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Patty Fairfield

C >> Carolyn Wells >> Patty Fairfield




"Then,--I'll see about it," said the child, gravely, and they all laughed
at the carefully considered decision.

Then Aunt Alice took Patty up to her room, and as they went through the
halls, Patty thought she had never seen such a beautiful house in her life.
It was as large as the St. Clairs' house, but the decorations and
furnishings were in subdued tints and quiet effects and there was no loud
or garish ornamentation.

When they entered a room on the second floor, Patty could not repress an
exclamation of delight.

"Oh, Aunt Alice," she said, "what a lovely room! Is this mine?"

"Yes, dear," said her aunt, "and I'm glad you like it. It was a great
pleasure for Marian and me to arrange it for you."

The room was a large one, with windows on two sides, and the coloring was
all pale green and ivory.

The walls were a beautiful shade of light green, with a few water-colors
and etchings in narrow gilt or ivory frames.

The carpet was plain green, soft and velvety, like moss; and the furniture,
of a light cream-colored wood, was in dainty shapes, with delicate
spindle-legged tables and chairs. The dressing-table was furnished with
ivory-backed brushes and mirrors, and there was a charming little
work-table with sewing materials of all kinds.

An open desk showed every kind of writing-implement, made of ivory or
cut-glass, and the blotting-pad was pale green.

A couch by a corner window was provided with many ruffly fluffy pillows,
covered with green silk, and a knitted afghan of soft green wool lay folded
at the foot.

Two or three vases of mignonette and ferns harmonized with the general
effect, and gave the room a delightful fragrance.

Although unable to appreciate all these details at a first glance, Patty at
once realized that the whole room presented a far more charming and refined
appearance than her more elaborate apartment at Villa Rosa, with its ornate
bric-a-brac and expensive rugs.

"It is lovely," she said to her aunt. "I never saw a room that I liked as
well. I think a fairy must have touched it with her wand, it is all so
fresh and sweet, just like a woodland dell."

"This is your fairy bower," said Aunt Alice, and she opened a glass door
leading out on a balcony.

The balcony was as large as a small room, and it had a roof to it, and
rattan shades at the sides that could be rolled up or down at pleasure.

Vines clambered around the pillars, and on the railings between them, were
palms and bright flowers growing in jars or tiled boxes.

On the balcony were several easy chairs, a round table and a couch, all of
wicker basket-work, and across the corner was swung a green and white
hammock with pillows of green linen.

"Oh, Aunt Alice," cried Patty, "this _is_ fairy-land! Is this _my_
balcony?"

"Yes, dear," said her aunt, kissing her happy, surprised little face, "and
I hope you will often enjoy it. I want you to be a happy Patty during your
stay with us."

"I am happy already," said Patty, as they went back into her room, "in such
a lovely home, and among such lovely people."

"May I come in?" said Marian, tapping at the open door. "Mother mine, are
you going to monopolize our Patty? I haven't half seen her yet."

"You can see me," said Patty, smiling at her cousin, "but you can't hear
me, for I am speechless with delight at this beautiful room, and that
fairy-land place outside. And now I'm going to put my mother's picture on
the desk and then it will be just perfect."

Patty took the portrait from her traveling-bag, and Aunt Alice looked at it
tenderly. Though she had known her brother's young wife but a short time,
she had greatly loved and admired her.

"You are like your mother, Patty," she said.

"So every one tells me, Aunt Alice. But I want to be a Fairfield too. Don't
you think I am like papa?"

"Not very much in appearance. Perhaps you are like him in disposition. I'll
wait until I know you better before I judge. Brother Fred was the
stubbornest boy I ever saw. But when I told him so, he said it was only
firmness of character."

"I think that's what it is with papa," said Patty, loyally, "but I've often
heard him say that I used to be very stubborn when I was little."

"It's a Fairfield trait," said Aunt Alice, smiling, and as Patty looked at
the sweet-faced lady she thought she seemed as if perhaps she could be very
firm if occasion required.

"Marian," said Patty, "Aunt Alice says you helped arrange this lovely room
for me, and I want to thank you and tell you how much I admire it."

"Oh, I didn't do much," said Marian. "I only selected the books and stocked
the writing-desk and sewing-table, and made the sofa-pillows and did a few
little things like that. Mamma did most of it herself. And grandma knitted
the afghan. Isn't it pretty? We were all glad to get ready for your coming.
We've looked forward to it ever since you came North."

"Come, Marian," said her mother, "let us run away now, and leave Patty to
dress for dinner. Unless we can help you unpack, may we? Your trunks have
come, and I will have them sent up here at once."

"Oh, yes, let me help you put away your things," said Marian, but Patty,
with a slight blush, thanked them for their kind offers but declined their
assistance. And for a very good reason, or at least it seemed so to the
embarrassed child. During her stay at the Hurly-Burly, poor Patty's
wardrobe had become sadly dilapidated.

It never occurred to the Barlow family to mend their clothes. Missing
buttons were never replaced except by pins; torn ends of trimming were left
hanging or snipped off; and after a whole summer's carelessness, Patty's
garments were in a deplorable state.

So the child really felt ashamed for her aunt and cousin, who seemed to be
the quintessence of neatness, to discover her untidy wardrobe.

Even her best dresses were soiled and wrinkled. Nan and Bumble had helped
her to pack, and their idea of packing a trunk seemed to be to toss
everything in in a heap, and then jump on the lid to make it shut tight.

So woful Patty looked over her clothes in dismay. They had seemed all right
down at the Hurly-Burly, but here, in this immaculate green and white room
they seemed utterly out of place, and quite unworthy of being put away in
the bureau-drawers or cupboards.

It was with difficulty that she decided upon a dress to wear down to
dinner. Her light summer dresses had been bought ready-made during one of
Aunt Grace's hurried trips to New York, and with the well-known viciousness
of ready-made clothing, had shrunk and stretched in the wrong places, and
showed occasional rips besides. Then being badly laundered and afterwards
crumpled in the trunk, they presented anything but the fresh, crisp
appearance that summer dresses ought to have.

So Patty looked over her other frocks. But the gorgeous ones that she
hadn't worn since she was at Aunt Isabel's, seemed more than ever in
glaring bad taste, and as she had needed no new clothes at Aunt Hester's,
she had bought none while in Boston.

With a sigh, she selected a pink muslin, that did fairly well, except that
the lace was gone from one sleeve and two buttons were missing.

She ripped the lace from the other sleeve, so that they might match, at
least, and was rejoiced to find that there were some buttons in a drawer of
her new work-table.

Of course needles and thread were there too, which was fortunate, for Patty
had none in her trunk, and indeed, she scarcely knew how to use them
anyway.

As she dressed, she resolved that she would confide her troubles to Aunt
Alice, and ask help in replenishing her wardrobe.

"I'm all out of proportion," she said to herself, "and papa wouldn't like
it a bit if he knew that I didn't have a decent dress to put on. But down
at the Hurly-Burly nobody cared or thought anything about it."

As all her shoes seemed to lack some buttons or to have broken laces, she
put on her best slippers, and after she had brushed her pretty hair, and
improved the despised pink muslin with some bows of black velvet, she
looked quite presentable, and if Aunt Alice noticed anything amiss she gave
no hint of it to her young guest.




CHAPTER XIX


A PICNIC

"Aunt Alice," said Patty, the next morning after breakfast, "I want to have
a little talk with you, and won't you come up to my Fairy Bower so we can
be by ourselves,--for it's a sort of secret?"

"I will, my child," said Aunt Alice, "as soon as I've attended to a few
household duties. I'll meet you there, in about half an hour. Will your
secret keep that long?"

"Oh, yes indeed; I'm in no hurry at all."

"I don't seem to be included in the secret," said Marian; "but come with
me, Patty, won't you, until mamma is ready for you? I'm going to water the
palms and plants in the front veranda. That is always part of my morning's
work."

"Let me help you," said Patty, and the two girls went off together.

In a short time Aunt Alice reappeared, saying, "Now, Patty girl, I'm at
your disposal. Marian, dear, remember this is Thursday, and the Basket
Drill is at ten."

"Yes, I know, mamma. I'll be ready for it."

When Mrs. Elliott was comfortably seated in a rocking-chair on the balcony,
Patty drew up a small wicker stool and sat down in front of her.

"Aunt Alice," she began, "my secret is just this. I haven't any clothes
that are fit to wear, and I want you to help me get some. When I was at
Aunt Isabel's she bought me loads of dresses, but they were all winter
ones, and besides, I don't believe they're the kind you'd like. In Boston,
at Aunt Hester's, nobody ever thought much about what they wore, and I got
along all right, somehow, but this summer down at Aunt Grace's, my clothes
seemed to go to pieces all at once."

"Like the 'One-Hoss-Shay,'" said Aunt Alice, laughing. "Well, this is
indeed a sad state of affairs. But perhaps we can find a way out of the
difficulty."

"Yes, of course we can," said Patty, eagerly. "Papa sends me money whenever
I ask him for it; so if you'll buy me some clothes, he'll repay you at
once. I want everything. My things are no good at all."

"Wait, wait," said Aunt Alice, "don't dispose of your wardrobe in such a
summary way. Suppose we look it over together, and see what's best to be
done."

"All right," said Patty, "but I'm really ashamed to show you the miserable
lot."

"Why, Patty," said Aunt Alice, as she looked over the torn and crumpled
dresses and under-clothing, "these do seem to be unwearable, but they are
not hopelessly so. You see, the trouble is, they've been neglected, and
clothes, like plants or children, won't thrive under neglect."

"I know it, Aunt Alice, but we never thought of mending things down at the
Hurly-Burly, and there was no one to do it for us, as there was at Aunt
Isabel's."

"Never mind your other aunts, Patty; you have to deal now with your Aunt
Alice, and you will find her a regular tyrant."

But the loving smile which accompanied this speech robbed it of all
tyrannical effect.

"Now," the "tyrant" went on, "we'll put in one pile all the things that are
too faded or worn to be of use to you, and those we'll give away to some
one who can use them. These heavy silk and velvet frocks and these gorgeous
party dresses we'll just lay away for the present, and now we'll put in
this place all that needs mending. It's a shame to see these dainty little
white petticoats and nightgowns with their buttons off, and their trimmings
torn."

"Yes, Aunt Isabel bought me those, and they were lovely when they were
new."

"And they'll be lovely again, for they only need a few stitches and some
good laundry-work to make them as pretty and fresh as ever. Do you know how
to sew, Patty?"

"No, Aunt Alice, I don't. When I was at home, Mrs. Miller, our landlady,
always looked after my things, and I never thought of sewing; and since
I've been North, I haven't, either."

"Well, Patty, sewing is an old-fashioned accomplishment, I suppose, but I
think it is something that every woman ought to know; and if you are going
to keep my brother's house for him, I am going to see to it that you are
well equipped for the task, and to that end I'm going to instruct you in
both sewing and housekeeping. There, Miss Patty Fairfield, how do you like
that?"

Patty ran to her aunt's arms, which were open to receive her, and kissed
her lovingly.

"Oh, Aunt Alice, I'll be so glad if you will, for I do want to keep papa's
house right. But Aunt Grace told me not to worry about it, and the house
would keep itself."

"Never mind Aunt Grace now, you are under Aunt Alice's orders, as I told
you. And she was right in telling you not to worry about it; but as to a
house keeping itself, I haven't heard that the autohome has been invented
yet, and until it is, we'll stand by the old methods of housekeeping. And
so, every morning, my dear Patty, unless something very important calls you
elsewhere, you are to spend two hours with me, in studying what the wise
people call Domestic Science, but I call Domestic Common-sense."

Patty's little face looked very bright and happy, for she was truly anxious
to learn these things, and there had been no opportunities during her other
visits.

"I treat Marion in the same way," said Aunt Alice. "Although we have
several servants, Marian has learned and practiced many branches of
housework and she sews very nicely. But I don't think you will find Marian
'worried' or even impatient at the irksome tasks."

"No, indeed, Aunt Alice, Marian is as bright and cheery as a sunbeam, and
I'm sure no task could be irksome if you advised or assisted with it."

"Oh, you don't know me yet," laughed Aunt Alice; "didn't I tell you I was a
tyrant? But you do need some new things, child, and we'll buy them in a day
or two."

Aunt Alice counted over the dresses which could be made available for use,
and then, selecting a number of garments only slightly out of repair, she
said:

"This morning we'll attack these. Did you hear me tell Marian to remember
the Basket Drill? Well, that means the sewing or mending basket; and if
you'll bring yours with you, we'll attend a Ladies' Sewing Society in the
sitting-room at once."

In the sitting-room they found Marian with her basket of work, and grandma,
who was darning stockings.

With kindly care and patience Aunt Alice showed Patty how to mend neatly,
and as the pupil was by no means stupid, she did great credit to her
teacher.

After they had sewed for about an hour, Mrs. Elliott said:

"Now, children, put away your baskets and run out to play. You need fresh
air and sunshine quite as much as buttons and strings. Marian, why don't
you take Patty down and show her the Falls? You'll have just about time
enough to go and get back to luncheon."

"We will," said Marian; "come along, Patty."

As Patty was by nature adaptable to her surroundings, she followed Marian's
example and arranged her work-basket tidily and then put it away in its
place, though down at the Hurly-Burly it would never have occurred to her
to do so, and nobody would have set her such an example.

Patty thought to herself, "Well, these people have the right proportion of
system and order, anyhow; I wonder if they're lacking in some other
proportion. I haven't seen it yet, if they are."

And she didn't discover it later, either; for though not perfect people, by
any means, the Elliotts had a true sense of proportion, and no duty or
pleasure was pursued to excess, and so allowed to crowd out other duties or
pleasures.

"Mother," said Frank, as they sat on the veranda, one evening, soon after
Patty's arrival, "I think we might have a picnic in Patty's honor. I want
her to get acquainted with the boys and girls, and that's as good a way as
any. And if we could have it on Saturday afternoon, perhaps father could
take a half-holiday and go with us."

"That's a fine idea," said Aunt Alice; "do you agree, Charlie?"

"Yes," said Mr. Elliott, "I'd like it of all things. Shall we go to
Foster's Woods?"

"Yes," said Marian, "that's the nicest place for a picnic. There's a lovely
lake there, Patty, and boats to row about in, and tables for the feast and
everything."

"How many shall you invite?" said Uncle Charlie. "I'll engage stages to
take us all over."

"I want to go," said Edith. "Mayn't I, mamma?"

"Of course you may," said Mrs. Elliott; "we'll take the whole family, from
grandma down to little Gilbert."

"Oh, I can't go," said grandma; "I'm too old for picnics."

"Not a bit," said her son; "if you don't care for staging, I'll send you
and Alice and the baby over in the carriage."

And then they all fell to planning the details of the picnic, and Patty
secretly contrasted the occasion with similar ones at her other aunts'.

There was no quarreling about arrangements as at Villa Rosa; each deferred
politely to the others' opinions, and yet each frankly expressed his or her
mind on any subject.

And there was no inattention or forgetfulness as at the Hurly-Burly. Each
was appointed to attend to several different things, and Patty felt sure
that their promises would all be fulfilled.

"Let's have lots of sandwiches," said Frank; "the last picnic I went to, I
didn't have half enough. And can't we have jam in some of them, as well as
chicken and ham?"

"Certainly, my boy," said his mother; "I'll see that you have jam
sandwiches and ham sandwiches and chicken sandwiches, and plenty of them."

"Those names might be shortened," said Uncle Charlie, meditatively. "The
_sand_ is superfluous, anyway. There's no sand in them. Why don't we say
jamwiches, hamwiches and chickwiches?"

"Oh, that's much better," cried Marian. "I wonder we never thought of it
before. I shall never mention a ham sandwich again. A hamwich is so much
nicer."

"And then there are tonguewiches and eggwiches," said Patty, delighted with
the new words.

"And jellywiches," said Aunt Alice, laughing. "And now what else do young
people eat? Cakes and fruit, I suppose."

"Yes, and little tarts," said Frank; "they're awfully good on a picnic."

"And ice cream," said Marian.

"I'll order the ice cream," said her father, "and I'll bring a big box of
candies from New York. Frank, you must see to the hammocks and swings, and
games if you want them."

"Yes, sir," said Frank, "I'll take my shuffleboard and ring-toss. And we'll
build a fire, and make coffee, shall we mother?"

"Yes, dear; Patty and I will make the coffee," said Aunt Alice with a
sidelong smile at her niece.

"Then I know it will be good," said Frank.

Saturday was a beautiful day, clear and bright and not too warm.

Immediately after luncheon four stages went around and gathered up about
fifty young people, and a wagon full of provisions for feasting and fun
followed them to Foster's Woods.

Patty wore a pretty white frock, which, under Aunt Alice's instruction, she
had neatly mended, and Mrs. Elliott's skilful laundress had made clean and
crisp.

The Vernondale young people proved to be a merry, jolly crowd, and pretty
Patty soon became a favorite.

Frank and Marian introduced her to everybody and took special care that she
should never lack for companions or amusement.

And there was so much to do, and Patty enjoyed it all. She was clever at
the games, and owing to her practice at the Hurly-Burly, she could row as
well as any boy.

The lake was a beautiful bit of water, and in some parts of it pond-lilies
grew in abundance.

The young people gathered a quantity of these, both white and pink, to
decorate the supper-table.

Then when the feast was ready, Uncle Charlie called the children together,
and they came with a will, for their afternoon out of doors had given them
a good appetite for the hamwiches and jamwiches.

After supper was over, it was about seven o'clock, and Uncle Charlie told
his young guests that they could ramble round for half an hour, and then
they would start on their homeward ride.

The path by the side of the lake was a very pretty one, and Mrs. Elliott
and her husband walked along there with little Gilbert between them. The
child was getting sleepy and a little wilful; and while Jane, his nurse,
was eating her supper, his parents had him in charge.

Soon they heard Frank's voice calling, "Father, won't you please come here
a minute and help us get this swing down?"

Mr. Elliott went to help the boys, and Mrs. Elliott and Gilbert sat down on
the grassy bank to await his return.

"Mamma," said the child, "shall I pick you some pretty flowers?"

"Yes, baby," said his mother, who was looking at the sunset, and only half
listening, "but don't go far away."

"No," said the little fellow, and how it happened, Mrs. Elliott never knew,
but seemingly in a moment, Gilbert had climbed into a boat and was afloat
alone on the lake. For an instant Mrs. Elliott was too frightened even to
scream; and then, she dared not, for the boat was a little, round-bottomed
affair, and Gilbert was jumping about in it so excitedly, that if suddenly
startled he might upset the boat.

With great presence of mind his mother spoke to him gently.

"Gilbert, dear," she said, "sit down in the middle of the boat, and be
quiet until I call papa, will you? There's a good boy."

"I am a good boy," Gilbert called back; "I'm going to get mamma pretty pink
pond-flowers."

The boat was drifting farther and farther out, and the child sitting in the
bow, rocked it from one side to the other.

"Gilbert," said his mother, sternly, "sit right down in the bottom of the
boat. Right in the middle, do you hear? Obey me at once!"

"Yes, mamma," said the boy, and he did as she told him to, but continued to
rock the boat, so though the danger was lessened, it was still a frightful
scene, and filled the poor mother's heart with terror.

"Charlie, Charlie," she called, and then "Frank," but they could not hear
her as they were taking down some hammocks in another part of the grove.

The boat drifted nearer to the pond-lilies, and Mrs. Elliott saw Gilbert
lean over the side of the boat.

"Now I'll get them for you, mamma," he called.

Mrs. Elliott could scarcely hear his words, but she saw,--the boat overturn
and her darling child fall into the deep lake.




CHAPTER XX


THE RESCUE

When Mrs. Elliott called to her husband and son, they could not hear her,
but her cries were heard by a small group of half-a-dozen boys and girls,
who were walking along the shore of the lake at some distance ahead of her.

Patty and Marian were in this group, and at the sound of her mother's
frightened cry, Marian turned pale, and said, "Oh, Patty, something
dreadful has happened; let us run to mother."

But one of the boys said, "Look out on the lake! There's your little
brother in a boat, all alone."

"Oh," cried Marian, "he'll be upset! Where's papa? Can any of you boys
swim?"

"No," said two of the boys, and another said, "I can't either, but I'm
going to try."

"Don't do it," said Patty, who was already flinging off her shoes. "I can
swim, and I'll save the baby."

She remembered how Nan jumped into the water with her ordinary clothes on
that day at the Hurly-Burly, and so she ran into the lake, all dressed as
she was, for there was no time to lose, and struck out for the boat.

She had taken but a few strokes, when she saw the child fall into the
water, and heard Mrs. Elliott give a despairing shriek.

Patty gave one shout of "All right, Aunt Alice, I'll get him!" and then
swam for dear life. This was literally true, for she was determined to save
the dear life of little Gilbert if she possibly could.

And she did, for as the baby rose to the surface, Patty was near enough to
grasp him, and then managed to reach the overturned boat and by its support
she easily kept herself and the child afloat.

"He's all right," she called to the crowd now gathering on the bank. "I can
hold him up; somebody come out after us in a boat." But two boats had
already started, and in a few minutes Gilbert was lifted into one and Patty
scrambled into the other, and they were quickly rowed ashore, and when they
landed on the beach, Uncle Charlie, with the tears rolling down his cheeks,
tried to embrace both Patty and Gilbert at once.

Aunt Alice couldn't speak, but the looks of love and gratitude she gave
Patty said more than words could, and Patty felt that this was the happiest
moment of her life. And what a fuss the young people made over her! The
boys praised her pluck, and the girls marveled at her skill.

But as Patty and Gilbert were both dripping wet, and it was already
nightfall, the question was, what to do to keep them from taking cold.

"Build up the fire again," said grandma, "and we'll undress the baby, and
wrap him all up in one of the carriage robes."

"And there's another carriage robe for Patty," said Marian.

"I'll fix Patty," said Uncle Charlie, "haven't some of you girls a big
blanket-shawl that won't be spoiled if it gets wet?"

Several shawls were eagerly offered, and Uncle Charlie selected two big
warm ones and wrapped Patty, wet clothes and all, tightly in them, leaving
only her face exposed, until she looked like a mummy, and was wound so
tight she couldn't stand up without assistance. But Uncle Charlie took the
laughing mummy in his arms and lifted her right into his carriage and then
got in and sat beside her.

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