Pattys Butterfly Days | Page 4

the subject and not refer to it again.
"You must write me all about the Pageant, girls," she went on.
"Can't I write too, though I'm not a girl?" asked Jack.
"No!" cried Patty, holding up her hands in pretended horror. "I couldn't
receive a letter from a young man!"
"Oh, try it," said Jack, laughing. "I'll help you. You've no idea how
easy it is! Have you never had a letter from a man?"
"From papa," said Patty, putting the tip of her finger in her mouth, and
speaking babyishly.
"Papa, nothing! You get letters from those New York chaps, don't you,
now?"
"Who New York chaps?" asked Patty, opening her eyes wide, with an
over-innocent stare.
"Oh, that Harper kid and that Farrington cub and that Hepworth old
gentleman!"
"What pretty pet names you call them! Yes, I get letters from them, but
they're my lifelong friends."
"That's the position I'm applying for. Don't you need one more L. L.
F.?" But Patty had turned to the girls, and they were counting up what
few parties were to take place before Patty went away.
"I'd have a farewell party myself," said Patty, thoughtfully, "but there's

so little time now, and Nan's pretty busy. I hate to bother her with it.
You see, we leave next week,--Thursday."
"And our house party comes that very day!" said Beatrice, regretfully.
"And Captain Sayre is coming. He's the most stunning man! He's our
second cousin, and older than we are, but he's just grand, isn't he,
Lora?"
"Yes; and he'd adore Patty. Oh, girlie, DON'T go!"
"I think I'll kidnap Patty," said Jack. "The day they start, I'll waylay the
party as they board the train, and carry Patty off by force."
"You'd have to get out a force of militia," laughed Patty. "My father
Fairfield is of a sharp-eyed disposition. You couldn't carry off his
daughter under his nose."
"Strategy!" whispered Jack, in a deep, mysterious voice. "I could
manage it, somehow, I'm sure."
"Well, it wouldn't do any good. He'd just come back after me, and we'd
take the next train. But, oh, girls, I do wish I could stay here! I never
had such a disappointment before. I've grown to love this place; and all
you people; and my dear Camilla!" Patty's blue eyes filled with real
tears, as she dropped her light and bantering manner, and spoke
earnestly.
"It's a shame!" declared Jack, as he noted the drops trembling on the
long, curled lashes. "Come on, girls, I'm going home before I express
myself too strongly."
So Jack and the Sayre girls went away, and Patty went up to her own
room.
CHAPTER II
MONA'S PLAN

That night, when Patty was alone in her own room, she threw herself
into a rocking chair, and rocked violently, as was her habit, when she
had anything to bother her. She looked about at the pretty room,
furnished with all her dear and cherished belongings.
"To go away from all this," she thought, "and be mewed up in a little
bare room, with a few sticks of horrid old furniture, and nowhere to put
things away decently!"
She glanced at her room wardrobes and numerous chiffoniers and
dressing-tables.
"Live in a trunk, I s'pose," she went on to herself; "all my best frocks in
a mess of wrinkles, all my best hats smashed to windmills! No broad
ocean to look at! Nothing but mountains with trees all over their sides!
Nothing to do but walk up rocky, steep paths to a spring, take a drink of
water, and come stumbling down again! In the evenings, dress up, and
promenade eighty thousand feet of veranda, AS ADVERTISED!"
Roused to a frenzy by her own self-pity and indignation, Patty got up
and stalked about the room. She flung off her pretty summer frock, and
slipped on a blue silk kimono. Then she sat down in front of her
dressing-table to brush her hair for the night.
She drew out the pins, and great curly masses came tumbling down
around her shoulders. Patty's hair was truly golden, and did not turn
darker as she grew older.
She brushed away slowly, and looked at herself in the mirror. What she
saw must have surprised her, for she dropped her brush in
astonishment.
"Well, Patricia Fairfield!" she exclaimed to her own reflection. "You
ought to be ashamed of yourself! YOU, who are supposed to be of
amiable disposition, YOU whom people call 'Sunshine,' because of
your good nature, YOU who have every joy and every blessing that
heart can wish, you look like a sour-faced, cross-grained, disgruntled
old maid! So there now! And, Miss, do you want to know what I think

of you?" She picked up her hair brush, and shook it at the flushed,
angry face in