Patricia

ꓰPatricia

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Patricia, by Emilia Elliott
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Title: Patricia
Author: Emilia Elliott
Release Date: October 30, 2004 [eBook #13895]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATRICIA***
E-text prepared by David Garcia and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

PATRICIA
by
EMILIA ELLIOTT
1910

It is a deep regret to the publishers that Miss Emilia Elliott, the creator of the charming character of Patricia, did not live to see this book in print, nor to enjoy the welcome that they are confident it will be accorded.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I. PATRICIA'S FATIGUING DAY.
II. THE GINGHAM APRON PARTY
III. THE WAY OF A GRANDMOTHER
IV. PATRICIA'S CHRISTMAS FAMILY

CHAPTER I
PATRICIA'S FATIGUING DAY
Patricia sat on the back fence, almost hidden by the low-spreading branches of an old apple-tree. Below her, on the grass, lay a small, curly, black dog, his brown, trustful eyes fixed confidently on Patricia.
"Really, you know," the child said, gravely, "it's a very perplexing situation. Aunt Julia needn't have been so inhospitable. Why didn't I wait until Daddy got home! Daddy's so much more--convincible. But it's no use now; Daddy never goes back on Aunt Julia."
Patricia slipped from the fence. "I rather think you and I'd better go down to the back meadow to talk things over; it's getting pretty near sewing-time."
Out in the meadow, flat on her back in the long grass, Patricia set herself to the task of solving this perplexing situation.
Half an hour earlier she had appeared back from one of her desultory rambles, accompanied by this most forlorn of all forlorn dogs, explaining that she had met him on the road, and he had followed her home.
It was no unusual occurrence, but when Patricia added that he didn't seem to belong to anybody, and she thought she would keep him, Miss Kirby promptly and firmly protested.
To Patricia's pleading, that he was poor and lame and homeless, that C?sar, the pointer, was the only dog they had now, and he was too old to play much, Miss Kirby had proved adamant. Patricia might give her foundling a good meal, but keep him she could not.
Whereupon, Patricia, having given the wanderer what was in reality several meals condensed into one, had retired with him to think things over.
"It really seems as if you'd been meant for me," she told him now; "I found you. I can't see why Aunt Julia won't look at things in a proper light. I'm afraid she hurt your feelings. Aunt Julia generally means pretty well, but she's apt to speak out sort of quick. We Kirbys mostly do. I wonder what your name is?"
The dog stretched comfortably out in the warm grass, quite as happy and contented as if he had been everything he wasn't, sat up suddenly, with a short little bark, as if trying to give the desired information.
Rolling over, Patricia, her chin in her hands, surveyed him carefully. "You aren't very handsome just now; but then, I know lots of people who aren't very good looking. I don't see why that saying Aunt Julia is so fond of--about 'Handsome is as handsome does'--shouldn't apply to dogs as well as people. All the same, you are a very mixed numbery sort of a dog: you've got one and three-quarters ears, three and one-half legs,--at least you don't use that front paw very much,--and half a tail; and your hair is rather--patchy. But inside, I'm sure you're all right. And you have beautiful eyes; _they're_ all there, too."
The dog blinked back at her soberly, wagging his abbreviated tail in apologetic fashion.
"You've simply got to have a home," Patricia went on; "and it's up to me to find you one. But I think you'll have to have a bath first, and your paw bandaged."
Jumping up, Patricia darted back to the house, and around to the side door, leading to her father's office. Presently, she reappeared with a cake of antiseptic soap, a box of salve, a roll of bandage, a pair of scissors, and a bath-towel; with these gathered up in the skirt of her frock she led the way down to the brook, followed by a most unsuspecting small dog.
Ten minutes later that same small dog--decidedly sadder and wetter, if not wiser--lay shivering on the sunny bank, while Patricia rubbed him vigorously with one of her aunt's largest bath-towels.
Then the cut paw was salved and bandaged, and the most hopelessly tangled knots of curls cut away. After which, Patricia, sitting back on heels, studied her charge approvingly.
"If Aunt Julia could see you now! Why didn't I do all this first? But--well, Aunt Julia's made up her mind; and she isn't