine, as they walked home.
“Had you?” retorted Lorraine.
“Come on, now,” said Patty, “own up; what did you ask her to do?”
“Will you confess if I do?”
“Yes; now that it’s all over, we may as well tell all there is to tell.”
So the girls told each other of their interviews, and compared notes regarding Miss Oliphant’s attitude on those memorable occasions.
“And to think,” exclaimed Patty, “she knew Hilda was ’way ahead of us all the time, and never told us! I don’t wonder she was amused.”
“Well,” said Lorraine, “I’m glad there was one thing in the world thatcouldamuse her. I never saw her come so near smiling before.”
“Nor I,” said Patty.
CHAPTER XXITHE CINDERELLA PARTY
On Christmas Eve Clementine was to give a party. It was to be of the kind known as a “Cinderella party,” that is, the guests were to depart exactly at twelve o’clock.
With the exception of the hops at the seashore hotel, Patty had never been to a regular evening party, and she looked forward to the event with great delight.
Ruth Fleming had come down from Boston to spend Christmas week with Patty, so of course she, too, was invited to the party.
Ruth’s visit had come about in this way: Patty had thought she would ask Marian to visit her on Christmas, but Aunt Alice had insisted that the Fairfields and Grandma Elliott should spend Christmas with them in Vernondale. Then Patty thought of asking Ethelyn St. Clair, but concluded that after all it would be nicer to have Ruth.
“For,” said Patty, to her father, “Ethelyn has lots of good times, while Ruth leads an awfully hum-drum life. To be sure, she’s a hum-drum girl, the very hum-drummiest one I ever saw. But that’s all the more reason to chirk her up, and when I get her here I’ll make her have fun, whether she wants to or not. Besides, I had Ethelyn and Bumble Barlow both to visit me last summer, and I’ve never had Ruth.”
So Ruth came, and arrived only the day before Christmas. She reached The Wilberforce in the morning, and Patty was surprised to see how little change a year had made in the Boston girl. She was just the same mild, placid, unemotional child that she had been when Patty saw her last. Her peculiarly Puritan effect was still evident in her face, her manner and her dress. She wore a plain little frock of a dull brown, with a jacket and hat that were inconspicuously old-fashioned.
In her quiet way she seemed truly glad to see Patty again, and Patty, knowing Ruth’s natural shyness, did all in her power to make her visitor feel at ease.
In this Grandma Elliott helped, for that dear old lady had a knack of rendering people comfortable; and, too, her heart immediately went out to the shy New England girl.
“There’s to be a party to-night,” said Patty, whose mind was full of this all-important subject; “it’s at my friend Clementine Morse’s; and we’re both going, you and I. It’s a Cinderella party, and papa’s going to take us and come for us again at twelve o’clock. Won’t it be fun?”
“But I can’t go to a party,” exclaimed Ruth, in dismay; “I haven’t any party frock to wear.”
“Oh pshaw, yes you have; your best dress is good enough, whatever it is. Where is it? Let’s unpack your things and look at it.”
But Patty was obliged to confess that Ruth had spoken truly. The girl’s best dress was a blue cashmere, neat and well made, and trimmed with silk to match, but Patty knew that among the light and pretty evening dresses of the other girls it would look altogether out of place.
“It isn’t just right, Ruth,” she said frankly; “but we must fix you up somehow. Do you suppose you could wear one of my frocks? I’ve lots of ’em, though of course most of them are not as pretty as the one I’m going to wear myself to-night.”
“Oh, Patty, of course I couldn’t wear your dress. It wouldn’t fit me at all; and besides I don’t care to go to the party, truly I don’t. Please let me stay at home with Mrs. Elliott, and you go without me. I’ll be a great deal happier—honestly I will.”
Patty looked at her guest with a comical smile.
“Ruth,” she said, “I invited you down here to have a good time; and you’ve got to have it, whether you want it or not. So don’t tell me what you’d rather do, but just make up your mind that you’ll do as I say.”
Patty knew Ruth well enough to feel sure that this was the right way to talk to her. Once at the party, she thought Ruth would enjoy herself if she could only overcome her shyness; and Patty had already planned several ways to assist in this.
But first of all, the question of apparel must be settled. Patty had her own ideas on the subject, and after a conversation over the telephone with her father, who was down at his office, Patty announced to Grandma and Ruth that they would all go on a shopping expedition that very morning.
On the way, Patty informed Ruth that they were to buy her a new party frock, and that it was to be a Christmas gift from Patty and her father.
Ruth protested, but Patty paid no heed whatever to her remonstrances, and when the bewildering array of pretty dresses was exhibited Ruth showed almost as much delighted excitement in the selection as Patty herself.
After much discussion and trying on and consultation with Grandma, they at last decided on a simple but very dainty frock of light blue Liberty silk. It had a lace yoke, and was trimmed here and there with bunches of tiny flowers of a slightly darker blue. The effect exactly suited Ruth’s fair hair and grey eyes, and as the excitement of the occasion lent colour to her usually pale cheeks, Patty declared she was a perfect picture in that dress, and there was no use looking any further.
So it was ordered sent home at once, and then the shoppers selected gloves, slippers, hair-ribbons, and all the delightful little accessories of the costume.
Grandma Elliott added an exquisite fan as her Christmas gift to Ruth, and then the trio went home.
After luncheon Patty decreed that Ruth should take a nap, in order to be bright and fresh for the evening; and as Ruth had found it was quite useless to try to combat Patty’s will, she obediently went to her room.
Patty herself was so full of excitement she could not have slept if she had tried. She unpacked Ruth’s things when they were sent home, and laid them out in order for the evening. She flew up to discuss matters with Lorraine, and then paid a flying visit to the Harts. She telephoned to Clementine and to Elise, and finally settled down to chat with Grandma about the coming festivity.
At last dinner was over, and it was time to dress for the great occasion.
Patty’s own frock was all of white; a distracting affair of embroidered muslin and fluffy lace ruffles.
But far more than her own finery, Patty enjoyed dressing Ruth up in her new clothes.
“You look a perfect dream in that blue,” cried Patty as she finished hooking up Ruth’s dress, and whirled her around for inspection.
And indeed a transformation had been wrought.
Patty had curled Ruth’s straight blonde hair, and had tied it with two big blue bows, made of ribbon about twice as wide as Ruth had ever worn before. The new frock was most becoming, and Ruth saw her own self in the mirror with an amazed surprise. She had never thought of possessing the slightest claim to beauty, but she was obliged to admit that on this occasion she had certainly achieved it.
The truth was that Ruth’s perfect complexion and classic features needed an appropriate setting, and this Patty had provided, with a most pleasing result.
Patty herself was delighted with her success. She exhibited Ruth to Mr. Fairfield quite as if she were a doll which she had dressed up for her own benefit. Even Mr. Fairfield was surprised at the change in the demure maiden, and congratulated both girls on their charming appearance.
Then away they went to the party.
Patty gave Ruth orders to the effect that she must, for at least that one evening, make her demeanour correspond to her appearance.
“If you’re quiet as a mouse, and silent as a mummy, you won’t have any fun at all,” she declared; “you must talk and laugh and make yourself jolly, and forget that you’re as shy and bashful as you can be.”
“Don’t scare the poor child out of her wits,” said Mr. Fairfield, laughing at Patty’s vehemence; “you’ll make her more embarrassed than ever.”
“Oh, no, I won’t,” said Patty; “Ruth’s all right if you scold her hard enough beforehand.”
Although Patty’s method might not answer for some dispositions, it was successful in Ruth’s case.
Partly because of Patty’s instructions, and partly because the consciousness of her attractive appearance gave her confidence, Ruth seemed entirely to lay aside her shyness and fear of strangers.
She was demure—as she couldn’t help being—but her painful self-consciousness almost disappeared, and she was bright, happy and responsive.
The young people liked her at once, and, aided by their warmhearted welcome, Ruth responded heartily, and chatted easily and gaily with them all.
It must be admitted that this state of affairs had been largely brought about by Patty’s thoughtfulness. She had spoken to most of the girls, and had asked them to be especially cordial to Ruth and to try their best to put the stranger at her ease. The girls had not only done this, but had given their brothers hints in the matter, and as a consequence Ruth did not lack partners for the dances or the games.
But notwithstanding her plans and her hopes, Patty was amazed to see how far Ruth exceeded all her anticipations. The girl was positively a belle. The admiration and attention she received was such a novel experience that it had the effect of exhilarating her. She smiled and dimpled, her eyes danced with enjoyment. Never forward, or unduly hilarious, she charmed everyone by her demure gaiety.
No one was more delighted than Patty at her friend’s success, and she said to Kenneth:
“I’m so glad Ruth is having such a good time; and yet I’m so surprised, for I never saw her so gay and sparkling before.”
“I’m surprised, too,” said Kenneth, “for from what you told me about her, I imagined her a prim little Puritan maiden.”
“I didn’t intend to misrepresent her,” said Patty; “but it must be the influence of New York City that has changed her; she never was like that in Boston.”
“I think it’s your influence,” said Kenneth, “for you always make everybody happy that you have anything to do with.”
“Oh, pshaw; I didn’t do anything for her except to help her pick out that pretty blue frock and give her a good scolding on the way over here.”
“She doesn’t act as though she had been scolded.”
“That’s the result of the scolding. I ordered her to be gay and glad, and she knew she had to obey me. That’s the way to manage a girl like Ruth.”
Ruth’s successfuldebutin no way detracted from Patty’s popularity. She was always the centre of a merry group, and the boys flocked around her like bees around a blossom. She had more invitations to dance than she could possibly accept, and she enjoyed it all to the fullest extent of her fun-loving nature.
“I thought I’d never get a chance to speak to you,” said Roger Farrington, as he led her away for a dance, “you always have such a crowd around you.”
“Well, you can be part of the crowd,” returned Patty, saucily.
“I don’t want to be part; I want to be the whole crowd.”
“You must have a large opinion of yourself, if you fancy yourself a whole crowd.”
“Well, I never see you anywhere. When you come to see Elise I’m not at home, and when she goes to see you she won’t take me with her. Mayn’t I come by myself some day?”
“Miss Daggett isn’t visiting me now,” said Patty, roguishly.
“Well, Miss Fleming is,” said Roger, teasing in return.
“Sure enough, and I do want to make it pleasant for her. We’re all going to Vernondale for Christmas, but I’d be glad to have you call some afternoon next week. Ruth will stay until after New Year’s Day.”
“I’ll be delighted to come,” said Roger, “and I’ll bring you some plants for your farm.”
They whirled away in the dance, and as Roger was a particularly good dancer, Patty enjoyed it immensely. Dancing was a favourite pastime with her, but she rarely had an opportunity to enjoy it, as Mr. Fairfield did not approve of dancing parties for schoolgirls; so as Patty did not attend a dancing class, her dances were limited to the impromptu ones the girls sometimes had in the gymnasium of the Oliphant school.