"This morning," the bishop continued placidly, "I asked a professor in
an entirely casual way about a young woman--a class-mate of your
own--who is the daughter of an old friend of mine. The answer was
immediate and unhesitating, and you can imagine how much it gratified
me. 'There is not a finer girl in college,' he replied. 'She is honest
in work and honest in play, and thoroughly conscientious in everything
she does.'"
"Um-m," said Patty; "that must have been Priscilla."
"No," smiled the bishop, "it was not Priscilla. The young woman of whom
I am speaking is the president of your Student Association, Catherine
Fair."
"Yes, it's true," said Patty, critically. "Cathy Fair hits straight from
the shoulder."
"And wouldn't you like to go out with that reputation?"
"I'm really not _very_ bad," pleaded Patty, "that is, as badness goes.
But I couldn't be as good as Cathy; it would be going against nature."
"I am afraid," suggested the bishop, "that you do not try very hard. You
may not think that it matters what people think now that you are young,
but how will it be when you grow older? And it will not be long," he
added. "Age slips upon you before you realize it."
Patty looked sober.
"You will soon be thirty, and then forty, and then fifty."
Patty sighed.
"And do you think that a woman of that age is attractive if she deals in
subterfuges and evasions?"
Patty squirmed a trifle, and dug a little hole in the pine-needles with
her toe.
"You must remember that you cannot form your character in a moment, my
dear. Character is a plant of slow growth, and the seeds must be planted
early."
The bishop rose, and Patty scrambled to her feet with a look of relief.
He took the pillow and the book under his arm, and they started down the
hill. "I have preached you a sermon, after all," he said apologetically;
"but preaching is my trade, and you must forgive an old man for being
prosy."
Patty held out her hand with a smile as they stopped before the door of
Phillips Hall. "Good-by, bishop," she said, "and thank you for the
sermon; I guess I needed it--I _am_ getting old."
She climbed the stairs slowly, and, hesitating a moment outside her own
room, where the sound of laughing voices through the transom betokened
that the clan was gathered, she kept on to the door of a single at the
end of the corridor.
"Come in," a voice called in response to her knock.
Patty turned the knob and stuck her head in. "Hello, Cathy! Are you
busy?"
"Of course not. Come in and talk to me."
Patty shut the door and leaned with her back against it. "This isn't a
social call," she announced impressively. "I've come to see you
officially."
"Officially?"
"You're president of students, I believe?"
"I believe I am," sighed Cathy; "and if the President of the United
States has half as much trouble with his subjects as I have with mine,
he has my sincerest sympathy."
"I suppose we are a great deal of trouble," said Patty, contritely.
"Trouble! My dear," said Cathy, solemnly. "I've spent the entire week
running around to the different cottages making speeches to those
blessed freshmen. They _won't_ hand in chapel excuses, and they _will_
run off with library books, and, altogether, they're an immoral lot."
"They can afford to be; they're young," sighed Patty, enviously. "But
I," she added, "am getting old, and it's time I was getting good. I've
called to tell you that I've over-cut four times, and I haven't any
excuse."
"What are you talking about?" asked Cathy, in amazement.
"Chapel excuses. I've over-cut four times,--I think it's four, though
I've rather lost count,--and I haven't any excuse."
"But, Patty, don't tell me that. You must have some excuse, some reason
for--"
"Not the shadow of one. Just stayed away because I didn't feel like
going."
"But you must give me _some_ reason," remonstrated Cathy, in distress,
"or I'll have to report it to the committee and you'll be deprived of
your privileges. You can't afford that, you know, for you're chairman of
the Senior Prom."
"But I didn't have any excuse, and I can't make one up," said Patty. "I
will soon be thirty, and then forty, and then fifty. Do you think a
woman of that age is attractive if she deals in subterfuges and
evasions? Character," she added solemnly, "is a plant of slow growth,
and the seeds must be planted early."
Cathy looked puzzled. "I don't know what you're talking about," she
said, "but I suppose you do. Anyway," she added, "I'm sorry about the
chairmanship; but I'm--well, I'm sort of glad, too." She laid a hand on
Patty's shoulder. "Of course I've always liked you, Patty,--everybody
does,--but I don't believe I've ever appreciated you, and I'm glad to
find it out before we leave college."
Patty's face flushed a trifle and she drew away half sheepishly. "You'd
best postpone your felicitations until to-morrow," she laughed, "for I
may think of some good excuse in the night. Good-by."
She was greeted in the study with a cry of welcome.
"Well, Patty," said Priscilla, "I hear you've been taking a walk with
the bishop. Did you tell him you'd cut chapel?"
"I did; and he said he wished he might have cut, too."
"She's incorrigible," sighed Georgie; "she's even been corrupting the
bishop."
"You'd better be careful, Patty Wyatt," warned Bonnie Connaught.
"Self-Government will get you if you don't watch out, and _then_ you'll
be sorry when they take you off the Senior Prom."
Patty sobered for a moment, but she hastily assumed a nonchalant air.
"They have got me," she laughed, "and I'm already off--or, at least, I
shall be as soon as they have a meeting."
"Patty!" cried the room, in a horrified chorus. "What do you mean?"
Patty shrugged. "Just what I say: deprived of my privileges for cutting
chapel."
"It's a shame!" said Georgie, indignantly. "That Self-Government
Committee is going a little too far when it takes a senior's privileges
away without even hearing her case." She grasped Patty by the arm and
started toward the door. "Come on and tell Cathy Fair about it. She
will fix it all right."
Patty hung back and disengaged her wrist from Georgie's grasp. "Let me
alone," she said sulkily. "There's nothing to be done. I told her myself
I hadn't any excuse."
"You told her?" Georgie stared her incredulity, and Bonnie Connaught
laughed.
"Patty reminds me of the burglar who crawled out the back window with
the silver, and then rang the front door-bell and handed it back."
"What's the matter, Patty?" Priscilla asked solicitously. "Don't you
feel well?"
Patty sighed. "I'm getting old," she said.
"You're getting what?"
"Old. Soon I'll be thirty, and then forty, and then fifty; and do you
think any one will love me then if I deal in subterfuges and evasions?
Character, my dear girls, is a plant of slow growth, and the seeds must
be planted early."
"You went and told the committee voluntarily,--of your own
accord,--without even waiting to be called up?" Georgie persisted,
determined to get at the facts of the case.
"I'm getting old," repeated Patty. "It's time I was getting good. As I
said before, character is a plant--"
Georgie looked at the others and shook her head in bewilderment, and
Bonnie Connaught laughed and murmured to the room in general: "When
Patty gets to heaven I'm afraid the Recording Angel will have some
trouble in balancing his books."
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
The original text had each Chapter number and title twice. The first of
these was deleted to aid in ease of reading.
Page 198, the text that begins "Ireland's eminent astronomer spending"
ends without punctuation to indicate that the reader broke off suddenly.
This was retained.