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CHAPTER XI
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

Patty’s birthday party was a great success.

As a rule, young people love a “dress-up” party, and the guests all entered into the spirit of the thing.

Lady Hamilton was in her element.

For the occasion, she had engaged a large salon, and aside from the pretty floral decorations, there were dolls and Teddy Bears and rocking horses, and all sorts of children’s toys and games. On the walls hung bright-colored prints, intended for nursery use, and little, low chairs and ottomans stood about.

Of course, Lady Hamilton, as hostess, did not dress like a child, but wore one of her own lovely, trailing white house-gowns.

When the guests arrived they were shown to dressing-rooms, where white-capped nurses awaited them, and assisted them to lay aside their wraps.

Then led to the salon by these same nurses, the guests were presented to Lady Hamilton and Patty. Such shouts of laughter as arose at these presentations! The young people, dressed as tiny children, came in with a shy air (not always entirely assumed), and made funny little, bobbing curtseys. Some, finger in mouth, could find nothing to say; others of more fertile brain, babbled childishly, or lisped in baby-talk.

Before many had arrived, Patty and Lady Kitty were in such roars of laughter they could scarcely welcome the rest.

Tom Meredith was a dear. Though a boy nearly six feet tall, he had a round, cherubic face, and soft, curly hair. He wore a white dress of simple “Mother Hubbard” cut, the fulness hanging from a yoke, and ending just below his knees, in lace-edged frills. White stockings, and white kid pumps adorned his feet, and his short curls were tied at one side with an immense white bow. He was such a smiling, good-natured chap, and looked so girlish and sweet in his white frock, that Patty at once called him Baby Belle, and the name exactly suited him.

“Did you come all alone?” asked Lady Hamilton.

“Yeth, ma’am,” replied Tom, rolling up his eyes in pretended diffidence. “My nurthie went to a ball game, tho I had to come all by mythelf. But I’th a big dirl, now!”

“You are indeed,” said Patty, glancing at his stalwart proportions, “but you’re surely the belle of this ball.”

Grace Meredith was a little Dutch girl, and was charming in the picturesque Holland headgear, and a tight-waisted, long-skirted blue gown, that just cleared the tops of her clattering wooden sabots. She talked a Dutch dialect, or rather, what she imagined was such, and if not real Hollandese, it was at least, very amusing and funny.

Mabel Hartley looked very sweet as Little Red Riding-Hood, and she carried a little basket on her arm, which contained a real pat of butter.

Sinclair and Bob Hartley were the Princes in the Tower, and the black velvet suits and white lace collars were exceedingly becoming to them. They wore wigs of long flaxen hair, and often fell into the pose of the celebrated picture, to the delight of all who saw them. But when not posing as a tableau, they were so full of antics that Patty told them they were more like Court Jesters than Princes.

“Clowns, you mean,” said Bob, as with a flash of his black satin legs he leap-frogged over Sinclair’s back.

“Behave yourselves, Princes!” admonished Patty, and in a second, the two stood motionless, side by side, as in the great painting.

“You certainly must be photographed like that,” exclaimed Lady Hamilton; and then a brilliant idea came to her and she sent a message at once to a well-known photographer to send one of his men and a camera at once.

And so, the regular programme of the party was suspended while photographs of the guests were taken. Singly and in groups they were snapped off as fast as the camera could be adjusted, and Lady Hamilton promised to send copies to their homes later.

Some of the young people had hired very elaborate costumes and represented celebrated works of art.

Gainsborough’s “Blue Boy,” and Velasquez’ “Maria Teresa,” were truly beautiful, while Van Dyck’s “Baby Stuart,” made a lovely picture. But equally interesting were the less pretentious characters and costumes.

Simple Simon was a favourite with all. A faded blue smock frock, and a battered old hat formed his characteristic garb, and long, straight yellow locks, and a stupid, open-mouthed expression of face made him look like the traditional Simon. He was a boy of much original wit, and his funny repartee proved him, in reality, far from simple-minded.

Little Miss Muffet was present, and Struwelpeter, and “Alice,” and a merry brother and sister had to cut up many roguish antics before they were recognised as “The Heavenly Twins.”

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, wore a pretty Dolly Varden costume, and carried a watering-pot, while Little Boy Blue shyly blew his horn at her. There were several Lord Fauntleroys, and Buster Browns and Rollos, and also a great many who represented nobody in particular, but just a dear little child.

Mr. Fairfield and Nan, though they had said they would come to the party dressed as children, had changed their minds, and arrived later than the others, wearing the garb of elderly people.

They said they were the grandparents, come to look at the children enjoy themselves.

Nan made a very sweet old lady, with white wig, and gold glasses, while Mr. Fairfield pretended to be an old man, cross and gouty. But so funny was his ferocious crustiness that nobody felt in awe of him.

Led by Lady Hamilton, the boys and girls played all sorts of merry children’s games.

“Ring Around a Rosy,” “London Bridge is Falling Down,” “Hide the Thimble,” and other such infantile entertainments proved exceedingly mirth-provoking. The big babies were continually crying over fancied woes, and sometimes even the historic characters grew humorously quarrelsome.

At half-past four supper was served. The children were formed in pairs for a grand march. To the strains of “The Baby’s Opera” they marched to another room, where a long table was set for them.

At each place was a bread-and-milk set, and a mug which was lettered in gilt, “For a Good Child.”

The mugs were especially pretty ones, and were to be taken home as souvenirs. At each place was a bib with strings, and when these were tied around their necks, the big “children” looked absurd indeed.

In keeping with their assumed rôles, their table manners were not impeccable, and many fists pounded on the table, while babyish voices said: “Me wants me thupper,” or “Div me some beddy-butter!” But though the bowls and mugs betokened infantile fare, the supper really served included dainty salads and sandwiches, followed by ices, jellies and cakes, and was fully enjoyed by the healthy appetites which belong to young people of eighteen or thereabouts.

After supper, they returned to the drawing-room for a dance.

Delightful music was played, and it was a pretty sight to see the fancy costumes gracefully flit about in the dance.

When it was nearly time to go home, one of the “nurses” came to Lady Hamilton saying that a belated guest had arrived.

“Who is it?” asked Lady Hamilton, surprised that any one should arrive so late.

“He says he is Peter Pan,” answered the maid.

“Show him in, at once,” said Lady Hamilton, “we surely want to see Peter Pan—the boy who never could grow up.”

And then through the doorway came a figure that unmistakably represented Peter Pan.

The well-known costume of russet browns and autumn-leaf tints, the small, close cap with its single feather, and the fierce-looking dagger were all there. To be sure, it was a much larger Peter Pan than any of them had seen in the play, but otherwise it was surely Peter.

At first, Lady Hamilton looked completely bewildered, and then, as she realised that it was really her own father, she turned pale and then very pink.

Patty stood near her, and though she didn’t know what might happen, she felt sure Lady Hamilton would be quite able to cope with the situation.

And so she was. After the first dazed moment, she stepped forward, and offering her hand, said cordially:

“Welcome, Peter Pan! We are indeed glad to see you. We’re sorry you couldn’t come earlier, but pray fall right into place with the rest of our little guests.”

It was the nature of Sir Otho Markleham to do thoroughly whatever he did at all.

So, now, throwing himself into the spirit of the moment, he made friends with the young people at once. He entertained them with stories of his thrilling adventures with the pirates; he told them how he lost his shadow, he explained all about Fairies, and soon the other guests were all crowded about him, listening breathlessly to his talk.

Lady Hamilton, standing a little to one side of the listening group, looked at her father. She realised at once what it all meant. She knew that Patty had persuaded him to come, and that it meant complete reconciliation between father and daughter. The whole matter could be discussed later, if they chose, but the mere presence of her father beneath her roof meant forgiveness and peace between them.

Softly Patty came up beside her and clasped her hand. “You’re a witch,” whispered Lady Hamilton, as she warmly returned the pressure. “How did you ever accomplish this?”

“Never mind that, now,” said Patty, her eyes shining. “Are you glad?”

“Glad! Yes, only that’s a short word to express my joy and my gratitude to you. But you took a risk! Suppose I had fainted, or done something foolish in my great surprise.”

“Oh, I knew you better than that,” returned Patty. “Isn’t he a dear in that Peter Pan suit? And, only think, he took off his beloved ‘sideboards,’ so he’d look the character better.”

“They’ll soon grow again,” said Lady Hamilton, carelessly; “but what I can’t understand is why he came at all.”

“Because he loves you,” whispered Patty, “and you love him. And you’ve both been acting like silly geese, but now that’s all over.”

“Yes, it is!” And Lady Hamilton gave a soft sigh of relief. Then, following her father’s example, she devoted herself to her young guests, and the time passed pleasantly until their departure.

Of course, these young people knew nothing of the state of affairs between “Peter Pan” and his hostess, though they soon discovered the identity of Sir Otho.

Soon after six, the “children” went away, declaring that it had been the event of the season, and they had never enjoyed a party more. The three Fairfields took leave at the same time, and Lady Hamilton was left alone with her father.

Exactly what was said in the next half hour neither of them ever told, but when it was past, the two were entirely reconciled, and Lady Kitty had consented to return to her father’s house to live. Then she sent a note to the Fairfields, asking them all to dine with herself and her father that evening.

“And meantime, Kitty,” said Sir Otho, “I’ll go and get out of this foolish toggery.”

“Yes, but save that suit to be photographed in. I must have your picture to put with those of the other ‘children.’”

Sir Otho went away, enveloped in a long raincoat, and promising to return at the dinner hour. It was a merry dinner party that night.

Patty had a new frock in honour of the occasion, and as she donned the pretty demi-toilette of pale green gauze, Nan said it was the most becoming costume she had ever worn.

“Now that you’re really eighteen, Patty,” she said, “I think you might discard hair-ribbons.”

“No, thank you,” said Patty, as Louise tied her big, white bow for her. “I’ll wear them a little longer. At least as long as I’m in this country where Dukes and Earls run wild. When I get back to New York, I’ll see about it.”

“Good-evening, Miss Yankee Doodle,” said Sir Otho, as he met her again at dinner. “Once more the American has conquered the English, and I would be greatly honoured by your kind acceptance of this tiny memento of the occasion.”

As Sir Otho spoke, he handed Patty a small jeweller’s box. She opened it and saw a dear little brooch in the form of an American flag. The Stars and Stripes were made of small sparkling brilliants of the three colours, and the twinkling effect was very beautiful.

“It is lovely!” she exclaimed; “how can I ever thank you! This is one of my very choicest birthday gifts, and I have received a great many.”

“It is nothing,” said Sir Otho, “compared to what you have given me,” and he glanced affectionately toward his daughter.

And this was all he ever said by way of expressing his gratitude to Patty, but it was enough, for the deep tone of his voice, and the suggestion of tears in his eyes, proved his inexpressible appreciation of Patty’s achievement.

Then the matter was dropped entirely, and the conversation became general and gay. Sir Otho proved to be as entertaining to older people as he had been to the children at the party, and Lady Kitty was in her most charming mood. Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield quite did their share toward the general entertainment, but Patty was queen of the feast. She enjoyed it all, for she dearly loved a festivity of any sort, but to-night she was specially happy to think that her plan had succeeded, and that she had given to her dear friend Kitty what she most wanted in all the world.

“And I trust it will not be long,” said Sir Otho, “before you will all accept an invitation to dine with me in Carlton Terrace, with Lady Hamilton presiding at my table.”

This invitation was delightedly accepted, and then they all went up to the Fairfields’ drawing-room, and Patty sang songs, and they all sang choruses, and then, as a final surprise, came a great, beautiful birthday cake, with eighteen lighted candles.

Then Patty cut the cake, and there were more congratulations and good wishes all round, and for pretty nearly the eighteenth time in her life Patty declared it was the best birthday she had ever had.

CHAPTER XII
SUMMER PLANS

“As usual,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling, “the question is, what is to be done with Patty?”

“Yes,” agreed Patty, complacently, “you and Nan are usually trying to dispose of me in some way. It’s lucky I’m good-natured and don’t mind being left behind.”

“That’s a pretty speech!” exclaimed Nan, “after we’ve begged and coaxed you to go with us!”

“So you have, my pretty little Stepmother—so you have; and I’m just ungrateful enough not to want to go.”

It was about a week after the birthday party, and the Fairfields were making their plans for the summer. The elders wanted to travel in Switzerland and Germany. Patty did not want to go with them, but her dilemma was, which of several delightful invitations to accept.

“You see,” she went on, “I’m invited to spend June in five separate places, each one lovelier than the other. Now I can’t chop myself up into five pieces.”

“You can chop June up into five pieces,” suggested Nan.

“Yes, but if I go to a country house to make a good long visit, I want to stay about a month. A week here and then a week there is so unsatisfactory. However, after much thoughtful brooding over the question, I’ve cut out three, and that brings my quandary down to only two places to decide between.”

“Lady Hamilton’s being one,” observed her father.

“Yes, Kitty’s is one; and Mabel Hartley’s is the other. Of course, if I spend June with Kitty, we’ll be right here in London all the time, and though I love it, yet I love the country too. Now, if I go to Mabel’s, I’ll have a beautiful experience of real English country life.”

“You would enjoy it, I’m sure,” said Nan; “and I think you’d better decide to go to Cromarty Manor, and then, if for any reason, you don’t like it, come back, and put in the rest of your time with Lady Kitty.”

“Nan, that’s an inspiration!” cried Patty, running across the room, and clasping Nan in one of her rather strenuous embraces.

“Look out! You’ll break her!” cried Mr. Fairfield, in great pretence of fear.

“No, indeed!” said Patty, “she’s too substantial. And anyway, such a clever suggestion deserves ample recognition.”

Patty sat on the arm of Nan’s chair, and amused herself by twisting Nan’s curly hair into tight little spirals.

“Stop that, Patty,” said her father; “you make Nan look like a pickaninny.”

“No matter what she looks like, if it’s becoming,” said Patty, serenely. “But truly, Nan, you ought to wear your hair like that; it’s awfully effective!”

The spirals now stood out all round Nan’s face, like a spiky frame, but the good-natured victim only laughed, as she said, “Never mind me, let’s get these great questions settled.”

So, after some more talk and discussion, it was settled that Patty should accept the Hartleys’ urgent invitation to Cromarty Manor, for, at least, a part of June, and then, if she cared to, stay also a time with Lady Hamilton.

“It may sound silly,” said Patty, thoughtfully, “but I can’t help feeling that Mabel not only wants me to visit her this summer, but she needs me. Now, I don’t mean to be conceited, but, don’t you know, you can tell when people seem to need you, if only in a trivial way.”

“I understand,” said Nan, quickly; “and you’re not conceited a bit, Patty. Mabel does need you. She is a sweet girl, but sometimes she seems to me the least bit morbid; no, not quite that, but verging that way. She adores you, and I’m perfectly sure that your companionship will do her a world of good.”

“I hope so,” said Patty; “I love Mabel, but there is something about her I can’t quite understand.”

“You’ll probably find out what it is, when you’re staying with her,” said her father, “and I know, Patty, you’ll do all in your power to brighten her up. The Merediths live near them, don’t they?”

“Yes; only a mile or two away. And the Merediths are gay enough for anybody. If they’re at home this summer, there’ll be plenty of fun going on, I’m sure.”

“Lady Hamilton will miss you a lot,” said Nan; “what does she say to your going?”

“Oh, she says she’ll miss me,” said Patty, “and so she will, some, but it’s not like it was when she was here, alone. Now that she’s settled in her father’s house again, she has so much to occupy her time and attention she’s never lonely. Of course, she’s just as fond of me, and I am of her, but since she’s gone away from here, I don’t see so much of her. And, truly, she doesn’t need me, and Mabel does. So I’ll go to Mabel’s first, and I shouldn’t be surprised if I stay there until you people come back from your trip. Mrs. Hartley asked me for the whole summer, you know, but you won’t be gone more than a month or six weeks, will you?”

“Not more than two months,” answered her father, “and you know, chickabiddy, if ever you want to join us, I’ll send for you, or come for you myself, whenever you say the word. Just telegraph me, and I’ll respond at once.”

“All right; I will if I want to. But there’s too much fun for me in civilization to want to go wandering off to the ends of the earth.”

“And you may decide to go to Herenden Hall for a time.”

“Yes, I may. I’d love to visit Lady Herenden again, if I thought that Earl gentleman wouldn’t be there.”

“He probably won’t be,” said Nan. “I daresay you scared him away from there forever.”

“Even so, I didn’t scare him as much as he scared me,” returned Patty, “but I do hope there won’t be any Earls at Cromarty. I like plain, big boys better.”

“Those Hartley boys are fine fellows,” observed Mr. Fairfield. “Young Meredith has more fun and jollity, but the Hartleys are of a sterling good sort. I like the whole family, and I’m glad, Patty girl, that you’ve decided to go there. I’ll willingly leave you in Mrs. Hartley’s care, and I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”

“Of course I shall, Daddy, and I’ll write you every day, if you want me to.”

“Not quite so often, my dear. Twice a week, will be all you’ll find time for, I’m certain.”

“Quite likely,” said Patty, who was not very fond of writing letters.

Only a week later, Patty was to go away with the Hartleys. And a week was not a very long time for her preparations. There was shopping to do, and calling, and, as Nan and Mr. Fairfield were leaving at the same time, they were to give up their hotel apartment for the present.

But Lady Hamilton insisted that Patty must look upon Sir Otho’s big house in Carlton Terrace as her own home. If she cared to run up to London for a few days at any time, she would be more than welcome at Lady Kitty’s. Or she could leave there any trunks or other belongings that she wished. This greatly pleased Mr. Fairfield, for he felt more comfortable at leaving Patty, to know that she had a foothold in London, and somebody to look after her, should she care to leave Cromarty before her parents’ return.

At last the day of departure came, and Mr. Fairfield accompanied Patty to the station to meet the Hartleys for the journey.

It was with a homesick heart that Patty bade her father good-bye. Somehow, she suddenly felt that she was leaving her own people to go away with strangers. But she knew she must not be foolish, so she bravely kept back the tears and said good-bye with a tender, if not a gay, smile.

“It is the loveliest thing,” said Mabel, after they were settled in the train, “to think that you’re really going with us. I wanted you to, so dreadfully, but I didn’t urge it very much, for fear you wouldn’t enjoy yourself with us.”

“I always enjoy myself,” said Patty, “but I know I shall be happy with you.”

“We’ll try to make you so, Miss Fairfield,” said Bob, earnestly, and Patty smiled at him, and said:

“Then the first thing you can do toward it, is to drop that formal name, and call me Patty. I’m not really grown-up enough for the other.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” said Bob, as he looked at her critically. “So, as we’re all to live under one roof for a time, we’ll be first namers all round.”

“Good!” said Sinclair, “that suits me; and now, Mater, when you’re ready, we’ll go in to luncheon.”

Patty thought luncheon in the dining car was great fun. Only four could sit at a table, but as Mrs. Hartley had a slight headache and did not care to talk, she and Grandma Cromarty sat at another table, and left the four young people to chatter by themselves.

Everything interested Patty, from the unusual things she found on the menu to the strange sights she saw from the window.

This was her first trip in this direction, for they were travelling toward Leicester, and the scenes were all new to her.

The boys were full of fun and nonsense, and Mabel was so gay and jolly that Patty began to think she had imagined the girl was of a sad nature. They all told funny stories, and made absurd jokes, and poked fun at each other, and Patty concluded she was likely to have a very jolly summer with the Hartleys. Back they went after luncheon to their funny parlour car, which had double seats facing each other, with a small table between.

“Just the place for a game,” said Sinclair, as the four took their seats, two on either side of the table.

“What sort of a game?” asked Patty.

“Oh, I don’t know; I’ll make one up.” The boy took a bit of chalk from his pocket, and marked off the table into various sections, with a circle in each corner, and crosses here and there.

“Now,” he explained, as he offered each player a coin, “this isn’t money, you know. They’re merely counters, for the time being. But when the game is over you must all give them back to me, because they’ll be money again then.”

“But what do we do with them?” asked Patty, who was greatly interested in any game.

“I’ll show you. These places are homes, and these are wilderness. If you’re in the wilderness you may be captured, but if you’re at home, you can’t be.”

The game was really a mix-up of parcheesi, halma, and some others; to which were added some original rules out of Sinclair’s own head. Patty and Bob were partners against the other two, and soon the quartette were deeply absorbed in the game.

“You are the cleverest boy, to make this up!” cried Patty, as her side won, and they prepared to begin over again.

“Oh, he often makes up games,” said Mabel. “We all do, only Sinclair’s are always the best.”

“Mine are very good, though,” observed Bob, modestly.

“Good enough, yes,” said Sinclair; “only usually they’re so difficult that nobody can win but yourself.”

Bob made a profound bow at this compliment, and then the game went on. It seemed impossible that they had been about five hours on the train, when it was time to get out. They had reached Leicester, and from there were to drive to Cromarty Manor.

Two vehicles met them at the station.

Into one of these, a comfortable victoria, Sinclair assisted the four ladies, and in the other, the boys rode up with the luggage. The drive was beautiful, and Patty warmly expressed her gratitude to Mrs. Hartley, for inviting her to this delightful experience of English country life.

“It is beautiful,” said Mrs. Hartley, looking about her. “I’m always glad to get back from London to the restful quiet of these great trees and the far-away, peaceful hills.”

Mabel’s mood had changed. She no longer laughed and jested, and though sweet and gentle as ever, the hint of sadness had again crept into her face, and her speech was slow and quiet. Patty adapted her mood to the other’s, and it was almost in silence they drove along the country roads.

It was a long ride, and it was nearly dusk when at last they arrived at Cromarty Manor.

An old servant came out from the Porter’s Lodge to open the high iron gates for them.

He gave them a warm greeting, which seemed a heart-felt welcome, and not merely the speech of a paid dependant, and then they drove on toward the house.

The whole effect was so beautiful that it almost took Patty’s breath away. It was not a bit like Herenden Hall, it was more like an old feudal castle. The picturesque house was of gray stone, with towers and turrets almost entirely covered with ivy. From the ivy the birds flew in and out, and the darkness of the surrounding trees and tall shrubbery gave the place a weird and fairly mysterious appearance.

“You feel the charm of it, don’t you?” said Mrs. Hartley, kindly, as she looked at Patty’s rapt face and serious eyes.

“Yes, indeed,” said Patty, softly; “I can’t explain it, but it casts a spell over me. Oh, I don’t wonder you love it!”

But the darkness of the outer world was soon dispelled by a broad gleam of light, as the great front doors were thrown open. An old, gray-haired butler stood on the threshold, and greeted them with rather pompous respect and punctilious deference. The interior was quite in keeping with the outside view of the house. But though the old carved rafters and wainscoting were dark and heavy, cheerful lamps were in abundance, and in the halls and drawing-rooms, wax candles were lighted also.

At the first view on entering there seemed to be an interminable vista of rooms, that opened one from another; this was partly the effect of the elaborate old architecture, and partly because of many long mirrors in various positions.

The furniture, tapestries and ornaments were all of an epoch two centuries back, and the whole picture fascinated Patty beyond all words.

“It’s a wonderful place,” she said at last; “and after a week or two, I’m going to examine it in detail. But at first I shall be satisfied just to bask in its atmosphere.”

“You’ll do!” cried Bob, who had just arrived. “If you hadn’t appreciated Cromarty, we were going to pack you straight back to London; but you’ve acquitted yourself nobly. Nobody could make a better speech than you did, and I’ll wager you didn’t learn it beforehand either.”

“I couldn’t,” said Patty, “because I didn’t know what the place was like. What few remarks you made about it seem like nothing, now that I’ve begun to see it for myself.”

“Yes, and you’ve only begun,” said Sinclair. “To-morrow, when you get further into the heart of it, you’ll surrender to its charm as we all do.”

“I’m sure I shall,” agreed Patty, “and, indeed, I think I have already done so.”