Patty in Paris / Wells, Carolyn, 1862-1942

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Title: Patty in Paris

Author: Carolyn Wells

Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5731]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on August 18, 2002]

Edition: 10

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PATTY IN PARIS ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.





Patty in Paris

BY

CAROLYN WELLS
Author of "Patty Fairfield," "Patty's
Summer Days," etc.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
September, 1907





CONTENTS

CHAPTER

   I  PLANS FOR PATTY
  II  THE DECISION
 III  SOUVENIRS
  IV  AN AQUATIC PARTY
   V  GOOD-BYES
  VI  THE OLD MA'AMSELLE
 VII  WESTERN FRIENDS
VIII  DAYS AT SEA
  IX  PARIS
   X  SIGHTSEEING
  XI  AN EXCURSION TO VERSAILLES
 XII  SHOPPING
XIII  CHANTILLY
 XIV  MAKING A HOME
  XV  ST. GERMAIN
 XVI  AN EXPECTED GUEST
XVII  A MOTOR RIDE
XVIII A NEW YEAR FETE
XIX   CYCLAMEN PERFUME
XX    THE BAZAAR
XXI   A SURPRISE



ILLUSTRATIONS

"A long blue veil tied her trim little hat in place"

"'There never was such a dear, lovely, beautiful stepmother on the face
of the earth!'"

"The next morning the girls spent in packing and getting ready to go
ashore"

"They also read books of history outside of school hours quite from
choice."

"They were all perched on Patty's big bed--alone at last"

"'I just remember! I left my purse on the seat!'"




CHAPTER I

PLANS FOR PATTY


The Fairfields were holding a family conclave. As the Fairfield family
consisted of only three members, the meeting was not large but it was
highly enthusiastic. The discussion was about Patty; and as a
consequence, Patty herself was taking a lively part in it.

"But you promised me, last year, papa," she said, "that if I graduated
from the Oliphant School with honours, I needn't go to school this
year."

"But I meant in the city," explained her father; "it's absurd, Patty,
for you to consider your education finished, and you not yet eighteen."

"But I'll soon be eighteen, papa, and so suppose we postpone this
conversation until then."

"Don't be frivolous, my child. This is a serious matter, and requires
careful consideration and wise judgement."

"That's so," said Nan, "and as I have already considered it carefully, I
will give you the benefit of my wise judgment."

Though Nan's face had assumed the expression of an owl named Solomon,
there was a smile in her eyes, and Patty well knew that her stepmother's
views agreed with her own, rather than with those of her father.

It was the last week in September, and the Fairfields were again in
their pleasant city home after their summer in the country.

Patty and Nan were both fond of city life, and were looking forward to a
delightful winter. Of course Patty was too young to be in society, but
there were many simple pleasures which she was privileged to enjoy, and
she and Nan had planned a series of delightful affairs, quite apart from
the more elaborate functions which Nan would attend with her husband.

But Mr. Fairfield had suddenly interfered with their plans by announcing
his decision that Patty should go to college.

This had raised such a storm of dissension from both Nan and Patty that
Mr. Fairfield so far amended his resolution as to propose a boarding-
school instead.

But Patty was equally dismayed at the thought of either, and rebelled at
the suggestion of going away from home. And as Nan quite coincided with
Patty in her opinions on this matter, she was fighting bravely for their
victory against Mr. Fairfield's very determined opposition.

All her life Patty had deferred to her father's advice, not only
willingly, but gladly; but in the matter of school she had very strong
prejudices. She had never enjoyed school life, and during her last year
at Miss Oliphant's she had worked so hard that she had almost succumbed
to an attack of nervous prostration. But she had persevered in her hard
work because of the understanding that it was to be her last year at
school; and now to have college or even a boarding-school thrown at her
head was enough to rouse even her gentle spirit.

For Patty was of gentle spirit, although upon occasion, especially when
she felt that an injustice was being done, she could rouse herself to
definite and impetuous action.

And as she now frankly told her father, she considered it unjust after
she had thought that commencement marked the end of her school life, to
have a college course sprung upon her unaware.

But Mr. Fairfield only laughed and told her that she was incapable of
judging what was best for little girls, and that she would do wisely to
obey orders without question.

But Patty had questioned, and her questions were reinforced by those of
Nan, until Mr. Fairfield began to realise that it was doubtful if he
could gain his point against their combined forces. And indeed a kind
and indulgent father and husband is at a disadvantage when his opinion
is opposed to that of his pretty, impulsive daughter and his charming,
impulsive wife.

So, at this by no means the first serious discussion of the matter, Mr.
Fairfield found himself weakening, and had already acknowledged to
himself that he might as well prepare to yield gracefully.

"Go on, Nan," cried Patty, "give us the benefit of your wise judgment"

"Why, I think," said Nan, looking at her husband with an adorable smile,
which seemed to assume that he would agree with her, "that a college
education is advisable, even necessary, for a girl who expects to teach,
or indeed, to follow any profession. But I'm quite sure we don't look
forward to that for Patty."

"No," said Mr. Fairfield; "I can't seem to see Patty teaching a district
school how to shoot; neither does my imagination picture her as a woman
doctor or a lady lawyer. But to my mind there are occasions in the life
of a private citizeness when a knowledge of classic lore is not only
beneficial but decidedly ornamental."

"Now, papa," began Patty, "I'm not going to spend my life as a butterfly
of fashion or a grasshopper of giddiness, and you know it; but all the
same, I can't think of a single occasion where I should be embarrassed
at my ignorance of Sanscrit, or distressed at the fact that I was
unacquainted personally with the statutes of limitation."

"You're talking nonsense, Patty, and you know it. The straight truth is,
that you don't like school life and school restraint. Now some girls
enjoy the fun and pleasures of college life, and think that they more
than compensate for the drudgery of actual study."

"'An exile from home, pleasure dazzles in vain,'" sang Patty, whose
spirits had risen, for she felt intuitively that her father was about to
give up his cherished plans.

"I think," went on Nan, "after you have asked for my valuable advice,
you might let me give it without so many interruptions. I will proceed
to remark that I am still of the opinion that there are only two reasons
why a girl should go to college: Because she wants to, or because she
needs the diploma in her future career."

"Since you put it so convincingly, I have no choice but to agree with
you," said her husband, smiling. "However, if I eliminate the college
suggestion, there still remains the boarding-school. I think that a
superior young ladies' finishing school would add greatly to the
advantages of our Patty."

"It would finish me entirely, papa; your college scheme is bad enough,
but a 'finishing school,' as you call it, presents to my fancy all sorts
of unknown horrors."

"Of course it does," cried Nan. "I will now give you some more of my
wise advice. A finishing school would be of no advantage at all to our
Patty. I believe their principal end and aim is to teach young ladies
how to enter a room properly. Now I have never seen Patty enter a room
except in the most correct, decorous, and highly approved fashion. It
does seem foolish then to send the poor child away for a year to
practise an art in which she is already proficient."

"You two are one too many for me," said Mr. Fairfield, laughing. "If I
had either of you alone, I could soon reduce you to a state of meek
obedience; but your combined forces are too much for me, and I may as
well surrender at once and completely."

"No; but seriously, Fred, you must see that it is really so. Now what
Patty needs in the way of education, is the best possible instruction in
music, which she can have better here in New York than in any college;
then she ought to go on with her French, in which she is already
remarkably proficient. Then perhaps an hour a day of reading well-
selected literature with a competent teacher, and I'll guarantee that a
year at home will do more for Patty than any school full of masters."

Mr. Fairfield looked at his young wife in admiration. "Why, Nan, I
believe you're right," he said, "though I don't believe it because of
any change in my own opinions, but because you put it so convincingly
that I haven't an argument left."

Nan only smiled, and went on.

"You said yourself, Fred, that Patty disliked the routine and restraint
of school life, and so I think it would be cruel to force her into it
when she can be so much happier at home. Here she will have ample time
for all the study I have mentioned, and still have leisure for the
pleasures that she needs and deserves. I shall look after her singing
lessons myself, and make sure that she practises properly. Then I shall
take her to the opera and to concerts, which, though really a part of
her musical education, may also afford her some slight pleasure."

Patty flew over to Nan and threw her arms about her neck. "You dear old
duck," she cried; "there never was such a dear, lovely, beautiful
stepmother on the face of the earth! And now it's all settled, isn't it,
papa?"

"It seems to be," said Mr. Fairfield, smiling. "But on your own heads be
the consequences. I put Patty into your hands now, so far as her future
education is concerned, and you can fix it up between you. To tell the
truth, I'm delighted myself at the thought of having Patty stay home
with us, but my sense of duty made me feel that I must at least put the
matter before her."

"And you did," cried Patty gleefully, "and now I've put it behind me,
and that's all there is about that. And I'll promise, papa, to study
awfully hard on my French and music; and as for reading, that will be no
hardship, for I'd rather read than eat any day."

Mr. Fairfield had really acquiesced to the wishes of the others out of
his sheer kind-heartedness. For he did not think that the lessons at
home would be as definite and regular as at a school, and he still held
his original opinions in the matter. But having waived his theories for
theirs, he raised no further objection and seemed to consider the
question settled.

After a moment, however, he said thoughtfully: "What you really ought to
have, Patty, is a year abroad. That would do more for you in the way of
general information and liberal education than anything else."

"Now THAT would be right down splendid," said Patty. "Come on, papa,
let's all go."

"I would in a minute, dear, but I can't leave my business just now. It
has increased alarmingly of late and it needs my constant attention to
keep up with it. Indeed it is becoming so ridiculously successful that
unless I can check it we shall soon be absurdly rich people."

"Then you can retire," said Nan, "and we can all go abroad for Patty's
benefit."

"Yes," said Mr. Fairfield seriously, "after a year or two we can do
that. I sha'n't exactly retire, but I shall get the business into such
shape that I can take a long vacation, and then we'll all go out and see
the world. But that doesn't seem to have anything to do with Patty's
immediate future. I have thought over this a great deal, and if you
don't go to college, Patty, I should like very much to have you go
abroad sooner than I can take you. But I can't see any way for you to
go. I can't spare Nan to go with you, and I'm not sure you would care to
go with one of those parties of personally conducted young ladies."

"No, indeed!" cried Patty. "I'm crazy to go to Europe, but I don't want
to go with six other girls and a chaperon, and go flying along from one
country to the next, with a Baedeker in one hand and a suit case in the
other. I'd much rather wait and go with you and Nan, later on."

"Well, I haven't finished thinking it out yet," said Mr. Fairfield, who,
in spite of his apparent pliability, had a strong will of his own. "I
may send you across in charge of a reliable guardian, and put you into a
French convent."

[Illustration with caption: "'There never was such a dear, lovely,
beautiful stepmother on the face of the earth!'"]

Patty only laughed at this, but still she had a vague feeling that her
father was not yet quite done with the subject, and that almost anything
might happen.

But as Kenneth Harper came in to see them just then, the question was
laid before him.

"There is no sense in Patty's going to college," he declared. "I'm an
authority on the subject, because I know college and I know Patty, and
they have absolutely nothing in common with each other. Why, Patty
doesn't want the things that colleges teach. You see, she is of an
artistic temperament--"

"Oh, Kenneth," cried Patty reproachfully, "that's the most fearfully
unkind thing I ever had said to me! Why, I would rather be accused of I
don't know WHAT than an artistic temperament! How COULD you say it? Why,
I'm as practical and common sensible and straightforward as I can be.
People who have artistic temperaments are flighty and weak-minded and
not at all capable."

"Why, Patty," cried Nan, laughing, "how can you make such sweeping
assertions? Mr. Hepworth is an artist, and he isn't all those dreadful
things."

"That's different," declared Patty. "Mr. Hepworth is a real artist, and
so you can't tell what his temperament is."

"But that's just what I mean," insisted Kenneth; "Hepworth is a real
artist, and so he didn't have and didn't need a college education. He
specialised and devoted all his study to his art. Then he went to Paris
and stayed there for years, still studying and working. I tell you, it's
specialisation that counts. Now I don't know that Patty wants to
specialise, but she certainly doesn't need the general work of college.
I should think that you would prefer to have her devote herself to her
music, especially her singing; for we all know that Patty's is a voice
of rare promise. I don't know myself exactly what 'rare promise' means,
but it's a phrase that's always applied to voices like Patty's."

"You're just right, Kenneth," said Nan, "and I'm glad you're on our
side. Patty and I entirely agree with you, and though Mr. Fairfield is
still wavering a little, I am sure that by day after to-morrow, or next
week at the latest, he will be quite ready to cast in his lot with
ours."

Mr. Fairfield only smiled, for though he had no intention of making
Patty do anything against her will, yet he had not entirely made up his
mind in the matter.

"Anyway, my child," he said, "whatever you do or don't do, will be the
thing that we are entirely agreed upon, even if I have to convince you
that my opinions are right."

And Patty smiled back at her father happily, for there was great
comradeship and sympathy between them.




CHAPTER II

THE DECISION


It was only a few days later that Nan and Patty sat one evening in the
library waiting for Mr. Fairfield to come home to dinner.

The Fairfield library was a most cosey and attractive room. Nan was a
home-maker by nature, and as Patty dearly loved pretty and comfortable
appointments, they had combined their efforts on the library and the
result was a room which they all loved far better than the more formal
drawing-room.

The fall was coming early that year, which gave an excuse for the fire
in the big fireplace. This fire was made of that peculiar kind of
driftwood whose flames show marvellous rainbow tints. Patty never tired
of watching the strange-coloured blaze, and delighted in throwing on
more chips and splinters from time to time.

"I can't see what makes your father so late," said Nan, as she wandered
about the room, now adjusting some flowers in a vase, and now stopping
to look out at the front window; "he's always here by this time, or
earlier."

"Something must have detained him," said Patty, rather absently, as she
poked at a log with the tongs.

"Patty, you're a true Sherlock Holmes! Your father is late, and you
immediately deduce that something has detained him! Truly, you have a
wonderful intellect!"

"I don't wonder it seems so to you," said saucy Patty, smiling at her
pretty stepmother; "people are always impressed by traits they don't
possess themselves."

"But really I'm getting worried. If Fred doesn't come pretty soon I
shall telephone to the office."

"Do; I like to see you enacting the role of anxious young wife. It suits
you perfectly. As for me, I'm starving; if papa doesn't come pretty
soon, he will find an emaciated skeleton in place of the plump daughter
he left behind him."

As Mr. Fairfield arrived at that moment, there was no occasion for
further anxiety, but in response to their queries he gave them no
satisfaction as to the cause of his unusual tardiness, and only smiled
at their exclamations.

It was not until they were seated at the dinner table that Mr. Fairfield
announced he had something to tell them.

"And I'm sure it's something nice," said Patty, "for there's a twinkle
in the left corner of your right eye."

"Gracious, Patty!" cried Nan, "that sounds as if your father were cross-
eyed, and he isn't."

"Well," went on Mr. Fairfield, "what I have to tell you is just this: I
have arranged for the immediate future of Miss Patricia Fairfield."

Patty looked frightened. There was something in her father's tone that
made her feel certain that his mind was irrevocably made up, and that
whatever plans he had made for her were sure to be carried out. But she
resolved to treat it lightly until she found out what it was all about.

"I don't want to be intrusive," she said, "but if not too presumptuous,
might I inquire what is to become of me?"

"Yours not to make reply, yours not to reason why," said her father
teasingly. "You know, my child, you're not yet of age, and I, as your
legal parent and guardian, can do whatever I please with you. You are,
as Mr. Shakespeare puts it, 'my goods, my chattel,' and so I have
decided to pack you up and send you away."

"Really, papa!" cried Patty, aghast.

"Yes, really. I remember you expressed a disinclination to leave your
home and family, but all the same I have made arrangements for you to do
so. It was the detailing of these arrangements that kept me so late at
my office to-night."

Patty looked at her father. She understood his bantering tone, and from
the twinkle in his eye she knew that whatever plans he may have made,
they were pleasant ones; and, too, she knew that notwithstanding his air
of authority she needn't abide by them unless she chose to. So she
waited contentedly enough for his serious account of the matter, and it
soon came.

"Why, it's this way, chickabiddy," he said. "Mr. Farrington came to see
me at the office this afternoon, and laid a plan before me. It seems
that he and Mrs. Farrington and Elise are going to Paris for the winter,
and he brought from himself and his wife an invitation for you to go
with them."

"Oh!" said Patty. She scarcely breathed the word, but her eyes shone
like stars, and her face expressed the delight that the thought of such
a plan brought to her.

"Oh!" she said again, as thoughts of further details came crowding into
her mind.

"How perfectly glorious!" cried Nan, whose enthusiasm ran to words, as
Patty seemed struck dumb. "It's the very thing! just what Patty needs.
And to go with the Farringtons is the most delightful way to make such a
trip. Tell us all about it, Fred. When do they start? Shall I have time
to get Patty some clothes? No, she'd better buy them over there. Oh,
Patty, you'll have the most rapturous time! Do say something, you little
goose! Don't sit there blinking as if you didn't understand what's going
on. Tell us more about it, Fred."

"I will, my dear, if you'll only give me a chance. The Farringtons mean
to sail very soon--in about a fortnight. They will go on a French liner
and go at once to Paris. Except for possible short trips, they will stay
in the city all winter. Then the girls can study French, or music, or
whatever they like, and incidentally have some fun, I dare say. Mr.
Farrington seemed truly anxious to have Patty go, although I warned him
that she was a difficult young person to manage. But he said he had had
experience in that line last summer, and found that it was possible to
get along with her. Anyway, he was most urgent in the matter, and said
that if I agreed to it, Mrs. Farrington and Elise would come over and
invite her personally."

"Am I to be their guest entirely, papa?" asked Patty.

"Mr. Farrington insisted that you should, but I wouldn't agree to that.
I shall pay all your travelling expenses, hotel bills, and incidentals.
But if they take a furnished house in Paris for the season, as they
expect to do, you will stay there as their guest."

"Oh," cried Patty, who had found her voice at last, "I do think it's too
lovely for anything! And you are so good, papa, to let me go. But won't
it cost a great deal, and can you afford it?"

"It will be somewhat expensive, my dear, but I can afford it, for, as I
told you, my finances are looking up. And, too, I consider this a part
of your education, and so look upon it as a necessary outlay. But you
must remember that the Farringtons are far more wealthy people than we,
and though you can afford the necessary travelling expenses, you
probably cannot be as extravagant in the matter of personal expenditure
as they. I shall give you what I consider an ample allowance of pin
money, and then you must be satisfied with the number of pins it will
buy."

"That doesn't worry me," declared Patty. "I'm so delighted to go that I
don't care if I don't buy a thing over there."

"You'll change your mind when you get there and get into the wonderful
Paris shops," said her father, smiling; "but never fear, puss; you'll
have enough francs to buy all the pretty dresses and gewgaws and knick-
knacks that it's proper for a little girl like you to have. How old are
you now, Patty?"

"Almost eighteen, papa."

"Almost eighteen, indeed! You mean you're only fairly well past
seventeen. But it doesn't matter. Remember you're a little girl, and not
a society young lady, and conduct yourself accordingly."

"Mrs. Farrington will look out for that," said Nan; "she has the best
possible ideas about such things, and she brings up Elise exactly in
accordance with my notions of what is right."

"That settles it," said Mr. Fairfield; "I shall have no further anxiety
on that score since Nan approves of the outlook. But, Patty girl, we're
going to miss you here."

"Yes, indeed," cried Nan. "I hadn't realised that side of it. Oh, Patty,
we had planned so many things for this winter, and now I shall be alone
all day and every day!"

"Come on, and go with me," said Patty, mischievously.

"No," said Nan, smiling at her husband; "I have a stronger tie here even
than your delightful companionship. But truly we shall miss you
awfully."

"Of course you will," said Patty, "and I'll miss you, too. But we'll
write each other long letters, and oh! I do think the whole game is
perfectly lovely."

"So do I," agreed Nan; and then followed such a lot of feminine planning
and chatter that Mr. Fairfield declared his advice seemed not to be
needed.

The next morning Nan and Patty went over to the Farringtons to discuss
the great subject. They expressed to Mrs. Farrington their hearty thanks
for her kind invitation, but she insisted that the kindness was all on
Patty's side, as her company would be a great delight, not only to
Elise, but also to the elder members of the party.

"Isn't Roger going?" asked Patty.

"No," said Mrs. Farrington; "this is his last year in college, so of
course he can't leave. The other children are in school, too, so it
seemed just the right year for us to take Elise abroad for a little
outing. A winter in Paris will do both of you girls good in lots of
ways, and if for any reason we don't enjoy it, we can go somewhere else,
or we can turn around and come home, and no harm done." Although the
trip seemed such a great event to Patty, Mrs. Farrington appeared to
look upon it merely as a little outing, and seemed so thoroughly glad to
have Patty go with them that she almost made Patty feel as if she were
conferring the favour.

Elise and Patty went away by themselves to talk it all over, while Nan
stayed with Mrs. Farrington to discuss the more practical details.

"I didn't care a bit about going," said Elise, "until we thought about
your going too, and now I'm crazy to go. Oh, Patty, won't we have the
most gorgeous time!"

"Yes, indeed," said Patty; "I can hardly realise it yet. I'm perfectly
bewildered. Shall we go to school, Elise?"

"I don't think so, and yet we may. Mother's going to take a house, you
know, and then we'll either have masters every day, or go to some
school. Mother knows all about Paris. She has lived there a lot. But we
sha'n't have to study all the time, I know that much. We'll go sight-
seeing a good deal, and of course we'll go motoring."

"I shall enjoy the ocean trip," said Patty; "I've never been across, you
know. You've been a number of times, haven't you?"

"Yes, but not very lately. We used to go often when Roger and I were
little, but I haven't been over for six years, and then we weren't in
Paris."

"I'm sure I shall love Paris. Do you remember it well?"

"No; when I was there last I was too little to appreciate it, so we'll
explore it together, you and I. I wish Roger were going with us; it's
nice to have a boy along to escort us about."

"Yes, it is," said Patty frankly; "and Roger is so kind and good-
natured. When do we sail, Elise?"

"Two weeks from Saturday, I think. Father is going to see about the
tickets to-day. He waited to see your father yesterday, and make sure
that you could go. The whole thing has been planned rather suddenly, but
that's the way father always does things."

"And it's so fortunate," went on Patty, "that I hadn't started away to
college or boarding-school. Although if I had, and you had invited me, I
should have managed some way to get expelled from college, so I could go
with you. How long do you suppose we shall stay, Elise?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. You never can tell what the Farringtons are
going to do; they're here to-day and gone to-morrow. We'll stay all
winter, of course, and then in the spring, mother might take a notion to
go to London, or she might decide to come flying home. As for father,
he'll probably bob back and forth. He doesn't think any more of crossing
the ocean than of crossing the street. Have you much to do to get ready
to go?"

"No, not much. Nan says for me not to get a lot of clothes, for it's
better to buy them over there; and papa says I can buy all I want, only
of course I can't be as extravagant as you are."

"Oh, pshaw, I'm not extravagant! I don't care much about spending money,
only of course I like to have some nice things. And I do love to buy
pictures and books. But we'll have an awful lot of fun together. I think
it's fun just to be with you, Patty. And the idea of having you all to
myself for a whole winter, without Hilda, or Lorraine, or anybody
claiming a part of you, is the best of it all. I do love you a lot,
Patty, more than you realise, I think."

"You've set your affections on a worthless object, then; and I warn you
that before the winter is over you're likely to discover that for
yourself. You always did overestimate me, Elise."

"Indeed I didn't; but as you well know, from that first day at the
Oliphant school, when you were so kind to me, I've never liked anybody
half as much as I do you."

"You're extremely flattering," said Patty, as she kissed her friend,
"and I only hope this winter won't prove a disillusion."

"I'm not at all afraid," returned Elise gaily; "and oh, Patty, won't we
have a jolly time on board the steamer! It's a long trip, you know, and
we must take books to read and games to play, for as there'll probably
be mostly French people on board, we can't converse very much."

"You can," said Patty, laughing, "but I'm afraid no one can understand
my beautiful but somewhat peculiar accent."




III

SOUVENIRS


Marian came over to spend a few days with Patty before her departure.
She was frankly envious of Patty's good fortune, but more than that, she
was so desperately doleful at the thought of Patty's going away that she
was anything but a cheerful visitor.

Although sorry for her cousin, Patty couldn't help laughing at the
dejected picture that Marian continually presented. She followed Patty
around the house wherever she went, or she would sit and look at her
with her chin held in her hands, and the big tears rolling down her
cheeks.

"Marian, you are a goose," said Patty, exasperated by this performance.
"When I left Vernondale you cried and carried on just this way, but
somehow you seemed to live through it. And now that I live in New York
you don't see me so very often anyhow, so why should you be so
disconsolate about my going away?"

"Because you're going so far, and you'll probably be drowned--those
French steamers are ever so much more dangerous than the English lines--
and somehow I just feel as if you'd never come back."

"Well, the best thing you can do then is to change your feelings. I'll
be back before you hardly realise that I'm gone; and I'll bring you the
loveliest presents you ever saw."

This was a happy suggestion of Patty's, for Marian's tears ceased to
flow and she brightened up at once.

"Oh, Patty, that is just what I wanted to talk to you about! If you are
going to bring me anything in the way of a gift or a souvenir, wouldn't
you just as lieve I'd tell you what I want, as to have you pick it out
yourself, and likely as not bring me something I don't care for at all?
Everybody who brings me home souvenirs from Europe brings the most
hideous things, or else something that I can't possibly use."

"Why, Marian, dear, I'd be only too glad to have you tell me what you
want, and I'll do my best to select it just right."

"Well, Patty, I want a lot of photographs. The kind we get over here are
no good. But I've seen the ones that come from Paris, and they're just
as different as day and night. I'd like the Venus of Milo and the Mona
Lisa and the Victory and--oh, well--I'll make you out a list. There are
several Madonnas that I want, and several more that I DON'T want. And I
do NOT want any of Nattier's pictures or a "Baby Stuart," but I do want
some of Hinde's hair curlers--the tortoise-shell kind, I mean--and you
can only get them in Paris."

By this time Patty was shaking with laughter at Marian's list, and she
asked her if she didn't want anything else but photographs and hair
curlers.

"Why, yes," said Marian, astonished; "I've only just begun. You know
photographs don't cost much over there, and of course the curlers won't
count for a present. I thought you meant to bring me something nice."

"I do," said Patty, looking at her cousin, who was so comically in
earnest. "You just go on with your list, and I'll bring all the things,
if I have to buy an extra trunk to bring them in."

"All right, then," said Marian, encouraged to proceed. "I want a bead
bag--one of those gay coloured ones made of very small beads, worked in
old-fashioned flowers, roses, you know, or hibiscus--not on any account
the tulip pattern, because I hate it."

"You'd better write out these instructions, Marian, or I shall be sure
to get tulips by mistake."

"Don't you do it, Patty; I'll write them all down most explicitly. And
then I want a scarf, a very long one, cream-coloured ground, with a
Persian border in blues and greys. But not a palm-leaf border--I mean
that queer stencilled sort of a design; I'll draw a pattern of it so you
can't mistake it."

"But suppose I can't find just that kind, Marian."

"Oh, yes, you can! Ethel Holmes has one, and hers came from Paris. And
you've all winter to look for it, you know."

"Well, I'll devote the winter to the search, but if I don't find it
along toward spring I'll give it up. What else, Marian?"

"Well, I'd like a lot of Napoleon things. Some old prints of him, you
know, and perhaps a little bronze statuette, and a cup and saucer or
pen-wiper, or any of those things that they make with pictures of
Napoleon on. And then--oh! Patty, I do want some Cyclamen perfumery.
It's awfully hard to get. There's only one firm that makes it. I forget
the name, but it's Something Bros. & Co., and their place is across the
Seine."

"Across the Seine from what?"

"Why, just across. On the other side, you know. Of course I don't know
across from what, because I've never been to Paris; but everybody who
has lived there always just says 'across the Seine,' and everybody knows
at once where they mean. You'll know all right after you've lived there
a little while."

"Marian, you're a wonder," declared Patty. "I don't think I ever knew
anybody with such a perfect and complete understanding of her own wants
as you seem to have. I hope you haven't mentioned half the things I'm to
bring you, but don't tell me the rest now. I might change my mind about
going. But you buy a large blank book and write out all these orders at
full length, giving directions just when to cross the Seine and when to
cross back again, and I'll promise to do my very best with the whole
list."

"Patty, you're a darling," said Marian, "and I'm almost reconciled to
having you go when I think of having souvenirs brought to me that I
really want."

"Marian," said Patty, struck with a sudden thought, "your idea of the
difference between desirable and undesirable souvenirs is an interesting
one. Now I shall bring little gifts to all my friends and relatives, I
expect, and if you happen to know of anything that would be especially
liked by Uncle Charlie or Aunt Alice or any of your family, or the Tea
Club girls, I wish you'd make another list and put those things all down
for me. It would be the greatest kind of a help."

Marian promised to do this, and Patty felt sure that she would be glad
of the lists later on.

Aunt Isabel and Ethelyn also came to say good-bye to Patty, but their
demeanour was very different from Marian's.

Aunt Isabel was much impressed by the fact that Patty was going to
travel with the rich Farringtons, but she expressed a doubt as to
whether it would do Patty much good in a social way after all. For she
knew something of Mrs. Farrington's habits and tastes, and they in no
way corresponded to her own.

Ethelyn informed Patty that she need not bring her any souvenir unless
she could bring something really nice. "I do hate the little traps and
trinkets most people bring," she said; "but if you want to bring me a
bracelet or locket or something really worth while, I'd be glad to have
it."

"Well," exclaimed Patty, "I certainly have most outspoken cousins! They
don't seem to hesitate to tell me what to bring and what not to bring
them. But I'm sure of one thing! Bumble Barlow won't be so fussy
particular; she'll take whatever I bring and be thankful."

"So will I," said Nan, laughing; "anything no one else wants, Patty, you
may give it to me."

"Don't spend all your money buying presents, child," said Aunt Isabel;
"you'd better buy pretty clothes for yourself. I will give you a list of
the best places to shop."

"Thank you, Aunt Isabel, I'll take the list with pleasure; but of course
my purchases will be at the advice of Mrs. Farrington. She dresses Elise
quite simply, and will probably expect me to do the same."

Aunt Isabel sniffed. "You ought to have gone to Paris with me," she
said. "You're growing up to be a good-looking girl, Patty, and the right
kind of clothes would set you off wonderfully."

Patty said nothing, but as she glanced at Ethelyn's furbelows she felt
thankful she was not going to Paris with Aunt Isabel.

But Patty found that there was quite a great deal of shopping to be done
before she sailed.

Nan took these matters in charge and declared that Patty needed a
complete though not an elaborate steamer outfit.

Nan dearly loved buying pretty clothes and was quite in her element
making Patty's purchases. A dark blue tailor-made cloth, trimmed with
touches of green velvet, was chosen for her travelling costume.

Her "going-away dress" Marian persisted in calling it, just as if Patty
were a bride; but as Marian burst into tears every time she mentioned
Patty's going away, her words were so indistinct that it mattered little
what terms she used.

Then Nan selected one or two pretty light gowns of a somewhat dressy
nature for dinner on board the steamer, and one or two simple evening
gowns for the ship's concert or other festive occasions. A white serge
suit was added for pleasant afternoons on deck, and some dainty kimonos
and negligees for stateroom use.

Patty was delighted with all these things, but could scarcely take time
to appreciate them, as she found so many other things to do by way of
her own preparations. So many people came to see her and she had to go
to see so many other people. Then she had to have her photographs taken
to leave with her friends, and she was constantly being invited to
little farewell luncheons or teas.

"Indeed," as Patty expressed it, "the whole two weeks of preparation
seems like one long, lingering farewell; and when I'm not saying good-
bye to any one else, I'm trying to stop Marian's freshly flowing tears."

The girls bought Patty parting gifts, and though they were all either
useful or pretty, Patty appreciated far more the loving spirit which
prompted them.

"I made this all myself," said Hilda, as she brought Patty a dainty
sleeping gown of blue and white French flannel, "because it's utterly
impossible to buy this sort of thing ready-made and have it just right.
If you don't say this is just right I'll never make you another as long
as I live."

"It's exactly right, Hilda," said Patty, taking the pretty garment. "I
know I shall dream of you whenever I wear it, and that's too bad, too,
for I ought to devote some of my dreams to other people."

"This is a cabin bag," said Lorraine, bringing her offering. "I didn't
make it myself, because this is so much neater and prettier than a
homemade one. You see it has a pocket for everything that you can
possibly require, from hairpins to shoehorn. Not that you'll put
anything in the pockets--nobody ever does--but it will look pretty
decorating your cabin wall."

"Indeed I shall put things in it," said Patty. "I'm a great believer in
putting things in their right places, and I shall think of you,
Lorraine, whenever I'm trying to get the things out of these dinky
little pockets, and probably not succeeding very well."

"This is my gift," said Adelaide Hart; "it isn't very elaborate, but I
made it all myself, and that means a good deal from me."

Patty opened the parcel and found a piece of cretonne about a yard
square, neatly hemmed along each of the four sides, and having a tape
loop sewed on each corner.

"It's perfectly beautiful," said Patty, "and I never saw more exquisite
needlework; but would you mind telling me what it is for? It can't be a
handkerchief, but I don't know of anything else that's exactly square."

"How ignorant you are," said Adelaide with pretended superiority. "That,
my inexperienced friend, is a wrap for your best hat."

"Oh," said Patty, not much enlightened.

"You see," Adelaide kindly went on to explain, "as soon as you get on
board your steamer you take off your best hat and put it exactly in the
middle of this square, having first spread the square out smoothly on
the bed or somewhere. Then you take up these four corners by the loops
and hang the whole thing on the highest hook in your stateroom. Thus,
you see, your best hat is carried safely across; it is not jammed or
crushed, and it is protected from dust."

"I see," said Patty gravely; "and I suppose the dust is something awful
on an ocean steamer."

The laugh seemed to be on Adelaide at this, but she joined in it and
prophesied that when Patty returned she would confess that that gift had
proved the most useful of all.

Clementine Morse brought a large post-card album which she had filled
with views of New York City.

"I know you will be homesick before you're out of sight of land," she
said; "but if you're not you ought to be, and I hope these pictures will
make you so. When you look at this highly colored representation of
Grant's tomb and realise that it is but a few miles from your own long-
lost hearthstone, I'm sure you will feel qualms of patriotism--or
something."

"I think very likely," said Patty, laughing. "But, Clementine, how many
trunks do you suppose I shall need to hold my farewell gifts? This album
will take up considerable space."

"I know it," said Clementine, "but you needn't put it in your trunk. You
can carry it on board in your hand, and then when you go ashore you can
carry it in your hand. I don't believe they will charge you duty on it,
especially as it will probably be nearly worn out by that time."

"I'm sure it will," said Patty, "not only from my own constant use of
it, but I know everybody on board will want to borrow it and enjoy these
works of art."

"Yes," agreed Clementine; "and then, Patty, when you're in Paris you can
throw away all these New York cards and fill it up with Paris views and
bring it home and give it back to me."

"I certainly will, Clem; that's a first-rate idea."

Mary Sargent brought a French phrase book. It was entitled "French
Before Breakfast," and as Mary explained that the French people never
had breakfast until noon, Patty would have ample time to study it.

Patty accepted the little book with many thanks and promised Mary she
would never eat breakfast, at noon or any other hour, until she had
thoroughly mastered at least one of the phrases.




CHAPTER IV

AN AQUATIC PARTY


Of course all were agreed that Patty must have a farewell party of some
sort; and as Nan dearly loved elaborate affairs, she had decided that it
should be an Aquatic Party.

Patty frankly confessed her ignorance as to what an Aquatic Party might
be, whereupon Nan informed her that she had only to wait until the
occasion itself to find out.

So busy was Patty herself that she took no hand in the preparations for
the party, and indeed Nan required no help. That capable and energetic
young matron secured the services of some professional decorators and
able-bodied workmen, but the direction and superintendence was entirely
in her own hands.

Patty was consulted only in regard to her own costume for the occasion.

"You see," said Nan, coming into Patty's room one morning, "I don't know
whether you would rather say good-bye to your friends in the guise of a
kelpie or a pixy or a jelly-fish."

"Cut out the jelly-fish," said Patty, laughing, "for they're horrid,
floppy old things, I'm sure. As to the others, what's the difference
between a kelpie and a pixy?"

"Oh, a great deal of difference," declared Nan, wagging her head wisely;
"a kelpie is an imaginary water sprite, you know, and a pixy is a--a--
why, a sort of make-believe fairy who lives in the water."

"Well, I'm glad that you see a difference in your two definitions. For
my part I don't see anything to hinder my being a kelpie and a pixy
both, even if I'm not twins."

"Well, they're not so very different, you know. One is a kelpie, and one
is a pixy; that's about all the difference."

Patty laughed. "Well, if it will help you out any to have me make a
choice," she said, "I'll choose to be a kelpie. What's the latest thing
in kelpie costumes?"

"Oh, it will be lovely, Patty! I'll have it made of pale green silk,
with a frosted, silvery, shimmering effect, you know, and draped with
trailing green seaweed and water grasses."

"Lovely!" agreed Patty. "And what would the pixy costume have been, if I
had chosen that?"

"Just the same," confessed Nan, laughing; "but it's easier to have
something definite to work at. You can wear my corals, Patty, and, with
your hair down, you'll be a perfect kelpie."

Patty smiled at her young stepmother's enthusiasm, and Nan ran away to
begin preparations for the kelpie costume.

The night of the party the whole Fairfield house was so transformed that
it must scarcely have recognised itself.

The large front drawing-room represented the arctic regions in the
vicinity of the North Pole. Frames had been erected which, when covered
with sheets, simulated peaks of snowy mountains and snow-covered
icebergs. Here and there signs, apparently left by explorers, told the
latitude and longitude, and a flag marked the explorations Farthest
North. Over these snow peaks scrambled white polar bears in most
realistic fashion, and in one corner an Esquimau hut was built.

The ceiling represented a clear blue sky, and the floor the blue water
of the open polar sea.

By a clever arrangement of electric lights through colored shades a fair
representation of the Aurora Borealis was made to appear at intervals.

The library, which was back of the drawing-room, had been transformed
into an aquarium. All round the walls, waves of blue-green gauze
simulated water, in which papier-mache fish were gliding and swimming.
The illusion was heightened by other fishes, which, being suspended from
the ceiling by invisible threads, seemed to be swimming through the air.

Altogether the effect, if not entirely realistic, was picturesque and
amusing, and coral reefs and rocky cliffs covered with seaweed gave
aquatic impressions, even if not entirely logical.

But Nan's pride was what she chose to call the Upper Deck. This was a
room on the second floor, a large front room, which had been made to
represent the upper deck of a handsome yacht. Sail-cloth draped and held
up by poles formed the roof and sides, and a realistic railing
surrounded it. A dozen or more steamer chairs stood in line, strewn with
rugs, pillows and paper-backed novels. Coils of rope, lanterns, life-
preservers, and other paraphernalia added to the realism of the scene,
and at one side a carefully constructed window opened into the steward's
cabin. The steward himself, white-duck-suited and white-capped, was
prepared to serve light refreshments exactly after the fashion of a
correct yachting party.

When the guests began to arrive and were dressed in various costumes,
each representing some type or phase of water pleasures, the scene took
on a gay and festive air.

Patty's kelpie costume was a great success, and the girl never looked
prettier than as she stood receiving her guests in the pretty green silk
gown, trailing with seaweed and shimmering with silver dust. Her curly
golden hair was wreathed with soft green water-grasses, and her rosy
cheeks and dancing eyes made her look like a mischievous water sprite.

Nan's own costume was that of a fish-wife, and though very different
from Patty's, it had all the picturesqueness of the quaint costume of
the Breton fisher-folk. A basket slung over her shoulder held realistic-
looking fishes, and Nan looked quite as if she might have stepped out of
the frame of a picture in the French Academy.

Mr. Fairfield, not without some difficulty, had been induced to
represent Neptune. False flowing white hair and beard, a shining crown
and trident, and a voluminous sea-green robe made him a gorgeous sight.

The three stood near the North Pole to receive their guests, and
formality was almost lost sight of in the hilarity caused by the
procession of picturesque costumes.

There were pirates of fierce and bloodthirsty mien; there were jolly
Jack Tars and natty ship officers; there were water babies, mermaids,
fishermen, and many dainty yachting costumes. Then there were queer and
grotesque figures, such as a frog, a lobster, and a huge crab.

Altogether the motley procession presented a most interesting
appearance, and Patty was glad when the guests had all arrived and she
could leave her post and mingle with the crowd.

It was not long before a group of Patty's most intimate friends had
gathered on the Upper Deck to chat. Patty herself had been snugly tucked
into a deck chair by Kenneth, who insisted on showing her just how the
proceeding should be accomplished.

"Nothing shows your ignorance, my child, on board ship," he was saying,
"like not knowing how to manage your steamer rug and pillow."

"But," said Patty, "I shall then have on a suitable gown that will stand
rough usage; but I beg of you, Ken, stop tucking that rug around my
delicate kelpie decorations.

"Oh," said Kenneth, "you're a kelpie, then! Strange I didn't recognise
you at once, but I so rarely meet kelpies in the best society. Now I'm
Captain Kidd."

"Are you?" cried Elise gaily; "now I had an idea you were Admiral
Farragut; but then one so rarely meets Captain Kidd in the best
society."

"That's so," said Kenneth; "and think how long it will be, girls, before
you have the pleasure of meeting this particular Captain Kidd in any
society. I tell you, I envy you. You're going to have the time of your
life in Paris, and I wish to goodness I could go along with you."

"Oh, do, Kenneth," cried Patty; "we'd have just the best time ever!
Can't you give up college and put in a lot of study over there?"

"No, indeed, I can't; I'm only just wishing I could. There's no harm in
wishing, you know. But if you'll stay until next summer, perhaps I'll
come over and see you during vacation, and then we can all come home
together."

"That would be fine," said Elise, "and we're just as likely to stay
until summer as not. But then, on the other hand, we're just as likely
to come home as soon as we get there. You never can tell what those
absurd parents of mine are going to do."

Meantime a strange-looking figure was walking across the Upper Deck
toward the group that surrounded Patty. It was impossible not to
recognise the character, which was meant to be a representation of Noah.
But it was the well-known Noah of the children's Noah's ark, and the
straight-up-and-down, tightly fitting brown garment, with yellow buttons
down the front, was exactly like the patriarch as shown in the wooden
toys. A flat, broad-brimmed hat sat squarely on his head, and as he held
his arms straight down at his side, and as his cheeks bore little round
daubs of red paint, Mr. Hepworth was exactly like a gigantic specimen of
the nursery Noah.

He came across the deck with a staggering, uncertain motion, as if the
ship were rolling and pitching about. His realistic acting made them all
laugh, and when he dropped into a deck chair and, calling the steward,
asked faintly for a cup of weak tea, Patty declared she believed she
wouldn't go to Paris after all.

"For I'm sure," she said, "that I don't want to go wabbling across a
deck and looking as ill and woebegone as you do."

Mr. Hepworth smiled at her. "You'll have so many remedies and
preventives given you," he said, "and you'll be so busy pitching them
overboard that you won't have time to be seasick. Really I don't believe
you'll think of such a thing all the way over, let alone experiencing
it."

"You're a great comfort," said Patty heartily; "you always tell me the
most comforting things. Now everybody else declares that after I've been
at sea for a day I'll be so ill that I won't care whether I live or
die."

"Nonsense," declared Mr. Hepworth; "don't pay any attention to such
croakings."

"I agree with you," said Elise. "I've made up my mind that I'm not going
to be seasick, but I'm going to have a perfectly jolly time all the way
across."

"Of course you'll have jolly times," said Marian, who was in one of her
doleful moods; "but think of us who are left behind! We won't have any
jolly time until you come back again."

"Oh, I don't know!" said Kenneth. "Of course I'm devoted to these two
girls, but I'm not going to let it blight my young existence and crush
my whole career, just because I have to live without them for six
months."

"But you don't love Patty as I do," said Marian with a sigh, as she
gazed at her adored cousin.

"No, Marian, I don't," said Kenneth; "not as YOU do, for I assume that
you love her as a first cousin. Now my affection for Patty is more on
the order of a grandmother's brother-in-law once removed. You can't be
too careful about the exact type of attachment you feel for a young
lady, and I think that expresses my regard for Patty. Now toward Elise I
feel more like a great niece's uncle's brother-in-law. There is a very
subtle distinction between the two, but I know that both girls are
acutely aware of the exact kind and degree of my regard for them."

"I am, anyway," said Patty; "and I must say, Ken, that it's much easier
to leave you, with that definite affection of yours, than it is to go
away from Marian and leave her floundering in her deep and somewhat damp
woe."

Marian vouchsafed a sad sort of smile, and said it was all very well for
them to make fun of her, but she couldn't help missing Patty.

"Nobody can help missing Patty," declared Mr. Hepworth; "and for my
part, if I find that I miss her very much I shall go straight over to
Paris and bring her back."

"I hope you will," cried Patty; "that is, I hope you'll come over, and
perhaps we can persuade you not to be in such a dreadful hurry to come
back."

"I had expected to run over in the early spring, anyway," said Mr.
Hepworth carelessly, as if it were a matter of no moment; "I want to do
certain French sketches that I've had my mind on for some time."

"Well, if you do come," said Elise cordially, "come right to our house
and I know we can put you up. The Farringtons are erratic, but always
hospitable; and I hereby invite this whole crowd to visit us in Paris,
either jointly or severally, whenever the spirit moves you."

"If I find a spirit that can move me over to Paris, I shall come often,"
declared Kenneth; "but I'm afraid I'm too substantially built to be
wafted across the ocean in the clutches of any spirit."

Just then the notes of a bugle sounded clear and sweet from below.

"That's the ship's bugler," declared Mr. Hepworth, "and that's the bugle
call for supper. Shall we go down and refresh ourselves?"

"Yes, indeed," cried Patty, jumping from her nest of steamer rugs; "I'm
as hungry as a hawk."

But it somehow happened that all of the gay young crowd left the Upper
Deck to go to the supper room before Patty and Mr. Hepworth started. He
detained her for a moment while he said: "Little girl, will you miss me
while you're away?"

"Even if I expected to I wouldn't own up to it," said Patty, as she gave
him a mischievous glance.

"Why wouldn't you own up to it?" Mr. Hepworth spoke quite seriously and
looked intently at the pretty face before him, with its golden hair
crowned by the shining green sea-wreath.

"I don't know," said Patty slowly. She felt herself forced by his
impelling gaze to raise her eyes to his, and for the first time it
occurred to her that Mr. Hepworth felt more interest in her than she had
ever suspected. "I don't know why I wouldn't own up to it, I'm sure,"
she went on; "in fact, now that I come to think of it, I believe I
should own up to it."

"Well, own it then. Tell me you will miss me, and will sometimes wish I
might be with you."

"Oh," cried Patty, laughing merrily, "I only meant I would own it if it
were true. Of course I sha'n't really miss you; there'll be so much to
amuse and interest me that I sha'n't have time to miss anybody except
papa and Nan."

"That's just what I thought," said Mr. Hepworth.




CHAPTER V

GOOD-BYES


At last the day of sailing came. The steamer was to leave her dock at
three o'clock on Saturday afternoon, and soon after two Patty went on
board, accompanied by Nan and her father.

A crowd of friends had also gathered to bid Patty goodspeed, and besides
these the Farringtons had many friends there to say good-bye to them.

With the exception of Marian, it was not a sad parting. Indeed it seemed
rather a hilarious occasion than otherwise. This was partly because most
of the persons concerned felt truly sorry to miss Patty's bright
presence out of their lives, and feared that if they showed any regret
the situation might become too much for them.

Hilda and Lorraine felt this especially, and they were so absurdly gay
that it was quite clear to Patty that their gaiety was assumed. But she
was grateful to them for it, for, as she had previously confided to Nan,
she didn't want a weepy, teary crowd to bid her good-bye; she wanted to
go away amid laughter and smiles.

As the brief hour before sailing passed, more and more people came to
see them off, and Patty began to think that everybody she ever knew
would be there.

Many of the friends brought gifts, and many had already sent fruit or
flowers, both to the Farringtons and to Patty. Down in the dining-saloon
a whole table was occupied with the gifts to their party, and more than
a fair proportion of these belonged to Patty. She was quite bewildered,
for sailing away from her native land was a new experience to her, and
it had never occurred to her that it would include this elaborate
profusion of farewell gifts.

There was a great basket of red roses from Winthrop Warner, and Bertha
had sent a box of candy. Roger had sent candy, too, and Kenneth had sent
a beautiful basket of fruit that seemed to include every known variety.
Nor were the gifts only from Patty's intimate friends. She was surprised
to learn how many of her acquaintances and relatives and casual friends
had sent a token of good wishes for her voyage. The truth is that Patty
was a general favourite and made friends with all whom she met.

Mr. Hepworth had once told her that she was a Dispenser of Happiness. If
so, she was now reaping the reward, for her friends had surely showered
happiness upon her.

And besides the table full of gifts there were many letters and
telegrams in the ship's little post-office. These delighted Patty, too,
and she laid the budget aside to enjoy after the trip had fairly begun.

Among the last to arrive was Mr. Hepworth. He brought no fruit or
flowers, but he was followed by a messenger boy fairly staggering under
the weight of his burden.

"I knew, Patty," he said, "that you'd have all the flowers and fruit and
sweets you could possibly want, so I've brought you a different kind of
gift."

"There seems to be plenty of it," said Patty as she looked at the small
boy. His arms were full of papers and magazines, which, as they
afterward discovered, included every newspaper, magazine, and weekly
periodical published in New York.

"You know," said Mr. Hepworth, "you can't get current reading matter
after you start, and a good deal of this stuff you won't find in Paris,
either; though you can get American publications there more easily than
you can in London. But read what you want, Patty, and pitch the rest
overboard."

The boy was directed to carry his load to Patty's stateroom and deposit
it there. Patty thanked Mr. Hepworth for his thoughtful gift, and said
she would read every word of it and probably carry a great deal of it
ashore with her.

"Come on, Patty," said Kenneth, "we're going to see where your deck
chairs are, so we can have a mental picture of just how you're going to
look for the next week or so."

About a dozen merry young people trooped up the next deck and found the
chairs that had been reserved for the Farrington party. But when Patty
saw them she burst out laughing. The two that were intended for herself
and Elise had been decorated in an absurd fashion. They were tied with
ribbon bows and bunches and garlands of flowers. They were filled with
fancy pillows, and tied on in several places were letters and small
packages done up in paper.

"They look like ridiculous Christmas trees," cried Patty. "I'm crazy to
open those bundles, for I know they're full of foolishness that you
girls have rigged up for us."

"Don't open them now," said Hilda, "for we have to leave you and go
ashore in a few moments. Now, Patty, you will write to us, won't you?"

"I rather think I will," cried Patty; "you've all been so good to me I
never could thank you enough if I wrote every day and all day."

"Come with me, Patty," said Kenneth; "I want to show you something up at
this end of the ship."

So Patty went off with Kenneth, and when they were well away from the
laughing crowd he drew a small box from his pocket and gave it to her,
saying: "Patty, you mustn't think I'm a sentimental fool, for I'm not;
but I wish you'd wear that while you're away, and sometimes think of
me."

Patty flashed a comical glance at him.

"Good gracious, Ken," she exclaimed, "it's an awful funny thing, this
going away; it makes all your friends so serious and so afraid you'll
forget them. Of course I shall think of you while I'm away."

"Who else has been asking you to think of him?" growled Kenneth; "that
ridiculous Hepworth, I suppose! Well, now look here, miss, you're to
think of me twice to his once. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, I understand," said Patty demurely; "and now may I look in the box
before I promise to wear your gift? It might be a live beetle. I saw a
lady once who wore a live beetle attached to a tiny gold chain. Oh, it
was awful!"

"It isn't a live beetle," said Kenneth, smiling, "but it is attached to
a tiny gold chain. Yes, of course you may look at it, and if you don't
like it you needn't wear it."

So Patty opened the box and discovered a little gold locket, set with
tiny pearls and hanging from a slender gold chain. It was very graceful
and dainty, and Patty's first impulse was one of delight. But as she
looked up and met Kenneth's serious gaze she suddenly wondered if she
were promising too much to say she would wear it.

"What's inside of it?" she inquired, as if to gain time.

"Look and see."

Patty opened the locket and found it contained a most attractive picture
of Kenneth's handsome, boyish face.

"What a splendid likeness!" she exclaimed; "you're awfully good-looking,
Ken, and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll wear the locket with pleasure--
sometimes, you know, not all the time, of course--until I find somebody
who is handsomer than you, or--whom I like better."

"Pooh," cried Kenneth, "I don't care how often you replace it with a
picture of a handsomer man, but, Patty, I don't want you to find any one
you like better. Promise me you won't."

"Oh, I can't promise that, Ken. Just think of the fascinating Frenchmen
I shall probably meet, with their waxed moustaches and their dandified
manners. How can I help liking them better than a plain, unvarnished
American boy?"

"All right, my lady; if you set your affections on a French popinjay,
I'll come over there and fight a duel with him. I know you're too
sensible to look at those addle-pated dandies, but I wish you'd promise
not to like anybody better than THIS plain, unvarnished American boy."

"I won't promise you anything, Ken," said Patty, not unkindly, but with
a gentle, definite air. "I thank you for your locket. It is beautiful,
and I do love pretty things. I'll wear it sometimes; let me see, to-day
is Saturday; well, I'll wear it every Saturday; that will insure your
being thought of at least once a week."

And with this Kenneth had to be content, for a roguish laugh appeared in
Patty's eyes and he knew she would not treat matters seriously any
further.

Dropping the locket in her little handbag, Patty turned to go back to
the others.

"But you're not keeping your promise," said Kenneth, detaining her.

"What promise?"

"You said you'd wear the locket on Saturdays, and to-day is Saturday."

Patty was a little embarrassed. She knew if she went back to the group
with the trinket hanging round her neck, every one would know at once
that Kenneth had given it to her, and they would surmise far more than
the simple, truth. And she was especially conscious that Mr. Hepworth
would notice it, and would think it meant all Kenneth had wanted it to
mean, which was far more than she had accepted it as meaning.

Kenneth saw her hesitation and stood watching her.

"Wear it, dear," he said quietly; "an old friend like myself has a
perfect right to give you a little keepsake." Then Patty had an
inspiration. She clasped the little chain about her neck and then tucked
the locket down inside her collar so that it was entirely out of sight.

"You little witch!" cried Kenneth as she raised her laughing eyes to
his; "but at any rate you're wearing it, and that's all I asked of you."

"Yes," said Patty; and, as gaily and unaffectedly as a child, she
grasped Kenneth's hand and ran down the long deck to join the others.

Although determined to ignore the episode, Patty's cheeks bore a
heightened colour and she let poor Kenneth severely alone, devoting her
attention to the others.

But it was nearly time: for the last farewell to be said, and indeed
some of the party had said good-bye and left the steamer.

And then again Patty was carried off for a little confidential talk at
the other end of the deck, and this time it was by her father.

He seemed to have many final bits of advice to give her regarding the
minutiae of her journey, her money matters, her relation toward the
Farringtons, and her correct demeanour in many ways.

"I'm not at all afraid to trust you out of my sight, Patty, girl," he
said, "for I have absolute faith in your common sense and your good
judgment. I know you won't do anything wrong or unladylike, but I want
to warn you, my little girl, not to get mixed up in any romantic
adventures. You're altogether too young for that sort of thing, and I
warn you I sha'n't allow you to be engaged to anybody for years and
years to come." Patty laughed merrily at this. "Indeed, papa," she said,
"nothing is further from my mind than any such performance as you
suggest, and I haven't the slightest desire to think of being engaged
until I'm at least as old as Nan. And anyway, I don't believe anybody
would like me well enough to want to be engaged to me. Oh--that is--
unless it might be Kenneth."

And then Patty told her father the whole story of Kenneth and the
locket.

"You did just right, Patty," said her father. "Kenneth is a nice boy,
but he is altogether too young, and you are, too, to attach any
sentimental significance to his gift. Wear the locket if you want to, or
when you want to, but let it be understood that it means nothing more
than the merest friendly keepsake."

"Yes, that's just what I think," said Patty, with an air of satisfaction
at this prosaic settlement of the subject. "Oh, papa, you're the only
one I'm going to miss very much, you and Nan; but especially you."

"I know it, my girl; we have been a great deal to each other all these
years, and of course we shall miss each other. But the time will soon
pass away, and since we have to part we must be brave about it, and we
must not spoil the happiness of it by the sorrow of it."

"Dear papa," said Patty, squeezing his hand, "you are always so wise and
good. That's just the point; we must not spoil the happiness by the
sorrow, though that is what Marian is always trying to do. Poor Marian,
she's such a pathetic creature; I wish she would cheer up."

"I think she will, Patty. Nan and I are going to take her home with us
and keep her for a fortnight or more, and we'll make her so gay that
she'll forget you're gone."

"Good for you, papa; that's lovely! You do think of the nicest things
for people!"

"Well, now, chickabiddy, I suppose I'll have to leave you. Keep up a
good heart and a spirit of cheerfulness. Stick to your sense of
proportion and your sense of humor. Remember that the time will soon
pass, and pass happily, too; and then you'll come sailing back to this
very dock, and I'll be here waiting for you."

They rejoined the group and then the farewells began in earnest. Patty
was embraced and kissed by all the girls, until Nan declared there would
be nothing left for her to say good-bye to. The men shook hands and
expressed hearty good wishes, and with one last kiss from her father
Patty was left alone with the Farringtons.

As the steamer sailed away there was much waving of handkerchiefs and
flags, and the friends on shore were kept in sight just as long as
possible.

But when they could no longer be distinguished, Patty said: "Come on,
Elise; let's do something to occupy our minds, or I feel sure I shall
cry like a baby in spite of my noble and brave resolutions."

"All right," said Elise, "I'm with you. Let's go down and put things to
rights in our stateroom."

So down they went on their errand. The girls were to share the same
stateroom, and as it was large and conveniently arranged, they were glad
to be together. But as they entered the door they nearly fell over in
astonishment, for sitting on the sofa, with his paws extended in
welcome, was a very large, very white, and very fleecy "Teddy Bear." In
one paw he held a card on which was written:

           Oh Patty dear,
           Oh Elise dear,
      We don't want you to go away;
           But if you will,
           Keep with you still
      This merry little stowaway.




CHAPTER VI

THE OLD MA'AMSELLE


The girls laughed heartily over the Teddy Bear, and agreed that it was a
delightful companion for their trip. Elise set him up on the little
shelf above the washstand, and he gazed down upon them like a fat and
good-natured patron saint. Patty named him Yankee Doodle, and gave him
an American flag to hold; but Elise, not wishing to seem to slight the
French nation, gave him a silken tri-colour of France to hold in his
other paw. Apparently unprejudiced in his sympathies, Yankee Doodle held
both flags, and continued to wear his jolly and complacent grin.

It was great fun for the girls to arrange their stateroom. As they
expected to occupy it for the next ten days, they proceeded to make it
as homelike as possible. They both had so many cabin bags and wall
pockets and basket catchalls which had been parting gifts that it was
difficult to find wall space for them all. Patty was to occupy the lower
berth and Elise the wide and comfortable sofa. For they concluded they
could chatter better if on a level. This left the upper berth as a broad
shelf for books and magazines, boxes of candy, and all the odds and ends
of their belongings.

"Isn't it perfectly wonderful," said Patty, "to think we are already
miles away from land, and dancing away over this blue water!"

As Patty was standing on the sofa, with her head stuck out through the
porthole, Elise could not hear a word of this speech; so unless the
fishes were interested it was entirely lost. But this mattered little to
Patty, and soon she pulled her head in and made the same remark over
again.

"Well," said Elise, who was matter-of-fact, "when people take passage on
an ocean steamer they often expect to get a few miles away from land
after they start."

"Oh, Elise," cried Patty, "have you no imagination? Of course it isn't
wonderful to consider the FACT of our sailing out to sea, but the IDEA
of dancing away over the blue water is poetic and therefore wonderful."

"I'm glad you explained it to me, and I dare say the more the ship
dances, the more wonderful it will be. And so let's get these things
straightened out before the dancing grows mad and hilarious."

"All right," said Patty good-naturedly; and she went to work with a
will, stowing away things and tacking up things, until everything was
snugly in place.

Mrs. Farrington's maid accompanied the party, but both Elise and Patty,
being energetic young Americans, had small use for her services. She was
a help, though, in the matter of back buttons and hair ribbons, and she
came now rapping at the stateroom door with a message from Mrs.
Farrington that the girls were to dress for dinner. At the same moment
the pretty bugle-call rang out that marked the half hour before dinner-
time.

"Isn't it fun," cried Patty, "to have the dressing-bell a trumpet?
Except at my own party the other night I've never been bugled to my
meals. What shall we wear, Elise?"

"Not our prettiest dresses. We must save those for the concert, or
whatever gaieties they may have. Put on that blue checked silk of yours,
Patty; it's the sweetest thing, and just right for dinner, and I'll wear
my light green one."

With slight assistance from Lisette, the French maid, they were soon
ready. Patty envied Lisette her fluency in the French tongue, for though
all the officers on board and most of the passengers spoke English,
Patty wished she could talk French more readily than she did. She found
it good practice to talk to Lisette in her own language, as the mistakes
she made did not embarrass her. Lisette, of course, was a great admirer
of pretty Patty, and was only too glad to be of assistance to her
linguistically or any other way.

Another bugle-call announced dinner, and, joining Mr. and Mrs.
Farrington, the girls went down to the dining saloon. Their seats were
at the captain's table, and Patty thought she had never seen such a
profusion of beautiful flowers as graced the board. The stewards had
placed the flowers of all the passengers upon the tables, and, with the
lights and ornate decorations of the Louis XVI. saloon, it was like
fairyland. The walls and ceiling were elaborately decorated in dainty
French fashion, and the table service was exceedingly attractive. Patty
was much amused at the revolving chair which she had to learn how to get
into, but after being twirled to her place she concluded it was a wise
provision for a dining-room of such uncertain level.

Mrs. Farrington sat at the captain's right hand, and next to her was her
husband, then Elise, and then Patty. Patty at once began to wonder who
would occupy the chair next beyond herself, and was exceedingly
interested when the steward turned it around to accommodate a lady who
was approaching.

The newcomer was without doubt a Frenchwoman, somewhat elderly, but very
vigorous and active. She had masses of snow-white hair, and large,
alert, black eyes that seemed to dart quickly from one point of interest
to another. She was a little lady, but her gait and manner were marked
by an air not only of aristocracy, but as of one accustomed to exert
absolute authority. Nor was she apparently of a mild and amiable
disposition. She spoke sharply to the steward, although he was doing his
best to serve her.

"And is it that you shall be all night in arranging my chair?" she
exclaimed. Then, as she was finally seated, she continued her grumbling.
"And is it not enough that I must be delayed, but still I have received
no MENU? One shall see if this is to be permitted!"

The steward did not seem unduly alarmed at the little old lady's angry
speech, but hastened to bring her the daintily printed bill of fare.

Raising her jewelled lorgnon, the French lady scanned the MENU, and
having made a choice of soup, she laid the card down, and turning toward
Patty surveyed her leisurely through her glasses.

Her manner as she scrutinised Patty was by no means rude or impertinent.
It had rather the effect of an honest curiosity and a polite interest.

"There is no denying, my dear," she said at last, "that you are of a
beauty. And of a sweetness. An American of Americans. New York--is it
not so?"

There was an indefinable charm about the old lady's manner that won
Patty's heart at once, and though in any case she would have been
polite, she answered with cordiality:

"Yes, madame, I live in New York, although I was born in the South and
lived there for many years."

"Ah, then, it is explained. It is your Southern States that make the
charm, the aplomb, without the--what you call--the--the freshness. Is it
not so? But I do not mean the freshness of the cheek; and yet, in the
argot do you not say freshness is cheek? Ah, I am bewildered; I am mixup
with your strange words; but I will learn them! They shall not conquer
me! And you will help me; is it not so?"

"I will help you with pleasure, madame," replied Patty, dimpling with
fun as she heard the old lady's unsuccessful attempts in American slang.
"My name is Patty Fairfield; and though I seldom use the slang of my
country, I'm more or less familiar with its terms, and can enlighten you
concerning them, at least to a degree. To me your language is difficult;
but perhaps we may by conversation help each other."

"Patty Fairfield; a pleasant name for a pleasant child. But I'm not
madame; pray call me ma'amselle. I am Ma'amselle Labesse."

"You are a Frenchwoman, of course?" inquired Patty.

"A Frenchwoman, yes; but of an admiration for your strange American
country. I go home now, but I shall return again. Your country is of an
interest."

As Patty looked around at the others at their table, she felt that she
had been fortunate in sitting next to the old ma'amselle. For though she
could not judge entirely by appearances, no one else at the table seemed
to be so quaintly interesting as the old French lady.

Patty soon discovered that even a "few miles of dancing upon the blue
water" had decidedly sharpened her appetite, and she did full justice to
the delicate viands and delicious French cookery placed before her. She
and Elise chatted happily, and after introducing her companions on
either side to each other the conversation became general.

Under the influence of the comradeship always felt on a French liner,
the people across the table became sociably inclined, and acquaintances
were made rapidly.

After dinner our party went out on deck, and though warm wraps were
necessary, the crisp, clear air was delightful, and the starry sky and
tumbling black water fascinated Patty beyond all words. She leaned
against the rail, watching the waves as they dashed and plashed below,
breaking into white foam as the steamer ploughed through them. Patty was
very susceptible to new impressions, and the great expanse of black
water beneath the dome of the star-studded black sky filled her with an
awe and reverence which she had never known before.

Elise stood quietly beside her, with her hand through Patty's arm, and
together the girls silently enjoyed the sombre beauty of the scene.

"Are you afraid, Patty?" asked Elise.

Patty laughed a little, and then she said: "I don't know as I can make
you understand it, Elise, for it sounds so ridiculous when it's put into
words. But it's this way with me: In my imagination, when I think of
this little cockleshell of a boat tossing on this great, deep, black
ocean, which may engulf it at any moment, I have a certain feeling of
fear, which seems to belong to the situation. But really, my common
sense tells me that these staunch steamships are constructed for the
very purpose of carrying people safely across the sea, and that there is
almost no danger at all of their doing otherwise. So you see it only
depends on whether I'm in a mood of poetical imagination or practical
common sense as to whether I'm afraid or not."

"Patty," said Elise, with a little sigh, "you are certainly clever. Now
I never could have reasoned the thing out like that, and yet I see just
what you mean."

"Throw bouquets at yourself, then, Elise," said Patty, laughing, "for
you're a great deal more clever to see what I mean than I am to say it!"

After a brisk walk up and down the deck for a time the girls tucked
themselves snugly into their deck chairs by the side of the elder
Farringtons.

"How do you like it so far, Patty?" asked Mr. Farrington.

"It's simply perfect," declared Patty enthusiastically. "It's awfully
different from what I thought it would be, and ever so much nicer. I
thought it would be impossible to walk across the deck without tumbling
all over and catching hold of everything. But we can walk around just as
if in a house, and everything is comfortable, even luxurious, and it's
all so clean."

Mrs. Farrington laughed at this. "Of course it's clean, child," she
said; "it's only on land that we are under the tyranny of dust and dirt.
But as for tumbling around the deck, that may come later. Don't imagine
the sea is never rougher than it is to-night."

"I hope it will be rougher," said Patty. "I don't want a fearful storm,
but I would like a little pitching and tossing."

"You'll probably get it," said Mr. Farrington. "And now, my cherished
ones, let us take a look in at the library and drawing-room, and then
let us seek our staterooms."

So the parry adjourned to the brilliantly lighted saloon, where many of
the passengers had congregated to spend the after-dinner hour. It was a
beautiful apartment, even more gorgeous and elaborate than the dining-
room, and furnished with inviting-looking easy-chairs, sofas, and divans
of puffy upholstery. Gilt-framed tables were scattered about for the
benefit of the card-players, and attractively appointed writing-desks
made Patty suddenly realise that she wanted to write letters home at
once. But remembering that they could not possibly be mailed for ten
days to come, she decided to defer them at least until the morrow.

Well-filled bookcases attracted the girls' attention, and
notwithstanding the large amount of reading matter they had of their
own, they were glad to see some well-known favourites behind the glass
doors.

Patty was surprised when Mr. Farrington proposed that they should all go
to the dining-room for a bit of supper before retiring. It seemed to her
but a short time since they had dined; and yet she realised the
suggestion was not entirely unwelcome.

"Is it imperative that we shall eat more meals on sea than on land?" she
inquired, as they took their places at the table.

"Not imperative, perhaps," the captain answered her, smiling, "but
unless you seem to appreciate my cook's efforts to please you I shall
have to pitch him overboard; and it is not easy to find another chef in
mid-ocean."

"Then," said Patty gaily, "I shall certainly do all I can to save the
poor man from a dreadful fate. And it does not seem to me that I shall
have any difficulty in keeping my part of the bargain." As Patty spoke
she was nibbling away with great satisfaction at a caviare sandwich and
bestowing a pleased glance on a glass of orange sherbet which the
steward had just brought to her.

The captain was a large and important-looking personage, with the black
moustache and imperiale of the true Frenchman. His manner was expansive
and very cordial; and as he had known the Farringtons for many years he
was quite ready to welcome Patty for their sake as well as her own.
Indeed, he had taken an immediate liking to the pretty American girl,
and as French captains are prone to make favourites among their
passengers, Patty was immediately assigned in his chivalrous heart to
such a position.

He bade her a pleasant good-night as she left the dining-room, and was
delighted with her naive expressions of admiration and appreciation of
his beautiful ship.

When the girls reached their stateroom they suddenly realised that they
were quite tired out after the excitements of the day, and were very
glad to let Lisette brush their hair and assist them in preparing for
bed. As Patty nestled snugly between the coarse linen sheets she felt a
drowsy enjoyment of the gentle rolling motion of the steamer, and almost
immediately fell into a sound, dreamless sleep.




CHAPTER VII

WESTERN FRIENDS


The girls slept restfully all night, and were awakened in the morning by
the entrance of Lisette, who was followed by the pleasant-faced and
voluble French stewardess. The day was bright and sunshiny, and half a
dozen times while she was dressing Patty stuck her head out of the
porthole to gaze at the sparkling blue water. On these occasions Elise
grasped her by the feet lest she should fall out. But as Patty's
substantial frame could not possibly have squeezed through the porthole,
the precaution was unnecessary.

After breakfast the girls prepared for a delightful morning on deck. The
breeze had freshened considerably, so Patty put on a long, warm ulster
that enveloped her from throat to feet. A long blue veil tied her trim
little hat in place, and when fully equipped she looked over the piles
of literature to make a selection.

"Do you know," she said to Elise, "I don't believe I shall read much; I
think I shall just sit and look at the water and dream."

"All right," said her practical friend; "but take a book with you, for
if you don't you're sure to want one; while if you do, you probably
won't look at it."

"Elise, you're a genius. I'll take the book, and also some of this
candy. I'm glad Hilda gave me this bag; it's most convenient."

The bag in question was a large, plain affair of dark green cloth, with
a black ribbon drawstring. It proved to be Patty's constant companion,
as it was roomy enough to hold gloves, veils, handkerchiefs, as well as
pencil and paper, and anything else they might need through the day. It
hung conveniently on the back of Patty's deck chair, and became as
famous as the bag of the lady in "Swiss Family Robinson."

As Patty had anticipated, she did not do any reading that morning, but
neither did she gaze at the ocean and dream. She discovered that life on
an ocean steamer is apt to be full of incident and abounds in
occupation.

No sooner had she and Elise arranged themselves in their chairs than
along came two gay and laughing girls, who stopped to talk to them.

"We're going to introduce ourselves," said one of them. "I am Alicia Van
Ness, and this is my little sister Doris. We're from Chicago, and we
like the looks of you girls, and we want to be chums. Though, of course,
it's up to you, and if you don't like our looks you've only to say so
and we'll never trouble you again."

"Speak out!" chimed in the other girl, who was quite as vivacious as her
sister. "We're not a bit stupid, and we can take the slightest hint. I
can see you don't quite approve of us"--and she looked shrewdly at
Patty, who had unconsciously assumed an air of hauteur as she watched
the frank-mannered Western girls--"but really and truly we're awfully
nice after you get acquainted with us."

Patty was amused, and a little ashamed that a stranger should have read
her feelings so accurately, for she had felt slightly repelled at the
somewhat forward manners of these would-be friends.

As if to make up for her coolness she said heartily: "I'm sure you are
delightful to know, and I'm quite ready to be friends if you will allow
it. I'm Patty Fairfield, and this is my chum, Elise Farrington."

"We knew your names," said Alicia Van Ness; "we asked the captain. You
see, we thought you two were the nicest girls on board, but if you had
thrown us down we were going to tackle the English girl next."

Though this slangy style of talk was not at all to Patty's liking, she
saw no reason to reject the offered friendship because of it. The Van
Ness sisters might prove to be interesting companions, in spite of their
unconventional ways. So two vacant chairs were drawn up, and the four
girls sat in a group, and very soon were chatting away like old friends.

"Do you know the English girl?" asked Doris; "she sits at your table."

"No," said Elise; "she's way down at the other end from us. But I like
her looks, only she's so very English that I expect she's rather stiff
and hard to get acquainted with."

"You can't say that about us, can you?" said Alicia, laughing; "I'm as
easy as an old shoe, and Doris as an old slipper. But we hope you'll
like us, because we do love to be liked. That English girl's name is
Florrie Nash. Isn't that queer? She doesn't look a bit like a Florrie,
does she? More like a Susan or a Hannah."

"Or more like a Catharine or Elizabeth, I think," said Patty. "But you
never can tell people's names from what they look like."

"No," said Alicia; "now a stranger would say you looked like my name,
and I looked like yours."

"That's true enough," said Elise, laughing; "your jolly ways are not at
all like your grand-sounding name; and as for Patty here, it's a perfect
shame to spoil her beautiful name of Patricia by such a nickname."

Two young men in long plaid ulsters with turned-up collars and plaid
yachting caps came into view at the other end of the deck. They were
walking with swinging strides in the direction of the group of girls.

"Now I'll show you," said Alicia in a low voice, "how we Chicago girls
scrape acquaintance with young men."

As the young men drew nearer Alicia looked at them smilingly and said
"Ahem" in a low but distinct voice. The young men looked at her and
smiled, whereupon Doris purposely dropped a book she had been holding.
The young men sprang to pick it up, Doris took it and thanked them, and
then made a further remark as to the beauty of the weather. The young
men replied affably, and then Alicia asked them to join their group and
sit down for a chat.

"With pleasure," said one of the young men, glancing at Patty and Elise,
"if we may be allowed."

Patty was surprised and shocked at the behaviour of these strange girls,
and very decidedly expressed her opinion in her face. Without glancing
at the young men, she turned on the Van Ness sisters a look of extreme
disapproval, while Elise looked frightened at the whole proceeding.

The two horrified countenances were too much for the Van Ness girls, and
they burst into peals of laughter.

"Oh, my children," cried, Alicia, "did you really think us so
unconventional, even if we are from Chicago? These two boys are our
cousins, Bob and Guy Van Ness, and they are travelling with us in charge
of our parents. Stand up straight, infants, and be introduced. Miss
Farrington and Miss Fairfield, may I present Mr. Robert Van Ness and Mr.
Guy Porter Van Ness?"

The young men made most deferential bows, and, greatly appreciating the
joke, Patty invited them to join their party, and offered them some of
her confectionery.

"But it's a shame to sit here," observed Guy, "when there's lots of fun
going on up on the forward deck. Don't you girls want to go up there and
play shuffleboard?"

"I do," said Patty readily; "I've always wanted to play shuffleboard,
though I've no idea whether it's played with a pack of cards or a tea
set."

Guy laughed at this and promised to teach her the game at once.

So they all went up to the upper deck, which was uncovered, and where,
in the sunlight, groups of young people were playing different games.

Both Patty and Elise delighted in outdoor sports, and the Van Ness girls
were fond of anything athletic. During the games they all made the
acquaintance of Florrie Nash, who, though of an extreme English type,
proved less difficult to make friends with than they had feared.

They also met several young men, among whom Patty liked best a young
Englishman of big-boyish, good-natured type, named Bert Chester, and a
young Frenchman of musical tastes. The latter was a violinist, by the
name of Pierre Pauvret. He seemed a trifle melancholy, Patty thought,
but exceedingly refined and well-bred. He stood by her side as she
leaned against the rail, looking at the water, and though evidently
desirous to be entertaining, he seemed to be at a loss for something to
say.

Patty felt sorry for the youth and tried various subjects without
success in interesting him, until at last she chanced to refer to music.
At this Mr. Pauvret's face lighted up and he became enthusiastic at
once.

"Ah, the music!" he exclaimed; "it is my life, it is my soul! And you--
do you yourself sing? Ah, I think yes."

"I sing a little," said Patty, smiling kindly at him, "but I have not
had much training, and my voice is small."

"Ah," said the Frenchman, "I have a certainty that you sing like an
angel. But we shall see--we shall see. There will be a concert on board
and you will sing. Is it not so?"

"I don't know," said Patty, smiling; "I will sing with pleasure if I am
asked, but it may not give my audience pleasure."

"It will be heaven for them!" declared the volatile young Frenchman,
clasping his hands in apparent ecstasy.

His exaggerated manner amused Patty, for she dearly loved to study new
types of people, and she began to think there was a varied assortment on
board.

Suddenly several people rushed wildly to the side of the boat. They were
followed by others, until it seemed as if everybody was crowding to the
rail. Patty followed, of course, and found herself standing by the side
of Bert Chester.

"What is it?" she exclaimed.

"A porpoise!" he replied, as if announcing an event of greatest
importance.

"A porpoise!" echoed Patty, disgusted. "Such a fuss about a porpoise?
Why, it's nothing but a fish!"

"My dear Miss Fairfield," said the Englishman, looking at her through
his single eyeglass, "tradition demands that steamer passengers shall
always make a fuss over a passing porpoise. To be sure it's only a fish,
but the fuss is because of tradition, not because of the fish."

Patty had always thought that a single eyeglass betokened a brainless
fop, but this stalwart young Englishman wore his monocle so naturally,
and, moreover, so securely, that it seemed a component part of him. And,
too, his speech was that of a quick-witted, humorous mind, and Patty
began to think she must readjust her opinion.

"Is it an English national trait," she said, "to be so in thrall to
tradition?"

"I'm sorry to say it is," young Chester responded, somewhat gravely. "In
the matter of the porpoise it is of no great importance; but there are
other matters, do you see, where Englishmen are so hampered by tradition
that individual volition is often lost."

This was more serious talk than Patty was accustomed to, but somehow she
felt rather flattered to be addressed thus, and she tried to answer in
kind.

"But," she said, "if the tradition is the result of the wisdom of past
ages, may it not be of more value than individual volition?"

"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Chester, "you have a clever little head on your
young shoulders, to take that point so adroitly. But let us defer this
somewhat serious discussion until another time and see if it is a
porpoise or something else that it attracting the curious crowd to the
other side of the ship."

As they followed the hurrying people across the deck, Mr. Chester went
on: "After you have crossed the ocean a few more times you will discover
that there are only two things which make the people rush frantically
and in hordes to the rail. The one that isn't a porpoise is a passing
steamer."

Sure enough, the object of interest this time was a distant steamer,
which was clearly visible on the horizon. It was sharply outlined
against the blue sky, and the sunlight gave it its true value of colour,
while the dark smoke that poured from its smokestack floated back
horizontally like a broad ribbon. But owing to the distance there was no
effect of motion, and even the smoke as well as the vessel seemed to be
stationary.

"That isn't a real steamer," said Patty whimsically; "it's a chromo-
lithograph. I've often seen them in the offices of steamship companies.
This one isn't framed, as they usually are, but it's only a chromo all
the same. There's no mistaking its bright colouring and that badly
painted smoke."

Young Chester laughed. "You Americans are so clever," he said. "Now an
English girl would never have known that that was only a painted
steamer. But as you say, you can tell by the smoke. That's pretty badly
done."

Patty took a decided liking to this jesting Englishman, and thought him
much more entertaining than the melancholy French musician.

She discovered that very evening that Mr. Chester possessed a fine
voice, and when after dinner a dozen or more young people gathered round
the chairs of the Farrington party, they all sang songs until Mrs.
Farrington declared she never wanted to attend a more delightful
concert.

Mr. Pauvret brought his violin, and the Van Ness boys produced a banjo
and a madolin. Everybody seemed to sing at least fairly well, and some
of the voices were really fine. Patty's sweet soprano received many
compliments, as also did Elise's full, clear contralto. The girls were
accustomed to singing together, and Mr. Pauvret proved himself a true
musician by his sympathetic accompaniments.

Everybody knew the popular songs of the day, and choruses and glees were
sung with that enthusiasm which is always noticeable on the water.

The merry party adjourned to the dining-room for a light supper after
their vocal exercises.

Patty was sorry that her friend and tablemate, the old Ma'amselle, had
not been visible since that first dinner. Upon inquiry she learned that
the old lady had fallen a victim to the effects of the rolling sea.

"But she'll soon be around again," said the captain in his bluff, cheery
way; "Ma'amselle Labesse has crossed with me many times, and though she
usually succumbs for two or three days, she is a good sailor after that.
She is passionately fond of music, too, and when she is about again you
young people must make the old ship ring for her."

This they readily promised to do, and then they wound up the evening by
a vigorous rendition of the "Marseillaise," followed by "The Star
Spangled Banner" and "God Save the King."

It was all a delightful experience for Patty, who dearly loved lights
and music and flowers and people and gay goings on, and she felt that
she was indeed a fortunate girl to have all these pleasures come to her.




CHAPTER VIII

DAYS AT SEA


The time on shipboard passed all too quickly.

Each day was crammed full of various amusements and occupations, and
Patty and Elise enjoyed it all thoroughly.

Although the majority of passengers were French, yet they nearly all
spoke English, and there were a number of Americans and English people,
who proved to be pleasant and companionable.

The young people from Chicago seemed to wear well, and as she grew to
know them better Patty liked them very much. The Van Ness girls, though
breezy in their manner, were warm-hearted and good-natured, and their
boy cousins were always ready for anything, and proved themselves
capable of good comradeship.

The English girl, Florrie Nash, Patty could not quite understand.
Florrie seemed to be willing to be friends, but there was a coldness and
reserve about her nature that Patty could not seem to penetrate.

As she expressed it to Elise, "Florrie never seems herself quite certain
whether she likes us or we like her."

"Oh, it's only her way," said Elise; "she doesn't know how to chum,
that's all."

But Patty was not satisfied with this, and determined to investigate the
matter.

"Come for a walk," she said, tucking her arm through Florrie's one
morning. "Let's walk around the deck fifty times all by ourselves. Don't
you want to?"

"Yes, if you like;" and Florrie walked along by Patty's side, apparently
willing enough, but without enthusiasm.

"Why do you put it that way?" asked Patty, smiling; "don't you like to
go yourself?"

"Yes, of course I do; but I always say that when people ask me to do
anything. It's habit, I suppose. All English people say it."

"I suppose it is habit," said Patty; "but it seems to me you'd have a
whole lot better time if you felt more interest in things, or rather, if
you expressed more interest. Now look at the Van Ness girls; they're
just bubbling over with enthusiasm."

"The Van Ness girls are savages," remarked Florrie, with an air of
decision.

"Indeed they're not!" cried Patty, who was always ready to stand up for
her friends. "The trouble with you, Florrie, is that you're narrow-
minded; you think that unless people have your ways and your manners
they are no good at all."

"Not quite that," returned Florrie, laughing. "Of course, we English
have our prejudices, and other people call us narrow; but I think we
shall always be so."

"I suppose you will," said Patty; "but anyway you would have more fun if
you enjoyed yourself more."

"It's good of you, Patty, to care whether I enjoy myself or not."

Florrie's tone was so sincere and humble as she said this that Patty
began to realise there was a good deal of character under Florrie's
indifferent manner.

"Of course I care. I have grown to like you, Florrie, in these few days,
and I want to be good friends with you, if you'll let me."

"If you like," said Florrie again, and Patty perceived that the phrase
was merely a habit and did not mean the indifference it expressed.

"And I want you to visit me," went on Florrie. "I'm travelling now to
Paris with my aunt, who took me to the States for a trip. From Paris I
shall soon go back to my country home in England, and I wish you would
visit me there--you and Elise both. Oh, Patty, you have no idea how
beautiful England is in the springtime. The may blooms thickly along the
lanes, till they're masses of pink fragrance; and the sky is the most
wonderful blue, and the birds sing, and it is like nothing else in all
the world."

The tears came into Florrie's eyes as she spoke, and Patty was amazed
that this cold-blooded girl should be so moved at the mere thought of
the spring landscape.

"I should dearly love to visit you, Florrie, but I can't promise, of
course, for I'm with the Farringtons, and must do as they say."

"Yes, of course; but I do hope you can come. You would love our country
place, Patty; it is so large, and so old, and so beautiful."

Florrie said this with no effect of boasting, but merely with a sincere
appreciation of her beautiful home. Then as she went on to tell of the
animals and pets there, and of the park and woods of the estate, Patty
found that the girl could indeed be enthusiastic when she chose.

This made Patty like her all the better, for it proved she had
enthusiasm enough when a subject appealed to her.

But when they were joined by the crowd of gay young people begging them
to come and play games, Florrie seemed to shut up into herself again,
and assumed once more her air of cold indifference.

But if Florrie was lacking in enthusiasm, it was not so with another of
Patty's friends.

Ma'amselle Labesse, who had recovered from her indisposition, had taken
a violent fancy to Patty and would have liked to monopolise her
completely.

Patty was kind to the old lady and did much to entertain her, but she
was not willing to give up all her time to her. The old ma'amselle
greatly delighted to carry Patty off to her stateroom, there to talk to
her or listen to her read aloud. Except for her maid, ma'amselle was
alone, and Patty felt sorry for her and was glad to cheer her up. Not
that she needed cheering exactly, for she was of a merry and volatile
disposition, except when she gave way to exhibitions of temper, which
were not infrequent.

One morning she called Patty to her room, and surprised the girl by
giving her a present of a handsome and valuable old necklace. It was of
curiously wrought gold, and though Patty admired it extremely, she
hesitated about accepting such a gift from a comparative stranger."

"But yes," said ma'amselle, "it is for you. I wish to give it to you. I
have taken such a fancy to you, you could scarce believe. And I adore to
decorate you thus." She clasped the necklace about Patty's throat, with
an air that plainly said she would be much offended if the gift were
refused. So Patty decided to keep it, at least until she could get an
opportunity to ask Mrs. Farrington's advice on the subject.

When she did ask her, Mrs. Farrington told her to keep it by all means.
She said she had no doubt the old ma'amselle enjoyed making the gift far
more than Patty was pleased to receive it, so Patty kept the trinket,
which was really a very fine specimen of the goldsmith's art.

"And, my dear," the old lady went on, the day that she gave Patty the
necklace, "you must and shall come to visit me in my chateau. My home is
the most beautifull--an old chateau at St. Germain, not far from Paris,
and you can come, but often, and stay with me for the long time."

Patty thanked her, but would not promise, as she had made up her mind to
accept no invitations that could not include the Farringtons.

But Ma'amselle Labesse did include the Farringtons, and invited the
whole party to visit her in the winter.

Mrs. Farrington gave no definite answer, but said she would see about
it, and perhaps they would run out for the week-end.

For the first five or six days of their journey the weather was perfect
and the ocean calm and level. But one morning they awoke to find it
raining, and later the rain developed into a real storm. The wind blew
furiously and the boat pitched about in a manner really alarming. The
old ma'amselle took to her stateroom, and Mrs. Farrington also was
unable to leave hers. But the girls were pleased rather than otherwise.
Patty and Elise proved themselves thoroughly good sailors, and were
among the few who appeared at the table at luncheon.

After the meal, Bob and Guy Van Ness came up to the girls and asked them
if they cared to brave the storm sufficiently to go out on deck. Elise,
though not timid, declared that she could see all she wished through the
windows; but Patty, always ready for a new experience, expressed her
desire to go.

She put on her own little rain-coat and tied a veil over her small cap,
but when she presented herself as ready the boys laughed at her
preparations.

"That fancy little mackintosh is no good," said Bob; "but you wait a
minute, Patty; we'll fix you."

Bob disappeared, and soon returned, bringing from somewhere an oilskin
coat and cap of a brilliant yellow color. These enveloped Patty
completely, and as the boys were arrayed in similar fashion, they looked
like three members of a life-saving corps, or, as Patty said, like the
man in the advertisement of cod-liver oil.

Although the yellow oilskins were by no means beautiful, yet Patty's
rosy face peeping out from under the queer-shaped, ear-flapped cap was a
pretty picture.

Laughing with glee, they stepped out on the deck into the storm. The
stepping out was no easy matter, for the wind was blowing a hurricane
and the spray was dashing across the decks, while the rain seemed to
come from all directions at once.

With the two big boys on either side of her, Patty felt no fear, and as
they walked forward toward the bow of the ship she felt well repaid for
coming out by the grandeur of the sight. It was impossible to
distinguish sea from sky, as both were of the same leaden grey, and the
torrents of rain added to the obscurity. The ocean was in a turmoil,
frothing and fuming, and the waves rolled over and broke against the
ship with angry vehemence. Patty, though not frightened, was awed at the
majesty of the elements, and did not in the least mind the rain and
spray in her face as she gazed at the scene.

"You're good wood!" exclaimed Guy; "not many girls could stand up
against a storm like this."

Patty shook the wet curls out of her eyes as she smiled up at him. "I
love it!" she exclaimed, but she could hardly make her voice heard for
the roar of the sea and the storm.

Up and down the decks they walked, or rather tried to walk, now battling
against the wind, and now being swept along in front of it, until almost
exhausted, Patty dropped down on a coil of rope in a comparatively
sheltered corner. The boys sat down beside her, and they watched the
angry ocean. At times the great waves seemed as if they would engulf the
pitching ship, but after each wave the steamer righted herself proudly
and prepared to careen again on the next.

After a time Patty declared she'd had enough of it, and also expressed
her opinion that oilskins were not such a positive protection against
the wet as they were reputed to be.

So indoors they went, warm and glowing from their vigorous exercise, and
their appetites sharpened by their rough battle with the weather.

Every day there seemed to be something new to do.

"I've been told," said Patty, "that life on an ocean steamer is
monotonous, but I can't find any monotony. We've done something
different every day, haven't we, Elise?"

"Yes; and next will be the concert, and that will be best of all. What
are you going to sing, Patty?"

"I don't know. I don't want to sing at all, but your mother said I'd
better sing once, because they all insist on it so, and I do like to be
accommodating."

"I should think you did, Patty; you're never anything but
accommodating."

"Oh, pooh! It's no trouble to me to sing. I'd just as lief do it as not;
only it seems foolish for me to sing when there are so many older people
with better voices to do it."

"Well, sing some simple little ballad, and I don't believe but what the
people will like it just as much as the arias and things sung by the
more pretentious singers."

So Patty followed Elise's advice, and when the night of the concert came
her name was on the programme for one song.

And, as Elise had thought, it pleased the audience quite as well as some
of the more elaborate efforts.

Patty wore one of her pretty new dresses, a simple little frock of white
chiffon cloth, with touches here and there of light blue velvet. Her
only ornament was the necklace that Ma'amselle Labesse had given her,
and in her curly golden hair was a single white rose.

Very sweet she looked as she stood on the platform to sing her little
song. She had chosen "My Ain Countree" as being likely to please a
popular audience, and also not difficult to sing.

Mr. Pauvret accompanied her on his violin, and so effective was his
accompaniment and so sweet pretty Patty's singing of the old song, that
their performance proved to be the most attractive number on the
programme. So prolonged was the applause and so persistent the cry of
"Encore!" that Patty felt she really must respond with another song.

So she sang Stevenson's little verses, "In Winter I Get Up at Night,"
which have been set to such delightful music. Again Mr. Pauvret's
accompaniment added to the charm of the song, and Patty returned to her
place in the audience, quite embarrassed at the praises heaped upon her.

Elise sang, too, in a quartette of four girls. They had practised
together considerably, and sang really well. There were many other
musical numbers, interspersed with monologues and recitations, and the
programme wound up with a series of tableaux.

Patty was in her element in these, and had helped to arrange them. She
took part in some of them herself, and in others she arranged the groups
to form effective pictures. An immense gilt picture frame, stretched
across with gauze, was at the front of the stage. This was held up on
either side by two able-bodied seamen of the ship, in their sailor
costume. All of the tableaux were shown as pictures in this frame, and
they called forth enthusiastic and appreciative applause.

Old Ma'amselle Labesse had been induced to appear in one of the
tableaux, and as she possessed strikingly handsome costumes, she wore
one of the prettiest, and made an easily recognisable representation of
a painting by Nattier. Altogether the concert was a great success and
everybody had a good time. It was expected that they would see land the
next day, and so the concert partook of the nature of a farewell
function. Everybody was shaking hands and saying good-bye to everybody
else, and after many good wishes and good-nights our two tired and
sleepy girls went to their stateroom.




CHAPTER IX

PARIS


The next morning the girls spent in packing and getting ready to go
ashore. "I'm sure I don't know where all these things came from," said
Patty; "but I know I have just about twice as many earthly possessions
as I had when I came aboard. I hate to pitch them out of the porthole,
but I simply can't get them all in my trunks."

"Nor I," said Elise. "People have been giving us things ever since we
started, and we must be greedies, because we haven't given anything
away, and now what shall we do with them?"

"Let's give a lot away," said Patty. "We've pretty much read all we want
to of this mountain of light literature. Let's give it all to the
stewardess; and what do you think, Elise, about giving Yankee Doodle to
the captain? He is a blessed old bear, and I hate to look forward to
life without him, but I don't see how we can cart him to Paris, unless
we carry him in our arms, and that's where I draw the line."

"So do I," declared Elise. "We might ask Lisette to carry him, but I
know she wouldn't want to do it. Yes, let's give him to the captain as a
souvenir of our trip."

This plan was carried out, and the captain was really delighted at the
comical gift. He said he should always keep it as a remembrance of the
donors, and he hoped that when they returned to America they would again
travel on his ship.

The steamer stopped at Plymouth and then went straight on to Havre.
Everybody was in a great state of excitement; passengers were getting
off and mails getting on at Plymouth, and plenty of wonderful and
interesting things to look at as they sailed along the channel.

Patty felt truly sorry to say good-bye to many of the friends she had
made on board. But from others she would not be parted until they
reached Paris. The Van Ness party, the old Ma'amselle, Florrie Nash,
Bert Chester, and Mr. Pauvret were all going in the special train to
Paris, as the Farringtons were.

Patty thought this meant they could all travel together, but to her
surprise she found the French trains very different from those on
American railroads.

The special boat-train which they were to take left directly from the
steamer's dock and was an express direct to Paris without stop, landing
them there in less than four hours.

The Farrington party had a whole compartment in this train, and as a
compartment only holds six people, they comfortably filled it, using the
extra seat for hand luggage and so forth.

Patty thought the appointments more luxurious than our own parlour-cars,
for the seats were beautifully upholstered in a pearl-grey material, and
everything was lavishly decorated, after the French fashion. All of
these compartments opened on to a corridor which ran along the side of
the car, and Patty soon discovered that thus she could visit her
neighbours in the other compartments.

Both Patty and Elise were greatly excited and interested in watching the
French landscapes, and trying to make out the names of the towns through
which they rapidly flew. But with the exception of some of the larger
towns they could not read the names, and so gave that up for the more
interesting occupation of watching the villages and hamlets as they
succeeded each other.

Bert Chester came in to visit them, and expressed a hope that he might
see them in Paris.

He was to remain there only a week, and then he was to join some of his
friends, some young Englishmen, and go for a short motor tour in
southern France.

Mr. Farrington said that he expected to take his party motoring along
the same route, but did not expect to go at present.

Young Chester was sorry that they could not go together, but said that
perhaps when Mr. Farrington was ready he and his friends would come over
again for another spin.

Bert Chester was a son of a wealthy English squire, and though
distinctly British in his ways, was broad-minded enough to like
Americans, and moreover was a young man of innate politeness and affable
manners. The elder Farringtons liked him extremely, and cordially
invited him to come to see them while in Paris.

"We sha'n't have a house of our own just at first," explained Elise;
"we're going to a hotel while father and mother look around and select a
house for the winter."

"I'm glad," said Patty, "to go to a hotel first. I've never stayed at a
big hotel, and I'm sure it will be delightful for a time."

 [Illustration with caption: "The next morning the girls spent in
packing and getting ready to go ashore"]

"You'll like the one you're going to," said Chester. "The Ritz is really
the old palace of the Castiglione, an ancient French family, and though
it is, of course, somewhat rebuilt, much of the original remains,
especially the beautiful old garden with its wonderful trees and
fountain. I'll give you a day or two to 'find yourselves,' and then I
shall come around to call, and shall expect you to be glad to see me."

"We'll be very glad to see you," said Patty cordially, for she had a
sincere liking for the young Englishman.

Then Patty and Elise went with Bert to look in for a little chat with
the Van Ness party. Although Patty liked the Van Ness girls in a way,
she was rather relieved to find that they were not going to the same
hotel.

Patty had an intuitive sense of the fitness of things, and she couldn't
help thinking that the Van Ness sisters, though good-hearted and good-
natured, were of a type apt to be a trifle too conspicuous in a large
hotel. The Farringtons were quiet-mannered folk, and Patty had often
noticed and admired the dignified yet pleasant manner which Mr.
Farrington invariably showed to officials or to servants.

He never gave orders in a loud voice or dictatorial manner, yet his
orders were always carried out obediently and willingly, and everybody
showed him the greatest respect and deference. Mr. Van Ness on the other
hand was imperious and ostentatious. He was prone to be critical, and
often became annoyed at trifles. Patty was rapidly learning that the
true character can be very easily discovered among one's travelling
companions. There is something about the friction of travel that brings
out all that is worst and best in one's disposition.

And so when Patty found that the Van Nesses were going to a different
hotel from themselves she was really glad, though she hoped to see them
occasionally during their stay in Paris.

The train reached the Gare du Nord at about six o'clock, and when our
party went into the rather dimly lighted station Patty thought she had
never before seen such pandemonium. Everybody seemed to be in trouble of
some sort. Some were running hither and thither, exclaiming and
expostulating, but apparently to no avail. Others sat hopelessly and
helplessly on their own luggage, seeming to despair of ever getting any
further.

The luggage room was an immense place, stone-floored and rather damp.
There were several separate counters where passengers were supposed to
attend to the checking of their baggage; but though there were plenty of
officials and porters about, none of them seemed anxious or even willing
to wait upon anybody. Patty saw many people appeal to one man after
another in a vain hope of getting their wants attended to. But it seemed
to be almost impossible. To those who could not speak French the
situation was hopeless indeed. Patty watched one poor lady, who seemed
to be travelling alone, and who continually inquired of the stolid and
unobliging porters, "Do you speak English?" and invariably received the
reply, "Non, madame; non, madame." The lonely little lady seemed to be
in despair, and Patty wished she could help her, but she did not know
herself what made the difficulty. At last she discovered that it was
necessary to get a customs inspector and a porter and a railway official
all together in one place and at one time. This done, the rest was easy,
at least to the traveller who knew sufficient French to make his wants
known.

This Mr. Farrington managed to accomplish after some delay. The official
ceremonies then being soon over, and our travellers having repeatedly
declared that they were transporting nothing eatable, they were allowed
to drive away in cabs. The cabs in Paris are of the low, open pattern,
like a victoria, and they looked very strange and informal to Patty, who
had never seen any but closed cabs or hansoms. Mr. and Mrs. Farrington
rode in the first cab, which was followed by another, containing Patty
and Elise, with Lisette, who sat on the small, folding front seat.

Patty held her breath with excitement when she realised that she was in
Paris at last.

They drove through the streets, which were not very well lighted, gazing
eagerly at the strange sights everywhere about them.

Their hotel was in the Place Vendome, and the drive there from the
station was not through the beautiful boulevards, but through some
narrow and not particularly clean streets.

But when they rolled into the Rue de la Paix and drove toward the Place
Vendome, the girls began to think that Paris was beautiful, after all.

It was rather more than dusk, but not dark, and the great square, with
its circumference of colonnaded buildings, and the wonderful column in
the centre, was exceedingly impressive, and filled Patty's soul with a
rapturous awe.

"Oh, Elise," she cried, grasping her companion's hand; "I never supposed
Paris would be like this! I thought it would be bright and gay and
festive; but instead of that, it's grand and solemn and awe-inspiring."

"So it is, here," said Elise; "but there is plenty of brightness and
gaiety in some parts of the city, I expect. Of course, this is historic
ground, and I suppose it was pretty much as it is now in the days when
they were building French history. That's Napoleon on top of that
statue, though you can't recognise him from here. You know about the
column, of course. It's been overthrown and rebuilt three or four
times."

"Yes, I remember studying about it in French history. It was torn down
at the time of the Commune, and later re-erected from the fragments. But
you know when you study those dry facts they don't seem to mean
anything; but to be here, really in Paris, looking at that wonderful
column, in this dusky light, and the stars just beginning to show--oh,
Elise, it's more like fairy tales than history!"

"I love it, too," said Elise; "and I'm so glad to be here with you. Oh,
Patty, we are going to have a beautiful time!"

"Well, I rather guess we are!" said Patty, with true Yankee enthusiasm.

Then their cabs drove in at the arched entrance of the Hotel Ritz, and a
most important looking personage in blue uniform assisted them to
alight. Other attendants in unostentatious livery swung open the glass
doors and our party entered. The proprietor, who advanced to meet them,
was a courtly, polite Frenchman, in correct evening dress, whose suave
and deferential manner was truly typical of his race. He seemed to take
a personal interest in his newly arrived guests, and himself conducted
them to their apartments.

Patty followed with the rest, feeling almost like pinching herself to
see if she were awake or in an enchanted dream. The hotel was
particularly beautiful, and the furnishings unlike any she had ever seen
before. Carpets, furniture, and decorations were all in the palest tints
of lovely colours. Doors and windows and many of the partitioned walls
were of glass, in ornate gilt frames, through which one could see
fascinating rooms beyond. A few choice pictures hung on the walls, and
here and there were French cabinets of curios and rare laces.

The elevator seemed to be entirely of glass, and was furnished with
dainty white upholstery and gilded woodwork. Bouquets of fresh flowers
were here and there on small tables in the rooms and halls.

The suite of rooms allotted to the Farringtons looked out upon the Place
Vendome, and Patty flew to the window to gaze again upon the beautiful
scene.

The rooms were daintily furnished with the same exquisite taste that
prevailed throughout the house. Lace curtains framed the deep-seated
windows, an Empire clock and candelabra graced the carved mantel, and
the furniture was rich and abundant.

"I don't think," said Patty, "that I ever saw a more beautiful palace.
And I'm so glad I'm here I don't know what to do! Just think of it,
Elise, we'll live here in this lovely room for a fortnight anyway!"

"It is lovely," said Elise; "but I expect we'll get tired of hotel life
and be glad to have a home of our own."

"Very likely," said Patty, with a little sigh of content; "but I shall
be perfectly happy wherever we are."

"I believe you will, Patty," said Elise, laughing; "you love this
beautiful place, but if it hadn't been half as pretty, you would have
made just as much fuss over it."

"I know it," said Patty, rather apologetically; "but I can't help it,
Elise. I seem to be made that way. When I like anything, you know, I
enjoy it just as much as I possibly can, and that's all I can do,
anyway."

The room which the two girls were to share was a large double-bedded
apartment, with dressing rooms and bath adjoining. It was perfect in
every detail of comfort and luxury as well as beauty, but when Lisette
came in to assist the girls in dressing for dinner she found them both
hanging out of the front windows gazing at the Vendome Column.

However, they expressed themselves as quite ready to prepare for dinner,
and after doning pretty light costumes, they joined Mr. and Mrs.
Farrington, and went down to the dining-room.

The dining-room proper of the hotel was an indoor apartment, but all
through the summer the guests were accustomed to dine under the open
sky, at small tables in the garden.

Owing to an unusually late season, it was still warm enough to dine
outside, and when Patty saw the scene in the garden she thought Paris
was fairyland indeed. Though called a garden, it was really a stone-
paved court, but all round its edge on two sides were large old trees
with gnarled and twisted trunks and thick foliage of glossy green. Under
the trees were flower-beds full of blossoming plants, and in the
branches of the trees themselves were hung vari-coloured globes of
electric lights about the size of an orange. The effect of these
brilliant spheres in the dark trees was as beautiful as it was unusual,
and the scene was further made bright by arches and festoons of
brilliant coloured lights, which crossed and twined above their heads in
every direction. At the end of the garden was an immense fountain
surrounded by statues, and playing many jets of water, which