Patty at Home

"Oh, I think it would be lovely!" said Patty. "Where can we get the book?"

"I'll send you one to-morrow, and you can see if you like it; and then if you do, you can get more."

"Oh, I'm sure the girls will all like it; and will you come out to see it?"

"Yes, I'd be glad to. I was in it last winter. I was Mercury."

"Oh, can you do trick work on bicycles?"

"Yes, a little," said Kenneth modestly.

"I wish you'd come out and be Mercury in our play."

"Aren't you going ahead rather fast, Patty, child?" said her father.

"Your club hasn't decided to use this play yet."

"I know it, papa, and of course I mean if we do use it; but anyway, I'm president of the club, and somehow, if I want a thing, the rest of the girls generally seem to want it too."

"That's a fine condition of affairs that any president might be glad to bring about. You ought to be a college president."

"Perhaps I shall be some day," said Patty.

The dinner hour flew by all too quickly. Patty greatly enjoyed the sights and sounds of the brilliant, crowded room. She loved the lights and the music, the flowers and the palms, and the throngs of gaily dressed people.

Kenneth Harper enjoyed it too, and thought he had rarely met such attractive people as the Fairfields.

When he took his leave he thanked Mr. Fairfield courteously for his pleasant evening, and promised soon to call upon them at Boxley Hall.

They reached home by a late train, and Patty went up to her pretty bedroom, with her usual happy conviction that she was a very fortunate little girl and had the best father in the world.

CHAPTER XIV

THE NEIGHBOUR AGAIN

Kenneth Harper did send the book, and, as Patty confidently expected, the girls of the club quite agreed with her that it was the best play for them to use.

At a meeting at Marian's, plans were made and parts were chosen. The goddesses were allotted to the members of the club, and the gods were distributed among their brothers and friends.

Guy Morris, being of gigantic mould, was cast for Hercules, and Frank Elliott for Ajax. When Patty told the girls that Kenneth Harper could do trick riding on a bicycle, they unanimously voted to invite him to take part in their entertainment.

It was decided to have the play about the middle of February, and the whole Tea Club grew enthusiastic over the plans for the wonderful performance.

One morning Patty sat in the library studying her part. She was very happy. Of course, Patty always was happy, but this morning she was unusually so. Her housekeeping was going on smoothly; the night before her father had expressed himself as being greatly pleased with the system and order which seemed everywhere noticeable in the house. It was Saturday morning, and she didn't have to go to school.

Moreover, she was very much interested in the play and in her own part in it, and had already planned a most beautiful gown, which the dressmaker, Madame LaFayette, was to make for her.

Patty's part in the play was that of Diana, and her costume was to be a beautiful one of hunter's green cloth with russet leather leggings and a jaunty cap. Being up-to-date, instead of being a huntress she was to represent an agent of the S.P.C.A.

This suited Patty exactly, for she had a horror of killing live things, and very much preferred doing all she could to prevent such slaughter. Moreover, the humour of the thing appealed to her, and the funny effect of the huntress Diana going around distributing S.P.C.A. leaflets, and begging her fellow-Olympians not to shoot, seemed to Patty very humourous and attractive.

This Saturday, then, she had settled down in the library to study her lines all through the long cosey morning, when, to her annoyance, the doorbell rang.

"I hope it's none of the girls," she thought. "I did want this morning to myself."

It wasn't any of the girls, but Pansy announced that a messenger had come from Miss Daggett's, and that Miss Daggett wished Miss Fairfield to return her call at once.

Patty smiled at the unusual message, but groaned at the thought of her interrupted holiday.

However, Miss Daggett was not one to be ignored or lightly set aside, so Patty put on her things and started.

Although Miss Daggett's house was next door to Boxley Hall, yet it was set in the middle of such a large lot, and was so far back from the street, and so surrounded by tall, thick trees, that Patty had never had a really good view of it.

She was surprised, therefore, to find it a very large, old-fashioned stone house, with broad veranda and steps guarded by two stone lions.

Patty rang the bell, and the door was opened very slightly. A small, quaint-looking old coloured man peeped out.

"Go 'way," he said, "go 'way at once! We don't want no tickets."

"I'm not selling tickets," said Patty, half angry and half amused.

"Well, we don't want no shoelacers, nor lead pencils, nor nuffin! You must be selling something."

"I am not selling anything," said Patty. "I came over because Miss Daggett sent for me."

"Laws 'a' massy, child, why didn't you say so before you spoke? Be you Miss Fairfield?"

"Yes," said Patty; "here's my card."

"Oh, never mind the ticket; if so be you's Miss Fairfield, jes' come right in, come right in."

The door was flung open wide and Patty entered a dark, old-fashioned hall. From that she was led into a parlour, so dark that she could scarcely see the outline of a lady on the sofa.

"How do you do, Miss Daggett?" she said, guessing that it was probably her hostess who seemed to be sitting there.

"How do you do?" said Miss Daggett, putting out her hand, without rising.

"I'm quite well, thank you," said Patty, and her eyes having grown a little accustomed to the dark, she grasped the old lady's hand, although, as she told her father afterwards, she was awfully afraid she would tweak her nose by mistake.

"And how are you, Miss Daggett?"

"Not very well, child, not very well, but you won't stay long, will you? I sent for you, yes, I sent for you on an impulse. I thought I'd like to see you, but I'd no sooner sent than I wished I hadn't. But you won't stay long, will you, dearie?"

"No," said Patty, feeling really sorry for the queer old lady. "No, I won't stay long, I'll go very soon; in fact, I'll go just as soon as you tell me to. I'll go now, if you say so."

"Oh, don't be silly. I wouldn't have sent for you if I'd wanted you to go right away again. Sit down, turn your toes out, and answer my questions."

"What are your questions?" said Patty, not wishing to make any rash promises.

"Well, first, are you really keeping that big house over there all alone by yourself?"

"I'm keeping house there, yes, but I'm not all alone by myself. My father's there, and two servants."

"Don't you keep a man?"

"No; a man comes every day to do the hard work, but he doesn't live with us."

"Humph, I suppose you think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"I don't know," said Patty slowly, as if considering; "yes, I think I'm pretty smart in some ways, and in other ways I'm as stupid as an owl."

"Well, you must be pretty smart, because you haven't had to borrow anything over here yet."

"But I wouldn't borrow anything here, anyway, Miss Daggett; you specially asked me not to."

Miss Daggett's old wrinkled face broke into a smile.

"And so you remember that. Well, well, you are a nice little girl; you must have had a good mother, and a good bringing-up."

"My mother died when I was three, and my father brought me up."

"He did, hey? Well, he made a fairly good job of it. Now, I guess you can go; I'm about tired of talking to you."

"Then I will go. But, first, Miss Daggett, let me tell you that I met your nephew the other day."

"Kenneth! For the land's sake! Well, well, sit down again. I don't want you to go yet; tell me all about him. Isn't he a nice boy? Hasn't he fine eyes? And gentlemanly manners? And oh, the lovely ways with him!"

"Yes, Miss Daggett, he is indeed a nice boy; my father and I both think so. His eyes and his manners are fine. He says he wants to come out to see you soon."

"Bless his heart, I hope he'll come! I do hope he'll come."

"Then you like to have him come to see you?" said Patty, a little roguishly.

"Yes, and I like to have you, too. Land, child! you mustn't mind my quick ways."

"I don't mind how quick you are," said Patty; "but when you tell me to be sure and not come to see you, of course I don't come."

"Oh, that's all right," said Miss Daggett, "that's all right; I'll always send for you when I want you.

"But perhaps I can't always come," said Patty. "I may be busy with my housekeeping."

"Now, wouldn't that be annoying!" said Miss Daggett. "I declare that would be just my luck. I always do have bad luck."

"Perhaps it's the way you look at it," said Patty. "Now, I have some things that seem like bad luck, at least, other people think they do; but if I look at them right—happy and cheerful, you know—why, they just seem like good luck."

"Really," said Miss Daggett, with a curious smile; "well now, you are a queer child, and I'm not at all sure but I'd like to have you come again. Do you want to see around my house?"

"I'd like to very much, but it's so dark a bat couldn't see things in this room."

"But I can't open the shades, the sun would fade all the furniture coverings."

"Well, then, you could buy new ones," said Patty; "that would be better than living in the dark."

"Dark can't hurt anybody," said Miss Daggett gloomily.

"Oh, indeed it can," said Patty earnestly. "Why, darkness—I mean darkness in the daytime—makes you all stewed up and fidgety and horrid; and sunshine makes you all gay and cheerful and glad."

"Like you," said Miss Daggett.

"Yes, like me," said Patty; "I am cheerful and glad always. I like to be."

"I would like to be, too," said Miss Daggett.

"Do you suppose if I opened the shutters I would be?"

"Let's try it and see," said Patty, and running to the windows, she flung open the inside blinds and flooded the room with sunshine.

"Oh, what a beautiful room!" she exclaimed, as she turned around. "Why, Miss Daggett, to think of keeping all these lovely things shut up in the dark. I believe they cry about it when you aren't looking."

Already the old lady's face seemed to show a gentler and sunnier expression, and she said:

"Yes, I have some beautiful things, child. Would you like to look through this cabinet of East Indian curiosities?"

"I would very much," said Patty, "but I fear I can't take the time this morning; I have to study my part in a play we're going to give. It's a play your nephew told us about," she added quickly, feeling sure that this would rouse the old lady's interest in it.

"One of Kenneth's college plays?" she said eagerly.

"Yes, that's just what it is. A chum of his wrote it, and oh, Miss Daggett, we're going to invite Mr. Harper to come to Vernondale the night of the play, and take the same part that he took at college last year; you see, he'll know it, and he can just step right in."

"Good for you! I hope he'll come. I'll write at once and tell him how much I want him. He can stay here, of course, and perhaps he can come sooner, so as to be here for one or two rehearsals."

"That would be a good help. I hope he will do that; he could coach the rest of us."

"I don't know just what coach means, but I'm sure Kenneth can do it, he's a very clever boy; he says he can run an automobile, but I don't believe it. Run away home now, child, I'm tired of having company; and besides I want to compose my mind so I can write a letter to Kenneth."

"And will you leave your blinds open till afternoon?" said Patty, who was beginning to learn her queer old neighbour.

"Yes, I will, if I don't forget it. Clear out, child, clear out now; run away home and mind you're not to borrow anything and you're not to come back till I send for you."

"All right," said Patty. "Good-bye, and mind, you're to keep bright and cheerful, and let the sunlight in all the time."

CHAPTER XV

BILLS

Patty's plans for systematic housekeeping included a number of small Russia-leather account books, and she looked forward with some eagerness to the time when the first month's bills should come in, and she could present to her father a neat and accurate statement of the household expenses for the month.

The 1st of February was Sunday, but on Monday morning the postman brought a sheaf of letters which were evidently bills.

Patty had no time to look at these before she went to school, so she placed them carefully in her desk, determined to hurry home that afternoon and get her accounts into apple-pie order before her father came home. After school she returned to find a supplementary lot of bills had been left by the postman, and also Mancy presented her with a number of bills which the tradesmen had left that morning.

Patty took the whole lot to her desk, and with methodical exactness noted the amounts on the pages of her little books. She and her father had talked the matter over, more or less, and Patty knew just about what Mr. Fairfield expected the bills to amount to.

But to her consternation she discovered, as she went along, that each bill was proving to be about twice as large as she had anticipated.

"There must be some mistake," she said to herself, "we simply can't have eaten all those groceries. Anybody would think we ran a branch store. And that butcher's bill is big enough for the Central Park menagerie! They must have added it wrong."

But a careful verification of the figures proved that they were added right, and Patty's heart began to sink as she looked at the enormous sum-totals.

"To think of all that for flowers! Well, papa bought some of them, that's a comfort; but I had no idea I had ordered so many myself. I think bills are perfectly horrid! And here's my dressmaker's bill. Gracious, how Madame LaFayette has gone up in her prices! I believe I'll make my own clothes after this; but the market bills are the worst I don't see how we could have eaten all these things. Mancy must be a dreadful waster, but it isn't fair to blame her; if that's where the trouble is, I ought to have looked after it myself. Hello, Marian, is that you? I didn't hear you come in. Do come here, I'm in the depths of despair!"

"What's the matter, Patsie? and what a furious lot of bills! You look like a clearinghouse."

"Oh, Marian, it's perfectly fearful! Every bill is two or three times as much as I thought it would be, and I'm so sorry, for I meant to be such a thrifty housekeeper."

"Jiminetty Christmas!" exclaimed Marian, looking at some of the papers, "I should think these bills were big! Why, that's more than we pay a month for groceries, and look at the size of our family."

"I know it," said Patty hopelessly. "I don't see how it happened."

"You are an extravagant little wretch, Patty, there's no doubt about it."

"I suppose I am; at least, I suppose I have been, but I'm not going to be any more. I'm going to reform, suddenly and all at once and very thoroughly! Now, you watch me. We're not going to have any more fancy things, no more ice cream from Pacetti's. Why, that caterer's bill is something fearful."

"And so you're going to starve poor Uncle Fred?"

"No, that wouldn't be fair, would it? The economy ought to fall entirely on me. Well, I've decided to make my own clothes after this, anyway."

"Oh, Patty, what a goose you are! You couldn't make them to save your neck, and after you made them you couldn't wear them."

"I could, too, Marian Elliott! Just you wait and see me make my summer dresses. I'm going to sew all through vacation."

"All right," said Marian, "I'll come over and help you, but you can't make any dresses this afternoon, so put away those old bills and get ready for a sleigh ride. It's lovely out, and father said he'd call for us here at four o'clock."

"All right, I will, if we can get back by six. I want to be here when papa comes home."

"Yes, we'll be back by six. I expect Uncle Fred will shut you up in a dark room and keep you on bread and water for a week when he sees those bills."

"That's just the worst of it," said Patty forlornly. "He's so good and kind, and spoils me so dreadfully that it makes me feel all the worse when I don't do things right."

A good long sleigh ride in the fresh, crisp winter air quite revived Patty's despondent spirits. She sat in front with Uncle Charley, and he let her drive part of the way, for it was Patty's great delight to drive two horses, and she had already become a fairly accomplished little horsewoman.

"Fred tells me he's going to get horses for you this spring," said Uncle Charley. "You'll enjoy them a lot, won't you, Patty?"

"Yes, indeed—that is—I don't know whether we'll have them or not."

For it just occurred to Patty that, having run her father into such unexpected expense in the household, a good way to economise would be to give up all hopes of horses.

"Oh, yes, you'll have them all right," said Uncle Charley, in his gay, cheery way, having no idea, of course, what was in Patty's mind. "And you must have a little pony and cart of your own. It would give you a great deal of pleasure to go out driving in the spring weather."

"I just guess it would," said Patty, "and I'm sure I hope I'll have it."

She began to wonder if she couldn't find some other way to economise rather than on the horses, for she certainly did love to drive.

Promptly at six o'clock Uncle Charley left her at Boxley Hall, and as she entered the door Patty felt that strange sinking of the heart that always accompanies the resuming of a half-forgotten mental burden.

"I know just how thieves and defaulters and forgers feel," she said to herself, as she took off her wraps. "I haven't exactly stolen, but I've betrayed a trust, and that's just as bad. I wonder what papa will say?"

At dinner Patty was subdued and a little nervous.

Mr. Fairfield, quick to notice anything unusual in his daughter, surmised that she was bothered, but felt sure that in her own time she would tell him all about it, so he endeavoured to set her at her ease by chatting pleasantly about the events of his day in the city, and sustaining the burden of the conversation himself.

But after dinner, when they had gone into the library, as they usually did in the evening, Patty brought out her fearful array of paper bugbears and laid them before her father.

"What are these?" said Mr. Fairfield cheerily. "Ah, yes, I see. The 1st of the month has brought its usual crop of bills."

"I do hope it isn't the usual crop, papa; for if they always come in like this, we'll have to give up Boxley Hall and go to live in the poor-house."

"Oh, I don't know. We haven't overdrawn our bank account yet Whew! Pacetti's is a stunner, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Patty, in a meek little voice.

"And Fisher & Co. seem to have summed up quite a total; and Smith's flower bill looks like a good old summer time."

"Oh, papa, please scold me; I know I deserve it. I ought to have looked after these things and kept the expenses down more."

"Why ought you to have done so, Patty? We have to have food, don't we?"

"Yes; but, papa, you know we estimated in the beginning, and these old bills come up to about twice as much as our estimate."

"That's a fact, baby, they do," said Mr. Fairfield, looking over the statements with a more serious air. "These are pretty big figures to represent a month's living for just you and me and our small retinue of servants."

"Yes; and, papa, I think Mancy is rather wasteful. I don't say this to blame her. I know it is my place to see about it, and be careful that she utilises all that is possible of the kitchen waste."

Patty said this so exactly with the air of a Young Housekeeper's Guide or Cooking School Manual, that Mr. Fairfield laughed outright.

"Chickadee," he said, "you'll come out all right. You have the true elements of success. You see where you've fallen into error, you're willing to admit it, and you're ready to use every means to improve in the future. I'm not quite so surprised as you are at the size of these bills; for, though we made our estimates rationally, yet we have been buying a great many things and having a pretty good time generally. I foresaw this experience at the end of the month, but I preferred to wait and see how we came out rather than interfere with the proceedings; and another thing, Patty, which may comfort you some, is the fact that I quite believe that some of these tradespeople have taken advantage of your youth and inexperience and padded their bills a little bit in consequence."

"But, papa, just look at Madame LaFayette's bill. I don't think she ought to charge so much."

"These do seem high prices for the simple little frocks you wear; but they are always so daintily made, and in such good taste, that I think we'll have to continue to employ her. Dressmakers, you know, are acknowledged vampires."

"I like the clothes she makes, too," said Patty, "but I had concluded that that was the best way for me to economise, and I thought after this I would make my own dresses."

"I don't think you will, my child," said Mr. Fairfield decidedly. "You couldn't make dresses fit to be seen, unless you took a course of instruction in dressmaking, and I'm not sure that you could then; and you have quite enough to do with your school work and your practising. When did you propose to do this wonderful sewing?"

"Oh, I mean in vacation—to make my summer dresses."

"No; in vacation you're to run out of doors and play. Don't let me hear any more about sewing."

"All right," said Patty, with a sigh of relief. "I'm awfully glad not to, but I wanted to help somehow. I thought I'd make my green cloth costume for Diana in the play."

"Yes, that would be a good thing to begin on," said Mr. Fairfield. "Broadcloth is so tractable, so easy to fit; and that tailor-made effect can, of course, be attained by any well-meaning beginner."

Patty laughed. "I know it would look horrid, papa," she said, "but as I am to blame for all this outrageous extravagance, I want to economise somewhere to make up for it."

"And do you call it good proportion to buy a great deal too much to eat and then go around in botchy, home-made clothes to make up for it?"

"No," said Patty, "I don't believe it is. What can I do? I want to do something, and I don't—oh, papa, I don't want to give up those horses that you said you'd buy."

"Well, we'll fix it up this way, Patty, girl; we'll just pay off all these bills and start fresh. The extra expense we'll charge to experience account—experience is an awfully high-priced commodity, you know—and next month, while we won't exactly scrimp ourselves, we'll keep our eye on the accounts and watch them as they progress. As I've told you before, my darling, I don't expect you to become perfect, or even proficient, in these things all at once. You will need years of experience before the time can come when your domestic machinery will run without a flaw, if, indeed, it ever does. Now, never think of these January bills again. They are things of the past. Go and get your play-book, and let me hear you speak your piece."

CHAPTER XVI

A SUCCESSFUL PLAY

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.