Patricia Part 3

"And Patricia, where are my scissors, and salve, and soap?"

"I'm afraid--down by the brook; so's the towel. I was glad I'd watched you bandage Caesar's paw that time."

"That is all very well; but, Patricia, you are not to meddle with any of the office things again without permission. And now, about this matter of breaking bounds to-day?"

Patricia looked up quickly. "You--you'll 'take the intention into consideration,' Daddy?"

The doctor smiled. "Yes, but," his face grew grave again, "I must also take into consideration the fact that this is by no means the first time you have gone wandering off, causing your aunt a great deal of anxiety."

"I can't think why she will worry so. I always come back all right."

"That is not the point. It must be only the yard for the rest of the week, Patricia."

Patricia drew a long breath. "Well," she said, slowly, "I _am_ glad it's Thursday night 'stead of Monday morning."

Patricia sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. What had wakened her?

A second series of short, sharp little barks sent her hurrying to the window. On the path below, a bit of frayed rope dangling from his neck, stood Custard.

When the doctor came downstairs, twenty minutes later, he found Patricia on the back steps, with Custard in her lap, busily placing a fresh bandage on the hurt paw. "Daddy," she cried, lifting her face for his morning greeting, "wasn't it too lovely of him to hunt me up. Isn't he the most grateful dog ever was?"

The doctor patted the dog's rough head, then stooped to examine Patricia's work. "Not a bad job for an eleven-year-old, Pat."

"I could do it better, only I had to make a strip from a piece I found in Aunt Julia's sc.r.a.p-bag," Patricia explained.

"Patricia!" Miss Kirby exclaimed from the doorway, "your dress is only half b.u.t.toned, and your hair is--_Patricia Kirby_, have you gone and hunted up another dog!"

"It's the same one, Aunt Julia. He has improved a lot, hasn't he? If you'd seen how glad he was to see me! I suppose he'll have to be sent back. Caesar likes him pretty well; he didn't growl at him once when I introduced them to each other."

"It's a question whether _sending_ back will do any good," the doctor said. He was watching the two on the steps.

Patricia stroked the bandaged paw gently. "I can't take him--I can't go out of the yard, can I, Daddy?"

"Decidedly not."

"Couldn't you take him in the gig with you, Patrick?" Miss Kirby felt that she was playing a losing game.

"Going quite in the opposite direction."

"And Jim?"

"Goes with me." The doctor was still studying the two on the steps.

"If he stays one day we are doomed!" Miss Kirby declared.

"That only leaves you and Sarah, doesn't it, Aunt Julia?" Patricia asked, cheerfully.

Miss Kirby was not without a sense of humor. "I am afraid Sarah is out of the question," she said; "and if he waits for me to take him he will stay here--altogether."

Patricia was quick to catch the longed-for concession in her aunt's voice. Dropping Custard, she ran to hug Miss Kirby. "Oh, you darling!

But, Daddy," she turned anxiously, "oh, do you suppose Mr. Carr will mind _very_ much?"

"I rather think he will be able to bear the disappointment," the doctor answered.

CHAPTER II

THE GINGHAM Ap.r.o.n PARTY

Fortunately, the ground under the big apple tree was soft and springy, and Patricia was used to both low and lofty tumbling; so when she landed, a little surprised heap, in the tangled gra.s.s, she lay still just long enough for the small black dog, nosing anxiously about her, to get in one or two licks of her sunburnt, bewildered face; then she sat up.

"My, Custard, that was a stunner! I reckon if Daddy was here he'd say, 'what a fall was there, my countrymen!'" Custard wagged agreeingly, and sniffed inquiringly at the strip of pink leg showing through the long jagged tear in one of his small mistress's tan stockings.

Patricia scrambled to her feet and began taking stock. There was another tear in the short skirt of her blue gingham frock, and one in one of the sleeves.

"Goodness! What will Aunt Julia say!" Patricia said ruefully; then remembered suddenly what Aunt Julia had said, no longer ago than yesterday morning, after a similar catastrophe.

"And if Aunt Julia isn't a 'Mede 'n' Persian,' she might almost as well be one--when it comes to unsaying things," Patricia told herself, as she started for the house.

Half-way up the back garden path, she came to an abrupt halt. "Custard,"

she gasped, "it's party day!"

As if Custard did not know that! He had never been to a party, but he was mighty glad to have been invited to this one. The pantry, always an enchanted spot to him, smelled even more delicious than usual. He had quite lost count of the number of times that Sarah had run him out of it this morning, with more haste than dignity.

Patricia sat down in an empty wheelbarrow to consider matters, not noticing that Jim had been using it that morning to bring fresh mold for Miss Kirby's flower beds.

"I didn't want to give a party anyhow." Patricia stared gravely out across the sunny drying-ground. Privately, she considered the average party a great waste of valuable time. Least of all had she wanted to give an "honor party" for Susy Vail. Susy was the rector's grandchild, and was on a visit here.

Patricia hadn't much use for Susy Vail. She was a city girl, she was quiet and shy, and she would be sure to come to the party in a stiff white dress and blue ribbons. Patricia was positive as to the blue ribbons.

"I've a good mind to run off to the woods and stay all day, Custard,"

Patricia said, getting up; "they can have the party without us."

Custard barked a prompt disapproval of this scheme. Maybe the party could do without him, but he was quite sure he could not do without the party.

"Come on," Patricia told him, starting back down the path.

She had got as far as the gate leading into the meadow, when a new idea came to her. Swinging slowly back and forth on the gate, she considered this idea; her gray eyes dancing, as its possibilities opened up before her mental vision.

"And if Susy Vail hasn't a gingham ap.r.o.n, I'll lend her one; she seems the sort of girl not to have one," Patricia confided to Custard, as they once more made their way towards the house.

If only the coast were clear!

Sarah was on the back piazza, pitting cherries, but Sarah was easily managed.