Patty's Social Season

“Oh, land, child, I know what that means! Maybe you ain’t ready to say yes yet, but you will soon. Well, it ain’t none of my business, but I’m free to confess you are as proper-lookin’ a young couple as I’d want to meet; and mighty well suited to each other.”

“That’s what I think,” began Philip, but Patty turned the subject and went back to the weather, which was always a safe ground for conversation, if not safe to go out into.

“Well,” she said, going to the window for the fourteenth time; “it’s perfectly hopeless to think of starting. And it’s after four now, and it’s blowing great guns and snowing like all possessed! Mrs. Fay, we’ll simply have to accept your hospitality for the night. Now I think I’ll telephone Adèle that we’re stormbound.”

But though Patty called and called, she could get no answer from the telephone Central.

“Guess the wires must be down,” said Miss Winthrop. “They broke down last winter with a snow that came sudden, just like this, and ’twas a week before we got it fixed.”

“Let me try,” and Philip took the receiver from Patty’s hand. But it made no difference who tried, they could get no answer of any kind.

“Oh, well,” said Philip, as he hung up the receiver again, “it doesn’t matter much. They know we’re safe, and they know where we are, and they know we couldn’t start out in a storm like this.”

“Maybe they’ll come for us with a motor,” suggested Patty.

“They might if we were nearer. But a motor would get stalled before it could get over here and back again in these drifts. It’s an awful storm, Patty, and the sooner you make up your mind that we can’t go home to-night, the better for all concerned.”

“My mind’s made up, then,” and Patty danced about the room. “I don’t mind a bit! I think it’s a lark. Do you have feather beds, Mrs. Fay?—I mean the kind you climb up to with step-ladders.”

“Land no, child! We ain’t old-fashioned folks, you know. We have springs and mattresses just like you do at home. Well, I’m sorry if your folks are worried, but I’m glad to have you young people stay the night. Maybe this evening, you’ll sing for us some more.”

“We will,” said Philip. “We’ll sing everything we know, and then make up some.”

Once having made up her mind to the inevitable, Patty ceased bothering about it, and proceeded to enjoy herself and to entertain everybody else. She chatted pleasantly with the old lady, she coquetted with Philip, and finally wandered out into the kitchen to make friends with Eliza.

“Let me help you get supper,” she said, for, to tell the truth, the novelty of the situation had passed, and Patty began to feel a little bored.

“Supper ain’t nothin’ to get, miss,” returned Eliza, a rawboned, countrified girl who was shy in the presence of this city lady.

“Well, let me help you, anyway. Mayn’t I set the table?”

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t know where the things was. Here, take this dish and go down cellar for the butter, if so be’s you have to do somethin’. It’s in a kag, underneath the swing-shelf.”

“Swing-shelf?” said Patty, interested—“what is a swing-shelf?”

“Why, a shelf hanging from the ceiling, to keep things on.”

“But why does it hang from the ceiling? I never heard of such a thing.”

“Why, so the rats or mice can’t get at the things.”

“Rats or mice!” and Patty gave a wild scream. “Here, take your plate, Eliza. I wouldn’t go down there for a million billion dollars!”

Patty ran back to the sitting-room. “Oh, Philip,” she cried, “they have rats and mice! Can’t we go home? I don’t mind the storm!”

“There, there, Patty,” said Philip, meeting her half-way across the room, and taking her hand in his. “Don’t be silly!”

“I’m not silly! But I can’t stay where they keep rats and mice! Why, Philip, they expect them. They build high shelves on purpose for them.”

“You must excuse this little girl, Mrs. Fay,” said Philip. “She’s really sensible in most ways, but she’s an absolute idiot about mice, and she can’t help it. Why, the other night–”

Patty drew her hand away from Philip’s clasp, and put it over his mouth. “Stop!” she said, blushing furiously. “Don’t you say another word! I’m not afraid of mice, Mrs. Fay.”

“There, there, child; I know you are, and I don’t blame you a mite. I am, too, or leastways, I used to be. I’ve kinder got over it of late years. But I know just how you feel. Now, let me tell you; honest, never a mouse dares show the tip of his nose outside the cellar! If you don’t go down there, you’re as safe as you would be up in a balloon. And I don’t count none the less on you for acting skittish about ’em.”

“I don’t mind it, either,” said Philip, who was still holding Patty’s hand by way of reassurance. “I shouldn’t mind if you acted skittisher yet.”

But Patty drew her hand away, declaring that Mrs. Fay had quieted her fears entirely, and that if Eliza would promise to keep the cellar door shut, she wouldn’t give another thought to the dreaded animals.

After supper, the four played a game of old-fashioned whist, which delighted the two old ladies, though it seemed strange to Patty and Philip, who were both good bridge players. Then there was more music, and at ten o’clock Miss Winthrop informed them that it was bedtime.

With considerable pride she took Patty up to the best spare room.

“Now, I hope you’ll be comfortable,” she said, “and I’m sure you will be. Here’s my best night-gown for you, and a dressing-gown and slippers. I don’t need ’em,—I can get along. And here’s a brush and comb. And now, that’s everything you want, isn’t it?”

Patty was touched at the kindliness of the old lady, and though inwardly amused at the meagerness of her night appointments, she said, gratefully, “You’re so kind to me, Miss Winthrop. Truly, I do appreciate it.”

“You sweet little thing,” returned the old lady. “Now let me unhook you,—I should admire to do so.”

So Miss Winthrop assisted Patty to undress, and finally, after minute directions about the turning down and blowing out of the kerosene lamp, she went away.

When Patty surveyed herself in the mirror, she almost laughed aloud. The night-dress was of thick, unbleached muslin, made with tight bands to button around the neck and wrists. These bands were edged with a row of narrow tatting; and it was this trimming, Patty felt sure, that differentiated Miss Winthrop’s best night-gown from her others. Then Patty tried on the dressing-gown, which was of dark grey flannel. This, too, was severely plain, though voluminous in shape; and the slippers were of black felt, and quite large enough for Patty to put both feet in one. She arrayed herself in these things and gave way to silent laughter as she pirouetted across the room. But her amusement at the unattractive garments in no way lessened her real appreciation of the gentle kindliness and hospitality that had been accorded to her.

At last she tucked herself into bed, and rolling over on the nubbly mattress and creaky springs, she almost wished that it had been a feather bed. But she was soon asleep, and thought no more about anything until morning.

Breakfast was at half-past seven, and after that, the long morning dragged. The fun and novelty had worn off, and Patty was anxious to get back to Fern Falls. She was bright and entertaining as ever, but the spontaneous enthusiasm of the day before had vanished.

But it was impossible to start that morning, Philip said. The roads were piled high with drifts, and almost impassable.

“But why can’t we break the roads?” asked Patty. “Somebody has to do it, and I’m sure Jim’s horses are as good as anybody’s.”

“Little girls mustn’t advise on matters which they know nothing about,” said Philip, unable to resist the temptation to tease her.

Patty pouted a little, and then, with a sudden resolution, was her own sunny self again. “All right, Philip,” she said, smiling at him. “I know you’ll start as soon as it’s possible. When will that be?”

“Perhaps we can go this afternoon, dear; right after dinner, maybe. The man thinks the roads will be broken by that time.”

The storm had ceased, and it was cloudy most of the morning, but about noon the sun came out, and by two o’clock they prepared to start.

The two kind old ladies were sorry to see them go, and begged them to come again some time to visit them.

Patty said good-bye with expressions of real and honestly meant gratitude, for surely Mrs. Fay and her sister had been kindness itself to their young guests.

“But goodness, gracious, Philip,” Patty exclaimed, as they went flying down the road, “if I had had to stay there another night, I should have died!”

“Why, Patty, it wasn’t so bad. Of course, they are primitive and old-fashioned people; but they are true ladies, even if not very highly educated. And their hospitality was simply unlimited.”

“Yes, I know all that,” said Patty, impatiently; “but I was bored to death.”

“Well, you didn’t show it; you were sweet as a peach to those two people, and they’ll always love you for it.”

“Oh, of course I wouldn’t be impolite; but I’m glad we’re started for home.”

“Well, I’m not. Patty, I just enjoyed every minute,—because I was there with you. Dear, you don’t know what it meant to me.”

“Now, Philip,” and Patty turned to flash a twinkling smile at him, “we have a twelve-mile drive ahead of us, besides gathering the eggs. Now, if you’re going to say things like that to me all that twelve miles, I’m going to jump right out into this snowbank and stay there till somebody comes along and picks me up.”

“But, Patty, I must say these things to you.”

“Then, I must jump.”

“But wait a minute, dear; before you jump, won’t you just tell me that I may have a little hope that some day you’ll promise to be my own little Patty forever?”

“Philip, I can’t say anything like that, and I wish you wouldn’t tease me. If those snowbanks didn’t look so dreadfully cold–”

“But they are cold. If you don’t believe it, I will wait while you try one. But, Patty, anyway, tell me this. If I stop teasing you now, will you give me an answer when I come back at New Year’s? You know, I must take that five-thirty train this afternoon, and I shan’t see you again till next week. Will you give me an answer then?”

“‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do!’” sang Patty, with a saucy smile at him.

“No, I don’t want Daisy’s answer, I want yours. Now, you think it over through the week, and when I come up next Tuesday, you be ready to say, ‘Yes, Philip, you may hope, and some day I’ll make your hope come true.’”

“That’s an awful long speech to learn by heart,” said Patty, musingly.

“But you needn’t learn it word for word; just say something from your own heart that means the same.”

“Well,” said Patty, “next Tuesday I’ll look into my heart and see what’s there; and if there’s anything for you, I’ll tell you.”

Philip was forced to be content with this, for Patty suddenly changed the subject, and began to chatter merry nonsense that afforded no opportunity for romance. The roads were only a little broken, and the going was hard, because of occasional big drifts, but along some wind-swept stretches they made fairly good time.

“But I say,” said Philip; “we’ll have to cut out the butter and egg chapter! I simply must get that five-thirty, and I can’t do it if we go around by Hatton’s Corners.”

“All right,” returned Patty. “I’ll put it up to Adèle that we just couldn’t do it; and I’ll tell you what, Philip, we’ll go right to the station, and you take the train there without going to the Kenerleys’ at all. They’ll send your things down to-morrow.”

“That would be the safer way. But how will you get home from the station?”

“Oh, I’ll telephone from the station office, and they’ll send Martin, or somebody, after me.”

“But you have to wait so long. Here’s a better plan. Let’s stop at the Barclay Inn, and telephone from there. Then when we reach the station, Martin or somebody will be there for you.”

Patty agreed, and when they reached the Barclay Inn, a few miles from Fern Falls, they went in to telephone.

“We’re on our way home,” said Patty, after she had succeeded in getting a connection.

“Well, I should think it was time!” exclaimed Adèle. “You don’t know what you’ve missed! Where are you?”

“At Barclay Inn; and we’re in an awful hurry. Philip is going to take the five-thirty from the station, and you send somebody there to meet me and drive the horses home, will you! And what did I miss? And you’ll miss the butter and eggs, because we didn’t get them.”

“But where have you been? We tried all yesterday to get you on the telephone, and all this morning, too.”

“Yes, I know; the wires broke down. But everything’s all right. We stayed at Mrs. Fay’s. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Be sure to have me met at the station. Good-bye.”

Patty hung up the receiver and hurried back to Philip. “We’ll have to hustle to catch that train,” he said, as he tucked her in the sleigh. “Did you get Adèle?”

“Yes; she’ll send some one to meet me. She says I missed something. Do you suppose they had a party last night in all that blizzard?”

“Well, it’s just as well for you to miss a party once in a while; you have plenty of them. And I like the party I was at better than any I ever went to.”

The roads were much better where they were travelling now, and they reached the station in time for Philip’s train. But it was a close connection, for the train was already in the station, and as Philip swung aboard, he saw Martin and Hal Ferris coming in another sleigh.

“There they are!” he called to Patty. “It’s all right, good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” she called back, and then the train pulled out.

“Well, you did cut up a pretty trick!” exclaimed Hal Ferris, as he came up to her. “Now, you jump in here with me, and I’ll drive you home, and let Martin look after your horses. They must be pretty well done up. I would have brought a motor, but the sleighing’s fine, and the motoring isn’t. Hop in.”

Patty hopped in, and in a moment they were flying along toward home.

“What did I miss?” she asked. “Did you have a party last night?”

“Party! in that storm! Rather not.”

“Well, what did I miss?”

“What makes you think you missed anything?”

“Adèle told me so, over the telephone.”

“Well, then, let Adèle tell you what it was. How could I possibly know?”

“But what did you do last night?”

“Nothing much; sat around, sang a little, and talked,—and I guess that’s all.”

“Who was there? Didn’t Roger go home?”

“Yes; Roger went down on the morning train, just after you started on your wild career.”

“Well, who was there? Chub, I know you’re keeping something from me. Now, tell me what it is!”

“Do you really want to know, Patty? Well, Bill Farnsworth was there.”

“What!” and Patty nearly fell out of the sleigh in astonishment. “Bill Farnsworth?”

“Yes; he came unexpectedly yesterday afternoon. Could only stay twenty-four hours, and went back to-day on the two o’clock train.”

Patty wondered to herself why she felt as if something awful had happened. She couldn’t realise that Bill had been there, and had gone away, and she hadn’t seen him! What a cruel coincidence that it should have been just at the time when she was away. But her pride came to her rescue. She had no intention of letting Hal Ferris or anybody else know that she cared.

So she said, lightly: “Well, of all things! Didn’t anybody expect him?”

“No; he thought he’d surprise us. He was awfully cut up that you weren’t there.”

“Oh, he was! Well, why didn’t you send for me?”

“Send for you! And you miles away, and a blizzard blizzing like fury! But we spent hours hanging over the telephone, trying to get word to you.”

“The wires were down,” said Patty, thinking of the uninteresting evening she had spent, when she might have been talking to Little Billee.

“They sure were! We tried and tried, but we couldn’t get a peep out of you. Daisy said it was because you were so wrapped up in Philip that you wouldn’t answer the old telephone.”

Patty’s pretty face hardened a little as she thought how Daisy would delight in making such a speech as that before Farnsworth.

“I say, Patty, are you cut up about this? Did you want to see Big Bill, specially?”

“Oh, no, no,” said Patty, smiling again. “I only thought it seemed funny that he happened to come when I happened to be away.”

“Yes, I know; but of course nobody could help it. He came East on a flying business trip. Tried to get here for Christmas, but couldn’t make it. He waited over a day, just to skip up here and back; said he wanted to see us all. But he had to take the two o’clock back to New York to-day, and I believe he starts to-night for Arizona. He’s a great fellow, Bill is. You like him, don’t you, Patty?”

“Yes, I like him,” said Patty, simply.

“I’ve known him for years, you know. Giant Greatheart, we used to call him. So big and good, you know. Always doing something for somebody, and generous as he can be. Well, he’s making good out in the mines. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he’s in a fair way to be a rich man. He’s connected with some big company, and he’s working with all his might. And when you say that about Big Bill Farnsworth, it means a good deal.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE COUNTRY CLUB BALL

Before her mirror, Patty was putting the last touches to her Bo-Peep costume, and it must be confessed she was viewing the effect with admiration.

The gilt-framed glass gave back a lovely picture. The costume was one of the prettiest Patty had ever worn, and was exceedingly becoming. There was a short, quilted skirt of white satin and a panniered overdress of gay, flowered silk, caught up with blue bows. A little laced bodice and white chemisette completed the dress. Then there was a broad-leafed shepherdess hat, trimmed with flowers, and under this Patty’s gold curls were bunched up on either side and tied with blue ribbons. She wore high-heeled, buckled slippers, and carried a long, white crook, trimmed with blossoms and fluttering ribbons.

She pranced and turned in front of the mirror, decidedly satisfied with the whole effect. Then she caught up her basket of flowers, which she carried because it added a pretty touch, and went downstairs.

It was a gay-looking party that waited for her in the hall. The two Misses Crosby had been there to dinner, and also Mr. Hoyt and Mr. Collins, and these, with the house party, were now all arrayed in their fancy dress. As they had agreed on Christmas Day, they were all in pairs, and as of course there could be no secrecy among them, they had not yet put on their masks.

Mona and Roger were very magnificent as Queen Elizabeth and Sir Walter Raleigh. Though Mona was not at all the type of the red-haired queen, she looked very handsome in the regal robes and great, flaring collar, while Roger was a veritable courtier in his picturesque garb.

Daisy and Mr. Collins were Pierrette and Pierrot. Their costumes were black and white, Frenchy-looking affairs, with tossing pompons and peaked caps.

The elder Miss Crosby and Jim Kenerley were Indians; and the warlike brave and the young Indian maiden looked as if they might have stepped out of the earliest pages of our country’s history.

The other Miss Crosby and Hal Ferris were Italian peasants in national costume.

Adèle and Mr. Hoyt were the most simply dressed of all, but in their plain Puritan garb they were effective and distinguished looking.

Perhaps, however, it was Philip Van Reypen whose costume received the greatest applause. He had copied a picture of Bobby Shafto that had been painted by a frivolous-minded artist, and his embroidered and belaced coat of light blue silk was remindful of the period of the gayest Louis. He wore white satin knee-breeches, white silk stockings, and black slippers with enormous buckles. In accordance with the song, there were large silver buckles at his knees; and his tri-corne hat was a very marvel of gold lace and feathers. Full lace ruffles flapped at his throat and wrists, and altogether he was an absolute dandy.

“You look like a valentine,” said Patty, “or a birthday cake.”

“You do look good enough to eat,” declared Adèle, as she took in the gorgeous costume.

“Yes, I flatter myself it’s the very last touch of Shaftoism,” said Philip, strutting about with an affected gait. “I say, Patty, you’re all kinds of a peach yourself.”

“Yes, this frock is all right,” said Patty, “but you simply take my breath away, Phil. I didn’t know anybody could look so beautiful! I wish men dressed that way nowadays.”

And then everybody admired everybody else until it was time to start. Then each put on a little mask, which they were to wear at the ball until supper-time. Patty’s was of light blue silk with a short fall of lace, and Philip’s was of black satin.

“I can’t wear this thing all the way there,” declared Patty, taking hers off again.

“Well, put it on just before you get there,” enjoined Adèle. “I’ve taken great care that no one should know a word about our costumes, and now if we are well masked they won’t be able to guess who we are. Even though they know we all came from our house, there are so many of us, they can’t tell us apart.”

The Country Club was a handsome, spacious building, well away from the outskirts of the town. But the motors took them there swiftly, and soon they joined the large party of maskers in the Club ballroom. There were perhaps a hundred people there, and Patty felt there was little risk of being recognised. She did not know many of the Fern Falls people, anyway, and they would scarcely know her in her disguise.

“Of course the first dance is mine,” said Philip, as the music began.

But after that dance was over, Patty was besieged by would-be partners. Historical characters, foreigners, clowns, monks, and knights in armour begged for dances with Little Bo-Peep. Patty was so engrossed in looking at these wonderful personages, that she scarcely noticed who put their names on her card. And in truth it made little difference, as none of the men put their real names, and she hadn’t the slightest idea who they were.

“Help yourselves,” she said, laughing, “to the dances before supper; but don’t touch the other side of the card. After the masks are off, I shall have some say, myself, as to my partners!”

So the first half of the dances were variously signed for by Columbus and Aladdin and Brother Sebastian and Jack Pudding and other such names.

During each dance Patty would try to discover the identity of her partner, but as she only succeeded in one or two cases, she gave it up.

“For it doesn’t make the slightest difference who you are,” she said, as she danced with Brother Sebastian, who was garbed as a Friar of Orders Grey.

“No,” he returned, in a hollow, sepulchral voice, which he seemed to think suited to his monk’s attire.

“And you needn’t try to disguise your voice so desperately,” said Patty, laughing gaily, “for probably I don’t know you, anyhow. And you don’t know me, do you?”

“I don’t know your name,” said the monk, still in hollow tones, “but I know you’re a dancer from the professional stage, and not just a young woman in private life.”

“Good gracious!” cried Patty, horrified. “I’m nothing of the sort! I’m a simple-minded little country girl, and I dance because I can’t help it. I love to dance, but I must say that a monk’s robe on one’s partner is a little troublesome. I think all the time I’m going to trip on it.”

“Oh, all right; I’ll fix that,” said the monk, and he held up the skirts of his long robe until they cleared the floor.

“That’s better,” said Patty, “but it does spoil the picturesqueness of your costume. Let’s promenade for a while, and then you can let your robes drag in proper monkian fashion.”

“Much obliged to you for not saying monkey fashion! I certainly do feel foolish, dressed up in this rig.”

“Why, you ought not to, in that plain gown. Just look at the things some of the men have on!”

“I know it. Look at that court jester; he must feel a fool!”

“But that’s his part,” laughed Patty; “rather clever, I think, to dress as a fool, and then if you feel like a fool, you’re right in your part.”

“I say, Miss Bo-Peep, you’re clever, aren’t you?”