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.