Patty Fairfield | Page 7

surroundings fairly dazzled her, for Patty was an
inexperienced little girl, and had lived simply, though very comfortably
all her life. And so she looked with amazement on the walls frescoed in
brilliant colors, the enormous gilt-framed mirrors, the tall palms and
marble statues, the rich draperies and stained-glass windows.
If she had been older and more experienced she would have known that
it was too gorgeous, the coloring too bright and garish, and the
ornamentation over-showy. But to her childish eyes it all seemed
wonderfully fine.
"Oh, Uncle Robert," she cried, "is this your home? How beautiful it is!
I never saw such a lovely place in my life."
This speech pleased Mr. St. Clair beyond measure, for he dearly loved
to have his beautiful home appreciated, and he beamed, and rubbed his
hands together with a general air of satisfaction.
"Yes, yes," he said, "it is fine,--fine! There isn't another such place for
miles around."
Then they went into the drawing-room and Patty was presented to her
Aunt Isabel.
Mrs. St. Clair was a fair, large woman, with golden hair, elaborately
frizzed, and kind blue eyes. She was fashionably dressed, and her silks
rustled and her bugles tinkled as she came forward to meet her visitor.
"I am charmed to see you, Patty, my dear," she said, kissing her
affectionately.
"And I am very glad to be here, Aunt Isabel," said Patty, and just then
she was interrupted by the violent entrance of what seemed to be a
small pink cyclone.
This was the eight year old Florelle, and without a doubt it was she
who was responsible for the shrieks Patty had heard.

The child wore a short, beruffled dress of pink silk, a huge pink sash,
and pink stockings and slippers. Her eyes were reddened with crying
and her cheeks were tear-stained, and she ran to Patty, screaming:
"I will! I will! She's my cousin, and I'm going to see her now."
Then she threw her arms round Patty's waist, and smiled up into her
face. She was a very pretty little girl when she smiled, and Patty
couldn't help admiring her, though so far she had seemed like anything
but a lovable character.
"Oh, Florelle," said her mother, mildly, "how naughty you are. I told
you to go to bed like a goody girl, and you should see Cousin Patty in
the morning."
"But I wanted to see her to-night. So I made nurse dress me, and I'm
going to stay up to dinner."
"Let her stay, mamma," said Ethelyn. "If you don't, she'll yell again,
and I'm tired of hearing her."
"Yes, you can stay, baby," said Mrs. St. Clair, "and now, Ethelyn, take
Patty to her room, and get yourselves ready for dinner."
The two girls went off together, and Patty discovered that the rest of the
house was as sumptuous as her first view of it.
The same brilliant coloring and florid ornamentation appeared
everywhere, and when at last Ethelyn stopped before an open door, and
said, "This is your room," Patty gave a little cry of delight, for she
entered what seemed a veritable fairy bower.
The walls and ceiling were tinted pink and frescoed with garlands of
roses and flying birds. There was a fascinating bay window with
latticed panes, and a cozy window-seat with soft cushions. The brass
bedstead had a lace coverlet over pink silk, and the toilet-table had
frilled curtains and pink ribbons. There were silver-mounted brushes
and bottles and knickknacks of all kinds. The little work-table was a

gem, and there was a lovely writing-desk with silver appointments and
pink blotting-paper. Then there was a cozy divan, with lots of fluffy
pink pillows, and through a half-opened door, Patty could see a dear
little dressing-room.
There were beautiful pictures on the walls, and costly vases and
bric-a-brac all about, and it all showed such kind thought on the part of
somebody, that Patty's heart was touched.
"Is it for me? Who did it all?" she asked, turning to Ethelyn with
shining eyes.
"Oh, mamma did it; she loves to do such things. That is, she planned it,
and the servants did the work. Here's my room right next. It's just like it,
almost." So it was, or at least it had been, but it showed signs of
carelessness and disorder. A lamp globe was broken, and there was a
large hole burned in one of the pretty rugs. The toilet table, too, was in
sad disarray, and some papers were sticking out of the closed desk.
"Don't look at it," said Ethelyn, apologetically, "I'm so careless. I broke
that globe when I was swinging my dumb-bells, and I've done it so
often that mamma declared she wouldn't get me another. And I upset
the alcohol lamp on the