Patty—Bride

“Well,” said Helen Barlow, dashing into Patty’s room one morning, “I am certainly having the time of my sweet young life! They may say what they like about the horrors of war, and there are plenty of them, and nobody knows that better than I do, and nobody does more to help our side than you do, but all the same, my fairy-fair cousin, I do get a lot of pleasant parties and happy hours out of it all.”

“Why, Bumble-Bee, what’s up now?”

“Look at all these letters in my morning’s mail! And nearly every one an invitation to a gathering of some sort, connected with Our Boys. Dinners and evening parties and little dances, all for the Khaki and the Blue! Red Cross Benefits, private charities and any number of War Relief meetings! Don’t think I’m a heartless wretch, Patsy, but I do love the everlasting gadding about, and meeting people and being in the excitement of it all!”

“Good for you, Bumble,” said Nan, coming in, “having heard your views, I’ll invite you to help me with a small and early bazaar I’m arranging for a Valentine fête.”

“Of course I’ll do all I can, Nan. Tell me more. When is it to be?”

“On the twelfth; we want to sell valentines to send to the soldiers in camp, and incidentally, have a good time, and, moreover, make a little money for my committee.”

“Where you going to have it?” asked Patty, looking up from her desk, where she was writing letters.

“Why, here,” said Nan. “You needn’t do much, Pattikins, you’ve so many irons in the fire; Bumble and I will run this show.”

“Good for you! I have about all I can manage on a paltry twenty-four hours a day. But I’ll buy a valentine of you to send to my own particular Soldier Boy. Oh, Nan, isn’t he the dearest thing! Just look at this new picture of him! Did anybody ever look so well in a uniform?”

“He is sure great!” exclaimed Bumble, taking the picture; “I don’t wonder you rave over him, Patty.”

“Nor I,” Nan agreed. “He’s so big, yet so well-proportioned that he doesn’t look too big.”

“Oh, thank you, Nan! I dunno what I’d do if he were too big!” Patty showed mock alarm at the thought. “You see, the bigger he is the smaller I seem, but I’m trying to emulate Bumble, and get a little more weighty. It’s hard, though, with the food conservation to be looked after, and the sweetless days here and there – ”

“You don’t have any sweetless days, if you read those long letters you get,” put in Helen.

“And pray, how do you know as to their sweetness?”

“Oh, I’m a mind reader, and when I see you peruse a letter, and fairly lap it up, like a cat, and then sit looking like the cat who ate the canary, I don’t have to be a detective to deduce that the letter was a sweet one!”

“Good for you, Bumble! You guessed right the very first time! My Captain’s letters are sweet, and so is he!”

“Sounds like a valentine! And he’s in love and so is she!”

“We are,” said Patty, complacently. “And that’s no secret. As to valentines, pick me out the prettiest and the wittiest and the one that reads best, and save it for me, when you two busy bees have this festa, – or whatever you call it.”

“That’s so! What shall we call it?” and Helen turned to Nan. “Ought to begin with a V. Valentine Valley? Valentine Villa?”

“Not very good,” Nan considered. “How’s Valentine Verses?”

“All valentines have verses. Help us out, Patty. Do that much for the cause. Give us a name for our Sale.”

“Valentine Vendue,” said Patty, without looking up from her writing. Though apparently absorbed in her own affairs she had heard all they said.

“A vendue is an auction,” objected Nan.

“Oh, well, it means a sale,” Patty defended, “and too, of course, you’ll auction off the left-overs, they always do at a sale.”

“We might have it all an auction, – ” began Nan.

“All right, do,” returned Patty, “but run away, kiddies, and make your plans somewhere else, won’t you? Miss Fairfield is busy.”

“Come on, Bumble, we’ll go off and flock by ourselves. And we’ll plan such a bee-yutiful party that we’ll sell enough valentines for the whole National Army.”

“Do they want valentines?” asked Helen as she went off with Nan.

“That doesn’t matter, my dear. The thing is for us to sell the valentines, and get the money for the committee; and then, if the sweet missives are never sent, it won’t matter. But, yes, I think the boys in camp would be jolly glad to get nice loving valentine verses. They needn’t know who sends them, of course.”

“I shall put my name on all I send. I’d like to get a letter back.”

“Your mail is full of such letters already! You’re a camp belle, Bumble, – you certainly are!”

“I might make a joke about the camp belles are coming!” laughed Helen, “but I’d scorn to do it!”

“Then don’t. Come on, now, and let’s make lists and all that.”

The night of February twelfth found the Fairfield house bedecked for the Valentine Vendue. Palms and flowers and hearts and darts and ribbon streamers and true-love knots were everywhere. Patty had helped both with advice and with actual work and the result was bewilderingly beautiful. Not only the regulation valentines of lace paper and rhymed lines were for sale, but also small and appropriate gifts, in decorated boxes, fancy bonbonnieres, pots and baskets of flowers and flowering plants, and even jewelled trinkets and curios. For these things had been donated for the cause, and the venders hoped the men would buy them for their sweethearts.

Also there were valentines for the soldiers, and boxes of tobacco and cigarettes, containing sentimental missives.

Nan’s committee was a large one, and all had worked diligently until the result was even more gratifying than they had hoped.

Patty and Helen wore effective and appropriate costumes for they loved to “dress up,” and this was too good a chance to be lost.

Their short frocks were of white tarlatan, edged with lace, and much befrilled. Garlands of tiny rosebuds decked the skirts, and the bodices were trimmed with blue ribbons and gilt paper hearts. Toy Cupids perched on their shoulders, and love-knots of blue decked their hair.

“Do you expect Lieutenant Herron?” Helen asked, as they awaited the guests.

“Rather!” returned Patty, “considering he’s always about wherever you are.”

“Me! It’s you he hovers over! Don’t be coy, – you don’t fool your little Bumble-bee!”

“Don’t you be a silly!” laughed Patty; “I’ve no use for the Herron person. If he’s here tonight, I’ll take it as a favour if you’ll charm him away from my haunts.”

“Can’t do it,” and Helen shrugged her shoulders. “He won’t be charmed. Moreover, I’ve a lot of my own particular friends coming, and I’ll have my hands full to entertain them.”

“Nan was right when she called you a camp belle. You’re looking sweet tonight, Bumble, and I s’pect some man will buy you for a valentine. Is Chester coming?”

“I s’pose so. Wish he wasn’t! He’s such a burr.”

“Yes, he does stick to you. I’ll take him for a while, and give you some rest. I like Mr. Wilde a whole lot.”

The guests began to arrive, and soon the rooms were really crowded. The valentines sold quickly, for those who did not want them bought “for the good of the cause.”

Lieutenant Herron came early, and as Bumble had predicted, he attached himself to Patty’s train of followers.

“Such a clutter of men about you!” he exclaimed, as he sought her side, edging his way through a group of valentine buyers. “I say, Miss Fairfield, let some one else sell these people for a while, and you come and have an ice with me, won’t you?”

“I’m not selling the people!” cried Patty, smiling, “I’m selling valentines.”