Patricia Part 7

As she hesitated, the doctor, glancing from one to another of the seven, nodded comprehendingly. "I quite agree with you, Pat; you do not look very--partified."

They were so dusty, so disheveled; all but Patricia had shoes on--Custard had made off with both of Susy's, and Patricia had most willingly offered hers--the opportunity to go barefoot was too good to be lost; Nell had only one stocking, Kitty none at all, Ruth was wearing Patricia's, Custard had certainly made the most of his chance to carry off things that afternoon.

"But we've had a be-au-ti-ful time," Susy said, slipping a hand into the doctor's. She quite forgot that he was a comparative stranger, remembering only that he was Patricia's father--Patricia, who had invited her to this most wonderful of parties, where one had been so busy having fun that there had been no time for feeling shy and strange.

Dr. Kirby smiled down at the little guest of honor. "Upon my word, I believe you have," he said.

"Aunt Julia says," Patricia possessed herself of his other hand, "that to feel sure that one's guests have honestly enjoyed themselves is to know that one's party has been a success. So I reckon mine's been a perfectly tremendous success."

"Suppose you come up to the house--all of you--and see if you can rea.s.sure Aunt Julia and--Sarah," the doctor suggested.

Patricia sighed. "I--I sort of wish Aunt Julia--looked at things the way we do, Daddy."

They went on up to the house. On the back steps, Miss Kirby was waiting; in the kitchen doorway stood Sarah.

"Patricia Kirby!" Aunt Julia exclaimed. "Well of all the--"

"Miss P'tricia," Sarah broke in wrathfully, "where's that cherry pie I done made for Ma.r.s.e Doctor's supper?"

Patricia slowly drew up her uppermost ap.r.o.n. "It's here--most of it; Custard got the rest. I--I stumbled and fell--into it. You see, we were playing pirate--and we were smuggling."

The doctor, much to his sister's indignation, sat down suddenly on one of the garden benches. "Oh, Pat, Pat!" he gasped.

"Patricia Kirby, how many gingham ap.r.o.ns have you on?" Miss Kirby demanded.

"Three, Aunt Julia; you said I must wear the first one all the afternoon--and I tore it--and then the pie sort of stained the second; I got kind of interested to see how many it would take to get me through the afternoon. I had to make it a gingham ap.r.o.n party, Aunt Julia, on account of what you said yesterday. You see, I got pretty well torn and dirty this morning--and, of course, I needn't have climbed that tree."

"Casabianca," the doctor murmured; Miss Kirby was past murmuring anything; all her efforts were directed towards at least a semblance of self-control.

"I sh.o.r.e told you, that young-un was a limb," Sarah muttered.

"Sarah was very anxious to fix me all up properly, Aunt Julia," Patricia went on, "but of course, after you had said--and I thought you'd feel better if the rest wore gingham ap.r.o.ns too. Sarah was very kind about it though," with a smile in her direction.

"You go 'long, Miss P'tricia," Sarah protested.

Miss Kirby bit her lip. "That is all very well, Patricia, but--"

"We've had such fun, haven't we, girls?" Captain Kidd appealed to her fellow pirates.

"Oh, we have," they chorused back.

"And having supper out in the meadow when we hadn't expected it was the best part," Nell added.

"What would you suggest?" Miss Kirby turned to her brother.

His smile told her that he knew quite well that she was shifting upon him the responsibility of deciding. As a strict disciplinarian--in theory--it would never do for her to countenance such unlawful proceedings. He rose to the occasion promptly. "Soap and water for these highly reprehensible young folks, after that--the ice cream--seeing that the cherry pie came to a timely end. And for us--supper."

"Isn't Daddy the dearest?" Patricia demanded, as she led her guests upstairs. "Daddy's always so understandified."

CHAPTER III

THE WAY OF A GRANDMOTHER

Patricia sat on the back steps carefully arranging purple and white asters in an old blue and white punchbowl, the pride of her Aunt Julia's heart.

"It's the 'Washington bowl,' Custard," she explained to the small curly black dog, watching her intently. "Daddy says it's called that because it is just as easy to prove that Washington never did have punch from it as that he did." Patricia paused to rearrange one particularly wobbly aster, too short as to stem and too big as to head. "Anyhow, it's one of the very nicest things we've got."

Custard sighed restlessly; to spend this breezy October afternoon in fussing over flowers, when just beyond the gate a whole world waited to be explored, seemed to him a most un-Patricia-like wasting of time.

Then as Patricia rose slowly to her feet, the bowl of flowers in her hands, he sprang up at her with a sharp little bark of delight.

"Down!" she warned sharply. "Custard Kirby, if you make me drop this punchbowl I don't know what Aunt Julia _will_ say!"

It seemed to Patricia as if that journey upstairs to the spare bedroom never would be made in safety; but it was accomplished at last, and her burden placed right in the center of the low reading-table, standing at one side of the south window.

With a long breath of relief, Patricia sat down on the edge of the bed, looking about the big pleasant room with approving eyes. It was exactly the sort of room she should like to have when she got be a grandmother.

There were fresh muslin curtains at the windows, the fine old-fashioned mahogany furniture shone from its recent polishing; on the broad hearth a light fire was laid ready for the lighting, and at one corner of the fireplace stood a big chintz-covered armchair. Of course there was a footstool beside it. Patricia had seen to the footstool herself, hunting it out up garret that morning. She had wondered why Daddy's eyes twinkled at sight of it--Daddy would tell her nothing about grandmother, she must wait and see. And Patricia so hated waiting for anything, from surprises to scoldings.

"Yes, it certainly does look grandmothery, Custard," she said; "and the flowers help a lot. I know she'll love asters; they're such an old-ladyish flower. Mind, sir, you're not to go rushing at her! And the very first time you run off with any of her things you're going to get your ears boxed."

Custard wagged tentatively; boxing his ears appeared to him to belong to Miss Kirby's special department.

"Miss P'tricia!" Sarah stood in the doorway, indignation in the very points of her knotted turban--"Miss P'tricia, ain't yo' never be'n tole not to sit on beds? 'Tic'larly beds all ready fo' comp'ny!"

Patricia slipped hurriedly to her feet; but by this time Sarah had caught sight of something else. "Land sakes, Miss P'tricia! Ef yo' isn't gone an' tuk Miss Julia's punchbowl--what she don't 'low no one but herse'f to tech!"

Patricia put an arm around Sarah's waist, or rather, around as much of it as she could encompa.s.s. "Aunt Julia wasn't in--and I wanted the very nicest bowl I could think of. It is so perfectly lovely to have a grandmother coming!"

There was a world of unconscious longing in Patricia's voice; no one, not even Daddy, knew quite what the coming of her grandmother meant to the little motherless girl. And a grandmother she had not seen since babyhood. The coming weeks seemed to Patricia full of untold possibilities.

"It do look pretty," Sarah admitted, as she went to smooth out the bed covers. "'Pears like it was time yo' was gettin' your dress changed, honey. Yo' best let me giv yo' hair a brush; seems like yo' never did get the kinks out."

Patricia submitted with most unaccustomed patience to the finishing touches Sarah insisted on giving her toilet. "I reckon yo'll do now, honey," Sarah said at last.

"Only half an hour more and she'll be here, Custard," Patricia said to the dog, sniffing inquiringly at the tips of her best shoes; "Daddy's to meet the five-thirty train."

Patricia settled herself circ.u.mspectly in the hammock, smoothing out her crisp white skirts. "Oh, I do wonder what she'll be like, really I haven't even a photograph--grandmother doesn't like being photographed--and I haven't seen her since I was three years old.

Custard, do you suppose she'll have an ear trumpet, like the Barkers'

grandmother? It's very embarra.s.sing talking into an ear trumpet.

I rather hope she's short and--stoutish. I've been thinking over all the people I know, and it seems to me that the short, stout ones are mostly more good-natured than the other kinds."

Custard wagged agreeingly; he was short, and not his worst enemy could accuse him of being thin. So far this coming of a grandmother did not appeal to Custard; never before had he been refused a share of the hammock; and those one or two preliminary nips he had taken at the toes of Patricia's shiny shoes had been promptly squelched. To be talked to and confided in was all very well, but a game of tag in the meadow behind the house would have been a great deal more fun. Nor was Custard quite sure what a grandmother was; he hoped it was something good to eat.

Patricia had never known such a long half hour; she made one or two trips down to the gate, walking carefully on the edge of the gra.s.s, so as not to get her shoes dusty. It was very odd that Aunt Julia didn't come home--Good, she was coming now.