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PATTY'S FRIENDS
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR
PATTY FAIRFIELD
PATTY AT HOME
PATTY IN THE CITY
PATTY'S SUMMER DAYS
PATTY IN PARIS
PATTY'S FRIENDS
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[Illustration: "Patty was a comfort-loving creature" (p. 33)]
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PATTY'S FRIENDS
By
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of "Patty Fairfield," "Patty in Paris," etc.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1908
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Copyright, 1908
By Dodd, Mead and Company
Published, September, 1908
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I An Afternoon Tea 9
II Riddles and Games 23
III The White Lady 36
IV A Floral Offering 51
V Miss Yankee Doodle 65
VI Herenden Hall 79
VII For One Night Only 93
VIII The Earl of Ruthven 107
IX An Important Document 121
X A Momentous Interview 134
XI The Birthday Party 149
XII Summer Plans 162
XIII Cromarty Manor 175
XIV Uncle Marmaduke 190
XV Puzzling Rhymes 204
XVI The Croquet Party 218
XVII The Griffin and the Rose 231
XVIII The Old Chimney-Piece 245
XIX The Discovery 258
XX Good-Byes 272
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ILLUSTRATIONS
"Patty was a comfort-loving creature" Frontispiece
"Marie pinned it and sewed it" 95
"'How _much_ pleasanter this is than squabbling'" 145
"Often she would spend a morning lying in a hammock
beneath the old trees" 175
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PATTY'S FRIENDS
CHAPTER I
AN AFTERNOON TEA
"I wish I had a twin sister," said Patty; "no, that wouldn't do, either.
I wish I were twins, and could be both of them myself."
"What a sensible wish!" commented Nan. "But why do you want to double
yourself up in that way?"
"So I could go to two places at once. Here I have two lovely invitations
for this afternoon, and I don't know which I want to accept most. One is
a musicale at Mrs. Hastings', and the other is a picture exhibition at
the New Gallery."
"They sound delightful. Can't you manage to go to both?"
"No, they're too far apart; and they're both at four o'clock, anyway. I
think I'll choose the musicale, for I'll surely get another chance to see
the pictures."
"Yes, of course you will," agreed Nan, a little absently, for she was
reading some newly arrived letters.
The Fairfields were in London, and were comfortably established in the
Savoy Hotel. It was April, and though they intended to travel later in
the summer, their plans were as yet indefinite, and they were enjoying
the many and varied delights of the London season.
To be sure, Nan and Mr. Fairfield were invited to many dinners and
elaborate entertainments which Patty was too young to attend, but her
time was pleasantly filled with afternoon garden parties or teas, while
mornings were often devoted to sight-seeing.
Patty was almost eighteen, and though not allowed quite the untrammelled
freedom she would have had in America, she was not kept so utterly
secluded as English girls of her age. Sometimes she would go all alone to
Westminster Abbey or to the National Gallery, and enjoy hugely a solitary
hour or two. At other times, Nan or her father, or some girl friend,
would go with her.
The Fairfields had begun their stay in London with only a few friends,
but these had introduced others, until now their circle of acquaintances
was large, and the immediate result of this was a sheaf of invitations in
every mail. For, during the season, Londoners are hospitable folk, and
give entertainments morning, noon, and night. At first, the Fairfields
had thought they would take a house, and so have a home of their own. But
Mr. Fairfield concluded that if Nan had the duties of a housekeeper, her
trip would not be a holiday, so he declared they would live at a large
hotel, and thus have a chance to observe the gay life of London.
And so cosy and comfortable were their apartments at the Savoy, that they
soon began to feel quite at home there. And Patty, as we all know, was
one who could adapt herself to any mode of living.
Of a naturally happy and contented disposition, she accepted everything
as it came, and enjoyed everything with the enthusiasm so often seen in
American girls.
It greatly amused her to note the differences between herself and the
English girls.
To her mind, they seemed to have no enthusiasm, no enterprise, and little
capacity for enjoyment, while Patty enjoyed every experience that came to
her, whether a visit to Windsor Castle, a day at Stratford, or a simple
afternoon tea in their own rooms.
"I seem to have been set back two or three years," she said to Nan, one
day. "In New York I was almost a full-fledged young lady, but over here,
I'm treated as a little girl."
"It doesn't matter," said Nan, sensibly. "You are what you are, and if
the different countries choose to treat you differently, it doesn't
matter, does it?"
"Not a bit. I'm Patty Fairfield, and I'm almost eighteen, whether I'm in
California or the Fiji Islands. But it does amuse me, the way the
Londoners think we live at home. They really believe American ladies go
to market in the morning, loaded down with diamonds. You don't often see
that in New York, do you, Nan?"
"No, I don't think I ever saw a New York matron wearing elaborate jewelry
to market. But then I never go to market myself, and I don't know many
people who do. I think that bediamonded marketer story is an old
tradition, which is really pretty well worn out."
"And the London ladies needn't talk, anyway. If we did wear jewels to
market, it wouldn't be a bit more absurd than the way they dress to go
shopping in the morning. Long, trailing, frilly gowns of pink and blue
chiffon, with swishing lace-ruffled petticoats, that just drag through
the dirt of the streets."
"Now aren't you criticising them as unfairly as they describe us?"
"No, for what I say is true. I've seen them fluttering about. And,
anyway, I don't mean to be mean. I like them lots. I just love the London
ladies, they're so kind to me, and invite me to such lovely things. Of
course I don't care if they choose to wear garden-party clothes along
Bond Street. We all have some ridiculous ways."
Pretty Patty was fond of pretty clothes, and the shops of Bond Street
held great attractions for her, though she herself wore a real
tailor-made costume when shopping. At first, Nan had exercised a
supervision over her purchases, but Patty had shown such good taste, and
such quick and unerring judgment as to fabrics and colors, that it had
come about that Patty more often advised Nan in her choosing, than the
other way.
And so, many a pleasant morning was spent in the beautiful London shops,
buying things they wanted, looking at things they did not want, or noting
with interest the ways and means peculiar to English shopkeepers.
Thus the days went happily by, and they had already been more than a
fortnight in London, while as yet their plans for future travel were
unmade. Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield wanted to go to Germany, Switzerland, and
other countries, but Patty didn't care so much for that as for English
country, or small nearby towns. So the matter was left unsettled, though
short and desultory discussions were held now and then.
But oftener their minds were taken up with the doings of the moment, and
they complacently left the future to itself.
"Well, then I think I'll go to the musicale," said Patty. "What would you
wear?"
"That new light blue chiffon of yours, with the lace bolero, is just the
thing."
"Yes, and my new broad-leafed chip hat, with the roses piled all over
it."
Patty ran away to her own room, and after a time returned in the pretty
summer costume.
"How do I look?" she asked, smilingly, of Nan.
Nan smiled back at the lovely vision, for Patty's vanity was of a mild
and innocent sort, and was rather a childish delight in dainty colors and
fabrics, than any conceit over her own beauty.
For beautiful Patty certainly was, in a sweet, wholesome, girlish way,
and not the least of her charms was her naturalness of manner and her
entire lack of self-consciousness.
She looked especially winning in the light, filmy dress, and the big hat,
weighed down with roses.
"You look all right, Patty," answered Nan. "That's a duck of a frock, and
suits you perfectly. Are you going alone?"
"Yes; father says I may go alone in our own carriage to any afternoon
thing. The Hartleys will bring me home, so sha'n't I send the carriage
back for you?"
"Yes, I wish you would. I'm going to a tea or two, and then we're dining
out. You're to dine with the Hartleys, aren't you?"
"Yes, if it is dinner. It's more likely to be schoolroom tea. Mabel
Hartley is sixteen, but I doubt if she's allowed at dinner yet."
"Nonsense, of course she is. Well, then, if they're sending you home,
Louise needn't go after you?"
"No; they'll send somebody. Good-bye, Nan."
"Good-bye, Patty. Have a lovely time."
"Oh, yes; I always do."
Away went Patty and her frills, and when she reached Chesterton Mansions,
she was soon established under the wing of her hostess, Mrs. Hastings.
That lady was very glad to have the pretty American girl as her guest,
and she introduced Patty to so many people that it was almost
bewildering. But after a time, the music began, and Patty was glad to sit
still and listen.
It was very fine music, for that is the sort that Londoners usually offer
at their teas, and Patty thoroughly enjoyed the singing and the
violin-playing. She was a little afraid that Mrs. Hastings would ask her
to sing, but as it was a programme of professionals this did not happen.
When the Hartleys came, Mabel at once made her way to Patty's side and
sat down by her.
"I'm so glad to see you again," she said, "and it's so lovely that you're
going home with us."
"I'm glad, too," returned Patty, "it was lovely of you to ask me."
Mabel Hartley was an English girl, and was about as different from Patty
as could well be imagined, and perhaps for this reason the two were very
good friends. Although they had met only a few times, they liked each
other from the beginning, and both were ready to continue the friendship.
Mabel was large and stout, with the solidity which characterises the
British young girls. She was large-boned and not very graceful, but she
carried herself with a patrician air that told of past generations of
good-breeding. Her complexion was of that pure pink and white seen only
on English faces, but her pale, sandy hair and light blue eyes failed to
add the deeper color that was needed. Her frock was an uninteresting
shade of tan, and did not hang evenly, while her hat was one of those
tubby affairs little short of ridiculous.
Patty fairly ached to re-clothe her, in some pretty clear color, and a
becoming hat.
The girls were politely silent while the music was going on, but in the
intervals between the numbers they chattered glibly.
"That's Grace Meredith and her brother Tom just coming in," said Mabel.
"I hope they'll come over here; you'll like them, I know."
The Merediths did come over, and were promptly introduced to Patty.
"Do you know," said Tom Meredith, as he shook hands in cordial, boyish
fashion, "you're the first American girl I've ever met."
"Am I, really?" laughed Patty. "Now don't ask me if we always wear our
diamonds to market, for truly the American women who go to market rarely
have any diamonds."
"I never believed that diamond story, anyway," responded Tom, gravely,
"but I'm glad to have you tell me it isn't true. I'm perfectly
unprejudiced about America, though. I'm ready to believe it's the best
country in the world, outside of our own little island."
"Good for you!" cried Patty. "Then I'm ready to acknowledge that I like
England next best to America."
"Have you been here long?" asked Grace.
"No, only about two weeks, but I love London better every day, and I know
I shall love the English country. Just the glimpse I caught coming in the
train from Dover was delightful."
"You should see the Hartleys' country place," declared Tom, with
enthusiasm. "It's a ripping old house, two hundred years old, and all
that. And such parks and orchards! Well!"
"I hope you will come to see it, Patty," said Mabel, a little wistfully,
and Patty wondered why the girl's tone had in it a note of sadness.
But just then, as the music was over, Mrs. Hastings asked them to go to
the tea-room, and the group of young people followed in her wake.
"You girls sit here," said Tom, selecting a jolly-looking alcove, with
window-seats and red cushions, "while I stalk some food."
He was back in a few moments, followed by a waiter, who brought a tray of
teacups and plates of sweet cakes.
Tom, himself, bore triumphantly a covered silver dish.
"Muffins!" he announced, in a jubilant voice. "Hot, buttered muffins!
Crickets, what luck!"
The hot muffins, buttered and quartered, were indeed delicious, and
England and America seemed at one in showing an appreciative appetite for
them.
"We don't have these in America," said Patty, surveying her bit of muffin
with admiration. "We have good sandwiches, though."
"We almost never have sandwiches," said Grace.
"You don't need to," said Patty, quickly. "Your wonderful bread and
butter is too good to be spoiled with a sandwich filling of any sort."
"'Most all things are good eating at an afternoon tea," observed Tom.
"Somehow, at five o'clock I'm always so hungry I could eat a brickbat if
it were toasted and buttered."
"Afternoon tea is really an acquired taste with us," said Patty. "You
seem to have it naturally, even when you're alone, but we only have it
when we have guests."
"Really?" said Mabel, in astonishment. "Why, we'd as soon think of
omitting breakfast or dinner as tea."
"It's a lovely meal," said Patty, giving a little sigh of satisfaction,
as her last crumb of muffin disappeared. "Such good things to eat, and
then it's so cosy and informal to sit around in easy chairs, instead of
at a big table."
"But the ideal place for tea is on the lawn," said Tom. "The open air and
the trees and birds and flowers are even a better setting for it, than an
interior like this."
"I hope I shall have that kind this summer," said Patty. "I'm invited to
several country houses, and I know I shall enjoy it immensely."
"Indeed you will," said Mabel, and again Patty thought she detected a
shade of sadness in her friend's eyes.
But if Mabel was not exactly gay, Grace Meredith made up for it. She was
full of fun and laughter, and both she and Tom made comical speeches
until Patty feared she would disgrace herself laughing.
"What's the joke?" asked Mrs. Hartley, coming to collect her young people
and take them home.
"Tom is making verses about the people here," explained Grace. "Tell Mrs.
Hartley the one about the violinist, Tom."
"Don't think it's rude, Mrs. Hartley," said young Meredith; "truly, it
isn't meant to be. But for that classic-browed genius, with his
chrysanthemum of tawny-colored hair, isn't this a pleasant token of
regard and esteem?
"This is our latest social lion,
So, to look modest, he's tryin' and tryin'."
"It's very beautiful," said Mrs. Hartley, smiling, "and I daresay
Professor Prendergast would enjoy it himself, were he to hear it."
"He might," said Tom, doubtfully, "but musicians rarely have a sense of
humour, at least, about themselves."
"That's true," agreed Mrs. Hartley, "and now, Mabel and Miss Fairfield,
we must be going on."
Good-byes were soon said, and in the Hartleys' carriage Patty was taken
away to her first visit in an English home.