Pattys Butterfly Days | Page 2

Europe and none of your aunts could leave her own
family. No, girlie, I can't see any way to separate our family."
So Patty, with her unfailing good nature, had agreed to go to the White
Mountains with the others. She admitted, herself, that she'd probably
have a good time, as she always did everywhere, but still her heart
clung to "The Pebbles," as they called their seashore home, and she
silently rebelled when she thought of "Camilla," her swift little electric
runabout.
Patty drove her own car, and she never tired of spinning along the shore
roads, or inland through the pine groves and laurel jungles. She had
become acquainted with many young people, both cottagers and hotel
guests, and the outlook for a pleasant summer and fall at Spring Beach
was all that could be desired from her point of view. But before they
left the city in the spring, Patty had known that Nan preferred mountain
localities and had agreed to the seashore house for her sake; so, now, it
was Patty's turn to give up her preference for Nan's.
And she was going to do it,--oh, yes,--she was going to do it cheerfully
and even gaily. But, though she tried to pretend she didn't care, Nan
knew she did care, and she had tried hard to think of some way that
Patty might be left behind. Nan would willingly have given up her own
desires, and stayed at Spring Beach all summer, but her husband
wouldn't hear of it. Mr. Fairfield said that justice demanded a fair
division of the season, and already three months had been spent at the
seashore, so August and September must be spent in the mountains.
His word was law, and, too, Patty realised the fairness of the plan, and
gracefully submitted to Fate. So, as the first of August was in the very

near future, Patty and Nan were discussing details of the trip.
"It almost seems as if you might take your motor-car, Patty," said Nan,
reflectively.
"I thought so, too, at first; but father says not. You see, not all mountain
roads are modern and well-kept, and, of course, we'll be moving on,
now and then, and Camilla IS a nuisance as luggage. Now, Nan, no
more suggestions, or regrets, or backward glances. I'm going to the
mountains, NOT like the quarry-slave at night, but like a conquering
hero; and I shall have all the mountaineers at my feet, overwhelming
me with their devoted attentions."
"You probably will, Patty; you're easily the most popular girl at Spring
Beach, and if the 'mountaineers' have any taste in such matters--"
"There, there, Nan, don't make me blush. I'm 'popular,' as you call it,
because I have such a delightful home, and such an attractive
stepmother to make it pleasant for my callers! And, by the same token,
here are a few of them coming now."
Two laughing girls, and a good-looking young man came in at the gate,
and strolled along the drive to the veranda, where Patty and Nan sat.
Lora and Beatrice Sayre were of the "butterfly" type, and their
pale-coloured muslin gowns, broad hats, and fluttering scarfs made the
description appropriate. Jack Pennington was just what he looked like,
a college youth on his vacation; and his earnest face seemed to betoken
a determination to have the most fun possible before he went back to
grind at his books.
"Hello," cried Patty, who was not given to dignified forms of
salutation.
The trio responded gaily, and coming up on the veranda, selected seats
on the wicker chairs, or couches, or the porch railing, as suited their
fancy.

"I say," began young Pennington, conversationally, "we can't let you go
away, Patty. Why, week after next we're going to have the Pageant, and
there are forty-'leven other pleasant doings before that comes off."
"Yes," chimed in Lora Sayre, "we can't get along without our Pitty-Pat.
DO don't go away, Sunshine!"
"But suppose I want to go," said Patty, bravely trying to treat the
subject lightly; "suppose I'm just crazy to go to that stunning big hotel
up in the White Mountains, and have the time of my life!"
"Suppose the moon is made of green pumpkins!" scoffed Jack. "You
don't want to go at all, and you know it! And then, think of the
girls,--and boys,--you leave behind you! Your departure is a national
calamity. We mourn our loss!"
"We do so!" agreed Beatrice. "Why, Patty, I'm going to have a house
party next week, and we'll have lots of fun going on. Can't you wait
over for that?"
"No, I can't," and Patty spoke a little shortly, for these gay plans made
her long more than ever to stay at Spring Beach. "So don't let's talk any
more about me.