MONA AT HOME
When they reached home it was really after dark, and Patty was prepared
for an expected reproof. But Mr. Fairfield came out smilingly to meet
them.
“Accident No. 1?” he asked. “What was it? Power gave out, punctured
tire, or misjudged distance?”
“None of those,” cried Patty, gaily; “but it was a real accident, and a
real unavoidable and unforeseeable one!”
“Oh, of course!” chaffed her father; “accidents are always unavoidable,
and never the fault of the person driving!”
“I’m glad you’ve learned that,” said Patty, saucily, “for, if you have
that theory firmly fixed in your mind, you have learned the main
principle of motor adventures!”
And then the three sat down on the veranda, and Patty and Nan detailed
the whole experience to Mr. Fairfield.
“You were certainly in no way to blame, Patty,” he said, heartily, “for,
of course, you’ve had no experience with sand, and had no reason to
suspect that the wheels would sink. But you’ve learned the lesson, and
now that particular trouble is not likely to occur again, for you will
remember to stick to the hard roads.”
“But, you see, the particular trouble was really the cow, and, of
course, she’s likely to occur again at any time.”
“Then the only remedy that I can suggest is to have a cow-catcher built
on the front of your car.”
“No; I’m not going to spoil the perfect lines of my beautiful Camilla by
any unsightly device. You see, father, the lines of that car are simply
perfect. I know this, because it says so in the booklet the company gave
me. And it speaks quite highly of the car’s various points, and
accessories, and really goes so far as to state that it is superior to
any other car in the market! And the longer I use it, the more fully I
agree with the booklet.”
“I’m glad your long experience justifies the company’s claims. Have you
named the car Camilla?”
“Yes, because she scours the plain; don’t you remember how swift Camilla
scoured the plain?”
“Yes, I remember, but it seems a more appropriate name for some patent
cleaning powder.”
“Nonsense, daddy! Have you no poetry or romance in your soul? Swift
Camilla is a lovely name for my car, and I mean to scour the plain for
miles around. Come on, Nan, let’s go and tidy up for dinner. It’s
getting late.”
“It is so,” said her father, “and, though I sha’n’t be too severe with
you this time, I must mildly repeat that I want you hereafter to get
home from your scouring expeditions before dark.”
“Sure!” cried Patty, gaily, blowing him a kiss from the tips of her
fingers as she ran away.
* * * * *
The days flew by, and, as the weather was almost always fine, Patty went
scouring with Camilla every day. Sometimes she took Nan, sometimes her
father, and sometimes she went all alone for short drives up and down
the coast. She had no trouble with the car’s mechanism, for it was
really of superior make, and its management was simple. But one
afternoon, when she asked Nan to go for a little spin, Nan replied: “I
will later, Patty, but first I think we ought to go and call on Miss
Galbraith. It is more than a week since she was here, and, in common
courtesy, we ought to return her call.”
“But I don’t like her, and I don’t want to go to see her,” declared
Patty, a little petulantly.
“Don’t act like an infant! Your not liking her has nothing to do with
the case. We’ve had other calls down here, and we’ve returned them
properly; now this is a social duty that must be attended to, so come
along.”
“Oh, Nan, you go without me! Make excuses for me, can’t you?”
“No, I can’t; and I won’t! So go and put on a pretty frock and come
right along. We needn’t stay long, and we can go for a short motor ride
after.”
So Patty went away to dress, for she realised that she must go, however
unwillingly. She put on a pretty calling costume of white serge, with
black velvet collar and cuffs, and a large black hat.
“You look lovely,” said Nan, as Patty joined her in the hall.
“Yes, I like this frock,” said Patty, “but I’m sure Miss Galbraith
won’t; you know, her taste runs to more elaborate costumes.”
“Oh, well, you can’t expect to suit everybody! Come along.”
Nan herself was in pale-grey cloth, with hat to match, and the two
strolled along the short distance to “Red Chimneys,” which they had
learned was the name of the Galbraith home.
They turned in at the entrance gate, and saw a large and massive stone
house, with many red chimneys. It was a handsome building, but
over-ornate in its architecture and decoration.
“Looks exactly like Mona,” said Patty, as they drew near. “It’s just a
mass of heavy embroidery!”
A footman answered their ring, and, taking their cards on his silver
tray, ushered them into a drawing-room, and departed.
There was a rather long interval before Miss Galbraith appeared, and
Patty fidgeted. The golden hours of her afternoon were slipping away,
and she was impatient to go out with Camilla.
But presently Mona Galbraith came downstairs, and greeted them
effusively. As she had been when they saw her before, she was
overdressed and over-jewelled. She wore a house dress of blue satin, but
so befrilled and bedecked with jabots of lace that it was not only
unbeautiful, but no way did it resemble the accepted fashion of the day.
An expensive and complicated necklace of turquoises surmounted the blue
satin, and large-headed pins of the same blue stone adorned the piled-up
masses of hair.
Patty’s secret impulse was one of regret that a fairly pretty girl could
make such a dowdy of herself, and she resolved, if ever they became
sufficiently well acquainted, she would try to tone down Miss
Galbraith’s frantic wardrobe.
“I’m so glad to see you,” their hostess said, “and, if you hadn’t come
to-day, I was going straight over to your house to tell you what I
thought of you! Oh, you naughty people, to keep me waiting so long! Why
didn’t you come sooner?”
“Oh there’s been much to do,” said Nan, “fitting ourselves into our new
home; and, too, I think we’re fairly prompt returning your call.”
“Oh, we mustn’t make calls and return calls; that’s too formal. We’re
neighbours, you know, and we must just run in and out without ceremony.
Don’t you think so, Miss Fairfield? Or, mayn’t I call you Patty? Please
let me.”
Patty was good-natured and kind-hearted, but she began to think that
Miss Galbraith’s unwelcomed familiarity must be checked.
“Isn’t it a little soon for first names, Miss Galbraith?” she asked,
with a merry smile that took the rudeness from her question. “I like to
win my friendships by degrees, and not jump into them suddenly.”
But Miss Galbraith was not so easily baffled. “Oh, are you like that?”
she said. “Now I’m just the opposite! I know at once if I like anybody,
and I do like you, and so I’m going to call you Patty. Of course, if
you’re so cautious about making friends, you’ll have to adopt me more
slowly. But I’ll warrant it won’t be long before you’ll call me Mona in
spite of yourself. And you, too, Mrs. Fairfield,” she added, turning to
Nan.
Patty gasped, for she almost thought the forward girl was going to call
Nan by her first name, but Mona did not go quite so far as that.
“You have a beautiful home here,” said Nan, in order to change the
subject. “Have you lived here long?”
“This is the fourth summer,” said Mona; “my father built it, and he said
he didn’t care what it cost, if only it was the most expensive house at
Spring Beach.”
“I fancy he achieved his desire,” said Nan, politely.
“Oh, yes, indeed! There’s no other house been put up yet that cost
nearly as much, and I don’t believe there will be.”
“Probably not,” said Patty. “But it seems large for only two of you.”
“Yes, but we have a great many servants; and, then, we like to have
company. We invite a great deal of company, though they don’t always
come. It’s strange how few people enjoy the seashore.”
Patty privately thought that there might be other reasons for the
guests’ refusals than a dislike for the seashore, but she only said,
“Yes, I like to have company, too; but I’m never lonely, even if I’m
entirely alone.”
“Yes, I can see that’s your disposition,—sunshiny and sweet always. Oh,
I’m so glad you’ve come to Spring Beach! I’ve wanted just such a
friend.”
As Patty said afterward, she felt herself being drawn into a net, from
which there seemed to be no escape. But she determined to make one more
effort.
“I don’t want to seem ungrateful,” she said, “but, to tell the truth,
I’m not very sociable.” Then, like a flash, she realised that this was
not true, and endeavoured to amend it. “I mean,” she went on, “in the
summer time, when I’m away from home. That is,—don’t you know,—I think
one likes a sort of vacation from society during the summer; don’t you?”
“Oh, yes! But, of course, the social doings down here are not like those
in the city. I’m not much in society down here, myself; so we can have
real good times with each other, and give society the go-by.”
Patty gave up in despair. She couldn’t make this girl understand that
she did not desire her intimate friendship, without being positively
rude; and, though of an independent nature, Patty was always unwilling
to hurt the feelings of others.
But very soon Nan rose to take leave, and the call was over.
“What can I do?” exclaimed Patty, as they were safely out of hearing
distance of “Red Chimneys.” “That girl is the limit! She’ll be over to
our house all the time, if I don’t do something to stop her!”
“Oh, don’t take it too seriously!” advised Nan. “Sometimes these
troubles that loom up so darkly fade away of themselves.”
“She won’t fade away,” declared Patty; “Mona is no fader! But some day I
shall take her out in my motor car, way, way out beyond civilisation,
and come back without her!”
“That’s a splendid plan!” said Nan, approvingly; “practical, sensible,
and easily carried out!”
“Yes, isn’t it,” said Patty, grinning. And then they were at “The
Pebbles” again, and were soon arrayed in their motor toggery, and
starting away in the Swift Camilla.
“Which way?” asked Patty, as she grasped the steering bar.
“Straight along the coast,” answered Nan; “the ocean is so beautiful
to-day, I don’t want to get out of sight of it.”
“All right, here we go;” and Patty headed the car south along the line,
continuous shore drive.
“Nan,” she observed, as they flew along, “do you happen to know of any
remarkable, important, and very-much-to-be-celebrated day that is going
to occur soon?”
“Day?” repeated Nan, looking blank,—so exceedingly blank that it seemed
an assumed expression.
“Yes, day! _A_ day,—_one_ day,—an _especial_ day! Do try to think. It
may occur next week!”
“Let me see,” said Nan, in a deeply thoughtful tone, “this is May,—so
you can’t mean Washington’s Birthday or Lincoln’s Birthday.”
“No! nor Christmas Day, nor St. Patrick’s Day in the Morning! But, all
the same, it’s one of the most important dates in the annals of Time,
and I’ll give you one more chance to save your reputation by guessing
what it is, before I tell you.”
“Well, of course I have no idea when it occurs, but, if I’m merely
guessing, I’ll guess that you refer to Mona Galbraith’s birthday.”
“Oh, Nan! you are too exasperating! Another speech like that and I’ll
put you out of this car and let you walk home! Now the occasion to which
I refer, and which you know well enough, only you think it’s roguish to
pretend you don’t, is the birthday of one Miss Patricia Fairfield! a
clever and charming young girl, who will on that day achieve the dignity
of being nineteen years old!”
“Why, sure enough, it _will_ be your birthday soon, won’t it?” exclaimed
Nan, in affected surprise, which by no means deceived Patty.
“Yes, and what are you going to do about it?”
“Well, you ask me so suddenly, I scarce know what to say! What do you
want done?”
“Well, you ask me suddenly, too, but I know exactly what to say! I want
a celebration of the event.”
“Oh, you do! brass band, and torch-light parade?”
“Not exactly that, but something just as good. I want a
house-party,—quite a large one,—to come the day before the birthday,
and stay several days after, and celebrate all the time.”
“You’re so modest in your demands, Patty! Why don’t you have something
really worth while?”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Nan; you’re too pretty to say such things! Now take
a deep interest in my plans, won’t you, and help me decide things?”
“All right, Patty, I will, indeed. But I thought you didn’t want company
down here, especially the boys, because you wanted to enjoy your
scouring the plain, all alone.”
“Well, I did feel that way for a time, but I’m getting over it. Anyway,
I want to try having company, and, if I don’t like it, I’ll try solitude
again. Now you see, Nan, my birthday is next week, Thursday. I’d like to
ask the people to come Wednesday, and then stay over the weekend.”
“All right, Patty, I’ll do all I can to make it pleasant for you. But,
you know, we have only four guest rooms. How big did you mean your house
party to be?”
“Well, of course the two Farringtons and Christine and Kenneth would be
about all we could accommodate. Then I thought, if Mr. Hepworth and Mr.
Van Reypen cared to come, they could stay at the hotel.”
“It doesn’t seem very hospitable to invite them that way,” said Nan,
demurring.
“Then they’ll have to stay home,” said Patty, cheerfully, “for, as you
say, we have only the four rooms to give them. I thought our house was
large, but it doesn’t seem so when you begin to invite guests.”
“Well, we’ll see about it,” said Nan.