Patty—Bride

“Yes, to Captain Farnsworth; but he isn’t exactly a soldier. I mean, he doesn’t expect to fight. He is an expert mining engineer, and his country seems to find a lot of work for him, without sending him to the front.”

“Bill Farnsworth, the Westerner!”

“Yes; do you know him?”

“No; not at all. But I saw something about him in the paper, – ”

“You did! Oh, what was it? I’m interested, of course, in anything pertaining to him or his work.”

“I can’t seem to remember; I can’t exactly place it; but I recollect seeing his name. And are you, too, engaged to an enlisted man, Miss Barlow?”

“No,” said Helen, “but I hope to be.”

“Quite right! Next to serving one’s country, is being the helpmeet of one who does. Have you, – ah, – selected – ”

“No, my selective draft hasn’t yet been made,” and Bumble’s jolly little face smiled broadly; “you see, there are so many fascinating men in the service, – indeed, ’most any man is fascinating in uniform.”

“I wear uniform,” said Herron.

“I know, but lots of others do, too, and every time I meet a new one I lose my heart to him.”

“I fear me you’re a sad coquette, Miss Barlow,” and the chaperon beamed on her.

“I am a coquette,” Helen admitted, calmly, “but not at all a sad one! Indeed, I’m as merry as a grig. Why, I get letters from lots of the boys in camp. Miss Fairfield is content with only one correspondent, while I have a dozen! I just adore to get their letters, and to send them things, and to write to them. The war is terrible, but it does give one some new and pleasant experiences. And I don’t feel it my duty to lament all the time. My mission is cheering people up and cheering soldiers on.”

“I make no doubt you’re a grand success at it, too. And some day you’ll decide to send all your letters to the same address, as Miss Fairfield does. Where is Mr. Farnsworth now, may I ask?”

“In Washington,” Patty replied.

“And is he coming to New York soon?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.” Patty spoke a little coldly, for Bill had cautioned her over and over again, never on any account to tell any one of his plans or to repeat anything he might write, which concerned military matters or might give war information of any sort.

“How you must long to know! I don’t mean definitely, of course, but can’t you hope to see him soon?”

An insistent tone in Mrs. Doremus’ voice caused Patty to look up quickly, and she saw the keen eyes regarding her intently through the big glasses.

But though the old lady’s interest might have been a bit strong for such short acquaintance, Patty was too polite to resent that, and she laughed and said, “It’s impossible to tell, with a soldier boy. One can only hope, – one may not expect.”

“That’s a philosophical attitude, my dear, and does you credit. Is Captain Farnsworth in the Engineers’ Camp?”

“Yes,” said Patty, this time with decided shortness; “how very nice this sweetbread is! I’ve always been so fond of them. But one oughtn’t to serve them on a sweetless day, ought one?”

“Oh, Patty, what a silly joke!” chided Helen. “You mean a meatless day!”

“Both ought to be barred,” smiled Patty; “also they ought not to be served on a breadless day!”

“It looks as if they wouldn’t be served at all any more,” said Herron; “let’s gather these sweetbreads while we may!”

“And perhaps the war will soon be over, and then we can eat what we like,” Helen suggested. “It will be over soon, you know, because of the eagles.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, it’s a true omen. You know down at Beverly, New Jersey, long ago, – oh, during the Revolution, – ”

“Is this a real honest-to-goodness, once-upon-a-time story?” asked Van Reypen.

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I move we move to the sun-parlour, and have our coffee there. We’ll take our coffee, – sugarless, if Patty says so, – and then we can hear the story, and then we must see about going home.”

“Fine,” Patty agreed. “Will you join us in this desperate scheme, Mrs. Doremus?”

“Don’t think you must, if you’re busy,” interposed Herron. “I’m sure the ladies will excuse you if you have duties to attend to.”

“I haven’t,” returned the chaperon, calmly. “I’ll be glad to have the coffee and the story, if I am permitted.”

“Surely,” said Helen, jumping up, “come along, Mrs. Doremus; you and I will pick out the sunniest spot. Philip, bring Patty; and Mr. Herron, will you order the coffee served there?”

Helen slipped her arm through that of the grey-haired lady, and they walked away together.

Philip detained Patty as she was about to follow.

“Queer old party,” he said, very low.

“Who? Mrs. Doremus? I rather like her.”

“Well, I don’t! Be careful what you say before her, and we must get away as soon as we can.”

“Why, Phil, what do you mean?”

“Nothing particular. Only, don’t let Helen persuade you to stay all the afternoon. It’s nearly three now, and we must get away by four, at latest.”

“All right, Phil, but I never knew you to look so scared. Why?”

“Don’t fuss, Patty; go ahead and join the crowd; but remember not to answer personal questions.”

Patty wondered what had come over Philip’s mind, but she thought no more about it, rather glad than otherwise, that he was determined to go home so early.

They crossed the big foyer, and across a chair there, was a fur stole of Patty’s which she had left there in case of need while in the house. She picked it up, exclaiming: “Why, here’s my fur! I might have forgotten it!”

“Lend it to me, won’t you, if you’re not wearing it?” asked Mrs. Doremus. “I feel a bit chilly, – but, perhaps you do too?”

“Oh, no; I’m warm as toast. Use it, by all means. Let me put it round you.”

Patty draped the long stole round the shivering shoulders, and Mrs. Doremus said, apologetically, “I’m not really cold, but I take precaution for fear of rheumatism.”

“Certainly,” Patty acquiesced, and then the coffee tray was brought and Patty did the honours.