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CHAPTER XV
A CHRISTMAS CARD
Once safely behind her locked door, Patty tore open her blue envelope. It was only a card,—but not an ordinary printed Christmas card.
In the upper corner was a spray of apple blossoms, exquisitely painted; and on the card were some verses, written in a hand that was small and fine, but unmistakably the same as the address on the outside of the envelope.
With a little sigh of pleasure, Patty cuddled up in her arm-chair to read the Christmas message.
But it proved to be not very Christmassy, after all; for this is what she read:
“MY LADY OF DELIGHT
“My Lady of Delight’s a dainty, winsome thing;
She’s Queen of Summertime, and Princess of the Spring.
Her lovely, smiling lips are roses set to rhyme,
She has a merry, lilting laugh, like Bluebells all a-chime.
The radiance of her smile, the sunshine in her eyes,
Is like the Dawn of breaking Day upon the summer skies.
“With roguish glances bright, all on a Summer Day,
My Lady of Delight she stole my heart away;
And though I humbly beg and plead with her, alack!
My Lady of Delight, she will not give it back.
I seem to see her now, with tangled golden curl,
With dancing eyes, and smiling lips,—My Apple Blossom Girl!
“Oh, Lady of Delight, I pray you, smile on me;
Oh, Lady of Delight, your Knight I fain would be;
Oh, Lady of Delight, you set my heart aglow.
I only know
I love you so,
Dear Lady of Delight!”
Patty read the verses over twice, with shining eyes.
“I wonder if he wrote them himself,” she mused. “I don’t believe he did; he must have copied them. He knows an awful lot of pretty poetry like that. And yet it doesn’t sound like a real poet’s poetry, either. And he used to call me Apple Blossom,—such a pretty name. Philip would never think of such a thing as that. I wonder if I like Little Billee better than I do Philip. I wonder if he likes me better. But of course he can’t, or he would have written to me in all this time. I haven’t seen him since August, and he never wrote a word, except the stiffest kind of a line with those flowers he sent me. I thought he’d forgotten all about me! But I can’t think so now,—unless he just came across this poem, and it recalled me to his mind. Well, I came awfully near not getting it! I don’t see how Daisy could have been so mean; I don’t like that kind of a joke a bit. But of course she thought it was just a printed card, like hers and Mona’s. Well, she’ll never know it isn’t,—that’s one thing sure!”
And then Patty tucked her card of verses under her pillow and went to sleep.
The next morning, as Patty had prophesied, she slept late. Daisy peeped into her room two or three times before she finally found Patty’s blue eyes open.
“At last!” she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I thought you’d never wake up! Patty, what do you think? I’ve been down in the library, and I can’t find that card! I’m awfully sorry, truly I am; I’ll give you mine if you want it.”
“Thank you, Daisy,” and Patty smiled at the recollection of Mona’s similar offer. “Bill’s cards seem to be a drug in the market! But you may keep yours, and also set your mind at rest about mine; for I sneaked downstairs last night in the dark, and fished it out for myself.”
“You did! Oh, Patty, weren’t you frightened to prowl around like that, late at night?”
Patty shook with laughter. “I was frightened,” she said, “when I thought I saw a mouse,—but it wasn’t a mouse, after all.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be afraid of a mouse! But you might have met a,—a burglar or something?”
“No,” and Patty still grinned. “I didn’t meet any burglar. But I got the card, Daisy, so that’s all right.”
“Was it like mine? Let me see it.”
“It wasn’t exactly like yours, and I won’t let you see it. You kept it away from me, and now it’s my turn to keep it away from you. And by the way, Daisy, that was a mean thing to do, and I don’t want you to do anything like that to me again!” Patty’s sweet face showed an unusually stern expression, and her blue eyes looked straight into Daisy’s as she spoke.
“I won’t, Patty; truly, I won’t. I’m awfully sorry, but I did it on a sudden impulse.”
“I know it; and, Daisy, I want you to try not to give way to those ‘sudden impulses’ when they’re mean ones. You have enough good, generous impulses to keep you busy. Now, you mustn’t mind if your Aunt Patty lectures you a little bit, because as the teachers always say, ‘it’s for your own good.’ And if you’ll please take a chair, instead of sitting all over my feet, I’d like to have my breakfast; for I hear my pretty little Swedish Hedwig bringing it in.”
The smiling maid appeared with Patty’s breakfast tray, followed by Mona and Adèle.
“Company already!” exclaimed Patty, sitting up in bed. “Hedwig, quick, my breakfast cap,—the pink one,—and the nightingale to match.”
The maid threw the silken wrap around Patty’s shoulders, and tucked her hair into the lace-frilled cap, which was of a Dutch shape, and made Patty look like the pictures of Holland’s pretty queen.
“You don’t seem hungry,” said Mona, as Patty toyed with her chocolate. “Now, I ate a most astonishing breakfast, because I forgot to eat my supper last night.”
“Well, you see,” returned Patty, dropping her lashes to hide her twinkling eyes, “I didn’t forget to eat my supper.”
The recollection of that supper in the pantry was too much for her, and she burst into laughter.
“What is the matter with you, Patty?” said Adèle. “You’re acting like a harmless lunatic! However, I’m sent to tell you to hop up and get dressed, for one of your admirers below stairs wants you to go for a sleighride with him.”
“Jim?” asked Patty, looking up with a smile.
“No; Mr. Van Reypen.”
“Oh, good gracious! I don’t care about going riding with Philip; I can see him in New York. I hoped it was Hal,—that’s why I said Jim.”
“Patty,” said her hostess, “you’re a born coquette, and always will be! But your wiles are wasted on me. Save them for your suitors. But, truly, Mr. Van Reypen is going on an errand for me, and he said that he wanted to show you some little attention while he was here, and he guessed he’d let you go along with him in the cutter.”
“Oh, a cutter ride,” and Patty began to scramble out of bed. “That sounds rather good fun. But I’d rather go with Hal.”
“Well, you’re candid, at any rate,” said Daisy. “But as it happens, Hal and I are going to practise some music this morning.”
“Oh, in that case, I’ve nothing more to say.” And Patty smiled good-naturedly at Daisy. “And I suppose Mona and Roger are going somewhere to play by themselves.”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Mona. “Roger’s going back to the city this morning, and I’m going to write letters.”
“But I thought Philip was going back to the city,” said Patty, looking at Adèle.
“He’s going on the afternoon train. Go on and get dressed, Patty, and don’t waste any more time.”
“All right,” and Patty made an expeditious toilette and in little more than half an hour went downstairs equipped for her ride.
She was enveloped from head to foot in a raccoon fur coat, with a jaunty hat of the same, trimmed only with a bright quill feather.
“Why do we go?” she demanded, presenting herself before Philip, who was waiting in the hall.
“To get butter and eggs,” he returned, gravely. “The Kenerley larder is entirely empty of those two very necessary ingredients.”
“But why do we go for them? Are there no servants to send?”
“Little girls shouldn’t ask questions,” and without further ceremony Philip tucked her into the waiting sleigh, sprang in beside her, and took up the lines.
“My, this is great!” exclaimed Patty, as the pair of fine horses went dashing down the drive, and the clear, keen winter air blew against her face.
“Yes; I thought the sleighride would brace you up. And, really, there seemed to be nobody to send on this errand, so I said we’d go.”
“Is it far?”
“No; only about five miles; we’ll be back for luncheon. How did you sleep, after your late supper?”
“All right,” and Patty smiled back into Philip’s face. “But I wasn’t hungry for my breakfast.”
“I should say not! You ate enough last night for two little girls like you!”
“There aren’t two little girls like me!” said Patty, with twinkling eyes, and Philip exclaimed: “Indeed, there aren’t! I say, Patty, my Princess Patty, do be engaged to me, won’t you?”
“No, you ridiculous boy, I won’t! And if you say another word on the subject, I’ll be real downright mad at you!”
“Very well, I won’t. Now, see here, Princess, do you mean to go to this masquerade ball with me? For, if not, I’m not coming back here for New Year’s.”
“Why, of course, I’m going with you. Who else?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. But there would be plenty glad to take you.”
“Pooh! I know that. But I want to go with you. What shall we wear?”
“I was thinking of some foolish thing, like Little Bo-Peep, you know.”
“Oh, I’d love to be that! A shepherdess costume, and a crook with ribbons on. But I want you to wear a satin coat and knee-breeches.”
“Well, I’ll be Old King Cole.”
“No, I don’t like that. I’ll tell you! You be Little Boy Blue.”
“The Gainsborough picture?”
“No, that won’t do either. Oh, you be Bobby Shafto! He wears ‘silver buckles on his knee,’ don’t you know?”
“Yes, I do know! And what’s the next line?”
“Never mind,” said Patty, turning pink. “I want you to wear a real Bobby Shafto costume. So you will, won’t you?”
“Of course, if my Princess commands. I’ll have it made at once. Can I help about yours?”
“Well, you might go to see Nan, and tell her what I want, and she’ll get it and send it up here. A shepherdess rig is easy enough, and there’s nothing prettier.”
“It will be lovely. I say, which way do we turn here?”
“To go to Hatton’s Corners? Oh, to the right.”
“I think it’s the left.”
“No, it isn’t. I remember distinctly, Jim said, be sure to take the right road.”
“He meant right, not wrong.”
“Nonsense! he didn’t. He meant right, not left. Turn right, Philip.”
They turned right, into a wide, straight road. The sleighing was fine, though not yet sufficiently packed. But, with the light cutter, and two good horses, they spun along in great shape.
“There’s something about sleighing that’s different from anything else,” remarked Patty, with the air of one expounding a great truth.
“It’s the exhilaration. Spinning along like this, with the snow crunching under us, beats motoring, I think.”
“Yes; for an occasional ride. But for all the year round, motoring is best.”
“That’s so. Sleighing isn’t much fun in July or August.”
“Huh! don’t be silly. But, I say, Philip, where are we? Jim said we’d pass Little Falls, and then we must follow the trolley line all the way to the butter and egg house. I don’t see any trolley.”
“Neither do I, yet. But we’ll soon strike it. Ah, here we are!”
“No; this is a railroad,—a steam railroad, I mean. Philip, we’re off the road.”
“I think we are. I’m sorry I insisted on turning to the right at that corner.”
“You didn’t insist. I did! But I thought it was right.”
“It is right, dear. Anything is right, where you are.”
“You’d better stop talking foolishness, and find the right road.”
“Oh, if you call that foolishness!”
“Well, I do! I’d rather you’d get to the egg house and back before it begins to storm. And by the looks of the sky, I’m sure it is going to storm.”
“Oh, no! nothing like that. But I say! Princess! it’s after one o’clock! Now, who would have thought it? And they expect us back to luncheon!”
“After one! Oh, Philip, it can’t be!”
“Yes, it is! Well, Patty Pink, the best thing to do, I think, is to go to that house I see in the dim distance, and ask our way. The last two or three signposts have shown names I never heard of.”
“I either,” said Patty, in a meek voice. “I noticed them, but I didn’t say anything, because it’s my fault we went astray.”
“Well, never mind. We’re in for a lark, that’s all. ‘Afar in the desert I love to ride’—what comes next, Patty?”
“‘With the silent Bushboy alone by my side–’”
“Yes, that’s it; but thank goodness, you’re not silent–”
“Nor a Bushboy, either. But I don’t like this, Philip. We’re–”
“We’re far frae our hame, and all that. But don’t you worry, my Princess. You’re with me, and so you’re not lost. You know, it’s better to be loved than lost.”
“Now, Philip, stop talking about love! It’s bad enough to be lost,—and we are lost,—without having somebody harping about love all the time.”
“Well, this isn’t much of a time or place, is it? So, suppose we invade this peaceful dwelling, and inquire our latitude and longitude.”
They drove up a winding road to a large, old-fashioned house, and Philip jumped out at the front door.
His summons on the big, brass knocker was answered by a prim little lady, with grey hair and bright, dark eyes.
“Pardon me, madame,” said Philip, in his best manner. “We have lost our way. Will you tell me how to reach Hatton’s Corners?”
“Hatton’s Corners! Why, that’s a good ten miles from here. Where’d you come from?”
“From Fern Falls.”
“Then you took the wrong road at the Big Tree Fork. You’d oughter ‘a’ gone to the left.”
“H’m; you may be right. But must we go back there, or is there a shorter cut?”
“No; there ain’t no shorter cut. But your young lady looks cold. Won’t you two come in and take a bite o’ dinner, and get warm before you go on?”
“Why, this is true hospitality, madame. What do you say, Patty?”
Patty looked uncertain. “I don’t know what to say,” she replied, hesitatingly. “I am cold; but I’m afraid it would delay us so long that Adèle will worry about us. I think we’d better jog along.”
But then another old lady appeared. She was rounder, rosier, plumper, and jollier than the first, and she cried out, heartily: “Jog along? Well, I reckon not! I jest waited to slip into my shoes,—my feet’s awful tender,—and then I come right out here to see what’s goin’ on. Now, you two young folks come right in, and set a spell. ’Tain’t often we get a chance to have comp’ny,—and on chicken pie day, too!”
“Whew, chicken pie!” exclaimed Philip. “How about it, Patty?”
“Have you a telephone?” asked Patty, with a sudden inspiration.
“Yes, miss. Now you jest come along. ’Kiah, the hired man, he’ll look after your horses, and I’m free to confess they need a rest and a feed, even if you don’t.”
“That’s so,” said Philip. “We must have come twelve or fifteen miles.”
“It’s all o’ that from Fern Falls. My, I’m right down glad to look after you two. You do seem to need it.”
The speaker’s twinkling dark eyes looked at her two visitors with such comprehension that Patty blushed and Philip smiled.
“We’re from Mr. Kenerley’s house,” he explained,—“guests there, you know. And we started for Hatton’s Corners to get some butter and eggs—and somehow, we took the wrong turn–”
“It was all my fault,” confessed Patty. “I insisted on coming this way, though Mr. Van Reypen thought the other was right.”
“Well, well, never mind! It’ll jest be a nice, smart trip back after dinner. I’m Mrs. Fay, and this is my sister, Miss Wilhelmina Winthrop. She’s got a longer name than I have, but I’ve got a longer head.”
They were ushered into the old-fashioned sitting-room, with its Brussels carpet showing huge baskets of flowers; its heterogeneous furniture, some chairs haircloth and black walnut, and others cane-seated, with rep cushions tied on; marble tables, of course; and an old sofa, with well-worn pillows and rugs.
But the place had a hospitable air, and the two hostesses were fairly beaming with delight at this opportunity for entertainment. Miss Winthrop carried Patty off to her own bedroom.
“You’re jest all tuckered out, I can see,” she said, hovering around her like a clucking hen; “but a wash-up and a good dish o’ chicken pie will put you all to rights again.”
“But I must telephone before we eat dinner,” said Patty.
“So you shall,—so you shall. Now, don’t you worry the leastest mite about anything.”
“How kind you are!” exclaimed Patty, smiling on the happy little old lady. “I suppose you belong to the real old New England Winthrops?”
“Yes, and we’re mighty proud of our name. I was so much so that I never would change it,”—and she chuckled. “Sister, though, she thought Fay was prettier.”
“Fay is pretty,” said Patty, cordially, “and now, if I may, I’ll telephone, for I know our people will be wondering where we are.”
“All right, Miss Fairfield; come right along.” But in returning to the sitting-room, Patty found Philip was already at the telephone.
“Yep,” he was saying, “lost our way; took wrong turning at Big Tree Fork. Brought up, somehow, at Mrs. Fay’s. Accepted invitation to dinner,—chicken pie!—Start back immediately after the E in Pie! See? Expect us when we get there. Will accumulate a butter and a egg or two, on our way home. Love to all. Philip.” He concluded his harangue, and turned to Patty.
“All serene on the Potomac, Patty Pink! I told them all it was necessary for them to know; and if they desire further information, they can call us up. They know where we are. Me for the chicken pie!”
CHAPTER XVI
STORMBOUND
The two old ladies were not of the quaint type, nor was their home picturesque. The place and the people were merely old-fashioned, and they were almost primitive in their ways. They were kind-hearted and hospitable, but they were of the rugged New England class that has lost the charm of its Colonial ancestry.
The dinner was wholesome and plentiful, but with no variety, and served in the plainest fashion. The chicken pie was delicious, but it had no accompaniments except home-made hot biscuit and coffee with thick, rich, country cream.
“I always say,” said Miss Winthrop, as she settled herself at the table, “that chicken pie is a whole meal in itself, without any bothersome side-dishes. I say it’s meat and drink both; but sister says she just can’t enjoy it ’thout she has a cup of coffee alongside of it. Well, I’ve no objections to the coffee, I’m sure, but I’m free to admit it does seem superfluous. Still, with company so, it ain’t so much out of place.”
“I’m sorry if we’ve made you any extra trouble,” said Patty, giving Miss Winthrop one of her best smiles; “but I’m free to confess that this is the most wonderful coffee that I’ve ever tasted, and I think it goes specially well with the pie. And as for these light biscuit, they’re just puffs of lusciousness! Aren’t they, Philip?”
“They are, indeed! All you say is true, but both coffee and biscuit pale beside the glory of this chicken pie! There never was such another!”
Mrs. Fay beamed with delight at these generous compliments, and said, complacently, “Yes, they ain’t many can make chicken pie like mine, if I do say it. My, ain’t it lucky you young people happened along, to-day of all days! And land knows, I don’t want you to go away right off. I’d like you to set a spell after dinner. But I feel it my bounden duty to tell you that ’Kiah says there’s a storm a-brewin’. But I don’t think you need start off before, say, three o’clock, anyway.”
“Three o’clock will do nicely,” returned Philip, gaily. “That will give us time to stop at Hatton’s Corners and get home before dark. Personally, I’m not in a bit of a hurry.”
“No?” And Mrs. Fay looked quizzically at her guests. “I just reckon, young man, that you ain’t one mite sorry that you lost your way and had this little outing with your young lady?”
“Indeed I’m not sorry, Mrs. Fay; and beside our little outing, we’re having a pleasant visit with you, and we’re enjoying every minute of it.”
“Indeed we are,” said Patty, glancing out of the window as she spoke. “But it’s beginning to snow already, and I don’t think we’d better wait until three o’clock.”
“Land’s sake!” and Miss Winthrop turned to look out of the window behind her. “So it is snowing! And when it begins that way, with fine flakes, slanting crossways, it means business! I dunno as you can hardly dare venture on a twelve-mile ride in the face of this. ’Pears to me it’s going to be a blizzard.”
“Nonsense, Mina; you do always look on the dark side,” expostulated her sister. “Now I think ’tain’t nothing but a flurry, and by then dinner is over, it’ll be bright sunshine again. Now, have your plates filled up, friends, and try and make out a meal.”
Mrs. Fay fairly beamed with hospitality as she urged more viands upon her guests. The table appointments were of the plainest, being thick white china and coarse table napery, with plated silverware. Patty had expected thin little old teaspoons of hall-marked silver, and old blue or perhaps copper-lustre teacups, but this household was not of that sort. Everything seemed to date from the early seventies, and Patty wondered why there were no old Winthrop heirlooms in the family.
She brought the conversation round to antiques, and Mrs. Fay remarked, decidedly: “I just can’t bear old-fashioned things. I come into quite a lot of old mahogany furniture and pewter and dishes and things when my grandfather died. But when I got married, I had an auction and sold everything. Then I took the money and bought a whole new outfit. I believe in going right along with the times. ’Course those old things were all right for grandfather, but when I married, I’m free to confess, I wanted things that were in style then. So I bought a real tasty outfit, and I’ve kept it careful, and it’s pretty near as good as new now.”
She looked around with pride at her dining-room furnishings, which seemed to Patty about the worst she had ever seen.
But she smiled at her hostess, and said, cordially: “I do think it’s nice to have just what you want; and I think we do get attached to our own things. Have you lived here long?”
“Land, yes! Nearly all my life. Mr. Fay, he’s been dead twenty-five years; so sister and me we live here together, as contented as you please. We have a telephone and a rural delivery, so you see it’s just the same as if we were right in town. Now, if you really won’t eat any more pie, let’s go into the sittin’-room a spell.”
From the sitting-room windows the view of the storm seemed more serious. The sky was black, the wind was blowing a gale, and the snow-flurry had grown thicker. In fact, it was a hard snowstorm, and Miss Winthrop’s fear of a blizzard did not seem entirely unfounded.
The young people took it lightly, however. “There’s no use worrying,” said Patty. “We ought to be thankful, Philip, that we’re under shelter, and with such kind friends. You’ll keep us till the storm is over, won’t you, Mrs. Fay?”
“Yes, and glad to. You just can’t think of starting now, so you might as well settle down and make the best of it. Want to telephone to your people again?”
“We will after a while; but there’s no use calling them up now. Let’s wait and see whether the storm grows worse or better. Why, if it’s a blizzard, we may have to stay here all night!”
“Don’t let that worry you none,” and Mrs. Fay swung back and forth complacently in her plush patent-rocker. “We got two spare bedrooms, and I’ll just be tickled to death to put you up over night. You’re just like a streak of sunshine in the house, Miss Fairfield, and I’m glad to have you as long as you’ll stay.”
“I wish you’d call me a streak of sunshine,” said Philip. “I’d love to be called that.”
“Well, you’re bright enough,” and Mrs. Fay looked at him, serenely. “But you’re a different kind of a streak.”
“A streak of lightning, I guess, if need be,” said Miss Winthrop, nodding her head at Philip, as if she appreciated his capabilities.
“I’m quick at some things,” said Philip, modestly. “But, jiminy crickets! I don’t believe we’re going to be very quick getting away from here! Just look at the storm, now!”
The fury of the elements had increased. The wind was a raging northern blast, and the snow was already piled in drifts. It was, in fact, a blizzard in a small way, and was rapidly growing.
“But never mind the weather, so long as we’re together,” sang Patty with a little trill, as she danced about the room. Then she seated herself at the old, square piano, and began to sing snatches of gay songs.
“My land! How pretty you do sing,” said Miss Winthrop, who was leaning on the end of the piano, listening delightedly. “Oh, sing more, won’t you? I don’t know when I’ve had such a treat.”
So Patty sang several of her prettiest songs, and the two old ladies were enchanted. Moreover, Eliza, the maid-of-all-work, and ’Kiah, the hired man, appeared in the doorway of the sitting-room and listened too.
“Come on, Philip; let’s give them a duet,” and Patty broke into some rollicking college songs, in which Philip joined.
Glad to be able to please their kind entertainers, they kept on singing for an hour or more.
“Well, that was great!” exclaimed Mrs. Fay, as Patty rose at last from the piano stool. “I used to sing some, and he used to sing bass. My, but we had nice times singing together there at that same piano. You two just made me think of it all over again. I think it’s awful nice for two to sing together.”
“Yes, we’re awfully fond of singing together,” said Philip, with a glance at Patty, half mischievous, half tender, whereat Patty blushed.
“You needn’t tell me,” said Mrs. Fay, nodding her head. “I see just how it is with you two. You can’t hide it, you know, so you needn’t to try.”
“Oh, I don’t want to hide anything, I’m sure,” said Philip. But Patty said, “Don’t be foolish, Philip; there’s nothing to hide! You’re mistaken, Mrs. Fay, if you think we’re anything more than friends.”
“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.
