Patty Fairfield | Page 2

your mother's death, you've had no opportunity to learn the details of
housekeeping, and these four visits will show you four very distinct
types of families."
"Why, are my aunts all so different, papa?"
"Indeed they are, and though I hope you can make yourself happy with
each one, yet you will find life very different in the various homes."
"Tell me about them, papa," said Patty, contentedly settling herself
back among the cushions of the couch, for she dearly loved a long talk
with her father.
"Well, you will go first to the St. Clairs. You remember Uncle Robert,

your mother's brother, who was here four or five years ago, don't you?"
"Indeed I do; he brought me a French doll nearly as big as I was then
myself,--and a whole five-pound box of candy. He is a lovely man. But
I've never seen Aunt Isabel or the children,--only their photographs."
"Your Aunt Isabel is,--but no,--I won't tell you anything about your
relatives. You may discover their faults and virtues for yourself. Most
of all, my child, you will need to cultivate your sense of proportion. Do
you know what proportion means?"
"Oh, yes, papa, I studied 'ratio and proportion' in arithmetic."
"Not that kind," said her father, smiling; "I mean a proportion of human
interests, of amusements or occupations. I wonder if you are too young
to understand."
"No, I'm not too young to understand anything," said Patty, fairly
blinking in her endeavor to look as wise as an owl.
"Well, then, listen while I put it this way. Suppose you were to make a
cake, an ordinary sized cake, you know, how much yeast would you put
in it?"
"Not any, papa," said Patty, laughing merrily. "I know enough
housekeeping not to put yeast in a cake. I'd use baking-powder."
"Yes," said her father, quite undisturbed, "that is what I
meant,--baking-powder. Now how much of it would you use?"
"Well, about two teaspoonfuls," said Patty, feeling very important and
housewifely.
"Yes. Now suppose instead of two teaspoonfuls you put in two
cupfuls."
"Why then I wouldn't have any cake at all! I reckon it would rise right
up the chimney and run down on the roof outside."

"Well, that shows just what I mean. There'd be a too great proportion of
baking-powder, wouldn't there?"
"Indeed there would," assented Patty, much interested in the
conversation, but a little bewildered.
"To try again," her father continued, "suppose your frock was so
covered by trimming that the material could scarcely be seen at all."
"Then," said Patty, who was rapidly learning her lesson, "then there'd
be too great a proportion of trimming for the frock."
"Ah," said her father, "you begin to see my drift, do you? And if you
had all tables in your house, and no chairs or bedsteads or bureaus,
there'd be too great a proportion of tables, wouldn't there?"
"Yes; and I perceive," said Patty, slowly and with mock gravity, "that
proportion means to have too many of one thing, when you'd better
have a lot of others."
"No, you're all wrong! That is a lack of proportion. Proportion is to
have exactly the right amount of each ingredient."
"Yes,--and what has all this to do with Aunt Isabel? Does she put too
much baking-powder in her cake, or has she nothing but tables in her
house?"
"Those, my dear, were only figures of speech. But if you're going to
make a home for your old father next year, I want you to learn from
observation what are the principal ingredients to put into it, and then
learn to adjust the proportions."
"Papa, I believe I do know what you mean, but it's all out of proportion
when you call yourself 'my old father,' for you're not old a bit. You're a
beautiful young man, and I'm sure any one who didn't know us would
take you for my brother."
"Come, come, Puss, you mustn't be so flattering, or I'll keep you here,

and not let you go North at all; and I do believe you're just dying to
go."
"I'd like it lots if you were going too. But to be away from you a whole
year is no fun at all. Can't I wait until next fall and we'll go together?"
"No, Patsie; your aunts are urging me to let you visit them and I think
the experiences will do you good. And beside, my plans for the next
year are very uncertain. I may have to go to Bermuda to see about my
plantation there,--and all things considered, I think you would be better
off in the North. I shall miss you, of course, but a year soon slips away,
you know, and it will fly very quickly for you, as you will be highly
entertained