"Patty," said her father, a week or two later, "Mr. Hepworth has invited us to a tea in his studio in New York tomorrow afternoon, and if you care to go, I'll take you."

"Yes, I'd love to go; I've always wanted to go to a studio tea. It's very kind of Mr. Hepworth to ask us after the way he was treated here."

Mr. Fairfield laughed, but Patty looked decidedly sober. She still felt very much crestfallen to think that the first guest her father brought home should be obliged to dine at the hotel, or at a neighbour's. Aunt Alice had invited them to dinner on that memorable Sunday, and though she said she had expected to ask the Fairfields anyway, still Patty felt that, as a housekeeper, she had been weighed in the balances and found sadly wanting.

According to arrangement, she met her father in New York the day of the tea, and together they went to Mr. Hepworth's studio.

It gave Patty a very grown-up feeling to find herself amongst such strange and unaccustomed surroundings.

The studio was a large room, on the top floor of a high building. It was finished in dark wood and decorated with many unframed pictures and dusty casts. Bits of drapery were flung here and there, quaint old-fashioned chairs and couches were all about, and at one side of the room was a raised platform. A group of ladies and gentlemen sat in one corner, another group surrounded a punch bowl, and many wise and learned-looking people were discussing the pictures and drawings.

Patty was enchanted. She had never been in a scene like this before, and the whole atmosphere appealed to her very strongly.

The guests, though kind and polite to her, treated her as a child, and Patty was glad of this, for she felt sure she never could talk or understand the artistic jargon in which they were conversing. But she enjoyed the pictures in her own way, and was standing in delighted admiration before a large marine, which was nothing but the varying blues of the sea and sky, when she heard a pleasant, frank young voice beside her say:

"You seem to like that picture."

"Oh, I do!" she exclaimed, and turning, saw a pleasant-faced boy of about nineteen smiling at her.

"It is so real," she said. "I never saw a realer scene, not even down at Sandy Hook; why, you can fairly feel the dampness from it."

"Yes, I know just what you mean," said the boy; "it's a jolly picture, isn't it? They say it's one of Hepworth's best."

"I don't know anything about pictures," said Patty frankly, "and so I don't like to express definite opinions."

"It's always wiser not to," said the boy, still smiling.

"That's true," said Patty, "I only did express an opinion once this afternoon, and then that lady over there, in a greenish-blue gown, looked at me through her lorgnette and said:

"Oh, I thought you were temperamental, but you're only an imaginative realist."

"Now, what could she have meant by that?" said the boy, laughing. "But you're very imprudent. How do you know that lady isn't my—my sister, or cousin, or something?"

"Well, even if she is," said Patty, "I haven't said anything unkind, have I?"

"No more you haven't; but as I don't see anyone just now at leisure to introduce us, suppose we introduce ourselves? They say the roof is an introduction, but I notice it never pronounces names very distinctly. Mine is Kenneth Harper."

"And mine is Patricia Fairfield, but I'm usually called Patty."

"I should think you would be, it suits you to a dot. Of course the boys call me Ken. I'm a Columbia student."

"Oh, are you?" said Patty. "I've never known a college boy, and I've always wanted to meet one."

"Well, you see in me a noble specimen of my kind," said young Harper, straightening up his broad shoulders and looking distinctly athletic.

"You must be," said Patty; "you look just like all the pictures of college boys I've ever seen."

"And I flattered myself that my beauty was something especial and individual."

"You ought to be thankful that you're beautiful," said Patty, "and not be so particular about what kind of beauty it is."

"But some kinds of beauty are not worth having," went on young Harper; "look at that man over there with a lean pale face and long lank hair. That's beauty, but I must say I prefer a strong, brave, manly type, like this good-looking chap just coming toward us."

"Oh, you do?" said Patty. "Well, as that good-looking chap happens to be my father, I'll take pleasure in introducing you."

"I am glad to see you, sir," said Kenneth Harper, as Patty presented him to her father, "and I may as well own up that I was just making remarks on your personal appearance, which accounts for my blushing embarrassment."

"I won't inquire what they were," said Mr. Fairfield, "lest I, too, should become embarrassed. But, Patty, my girl, if we're going back to Vernondale on the six-o'clock train, it's time we were starting."

"Oh, do you live in Vernondale?" inquired Kenneth. "I have an aunt there. I wonder if you know her. Her name is Daggett—Miss Rachel Daggett."

"Indeed I do know her," said Patty. "She is my next-door neighbour."

"Is she really? How jolly! And don't you think she's an old dear? I'm awfully fond of her. I run out to see her every chance I can get, though I haven't been much this winter, I've been digging so hard."

"She is a dear," said Patty. "I've only seen her once, but I know I shall like her as a neighbour."

"Yes, I'm sure you will, but let me give you a bit of confidential advice. Don't take the initiative, let her do that; and the game will be far more successful than if you make the overtures."

Patty smiled. "Miss Daggett told me that herself," she said; "in fact, she was quite emphatic on the subject."

"I can well believe it," said Kenneth, "but I'm sure you'll win her heart yet."

"I'm sure she will too," said Mr. Fairfield, with an approving glance at his pretty daughter; "and whenever you are in Vernondale, Mr. Harper, I hope you will come to see us."

"I shall be very glad to," answered the young man, "and I hope to run out there soon."

"Come out when we have our play," said Patty; "it's going to be beautiful."

"What play is that?"

"We don't know yet, we haven't decided on it."

"I know an awfully good play. One of the fellows up at college wrote it, and so it isn't hackneyed yet."

"Oh, tell me about it," said Patty. "Papa, can't we take the next later train home?"

"Yes, chick, I don't mind if you don't; or, better still, if Mr. Harper can go with us, I'll take both of you children out to dinner in some great, glittering, noisy hotel."

"Oh, gorgeous!" cried Patty. "Can you go, Mr. Harper?"

"Indeed I can, and I shall be only too glad. College boys are not overcrowded with invitations, and I am glad to say I have no other for to-night."

"You'll have to telephone to Emancipation Proclamation, papa," said Patty, "or she'll get out all the bell-ringers, and drag the river for us."

"So she will," said Mr. Fairfield. "I'll set her mind at rest the first thing."

"That's our cook," explained Patty.

"It's a lovely name," observed Kenneth, "but just a bit lengthy for every-day use."

"Oh, it's only for Sundays and holidays," said Patty; "other days we contract it to Mancy."

Seated at table in a bright and beautiful restaurant, Patty and her new friend began to chatter like magpies while Mr. Fairfield ordered dinner.

"Now tell me all about your friend's play," said Patty, "for I feel sure it's going to be just what we want"

"Well, the scene," said Kenneth, "is on Mount Olympus, and the characters are all the gods and goddesses, you know, but they're brought up to date. In fact, that's the name of the play, 'Mount Olympus Up to Date.' Aurora, you know, has an automobile instead of her old-fashioned car."

"But you don't have the automobile on the stage?"

"Oh, no! Aurora just comes in in her automobile rig and talks about her 'bubble.' Mercury has a bicycle; he's a trick rider, and does all sorts of stunts. And Venus is a summer girl, dressed up in a stunning gown and a Paris hat. And Hercules has a punching-bag—to make himself stronger, you know. And Niobe has quantities of handkerchiefs, dozens and dozens of them; she's an awfully funny character."

"Oh, I think it would be lovely!" said Patty. "Where can we get the book?"

"I'll send you one to-morrow, and you can see if you like it; and then if you do, you can get more."

"Oh, I'm sure the girls will all like it; and will you come out to see it?"

"Yes, I'd be glad to. I was in it last winter. I was Mercury."

"Oh, can you do trick work on bicycles?"

"Yes, a little," said Kenneth modestly.

"I wish you'd come out and be Mercury in our play."

"Aren't you going ahead rather fast, Patty, child?" said her father.

"Your club hasn't decided to use this play yet."

"I know it, papa, and of course I mean if we do use it; but anyway, I'm president of the club, and somehow, if I want a thing, the rest of the girls generally seem to want it too."

"That's a fine condition of affairs that any president might be glad to bring about. You ought to be a college president."

"Perhaps I shall be some day," said Patty.

The dinner hour flew by all too quickly. Patty greatly enjoyed the sights and sounds of the brilliant, crowded room. She loved the lights and the music, the flowers and the palms, and the throngs of gaily dressed people.

Kenneth Harper enjoyed it too, and thought he had rarely met such attractive people as the Fairfields.

When he took his leave he thanked Mr. Fairfield courteously for his pleasant evening, and promised soon to call upon them at Boxley Hall.

They reached home by a late train, and Patty went up to her pretty bedroom, with her usual happy conviction that she was a very fortunate little girl and had the best father in the world.

CHAPTER XIV
THE NEIGHBOUR AGAIN

Kenneth Harper did send the book, and, as Patty confidently expected, the girls of the club quite agreed with her that it was the best play for them to use.

At a meeting at Marian's, plans were made and parts were chosen. The goddesses were allotted to the members of the club, and the gods were distributed among their brothers and friends.

Guy Morris, being of gigantic mould, was cast for Hercules, and Frank Elliott for Ajax. When Patty told the girls that Kenneth Harper could do trick riding on a bicycle, they unanimously voted to invite him to take part in their entertainment.

It was decided to have the play about the middle of February, and the whole Tea Club grew enthusiastic over the plans for the wonderful performance.

One morning Patty sat in the library studying her part. She was very happy. Of course, Patty always was happy, but this morning she was unusually so. Her housekeeping was going on smoothly; the night before her father had expressed himself as being greatly pleased with the system and order which seemed everywhere noticeable in the house. It was Saturday morning, and she didn't have to go to school.

Moreover, she was very much interested in the play and in her own part in it, and had already planned a most beautiful gown, which the dressmaker, Madame LaFayette, was to make for her.

Patty's part in the play was that of Diana, and her costume was to be a beautiful one of hunter's green cloth with russet leather leggings and a jaunty cap. Being up-to-date, instead of being a huntress she was to represent an agent of the S.P.C.A.

This suited Patty exactly, for she had a horror of killing live things, and very much preferred doing all she could to prevent such slaughter. Moreover, the humour of the thing appealed to her, and the funny effect of the huntress Diana going around distributing S.P.C.A. leaflets, and begging her fellow-Olympians not to shoot, seemed to Patty very humourous and attractive.

This Saturday, then, she had settled down in the library to study her lines all through the long cosey morning, when, to her annoyance, the doorbell rang.

"I hope it's none of the girls," she thought. "I did want this morning to myself."

It wasn't any of the girls, but Pansy announced that a messenger had come from Miss Daggett's, and that Miss Daggett wished Miss Fairfield to return her call at once.

Patty smiled at the unusual message, but groaned at the thought of her interrupted holiday.

However, Miss Daggett was not one to be ignored or lightly set aside, so Patty put on her things and started.

Although Miss Daggett's house was next door to Boxley Hall, yet it was set in the middle of such a large lot, and was so far back from the street, and so surrounded by tall, thick trees, that Patty had never had a really good view of it.

She was surprised, therefore, to find it a very large, old-fashioned stone house, with broad veranda and steps guarded by two stone lions.

Patty rang the bell, and the door was opened very slightly. A small, quaint-looking old coloured man peeped out.

"Go 'way," he said, "go 'way at once! We don't want no tickets."

"I'm not selling tickets," said Patty, half angry and half amused.

"Well, we don't want no shoelacers, nor lead pencils, nor nuffin! You must be selling something."

"I am not selling anything," said Patty. "I came over because Miss Daggett sent for me."

"Laws 'a' massy, child, why didn't you say so before you spoke? Be you Miss Fairfield?"

"Yes," said Patty; "here's my card."

"Oh, never mind the ticket; if so be you's Miss Fairfield, jes' come right in, come right in."

The door was flung open wide and Patty entered a dark, old-fashioned hall. From that she was led into a parlour, so dark that she could scarcely see the outline of a lady on the sofa.

"How do you do, Miss Daggett?" she said, guessing that it was probably her hostess who seemed to be sitting there.

"How do you do?" said Miss Daggett, putting out her hand, without rising.

"I'm quite well, thank you," said Patty, and her eyes having grown a little accustomed to the dark, she grasped the old lady's hand, although, as she told her father afterwards, she was awfully afraid she would tweak her nose by mistake.

"And how are you, Miss Daggett?"

"Not very well, child, not very well, but you won't stay long, will you? I sent for you, yes, I sent for you on an impulse. I thought I'd like to see you, but I'd no sooner sent than I wished I hadn't. But you won't stay long, will you, dearie?"

"No," said Patty, feeling really sorry for the queer old lady. "No, I won't stay long, I'll go very soon; in fact, I'll go just as soon as you tell me to. I'll go now, if you say so."

"Oh, don't be silly. I wouldn't have sent for you if I'd wanted you to go right away again. Sit down, turn your toes out, and answer my questions."

"What are your questions?" said Patty, not wishing to make any rash promises.

"Well, first, are you really keeping that big house over there all alone by yourself?"

"I'm keeping house there, yes, but I'm not all alone by myself. My father's there, and two servants."

"Don't you keep a man?"

"No; a man comes every day to do the hard work, but he doesn't live with us."

"Humph, I suppose you think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"I don't know," said Patty slowly, as if considering; "yes, I think I'm pretty smart in some ways, and in other ways I'm as stupid as an owl."

"Well, you must be pretty smart, because you haven't had to borrow anything over here yet."

"But I wouldn't borrow anything here, anyway, Miss Daggett; you specially asked me not to."

Miss Daggett's old wrinkled face broke into a smile.

"And so you remember that. Well, well, you are a nice little girl; you must have had a good mother, and a good bringing-up."

"My mother died when I was three, and my father brought me up."

"He did, hey? Well, he made a fairly good job of it. Now, I guess you can go; I'm about tired of talking to you."

"Then I will go. But, first, Miss Daggett, let me tell you that I met your nephew the other day."

"Kenneth! For the land's sake! Well, well, sit down again. I don't want you to go yet; tell me all about him. Isn't he a nice boy? Hasn't he fine eyes? And gentlemanly manners? And oh, the lovely ways with him!"

"Yes, Miss Daggett, he is indeed a nice boy; my father and I both think so. His eyes and his manners are fine. He says he wants to come out to see you soon."

"Bless his heart, I hope he'll come! I do hope he'll come."

"Then you like to have him come to see you?" said Patty, a little roguishly.

"Yes, and I like to have you, too. Land, child! you mustn't mind my quick ways."

"I don't mind how quick you are," said Patty; "but when you tell me to be sure and not come to see you, of course I don't come."

"Oh, that's all right," said Miss Daggett, "that's all right; I'll always send for you when I want you.

"But perhaps I can't always come," said Patty. "I may be busy with my housekeeping."

"Now, wouldn't that be annoying!" said Miss Daggett. "I declare that would be just my luck. I always do have bad luck."

"Perhaps it's the way you look at it," said Patty. "Now, I have some things that seem like bad luck, at least, other people think they do; but if I look at them right—happy and cheerful, you know—why, they just seem like good luck."

"Really," said Miss Daggett, with a curious smile; "well now, you are a queer child, and I'm not at all sure but I'd like to have you come again. Do you want to see around my house?"

"I'd like to very much, but it's so dark a bat couldn't see things in this room."

"But I can't open the shades, the sun would fade all the furniture coverings."

"Well, then, you could buy new ones," said Patty; "that would be better than living in the dark."

"Dark can't hurt anybody," said Miss Daggett gloomily.

"Oh, indeed it can," said Patty earnestly. "Why, darkness—I mean darkness in the daytime—makes you all stewed up and fidgety and horrid; and sunshine makes you all gay and cheerful and glad."

"Like you," said Miss Daggett.

"Yes, like me," said Patty; "I am cheerful and glad always. I like to be."

"I would like to be, too," said Miss Daggett.

"Do you suppose if I opened the shutters I would be?"

"Let's try it and see," said Patty, and running to the windows, she flung open the inside blinds and flooded the room with sunshine.

"Oh, what a beautiful room!" she exclaimed, as she turned around. "Why, Miss Daggett, to think of keeping all these lovely things shut up in the dark. I believe they cry about it when you aren't looking."

Already the old lady's face seemed to show a gentler and sunnier expression, and she said:

"Yes, I have some beautiful things, child. Would you like to look through this cabinet of East Indian curiosities?"

"I would very much," said Patty, "but I fear I can't take the time this morning; I have to study my part in a play we're going to give. It's a play your nephew told us about," she added quickly, feeling sure that this would rouse the old lady's interest in it.

"One of Kenneth's college plays?" she said eagerly.

"Yes, that's just what it is. A chum of his wrote it, and oh, Miss Daggett, we're going to invite Mr. Harper to come to Vernondale the night of the play, and take the same part that he took at college last year; you see, he'll know it, and he can just step right in."

"Good for you! I hope he'll come. I'll write at once and tell him how much I want him. He can stay here, of course, and perhaps he can come sooner, so as to be here for one or two rehearsals."

"That would be a good help. I hope he will do that; he could coach the rest of us."

"I don't know just what coach means, but I'm sure Kenneth can do it, he's a very clever boy; he says he can run an automobile, but I don't believe it. Run away home now, child, I'm tired of having company; and besides I want to compose my mind so I can write a letter to Kenneth."

"And will you leave your blinds open till afternoon?" said Patty, who was beginning to learn her queer old neighbour.

"Yes, I will, if I don't forget it. Clear out, child, clear out now; run away home and mind you're not to borrow anything and you're not to come back till I send for you."

"All right," said Patty. "Good-bye, and mind, you're to keep bright and cheerful, and let the sunlight in all the time."