Patty's Summer Days

Glad of the opportunity, Patty ran for her automobile coat and hood, and soon they were flying along the country roads.

Part of the time they went at a mad rate of speed, and part of the time they went slower, that they might converse more easily.

As they went somewhat slowly past a piece of woods, Patty gave a sudden exclamation, and declared that she saw what looked like a baby or a young child wrapped in a blanket and lying on the ground.

Her face expressed such horror-stricken anxiety, as she thought that possibly the child had been abandoned and left there purposely, that Mr. Phelps consented to go back and investigate the matter, although he really thought she was mistaken in thinking it was a child at all.

He turned his machine, and in a moment they were back at the place.

Mr. Phelps jumped from the car, and ran into the wood where Patty pointed.

Sure enough, under a tree lay a baby, perhaps a year old, fairly well dressed and with a pretty smiling face.

He called to Patty and she joined him where he stood looking at the child.

“Why, bless your heart!” cried Patty, picking the little one up, “what are you doing here all alone?”

The baby cooed and smiled, dimpling its little face and caressing Patty’s cheeks with its fat little hands. A heavy blanket had been spread on the ground for the child to lie on, and around its little form was pinned a lighter blanket with the name Rosabel embroidered on one corner.

“So that’s your name, is it?” said Patty. “Well, Rosabel, I’d like to know where you belong and what you’re doing here. Do you suppose,” she said, turning an indignant face to Mr. Phelps, “that anybody deliberately put this child here and deserted it?”

“I’m afraid that’s what has happened,” said Mr. Phelps, who really couldn’t think of any other explanation.

They looked all around, but nobody was in sight to whom the child might possibly belong.

“I can’t go away and leave her here,” said Patty, “the dear little thing, what shall we do with her?”

“It is a mighty hard case,” said Mr. Phelps, who was nonplussed himself. He was a most gentle-hearted man, and could not bear the thought of leaving the child there alone in the woods, and it was already nearing sundown.

“We might take it along with us,” he said, “and enquire at the nearest house.”

“There’s no house in sight,” said Patty, looking about. “Well, there are only two things to choose from; to stay here in hope that somebody will come along, who knows something about this baby, or else assume that she really has been deserted and take her home with us, for the night at least. I simply won’t go off and leave her here, and if there was anybody here in charge of her they must have shown up by this time.”

Mr. Phelps could see no use in waiting there any longer, and though it seemed absurd to carry the child off with them, there really seemed nothing else to do.

So with a last look around, hoping to see somebody, but seeing no one, Patty climbed into the car and sitting in the front seat beside Mr. Phelps, held the baby in her lap.

“She’s awfully cunning,” she declared, “and such a pretty baby! Whoever abandoned this child ought to be fearfully punished in some way.”

“I can’t think she was abandoned,” said Mr. Phelps, but as he couldn’t think of any other reason for the baby being there alone, he was forced to accept the desertion theory.

Having decided to take the baby with them, they sped along home, and drew up in front of the house to find Nan and Mr. Fairfield on the verandah.

“Why, how do you do, Mr. Phelps?” cried Nan. “We’re very glad to see you. Come in. For gracious goodness’ sake, Patty, what have you got there?”

“This is Rosabel,” said Patty, gravely, as she held the baby up to view.

CHAPTER XIX

ROSABEL

“Rosabel who?” exclaimed Nan, as Patty came up on the verandah with the baby in her arms.

“I don’t know, I’m sure. You may call her Rosabel anything you like. We picked her up by the wayside.”

“Yes,” said Dick Phelps, who had followed Patty up the steps. “Miss Rosabel seemed lonely without anyone to talk to, so we brought her back here to visit you.”

“You must be crazy!” cried Nan, “but what a cunning baby it is! Let me take her.”

Nan took the good-natured little midget and sat down in a verandah rocker, with the baby in her arms.

“Tell a straight story, Patty,” said her father, “is it one of the neighbour’s children, or did you kidnap it?”

“Neither,” said Patty, turning to her father; “we found the baby lying right near the edge of a wood, in plain sight from the road. And there was nobody around, and Papa, I just know that the child’s wretch of a mother deserted it, and left it there to die!”

“Nonsense,” said her father. “Mothers don’t leave their little ones around as carelessly as that.”

“Well, what else could it be?” said Patty. “There was the baby all alone, smiling and talking to herself, and no one anywhere near, although we waited for some time.”

“It does seem strange,” said Mr. Fairfield, “perhaps the mother did mean to desert the child, but if so, she was probably peeping from some hiding-place, to make sure that she approved of the people who took it.”

“Well,” said Mr. Phelps, “she evidently thought we were all right; at any rate she made no objection.”

“But isn’t it awful,” said Nan, “to think of anybody deserting a dear little thing like this. Why, the wild animals might have eaten her up.”

“Of course they might,” said Mr. Phelps, gravely, “the tigers and wolves that abound on Long Island are of the most ferocious type.”

“Well, anyway,” said Patty, “something dreadful might have happened to her.”

“It may yet,” said Mr. Phelps cheerfully, “when we take her back to-morrow and put her in the place we found her. For I don’t suppose you intend to keep Miss Rosabel, do you?”

“I don’t know,” said Patty, “but I know one thing, we certainly won’t put her back where we found her. What shall we do with her, Papa?”

“I don’t know, my child, she’s your find, and I suppose it’s a case of ‘findings is keepings.’”

“Of course we can’t keep her,” said Patty, “how ridiculous! We’ll have to put her in an orphan asylum or something like that.”

“It’s a shame,” said Nan, “to put this dear little mite in a horrid old asylum. I think I shall adopt her myself.”

Little Rosabel had begun to grow restless, and suddenly without a word of warning she began to cry lustily, and not a quiet well-conducted cry either, but with ear-splitting shrieks and yells, indicative of great discomfort of some sort.

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Nan, abruptly. “I don’t want to adopt any such noisy young person as that. Here, take her, Patty, she’s your property.”

Patty took the baby, and carried her into the house, fearing that passers-by would think they must be torturing the child to make her scream like that.

Into the dining-room went Patty, and on to the kitchen, where she announced to the astonished cook that she wanted some milk for the baby and she wanted it quick.

“Is there company for dinner, Miss Patty?” asked the cook, not understanding how a baby could have arrived as an only guest.