Patty's Butterfly Days

"I'M going to get mad!" announced Patty, deliberately.

"You are!" exclaimed Lena Lockwood, in amazement. "I didn't know you COULD get mad!"

"Patty gets about as mad as a small Angora kitten," said Jack.

"Yes," agreed Patty, "and I can tell you, kittens, like cats, get awful mad, if they want to. Now I'm going to get mad, if you people don't tell me all about this show, NOW! I don't want to wait for meetings and things."

"I'll tell you now," said Guy, speaking very fast. "It's to be a Pageant, a great and glittering Pageant, made up of floats with tableaux on 'em, and bands of music playing, and banners streaming, and coloured fire firing, all over Spring Beach."

"That tells some, but not all," said Patty. "You tell me more, Lena."

"Well, the Floats will represent the Sea and different rivers and all sorts of things like that. And they are all under different committees, and every chairman has to look after her own people."

"And whose people are we?" demanded Patty.

"Mrs. Sayre has the general committee of floats under her charge."

"But the Sea Float is my especial care, Patty," broke in Guy Martin, "and I want you to promise to be Spirit of the Sea. Won't you?"

"Not to-day, thank you. I have to think these matters over slowly. What do you want Mona Galbraith to be?"

A silence was the response to this question, and then Guy said:

"I hadn't put her name down yet, but I daresay she'll be asked to take some part."

"I daresay she WILL," returned Patty, "and a GOOD part, too! Why can't she be Spirit of the Sea?"

"Nonsense, that part requires a sylph-like girl, such as—such as you or Lora. Mona Galbraith is too heavy for any self-respecting spirit."

"Well, never mind," said Patty, "there must be plenty of other good parts that require more substantial specimens of humanity. Arrange your meetings at our house, Guy, and we'll fix it all up then."

They changed the subject then, for Mona and Captain Sayre came walking toward them.

"Get good fortunes?" asked Jack.

"Very much so," returned the captain. "Miss Galbraith is to become a Duchess later on, and I am to achieve the rank of a Rear-Admiral. What more could we ask?"

"Nothing!" exclaimed Patty. "You'll make a gorgeous Duchess, Mona. I can see you now, prancing around with a jewelled coronet on your noble brow."

"Can't you see me," said Captain Sayre, "prancing around in Admiral's regalia?"

"But I've never seen you prance at all. I supposed you were too dignified."

"You did! Well, you never were more mistaken in your life. Watch me, now." The orchestra was playing in lively time, and Captain Sayre began to do a lively dance, which was something between a Sailor's Hornpipe and a Double Shuffle.

He danced wonderfully well, and as Patty looked at him the spirit of the music inspired her, and throwing off her hat, she prettily caught up the sides of her frilled skirt, and danced, facing him. He smiled at her, changed his step to a more graceful fancy dance, and they danced an impromptu duet.

Others gathered about to watch the pretty sight, and Patty soon discovered that, though she was an accomplished dancer, the captain was far more familiar with the latest styles and steps. But he suited his mood to hers, and they advanced, retreated, and bowed, almost as if they had practised together for the purpose. Loud applause greeted them as the band ceased playing, and they were urged to repeat the dance.

"No," said Captain Sayre, laughing; "you forget it is a summer's day, and that sort of prancing is better suited to a winter evening. I'm going to take Miss Fairfield away to the lemonade tent, before she faints from utter exhaustion."

"I'm not tired," protested Patty, but her cheeks were pink from the exercise, and she went gladly for the refreshing lemonade.

"You're a wonderful dancer," said Captain Sayre. "Who taught you?"

Patty mentioned the name of the teacher she had had in New York. "But," she said, "I haven't had any lessons of late, and I don't know the new fancy dances."

"Some of them are beautiful; you really ought to know them. Mayn't I call on you, and teach you a few new steps?"

"I'd love to have you do so. I'm staying with Miss Galbraith, you know.

But you're not here for long, are you?"

"I'll be here about a week, and I may return later for a short time. At any rate we can have a few dances. I never saw any one so quick to catch the spirit of the music. You love dancing, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. But I love it more in cooler weather."

"Oh, this hot spell won't last long. And it's so cool mornings. Suppose I run over to see you to-morrow morning. May I?"

"Do," said Patty, cordially. "Mona and I will be glad to have you."

"But I'm coming to see YOU" said the captain, a little pointedly.

"You're coming to see us both," said Patty, very decidedly.

CHAPTER VIII

THE HOUSE PARTY ARRIVES

"Red Chimneys" was in a turmoil. The house party had been invited, and the house party had accepted their invitations, and all would have been well had it not been for Aunt Adelaide. Somehow or other she managed to upset every plan, throw cold water on every pleasure, and acted as a general wet blanket on all the doings of Patty and Mona.

She was not an over strict chaperon; indeed, she was more than ready to let the girls do whatever they chose; but she dictated the way it should be done and continually put forth not only suggestions but commands directly opposed to the wishes of the young people.

Often these dictates concerned the merest details. If the girls had a merry luncheon party invited, that was the very day Aunt Adelaide chose for a special rest-cure treatment, and demanded that the whole house be kept quiet as a church. On the other hand, if the girls were going off for the day, that was the occasion Aunt Adelaide felt lonesome, and declared herself cruelly neglected to be left at home alone.

But it was Mona's nature to submit to the inevitable,—though not always gracefully. And it was Patty's nature to smooth away rough places by her never-failing tact and good nature. The greatest trouble was with the servants. Those who came in contact with the nervous, fussy lady were harassed beyond endurance by her querulous and contradictory orders. The cook declared herself unable to prepare Mrs. Parson's "messes" acceptably, and threatened every other day to leave. But Patty's coaxing persuasions, and Mona's promise of increased wages induced her to remain.

Remonstrance with Aunt Adelaide did no good at all. She assumed an air of injured innocence, asserted her entire indifference to the details of Mona's housekeeping,—and then, proceeded to interfere just the same.

As far as possible, the girls had arranged the house party without consulting her; but, even so, she continually offered her advice and obtruded her opinions until Mona lost patience.

"Aunt Adelaide," she said, when Mrs. Parsons insisted that Patty should give up the suite of rooms she occupied to some of the arriving guests, "when Patty came to me I gave her the best rooms, and she's going to stay in them. I know Mrs. Kenerley is bringing her baby and nurse, and that's why I gave her rooms on the third floor, that the baby might not disturb any one."

"It's too high up for the dear child," argued Aunt Adelaide. "I'd like to have her nearer me."

"You wouldn't, if she's in the habit of crying all night," said Patty. "I'm quite willing to give up my pretty rooms, but Mona won't let me, and I never quarrel with my hostess' decisions."

"Meaning, I suppose, that I do," said Aunt Adelaide, querulously. "Of course, you girls know more than I do. I'm only a poor, old, set aside nobody. I couldn't expect to be listened to, even when I advise you for your own good."

Patty well knew that any response to this sort of talk was useless, so she said, lightly, "We want you mostly for ornament, Aunt Adelaide. If you'll put on one of your prettiest dresses, and some of that lovely old lace of yours, and your amethyst jewellery, and be on hand to welcome our guests this afternoon, Mona and I will relieve you of all bother about household arrangements."

This mollified Mrs. Parsons somewhat, for she dearly loved to "dress up" and receive company, so she went away to select her costume.

Patty had been at "Red Chimneys" little more than a week, but already the influence of her taste could be seen in the household. Some of the more gaudy and heavy ornaments, which had been provided by a professional decorator, had been removed, and their places filled by palms, or large plain bowls of fresh flowers.

The cook's extravagant ideas were curbed, and the meals were now less heavily elaborate, and the viands more delicate and carefully chosen. The service was simpler, and the whole household had lost much of its atmosphere of vulgar ostentation. Mona, too, was improved. Her frocks were more dainty and becoming, and Patty had persuaded her to wear less jewellery and ornamentation. Patty had also taught her to wave her hair in pretty, loose curls that were far more effective than the tight frizzes she had worn. The plans for the house party were complete, and, to the girls, entirely satisfactory.

Adele Kenerley had been a school friend of Mona's, and was coming with her husband and baby girl. Daisy Dow, another of Mona's schoolmates, was coming from Chicago, and Roger Farrington and two other young men would complete the party, which had been invited for a week.

Patty had not accomplished all her wishes, without some difficulties. Several times Mona had balked at Patty's decrees, and had insisted on following her own inclinations. But by tactful persuasion Patty had usually won out, and in all important matters had carried the day. It was, therefore, with honest pride and satisfaction that she looked over the house just before the arrival of the guests.

She had herself superintended the arrangement of the beautiful flowers for which the Galbraiths' garden was famous, and she had, in a moment of victory, persuaded Mona to put the men servants into white duck instead of their ornate, gilt-braided livery, and the maids into white linen uniforms.

"In this weather," she said, "let's make our keynote 'coolness,' and your guests will have a better time than if we overpower them with your winter splendour."

Mona began to see that coolness and splendour were rarely compatible, but she was also beginning to see things as Patty saw them, so she agreed. The girls had not dared to advise Aunt Adelaide as to costume, for just so sure as they advised something, that contradictory lady would be sure to insist on something else.

"But I think I'd better coax her to wear that purple satin," said Mona, "for if I don't, she'll surely put it on, and if I do, she won't!"

"Wait and see," said Patty. "I took pains to hang her lavender crepe de chine right in the front of her wardrobe, and I hope she'll let her eagle eye light on that, and seek no further!"

"Patty, you're a born conspirator. I hope you'll marry a foreign diplomat, and help him manage his international intrigues."

"Oh, I could manage the intrigues and the diplomat both, I expect."

"I'm sure you could! Now, let's fly and get dressed. The Kenerleys will come soon and I'm crazy to see Adele's darling baby."

Soon after, the girls going downstairs in their fresh, light summer frocks, were much pleased to see that Patty's ruse had succeeded. Aunt Adelaide was gracefully posed in a veranda chair, wearing the lavender gown, a collar of fine old lace, and her amethyst necklace. She looked gentle and charming, and seemed in high good humour.

"I hope you like this gown," she said. "I hesitated a long time, but finally chose it because it matched my necklace."

"It's lovely," said Patty, enthusiastically; "and it suits you awfully well. Look, Mona, there they come!"

Another moment, and a rosy-cheeked young matron flew into Mona's arms and greeted her after the most approved manner of reunited school friends.

"You dearest old thing!" she cried. "You haven't changed a bit, except to grow better looking! And, Mona, here's my husband,—Jim, his name is,—but HERE'S the baby!"

A nurse stepped forward, bringing a mite of humanity, who was laughing and waving her little fat arms, as if delighted to be of the party.

"What an angel of a baby!" cried Mona, taking the smiling infant in her arms. "And a solid angel too," she added, as the child proved more substantial than she had appeared.

"Yes; she's nearly two years old, and she weighs exactly right, according to the best schedules. She's a perfect schedule baby in every way."

Then the small piece of perfection was handed over to what was probably a schedule nurse, and general introductions followed.

Patty liked the Kenerleys at once. They were breezy and pleasant mannered, and had an affable way of making themselves at home.

"Mona," said Mr. Kenerley,—"I shall have to call you that, for I doubt if my wife has ever even mentioned your last name to me, and if she has, I have forgotten it,—Mona, how long does one have to be a guest at 'Red Chimneys' before he is allowed to go for a dip in that tempting looking ocean I perceive hard by?"

"Oh, only about ten minutes," said Mona, laughing at his impatience. "Do you want to go now, alone, or will you wait until later? Some men are coming soon who would probably join you for a swim. I expect Bill Farnsworth."

"DO you! Dear old Bill! I haven't seen him for years. But he's so big, he'd take up all the surf,—I think I'll go on by myself. And I know you girls have lots of gossip to talk over—so, I'll see you later."

Jim Kenerley set off for the Galbraith bathing pavilion, easily discernible by its ornate red chimneys, and Mona turned to have a good old-fashioned chat with Adele.

"Why, where is she?" she exclaimed, and Aunt Adelaide petulantly explained that Patty and Adele had gone to look after the baby. "Pretty poor manners, I call it, to leave me here all alone. It never occurred to them that I'd like to see the baby, too!"

"Never mind, Aunt Adelaide, you'll have lots of time to see that baby. And, of course, Adele wants to go to her rooms and get things arranged. You and I will wait here for the next arrivals. Laurence Cromer is due about now. He's an artist, you know, and he'll think you're a picture in that exquisite gown." Much mollified at these remarks, Aunt Adelaide rearranged her draperies, called for another cushion, had a screen lowered, and sat slowly waving a small fan, in expectance of the artist's admiration. And perhaps the artist might have given an admiring glance to the picturesque lady in lavender had it not happened that just as he came up the veranda steps Patty appeared in the doorway. Her pink cheeks were a little flushed from a romp with the baby, a few stray curls had been pulled from their ribbon by baby's chubby hands, and the laughing face was so fair and winsome that Laurence Cromer stood stock-still and gazed at her. Then Mona intercepted his vision, but after the necessary introductions and greetings, the young artist's eyes kept wandering toward Patty, as if drawn by a magnet.

Young Cromer was a clever artist, though not, as yet, exceedingly renowned. He advertised his calling, however, in his costume and appearance. He wore white flannels, but he affected a low rolling collar and a soft silk tie. His hair was just a trifle longer than convention called for, and his well-cut features were marred by a drooping, faraway expression which, he fondly hoped, denoted soulfulness.

Patty laughed gaily at him.

"Don't stare at me, Mr. Cromer," she said, saucily. "Baby May pulled my hair down, but I have the grace to be ashamed of my untidiness."

"It's exquisite," said Cromer, looking at her admiringly; "a sweet disorder in the dress."

"Oh, I know that lady you quote! She always had her shoestrings untied and her hat on crooked!"

Cromer looked amazed, as if a saint had been guilty of heresy, and Patty laughed afresh at his astonished look.

"If you want to see sweet disorder in dress, here's your chance," cried Mona. "Here comes Daisy Dow, and she's one who never has her hat on straight, by any chance!"

Sure enough, as a big car whizzed up under the porte-cochere, a girl jumped out, with veils flying, coat flapping, and gloves, bag, and handkerchief dropping, as she ran up the steps.

"Here I am, Mona!" she cried, and her words were unmistakably true.

Daisy Dow was from Chicago, and she looked as if she had blown all the way from there to Spring Beach. She was, or had been, prettily dressed, but, as Mona had predicted, her hat was awry, her collar askew, and her shoelace untied.

The poetical idea of "a sweet disorder in the dress" was a bit overdone in Daisy's case, but her merry, breezy laugh, and her whole-souled joy at seeing Mona again rather corresponded with her disarranged finery.

"I'm all coming to pieces," she said, apologetically, as she was introduced to the others. "But we flew along so fast, it's a wonder there's anything left of me. Can't I go and tidy up, Mona?"

"Yes, indeed. Come along with me, Daisy. They're all here now, Patty, except Bill and Roger. You can look after them."

"All right, I will. I don't know Mr. Bill, but that won't matter. I know Roger, and of course the other one will be the gentle Bill."

"'Gentle' is good!" laughed Mona. "Little Billy is about six feet eight and weighs a ton."

"That doesn't frighten me," declared Patty, calmly. "I've seen bigger men than that, if it was in a circus! Skip along, girls, but come back soon. I think this house party is too much given to staying in the house. Are you for a dip in the ocean before dinner, Mr. Cromer?"

"No; not if I may sit here with you instead."

"Oh, Aunt Adelaide and I are delighted to keep you here. All the guests seem to run away from me. I know not why!"

Naughty Patty drew a mournful sigh, and looked as if she had lost her last friend, which look, on her pretty, saucy face, was very fetching indeed.

"I'll never run away from you!" declared Mr. Cromer, in so earnest a tone that Patty laughed.

"You'd better!" she warned. "I'm so contrary minded by nature that the more people run away from me the better I like them."

"Ah," said Laurence Cromer, gravely; "then I shall start at once. Mrs. Parsons, will you not go for a stroll with me round the gardens?"

Aunt Adelaide rose with alacrity, and willingly started off with the young artist, who gave not another glance in Patty's direction.

"H'm," said Patty to herself, as the pair walked away. "H'm! I rather like that young man! He has some go to him." She laughed aloud at her own involuntary joke, and stood, watching Aunt Adelaide's mincing steps, as she tripped along the garden path.

As Patty stood thus, she did not see or hear a large and stalwart young man come up on the veranda, and, smiling roguishly, steal up behind her. But in a moment, she felt herself clasped in two strong arms, and a hearty kiss resounded on her pink cheek.

CHAPTER IX

BIG BILL FARNSWORTH

"How are you?" exclaimed a voice as hearty as the kiss, and Patty, with a wild spring, jumped from the encircling arms, and turned to face a towering giant, who, she knew at once, must be Mr. Farnsworth.

"How DARE you!" she cried, stamping her foot, and flashing furious glances, while her dimpled cheeks burned scarlet.

"Whoopee! Wowly-wow-wow! I thought you were Mona! Oh, can you EVER forgive me? But, no, of course you can't! So pronounce my doom! Shall I dash myself into the roaring billows and seek a watery grave? Oh, no, no! I see by your haughty glare that is all too mild a punishment! Then, have me tarred and feathered, and drawn and quartered and ridden on a rail! Send for the torturers! Send for the Inquisitioners! But, remember this! I didn't know I was kissing a stranger. I thought I was kissing my cousin Mona. If I had known,—oh, my dear lady,—if I had KNOWN,—I should have kissed you TWICE!"

This astonishing announcement was doubtless induced by the fact that Patty had been unable to resist his wheedlesome voice and frank, ingenuous manner, and she had indulged in one of her most dimpled smiles.

With her face still flushed by the unexpected caress, and her golden curls still rumpled from the baby's mischievous little fingers, Patty looked like a harum-scarum schoolgirl.

"Be careful," she warned, shaking a finger at him. "I was just about to forgive you because of your mistake in identity, but if you make me really angry, I'll NEVER forgive you."

"Come back, and ALL will be forgiven," said the young man, mock-dramatically, as he held out his arms for a repetition of the scene.

"This is your punishment," said Patty, gaily, paying no attention to his fooling. "You are not to tell of this episode! I know you'll want to, for it IS a good joke, but I should be unmercifully teased. And as you owe me something for—for putting me in a false position–"

"Delightful position!" murmured the young man.

"You owe me SOMETHING," went on Patty, severely, "and I claim your promise not to tell any one,—not even Mona,—what you did."

"I WON'T tell," was the fervent reply. "I swear I won't tell! It shall be OUR secret,—yours and mine. Our sweet secret, and we'll have another some day."

"What!"

"Another secret, I mean. What DID you think I meant? Any one is liable to have a secret,—any two, I mean. And we might chance to be the two."

"You're too big to talk such nonsense," and Patty ran a scornful eye over the six feet three of broad and weighty masculinity.

"Oh, I KNOW how big I am. PLEASE don't rub THAT in! I've heard it ever since I was out of dresses. Can't you flatter me by pretending I'm small?"

"I could make you FEEL small, if I told you what I really thought of you."

"Well, do that, then. What DO you think of me?"

"I think you very rude and—"

"You don't think any such thing,—because you KNOW I mistook you for Mona, and it's not rude to kiss one's cousin."

"Is she your cousin? She never told me so."

"Well, her grandfather's stepdaughter's sister-in-law married my grandmother's second cousin twice removed."

"Oh, then you're not very nearly related."

"No; that's why we don't look more alike. But, do you know my name? Or shall I introduce myself?"

"I fancy you're Big Bill Farnsworth, aren't you?"

"Yes,—but DON'T call me big, PLEASE!"

"No, I'll call you Little Billee. How's that?"

"That's lovely! Now, what may I call you?"

"Miss Fairfield."

The big man made an easy and graceful bow. "I am delighted to meet you, Miss Fair—Fair, with golden hair. Pardon me, I've a terrible memory for names, but a good reserve fund of poetry."

"Miss Fairfield, my name is. Pray don't forget it again."

"If you're so curt, I shall think it's a Fairfield and no favour! You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Certainly not. One can't get mad at an utter stranger."

"Oh, I don't think people who kiss people can be classed as utter strangers."

"Well, you will be, if you refer to that mistake again! Now, remember, I forbid you ever to mention it,—to me, or to any one else. Here comes Mona."

Mona and Daisy Dow appeared in the doorway, and seeing Bill, made a dash at him. The young man kissed Mona heartily, and as he did so, he smiled at Patty over Mona's shoulder. He shook hands with Daisy, and soon the three were chatting gaily of old school days.

Then Roger Farrington came. Not all of Patty's New York friends had liked Mona, but Roger had always declared the girl was a fine nature, spoiled by opulent surroundings. He had gladly accepted the invitation to the house party, and came in anticipation of an all-round good time.

"Hooray! Patty! Here's me!" was his salutation, as he ran up the steps.

"Oh, Roger!" cried Patty, and she grasped his hand and showed unfeigned gladness at seeing him. Patty was devoted to her friends, and Roger was one of her schoolday chums. Mona came forward and greeted the new guest, and introduced him to the strangers.

"Isn't this just too downright jolly!" Roger exclaimed, as he looked at the sea and shore, and then brought his gaze back to the merry group on the veranda. "Haven't you any chaperon person? Or are we all kids together?"

"We have two chaperons," announced Patty, proudly. "One, you may see, just down that rose path. The lady in trailing lavender is our house chaperon, Mrs. Parsons. The impressive looking personage beside her is an artist of high degree. But our other chaperon,—ah, here she comes! Mrs. Kenerley."