Patty's Butterfly Days

"I will not!" exclaimed Patty, and trying hard to repress her giggles, she fled back through her window, and drew the curtains.

"I didn't know you were to have acting on the floats," said Aunt Adelaide, innocently.

"I'm not sure that we shall," returned Farnsworth, easily. "I had a notion it would be effective, but perhaps not. Do you know where Miss Dow is, by any chance?"

"Why, I think she's just starting for the Sayres'. Yes, there she goes now,—walking down the path." "WILL you excuse me then, Mrs. Parsons, if I make a hurried exit? I want to see her on a MOST important matter."

Big Bill fairly flung himself down the little staircase that led from the upper veranda to the lower one, and in a few moments, with long strides, he had overtaken Daisy, who was alone.

"Whoop-ee! Daisy, wait a minute!" he cried, as he neared her.

"What for?" and Daisy turned, smiling, but her smile faded as she caught sight of Bill's face.

"Because I tell you to!" thundered Bill. "Because I want to talk to you,—and, right now!"

"I—I'm going on an errand—" faltered Daisy, fairly frightened at his vehemence.

"I don't care if you're going on an errand for the Czar of Russia; you turn around, and walk along with me."

"Where to?"

"Wherever I lead you! Here's a rose arbour, this will do. In with you!"

Daisy entered the arbour, trembling. She had never seen Farnsworth so angry before, and her guilty conscience made her feel sure he had discovered her treachery. In the arbour they were screened from observation, and Bill lowered his voice.

"Now," said he, "tell me all about this 'Spirit of the Sea' business.

What underhanded game did you play to get the part away from Patty Fairfield?"

"I didn't! She told Guy Martin she wouldn't take it."

"Yes; she wrote him a note. Now, in some way or other, you made her write that note. How did you do it?"

"Did she tell you I made her write it?"

"No, she didn't! She said she wrote it, but she wouldn't tell me why."

Daisy's eyes opened wide. Then Patty KNEW the note had been given to Guy in her name, and yet she didn't denounce Daisy! Such generosity was almost outside Daisy's comprehension, and she paused to think it out.

At last she said:

"Why do YOU think she wouldn't tell you?"

"I don't THINK, I KNOW! A man has only to look into Patty Fairfield's clear, honest eyes to know that she's incapable of meanness or deceit. While you,—forgive me, Daisy, but I've known you for years,—and you ARE capable of gaining your own ends by underhanded methods."

"What do you accuse me of?" and Daisy's air of injured innocence was well assumed.

"I don't know," and Bill looked exceedingly perplexed. "But I DO know that in some way you persuaded Patty to give up that part, because you wanted it yourself."

Daisy drew a long breath of relief. Then, she thought, he didn't know, after all, just what she HAD done, and perhaps she could carry it through yet.

"You're mistaken," she said, in a kind way, "Patty did write that note, but she had her own reasons, and she desired, especially, that no one should mention the subject to her."

"Yes," said Bill, "and it's that strange reluctance to having the subject mentioned that makes me suspect YOUR hand in the matter. Patty refused to discuss it with me, but the look of blank astonishment in her face, when I referred to that note, convinced me there's a bit of deviltry SOMEWHERE. And I ascribe it to you!"

"You do me an injustice," and now Daisy's tone was haughty and distant; "but I cannot resent it. For Patty's sake, I too must refuse to discuss this matter. Think of me as you will,—I cannot defend myself."

Daisy's face grew so sad and martyr-like that generous-hearted Bill was almost convinced of her innocence.

"I say, Daisy," he began, "if I'm wronging you in this matter, I'll never forgive myself."

"Oh, never mind, Bill; I'm used to being misunderstood. But I'll forgive you, if you'll promise never to refer to the subject again to me, or to any one else."

Bill might have promised this, but the too eager gleam in Daisy's eyes again roused his suspicions. And just then he saw Patty crossing a bit of lawn near them.

"Whoo-ee!" he called, and as Patty turned, he beckoned for her to come to them.

"What's wanted?" called Patty, gaily, as she neared the arbour.

"You," said Bill, while Daisy sank down on the arbour seat, and seemed to crumple up in abject fear of what was about to happen.

"Now, Miss Fairfield," Bill began, "there's a little matter I want cleared up. It's the note you wrote to Mr. Martin saying you didn't wish to be Spirit of the Sea."

Daisy cast one piteous, despairing glance at Patty, and then covered her face in her hands.

At first, Patty's blue eyes flashed with a righteous indignation, to think how Daisy had abused her kindness in writing that note at dictation. Then a great wave of compassion swept through her heart. The deed was so foreign to her own nature that she felt deep pity for one who was capable of such a thing. And Daisy's evident misery roused her sympathy. She didn't stop to think that probably Daisy's regret was at being found out and not for the deed itself, but Patty's forgiveness was full and free, even before it was asked. In her unbounded generosity of heart, she resolved to shield Daisy from Farnsworth's wrath.

"What about the note?" she asked, simply.

"Did you write it?"

"I did."

"Did any one force or persuade you to write it?"

"I did it willingly, and without compulsion."

"Did Daisy know you wrote it?"

"She knew it, yes. She gave it to Guy Martin."

Bill was nonplussed. He KNEW there was some secret about that note, but he couldn't quite fathom it.

And every word Patty spoke, though quite true, and seeming to exonerate Daisy, made the guilty girl more and more amazed that one she had so injured COULD be so forgiving.

"Didn't you want to be Spirit of the Sea?" Bill said at last, desperately anxious on that point.

Patty hesitated. She couldn't truly say she didn't, and to say she did would bring up the question of the note again.