Patty—Bride

“You’re a dormouse, Patty. You’d rather nod over your knitting needles – ”

“I don’t nod over them! I knit faster than you do! Come on, start at the beginning of your needle, and I’ll race you for five rows.”

The girls settled themselves comfortably by the big fire, and opened their knitting bags.

“Now, I call this fine!” declared Herron; “what’s nicer than to have you girls sit and knit and we men sit and look at you!”

“There’s nothing nicer to look at,” said Helen complacently, “on that we’re all agreed. Now, make yourselves entertaining, and we’ll call it square.”

Pretty Helen’s gay face bent over her khaki-coloured wool, and her needles clicked bravely in an effort to knit faster than Patty. And she did, but it was only a spurt. She dropped a stitch, and exclaimed, “Hold on, Patty, no fair your knitting when I’m picking up this stitch! You wait now!”

“Not so; a dropped stitch in time loses nine! Come on, hare, catch up with this old tortoise!”

Calmly, Patty proceeded with her steadily-moving needles, and again Helen made an hysterical burst of speed and caught up as to distance. But her wool snarled somehow, and Herron, trying to help her, made it worse, and the four hands that tried to untangle it only drew it into tighter knots.

Helen burst out laughing, and awarded Patty the palm.

“It’s always so,” she acknowledged. “I fly at a thing and tumble all over myself, and accomplish just about nothing. Patty goes about it leisurely, and comes in at the last, easily winner, and with a big lot of work to her credit.”

“You flatter me, angel child,” Patty smiled. “I knit because I love to knit, and I get a lot done, because I don’t try to beat everybody else. There, how’s that for a helmet? I rather guess some one of Our Boys will be glad to wear it!”

“I shouldn’t mind myself,” suggested Herron, timidly, and Patty replied at once, “Then you shall have it! I’ll fit it to your head now.”

“You want mine, Philip?” asked Helen, as she industriously “picked back” a few stitches.

“Yes, if I may be allowed to wear out two or three others while yours is in process of construction.”

“Wot rudeness! To think I should live to hear such! Well, just for that I’ll put all the knots inside!”

“They’ll make me think of you!”

“And I’ll put a note in it, – that’s often done.”

“A note of thanks. If the girls did that, it would save many a poor soldier a lot of trouble! He could just sign it and send it off.”

“How unsentimental and ungrateful you are! Why, the boys just love to get notes in their socks and sweaters and then they love to answer them. It’s no hardship, I can tell you! I’ve had the notes!”

“You can’t have had very many, – you’re too young.”

Helen gave him a laughing scowl at this fresh fling at her slow progress and then she threw down her knitting.

“Can’t do any more, now. I’ve come to the place to cast on, and I forget how many, and I left my paper of directions at home, and – ”

“All right, come with me, and let’s go and hurry up our chaperon lady,” said Herron, rising.

“Yes, do,” urged Patty, who was in nervous anxiety about that matter.

“Patty’s in a pucker!” sang Helen, “like little Tommy Tucker!
What shall she eat? War bread and butter!
How shall she eat it, without a chaperon?
Put her in a padded cell and let her eat alone!”

Helen’s foolishness never annoyed Patty, and so she bade the two ambassadors proceed with their errand and Helen and Mr. Herron went off.

“Trust me, Patty,” said Philip, after the others had left the room, “it will be all right. The snow is lighter now; and we’ll go home directly after luncheon. I don’t want you to be disturbed, and I do understand, – you know I do!”

“Yes, I know it,” Patty replied.

CHAPTER VII

A QUEER CHAPERON

When Mrs. Doremus was introduced, Patty’s thoughts ran somewhat like this:

“Nice old lady; apple-cheeked, white-haired and quiet-mannered. A little shy, but well-bred and kindly. Old-fashioned dress, – or, rather it looks so, because it’s so long. Why, it almost touches the floor. But, she’s all right, and her big, tortoise-rimmed glasses give her quite an air of distinction.”

Helen, on the other hand, paid little attention to the chaperon, save to greet her pleasantly and thank her for her presence.

The five went to the Club dining-room for luncheon. There were a few others at various tables, but no one with whom the girls were acquainted.

“I’m fairly brimming with happiness,” Helen announced; “I’ve always longed to be at a big country club in winter, and I’ve never achieved it before.”

“It’s winter, all right,” said Herron, looking out at the steady snowfall. “But the palms and flowers make this seem like an oasis of summer, screened in.”

“Awful pretty room,” and Helen looked round contentedly, as she finished her grape fruit. “And of a just-right temperature. I’d like to stay here a week.”

“You may get your wish,” and Mrs. Doremus smiled at her, “if this snow keeps on, I don’t see how you can go back to the city today.”

“Oh, my goodness!” cried Patty, “don’t say such a thing! Remember, Phil, when we were snowbound at that queer old house in the country?”

“Do I remember! Why, we had the time of our sweet young life up there! I never ate such chicken pie!”

“Nor I. And those two quaint old ladies were a whole show themselves.”

“Oh, this storm isn’t going to be so very bad,” Herron said; “I think it’s lessening now. We’ll go down this afternoon, all right, all right. I think, Miss Fairfield, you’re anxious to get a letter from somebody!”

Patty blushed prettily. “Well, perhaps I am. I came away before mailtime, you know.”

“But you had one yesterday,” Helen told, “a big, fat one! That ought to last you for a while!”

“But that was yesterday! I want today’s bulletin.”

“Aha! A letter every day?”

“Yes, Mr. Herron, that’s the way engaged people keep alive, when separated by this cruel war!”

“Never mind letters now,” begged Van Reypen, “let’s forget everybody who isn’t here.”

“And are you engaged to a soldier, my child?” Mrs. Doremus asked of Patty. The old lady had a low, gentle voice, and though she said little, she had a delightful manner and a smile that betokened a keen sense of humour.