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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?”

“Not so very; but when talking to a learned monk, I try to be as wise as I can. Oh, look at that stunning big man,—who is he?”

“Looks like one of the patriarchs; but I guess he’s meant for King Lear. See the wreath of flowers on his white hair.”

“Did Lear wear flowers? I thought he wore a crown.”

“Tut! tut! Little Bo-Peep, you must brush up your Shakespeare. Don’t you know King Lear became a little troubled in his head, and adorned himself with a garland?”

“Well, he’s awfully picturesque,” said Patty, quite undisturbed by her ignorance of the play, and looking admiringly at Lear’s magnificent court robes of velvet and ermine, and his long, flowing white hair and beard, and the garland of flowers that lay loosely on the glistening white wig and trailed down behind.

As they neared the picturesque figure, King Lear bowed low before Patty, and held out his hand for her dance card.

It was the rule of the ball not to speak, but to indicate invitations by gestures.

However, Patty had no reason to keep silent, as they were nearly all strangers, so she laughed, and spoke right out: “I’d gladly give you a dance, King Lear, but I haven’t one left.”

With another courtly bow, King Lear still seemed to insist on his wish, and he took up her card, which she had tied to her crook by a narrow ribbon. With surprise he saw the whole second page blank, and pointed to it with an accusing gesture.

“Ah, yes,” returned Patty, smiling, “but those are for my friends after I know them. We unmask at supper-time, and then I shall use some discrimination in bestowing my dances. If you want one of those you must ask me for it after supper.”

King Lear bowed submissively to Patty’s decree, and was about to move away, when a sudden thought struck him. He picked up Patty’s card again, and indicated a space between the last dance and the supper.

“Oh, I know what you mean,” cried Patty. “You mean an ‘extra.’ But I don’t think they’ll have any. And, anyway, I never engage for extras. If they do have one, and you happen to be around, I’ll give it to you;—that’s all I can say.” And then Patty’s next partner came, and she danced away with him, leaving King Lear making his sweeping, impressive bows.

“Who is he?” asked Patty, of Roger, who chanced to be her partner this time.

“Don’t know, I’m sure; but I know scarcely any of the people up here. They seem to be a fine crowd, though. Have you noticed the Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra? There she is now. Isn’t she stunning?”

Patty looked round, to see a tall, majestic woman, dressed as Zenobia. Her tiny mask hid only her eyes, and her beautiful, classic face well accorded with the character she had chosen.

“She’s beautiful!” declared Patty, with heartfelt admiration. “I wish I was big and stunning, Roger, instead of a little scrap of humanity.”

“What a silly you are, Patty Pink! Now, I’ve no doubt that tall, majestic-looking creature wishes she could be a little fairy, like you.”

“But a big woman is so much more graceful and dignified.”

“Patty, I do believe you’re fishing! And I know you’re talking nonsense! Dignified isn’t just the term I should apply to you,—but if there’s anybody more graceful than you are, I’ve yet to see her.”

“Oh, Roger, that’s dear of you. You know very well, I hate flattery or compliments, but when a real friend says a nice thing it does me good. And, truly, it’s the regret of my life, that I’m not about six inches taller. There, look at Zenobia now. She’s walking with that King Lear. Aren’t they a stunning couple?”

“Yes, they are. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be envious of other women’s attractions. You have quite enough of your own.”

“Never mind about me,” said Patty, suddenly realising that she was talking foolishly. “Let’s talk about Mona. She’s looking beautiful to-night, Roger.”

“She always does,” and Roger had a strange thrill in his voice, that struck a sympathetic chord in Patty’s heart.

“What about her, Roger? Isn’t she good to you?”

“Not very. She’s capricious, Patty; sometimes awfully kind, and then again she says things that cut deep. Patty, do you think she really cares for that Lansing man?”

“I don’t know, Roger. I can’t make Mona out at all, lately. She used to be so frank and open with me, and now she never talks confidences at all.”

“Well, I can’t understand her, either. But here comes Mr. Collins, looking for you, Patty. Is only half of this dance mine?”

“Yes, Roger. I had to chop up every one, to-night. You may have one after supper, if you like.”

Patty whirled through the various dances, and at the last one before supper she found herself again with Philip Van Reypen.

“Why, I didn’t know this was yours!” she cried, looking at her card, where, sure enough, she saw the initials B. S.

“It sure is mine,” returned Bobby Shafto; “but we’re not going to dance it.”

“Why not, and what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to wander away into the conservatory.”

“There isn’t any conservatory. This is a club-house, you know.”

“Well, they’ve fixed up the gymnasium, so it’s almost a conservatory. It’s full of palms and flowers and things, and it makes a perfectly good imitation.”

“But why do we go there?” asked Patty, as Philip led her away from the dancing-room.

“Oh, to settle affairs of state.” He led her to the gymnasium, and sure enough, tall palms and flowering plants had been arranged to form little nooks and bowers, which were evidently intended for tête-à-tête conversations.

“You know,” Philip began, as they found a pleasant seat, under some palms, “you know, Patty, you promised me something.”

“Didn’t, neither.”

“Yes, you did, and I’m going to hold you to your promise. You promised–”

“‘Rose, you promised!’” sang Patty, humming a foolish little song that was an old-fashioned favourite.

“Yes, you did promise, you exasperating little Rose, you! And I’m going to keep you prisoner here, until you make it good! Patty, you said you’d look into your heart, and tell me what you found there.”

“Goodness me, Philip, did I really say that? Well, it will take me an awful long while to tell you all that’s in it.”

“Really, Patty? Did you find so much?”

“Yes, heaps of things.”

“But I mean about me.”

“Oh, about you! Why, I don’t know that there’s anything there at all about you.”

“Oh, yes, there is; you can’t fool me that way. Now, Patty, do be serious. Look in your heart, and see if there isn’t a little love for me?”

Patty sat very still, and closed her eyes, as Philip could see through the holes in her blue mask.

Then she opened them, and said, with a smile: “I looked and hunted good, Philip, and I can’t find a bit of love for you. But there’s an awful big, nice, warm friendship, if you care about that.”

“I do care about that, Patty. I care very much for it, but I want more.”

Just at that moment King Lear and Zenobia strolled past them, and Patty almost forgot Philip as she gazed after the two majestic figures.

“Patty,” he said, recalling her attention, “Patty, dear, I say I want more.”

“Piggy-wig!” exclaimed Patty, with her blue eyes twinkling at him through the mask. “More what? I was looking at King Lear, and I lost the thread of your discourse, Philip.”

“Patty Fairfield, I’d like to shake you! Don’t you know what I’m asking of you?”

“Well, even if I do, I must say, Philip, that I can’t carry on a serious conversation with a mask on. Now, you know, they take these things off pretty soon, and then–”

“And then may I ask you again, Patty, and will you listen to me and answer me?”

“Dunno. I make no promises. Philip, this dance is over. I expect they’re going to unmask now. Come on, let’s go back to our crowd.”

But just as they rose to go, Jim Kenerley approached, and King Lear was with him.

“Little Bo-Peep,” said the big Indian, “King Lear tells me that you half promised him an extra, if there should be one.”

“As it was only half a promise, then it means only half a dance,” said Patty, turning her laughing blue eyes to the majestic, flower-crowned King. “Is there going to be an extra, Jim,—I mean Chief Mudjokivis, or whatever your Indian name is?”

“I don’t know, Bo-Peep. I’ll go and see.”

Jim went away, and as Philip had already gone, Patty was left alone with the white-haired King.

With a slow, majestic air, he touched her gently on the arm, and motioned for her to be seated. Then he sat down beside her, and through the eyeholes of his mask, he looked straight into her eyes.

At his intent gaze, Patty felt almost frightened, but as her eyes met his own, she became conscious of something familiar in the blue eyes that looked at her, and then she heard King Lear whisper, softly: “Apple Blossom!”

Patty fairly jumped; then, seeing the smile that came into his eyes, she put out both hands to King Lear, and said, gladly: “Bill! Little Billee! Oh, I am glad to see you!”

“Are you, really?” And Bill Farnsworth’s voice had a slight tremor in it. “Are you sure of that, my girl?”

“Of course I am,” and Patty had regained her gay demeanour, which she had lost in her moment of intense surprise. “Oh, of course I am! I was so sorry to have missed you last week. And Jim said you went back to Arizona.”

“I did expect to, but I was detained in New York, and only this morning I found I could run up here and stay till to-morrow. I couldn’t get here earlier, and when I reached the house, you had all started. So I got into these togs, and came along.”

“Your togs are wonderful, Little Billee. I never saw you look so stunning, not even as Father Neptune.”

“That was a great show, wasn’t it?” and Big Bill smiled at the recollection. “But I say, Little Girl, you’re looking rather wonderful yourself to-night. Oh, Patty, it’s good to see you again!”

“And it’s good to see you; though it doesn’t seem as if I had really seen you. That mask and beard completely cover up your noble countenance.”

“And I wish you’d take off that dinky little scrap of blue, so I can see if you are still my Apple Blossom Girl.”

“But I thought you wanted the extra dance.”

“I don’t believe there’s going to be any extra, after all. I think the people are anxious to get their masks off, and if so we’ll have our dance after supper.”