Patty's Summer Days

“I think very likely,” said Aunt Grace, placidly. “Now, how are you going to catch your father and Nan?”

“Why, they’ll have to drive past here on their way home,” said Patty, “and I mean to stop them and tell them about it. We can put the horse in your barn, I suppose.”

“Yes, of course. And now we’ll go out on the verandah, and then we can see the Fairfield turn-out when it comes along.”

The Fairfields were waylaid and stopped as they drove by the house, which was not astonishing, as Patty and Bumble and Mrs. Barlow watched from the piazza, while Bob was perched on the front gate post, and Uncle Ted was pacing up and down the walk.

“What’s the matter?” cried Mr. Fairfield, as he reined up his horse in response to their various salutations.

“The matter is,” said Patty, “that we haven’t any home of our own to-night, and so we’re visiting Aunt Grace.”

“Earthquake swallowed our house?” inquired Mr. Fairfield, as he turned to drive in.

“Not quite,” said Patty, “but one of the neighbours wanted to borrow it, so I lent it to her.”

“That Mrs. Roland, I suppose,” said Nan; “she probably mislaid her own house, she’s so careless and rattle-pated.”

“It was Mrs. Roland,” said Patty, laughing, “and she’s having a dinner-party, and their tank burst, and most of the ceilings fell, and really, Nan, you know yourself such things do upset a house, if they occur on the day of a dinner-party.”

Fuller explanations ensued, and though the Fairfields thought it a crazy piece of business, they agreed with Patty, that it would have been difficult to refuse Mrs. Roland’s request.

And it really didn’t interfere with the Fairfields’comfort at all, and the Barlows protested that it was a great pleasure to them to entertain their friends so unexpectedly, so, as Mr. Fairfield declared, Mrs. Roland was, after all, a public benefactor.

“You’d better wait,” said Nan, “until you see the house to-morrow. I know a little about the Rolands, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find things pretty much upside down.”

It was nearly noon the next day when Mrs. Roland telephoned to the Hurly-Burly and asked for Mrs. Fairfield.

Nan responded, and was told that the Rolands were now leaving, and that the Fairfields might again come into their home.

Mrs. Roland also expressed voluble thanks for the great service the Fairfields had done her, and said that she would call the next day to thank them in person.

So the Fairfields went back home, and happily Nan’s fears were not realised. Nothing seemed to be spoiled or out of order, and the servants said that Mrs. Roland and her family and friends had been most kind, and had made no trouble at all.

“Now, you see,” said Patty, triumphantly, “that it does no harm to do a kind deed to a neighbour once in a while, even though it isn’t the particular kind deed that you’ve done a hundred times before.”

“That’s true enough, Patty,” said her father, “but all the same when you lend our home again, let it be our own house, and furnished with our own things. I don’t mind owning up, now that it’s all over, that I did feel a certain anxiety arising from the fact that this is a rented house, and almost none of the household appointments are our own.”

“Goodness, gracious me!” said Patty. “I never once thought of that! Well, I’m glad they didn’t smash all the china and bric-a-brac, for they’re mortal homely, and I should certainly begrudge the money it would take to replace them.”

CHAPTER XXI

THE CRUSOES

Plans were on foot for a huge fair and bazaar to be held in aid of the Associated Charities. Everybody in and around Sandy Cove was interested, and the fair, which would be held the last week in August, was expected to eclipse all previous efforts of its kind.

All three of the Fairfields were energetically assisting in the work, and each was a member of several important committees.

The Barlows, too, were working hard, and the Rolands thought they were doing so, though somehow they accomplished very little. As the time drew near for the bazaar to open, Patty grew so excited over the work and had such a multitude of responsibilities, that she flew around as madly as when she was preparing for the play at school.

“But I’m perfectly well, now,” she said to her father when he remonstrated with her, “and I don’t mind how hard I work as long as I haven’t lessons to study at the same time.”

Aside from assisting with various booths and tables, Patty had charge of a gypsy encampment, which she spared no pains to make as gay and interesting as possible.

The “Romany Rest” she called the little enclosure which was to represent the gypsies’home, and Patty not only superintended the furnishing and arranging of the place, but also directed the details of the costumes which were to be worn by the young people who were to represent gypsies.

The Fairfields’ house was filled with guests who had come down for the fair.

Patty had invited Elise and Roger Farrington, and Bertha and Winthrop Warner. Mr. Hepworth and Kenneth Harper were there, too, and the merry crowd of young people worked zealously in their endeavours to assist Patty and Nan.

Mr. Hepworth, of course, was especially helpful in arranging the gypsy encampment, and designing the picturesque costumes for the girls and young men who were to act as gypsies. The white blouses with gay-coloured scarfs and broad sombreros were beautiful to look at, even if, as Patty said, they were more like Spanish fandangoes than like any gypsy garments she had ever seen.

“Don’t expose your ignorance, my child,” said Mr. Hepworth, smiling at her. “A Romany is not an ordinary gypsy and is always clothed in this particular kind of garb.”

“Then that’s all that’s necessary,” said Patty. “I bow to your superior judgment, and I feel sure that all the patrons of the fair will spend most of their time at the ‘Romany Rest.’”

The day on which the fair was to open was a busy one, and everybody was up betimes, getting ready for the grand event.

A fancy dress parade was to be one of the features of the first evening, and as a prize was offered for the cleverest costume, all of the contestants were carefully guarding the secret of the characters their costumes would represent. Although Roger had given no hint of what his costume was to be, he calmly announced that he knew it would take the prize. The others laughed, thinking this a jest, and Patty was of a private opinion that probably Mr. Hepworth’s costume would be cleverer than Roger’s, as the artist had most original and ingenious ideas.

The fair was to open at three in the afternoon, and soon after twelve o’clock Patty rushed into the house looking for somebody to send on an errand. She found no one about but Bertha Warner, who was hastily putting some finishing touches to her own gypsy dress.

“That’s almost finished, isn’t it, Bertha?” began Patty breathlessly.

“Yes; why? Can I help you in any way?”

“Indeed you can, if you will. I have to go over to Black Island for some goldenrod. It doesn’t grow anywhere else as early, at least I can’t find any. I’ve hunted all over for somebody to send, but the boys are all so busy, and so I’m just going myself. I wish you’d come along and help me row. It’s ever so much quicker to go across in a boat and get it there, than to drive out into the country for it.”

“Of course I will,” said Bertha, “but will there be time?”

“Yes, if we scoot right along.”

The girls flew down to the dock, jumped into a small rowboat and began to row briskly over to Black Island. It was not very far, and they soon reached it. They scrambled out, pulled the boat well up onto the beach, and went after the flowers.

Sure enough, as Patty had said, there was a luxuriant growth of goldenrod in many parts of the island. Patty had brought a pair of garden shears, and by setting to work vigorously, they soon had as much as they could carry.

“There,” said Patty, triumphantly, as she tied up two great sheaves, “I believe we gathered that quicker than if we had brought some boys along to help. Now let’s skip for home.”

The island was not very large, but in their search for the flowers they had wandered farther than they thought.

“It’s nearly one o’clock,” said Patty, looking at her watch, and carrying their heavy cargo of golden flowers, they hastened back to where they had left their boat.

But no boat was there.

“Oh, Bertha,” cried Patty, “the boat has drifted away!”

“Oh, pshaw,” said Bertha, “I don’t believe it. We pulled it ever so far up on the sand.”

“Well, then, where is it?”

“Why, I believe Winthrop or Kenneth or somebody came over and pulled it away, just to tease us. I believe they’re around the corner waiting for us now.”

Patty tried to take this view of it, but she felt a strange sinking of her heart, for it wasn’t like Kenneth to play a practical joke, and she didn’t think Winthrop would, either.

Laying down her bundle of flowers, Bertha ran around the end of the island, fully expecting to see her brother’s laughing face.

But there was no one to be seen, and no sign of the boat.

Then Bertha became alarmed, and the two girls looked at each other in dismay.

“Look off there,” cried Patty, suddenly, pointing out on the water.

Far away they saw an empty boat dancing along in the sunlight!

Bertha began to cry, and though Patty felt like it, it seemed really too babyish, and she said, “Don’t be a goose, Bertha, we’re not lost on a desert island, and of course somebody will come after us, anyway.”

But Patty was worried more than she would admit. For no one knew where they had gone, and the empty boat was drifting away from Sandy Cove instead of toward it.

At first, the girls were buoyed up by the excitement of the situation, and felt that somebody must find them shortly. But no other boat was in sight, and as Patty said, everybody was getting ready for the fair and no one was likely to go out rowing that day.

One o’clock came, and then half-past one, and though the girls had tried to invent some way out of their difficulty they couldn’t think of a thing to do, but sit still and wait. They had tied their handkerchiefs on the highest bushes of the island, there being no trees, but they well knew that these tiny white signals were not likely to attract anybody’s attention.

They had shouted until they were hoarse, and they had talked over all the possibilities of the case.

“Of course they have missed us by this time,” said Patty, “and of course they are looking for us.”

“I don’t believe they are,” said Bertha disconsolately, “because all the people at the house will think we’re down at the fair grounds, and all the people there will think we’re up at the house.”

“That’s so,” Patty admitted, for she well knew how everybody was concerned with his or her own work for the fair, and how little thought they would be giving to one another at this particular time.

And yet, though Patty would not mention it, and would scarcely admit the thought to herself, she couldn’t help feeling sure that Mr. Hepworth would be wondering where she was.

“The only hope is,” she said to Bertha, “if somebody should want to see me especially, about some of the work, and should try to hunt me up.”

“Well,” said Bertha, “even if they did, it never would occur to them that we are over here.”

“No, they’d never think of that; even if they do miss us, and try to hunt for us. They’ll only telephone to different houses, or something like that. It will never occur to them that we’re over here, and why should it?”

“I’m glad I came with you,” said Bertha, affectionately. “I should hate to think of you over here all alone.”

“If I were here alone,” said Patty, laughing, “you wouldn’t be thinking of me as here alone. You’d just be wondering where I was.”

“So I would,” said Bertha, laughing, too; “but oh, Patty, do let’s do something! It’s fearful to sit here helpless like this.”

“I know it,” said Patty, “but what can we do? We’re just like Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, except that we haven’t any goat.”

“No, and we haven’t any raft, from which to select that array of useful articles that he had at his disposal. Do you remember the little bag, that always held everything that could possibly be required?”

“Oh, that was in ‘Swiss Family Robinson,’” said Patty; “your early education is getting mixed up. I hope being cast on a desert island hasn’t affected your brain. I don’t want to be over here with a lunatic.”

“You will be, if this keeps up much longer,” said poor Bertha, who was of an emotional nature, and was bravely trying hard not to cry.

“We might make a fire,” said Patty, “if we only had some paper and matches.”

“I don’t know what good a fire would do. Nobody would think that meant anything especial. I wish we could put up a bigger signal of some sort.”

“We haven’t any bigger signal, and if we had, we haven’t any way of raising it any higher than these silly low bushes. I never saw an island so poorly furnished for the accommodation of two young lady Crusoes.”

“I never did, either. I’m going to shout again.”

“Do, if it amuses you, but truly they can’t hear you. It’s too far.”

“What do you think will happen, Patty? Do you suppose we’ll have to stay here all night?”

“I don’t know,” said Patty, slowly. “Of course when it’s time for the fair to open, and we’re not there, they’ll miss us; and of course papa will begin a search at once. But the trouble is, Bertha, they’ll never think of searching over here. They’ll look in every other direction, but they’ll never dream that we came out in the boat.”

So the girls sat and waited, growing more and more down-hearted, with that peculiar despondency which accompanies enforced idleness in a desperate situation.

“Look!” cried Patty, suddenly, and startled, Bertha looked where Patty pointed.

Yes, surely, a boat had put out from the shore, and was coming toward them. At least it was headed for the island, though not directly toward where they sat.

“They’re going to land farther down,” cried Patty, excitedly, “come on, Bertha.”

The two girls rushed along the narrow rough beach, wildly waving their handkerchiefs at the occupants of the boat.

“It’s Mr. Hepworth,” cried Patty, though the knowledge seemed to come to her intuitively, even before she recognised the man who held the stroke oar.

“And Winthrop is rowing, too,” said Bertha, recognising her brother, “and I think that’s Kenneth Harper, steering.”

By this time the boat was near enough to prove that these surmises were correct.

Relieved of her anxiety, mischievous Patty, in the reaction of the moment, assumed a saucy and indifferent air, and as the boat crunched its keel along the pebbly beach she called out, gaily, “How do you do, are you coming to call on us? We’re camping here for the summer.”

“You little rascals!” cried Winthrop Warner. “What do you mean by running away in this fashion, and upsetting the whole bazaar, and driving all your friends crazy with anxiety about you?”

“Our boat drifted away,” said Bertha, “and we couldn’t catch it, and we thought we’d have to stay here all night.”

“I didn’t think we would,” said Patty. “I felt sure somebody would come after us.”

“I don’t know why you thought so,” said Winthrop, “for nobody knew where you were.”

“I know that,” said Patty, smiling, “and yet I can’t tell you why, but I just felt sure that somebody would come in a boat, and carry us safely home.”

“Whom did you expect?” asked Kenneth, “me?”

Patty looked at Kenneth, and then at Mr. Hepworth, and then dropping her eyes demurely, she said:

“I didn’t know who would come, only I just knew somebody would.”

“Well, somebody did,” said Kenneth, as he stowed the great bunches of goldenrod in the bow of the boat.

“Yes, somebody did,” said Patty, softly, flashing a tiny smile at Mr. Hepworth, who said nothing, but he smiled a little, too, as he bent to his oars.

CHAPTER XXII

THE BAZAAR OF ALL NATIONS

“How did you know where we were?” said Bertha to her brother.

“We didn’t know,” said Winthrop, “but after we had hunted everywhere, and put a squad of policemen on your track, and got out the fire department, and sent for an ambulance, Hepworth, here, did a little detective work on his own account.”

“What did you do?” asked Patty.

“Why, nothing much,” said Mr. Hepworth, “I just tried to account for the various boats, and when I found one was missing, I thought you must have gone on the water somewhere. And so I got a field glass and looked all around, and though I thought I saw your white flags fluttering. I wasn’t sure, but I put over here on the chance.”

“Seems to me,” said Kenneth, “Hepworth is a good deal like that man in the story. A horse had strayed away and several people had tried to find it, without success. Presently, a stupid old countryman came up leading the horse. When asked how he found it he only drawled out, ‘Wal, I jest considered a spell. I thought ef I was a horse whar would I go? And I went there,—and he had!’ That’s a good deal the way Hepworth did.”

They all laughed at Kenneth’s funny story, but Patty said, “It was a sort of intuition, but all the same I object to having Mr. Hepworth compared to a stupid old countryman.”

“I don’t care what I’m compared to,” said Mr. Hepworth, gaily, “as long as we’ve found you two runaways, and if we can get you back in time for the opening of the fair.”

The time was very short indeed, and as soon as they landed at the dock, Patty and Bertha started for the house to don their costumes as quickly as possible.

The Fair, or “Bazaar of all Nations,” as it was called, was really arranged on an elaborate scale. It was held on the spacious grounds of Mr. Ashton, one of the wealthiest of the summer residents of Sandy Cove.

So many people had interested themselves in the charity, and so much enthusiasm had they put into their work, that when it was time to throw the gates open to the public, it was a festive and gorgeous scene indeed.

The idea of representing various nations had been picturesquely, if not always logically, carried out.

A Japanese tea-booth had been built with some regard to Japanese fashion, but with even more effort at comfort and attractive colour effects. The young ladies who attended it wore most becoming Japanese costumes, and with slanting pencilled eyebrows, and Japanese headdresses, they served tea in Oriental splendour.

In competition with them was an English dairy, where the rosy-cheeked maids in their neat cotton dresses and white aprons dispensed cheese cakes and Devonshire cream to admiring customers.

The representatives of other countries had even more elaborate results to show for their labours.

Italy’s booth was a beautiful pergola, which had been built for the occasion, but which Mr. Ashton intended to keep as a permanent decoration. Over the structure were beautiful vines and climbing plants, and inside was a gorgeous collection of blossoms of every sort. Italian girls in rich-coloured costumes and a profuse array of jewelry sold bouquets or growing plants, and were assisted in their enterprise by swarthy young men who wore the dress of Venetian gondoliers, or Italian nobles, with a fine disregard of rank or caste.

Spain boasted a vineyard. Mr. Hepworth had charge of this, and it truly did credit to his artistic ability. Built on the side of a hill, it was a clever imitation of a Spanish vineyard, and large grape vines had been uprooted and transplanted to complete the effect. To be sure, the bunches of grapes were of the hothouse variety, and were tied on the vines, but they sold well, as did also the other luscious fruits that were offered for sale in arbours at either end of the grapery. The young Spaniards of both sexes who attended to the wants of their customers were garbed exactly in accordance with Mr. Hepworth’s directions, and he himself had artistically heightened the colouring of their features and complexions.

Germany offered a restaurant where delicatessen foods and tempting savories were served by Fräuleins. Helen Barlow was one of the jolliest of these, and her plump prettiness and long flaxen braids of hair suited well the white kerchief and laced bodice of her adopted country.

The French girls, with true Parisian instinct, had a millinery booth. Here were sold lovely feminine bits of apparel, including collars, belts, laces and handkerchiefs, but principally hats. The hats were truly beautiful creations, and though made of simple materials, light straw, muslin, and even of paper, they were all dainty confections that any summer girl might be glad to wear. The little French ladies who exhibited these goods were voluble and dramatic, and in true French fashion, and with more or less true French language, they extolled the beauty of their wares.

In a Swiss châlet the peasants sold dolls and toys; in a Cuban construction, of which no one knew the exact title, some fierce-looking native men sold cigars, and in a strange kind of a hut which purported to be an Eskimo dwelling, ice cream could be bought.

The Stars and Stripes waved over a handsome up-to-date soda-water fountain, as the authorities had decided that ice-cream soda was the most typical American refreshment they could offer to their patrons. But an Indian encampment also claimed American protection, and a group of Western cowboys took pride in their ranch, and even more pride in their swaggering costumes.

Altogether the Bazaar was a great show, and as it was to last for three days, nobody expected to exhaust all its entertainments in one visit.

The Romany Rest was one of the prettiest conceits, and though an idealised gypsy encampment, it proved a very popular attraction.

Half a dozen girls and as many young men wore what they fondly hoped looked enough like gypsy costumes to justify the name, but at any rate, they were most becoming and beautiful to look upon.

Patty was the gypsy queen, and looked like that personage as represented in comic opera. Seated on a queerly constructed, and somewhat wobbly throne, she told fortunes to those who desired to know what the future held for them.

Apparently there was great curiosity in this respect, for Patty was kept steadily busy from the time she arrived at her place.

Other gypsies sold gaily coloured beads, amulets and charms, and others stirred a queer-looking brew in a gypsy kettle over a real fire, and sold cupfuls of it to those who wished in this way to tempt fate still further.

It was a perfect day, and the afternoon was progressing most satisfactorily.

Bertha was one of the Swiss peasants, and by dint of much hurrying, she and Patty had been able to get ready in time to join the parade of costumed attendants as they marched to their various stations.

Though had it not been for Mr. Phelps and his swift motor-car, they could scarcely have reached the fair grounds in time.

Elise was one of the Italian flower girls, and Kenneth also wore the garb of Italy.

Mr. Hepworth and Roger Farrington were ferocious-looking Indians, and brandished their tomahawks and tossed their feathered heads in fearsome fashion.

Dick Phelps was a cowboy, and his Herculean frame well suited the picturesque Western dress. And Charlie Roland flattered himself that arrayed as a Chinaman he was too funny for anything.

Although Patty had become better acquainted with young Mr. Roland, she had not learned to like him. His conceited ways and pompous manner seemed to her silly and artificial beside the frank comradeship of her other friends.

He came early to have his fortune told by the gypsy queen, and though, of course, Patty was in no way responsible for the way in which the cards fell, and though she told the fortunes strictly according to the instructions in a printed book, which she had learned by heart, she was not especially sorry when Mr. Roland’s fortune proved to be not altogether a desirable one.

But the young man was in nowise disconcerted.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, cheerfully, “I’ve had my fortune told lots of times, and things always happen just contrary to what is predicted. But I say, Miss Romany, can’t you leave your post for a few minutes and go with me to the Japanese tea place, for a cup of their refreshing beverage?”

“Thank you ever so much,” said Patty, “but I really can’t leave here. There’s a whole string of people waiting for their fortunes, and I must stand by my post. Perhaps I can go later,” she added, for though she did not care for Charlie Roland’s attentions, she was too good-natured to wish to hurt his feelings.