Front matter (continued 3)

Pat had never known before the wholesomeness of jolly comradeship with a large circle of boys and girls; she found it now in these pleasant gatherings at the Lees. Bob Slocum and Peggy could think of so many games; Jim Archer--all in one afternoon--had composed, staged, and produced a melodrama, "Heinie the Hun," although, because Pat could not control her giggling, the irate author-manager had made her play the drum to mark the dramatic climaxes. There were endless and lively discussions over everything under sun and earth; jolly songs with Mrs. Lee at the piano, and always some careful eye to notice when Garrett showed signs of fatigue.

And to Pat the best of all was when Garrett, one afternoon, had confided to her that he was planning an airship with a new kind of stabilizer; showed her his drawings and explained how, for days since his illness, he had been studying a housefly which he had caught and imprisoned in the old fish bowl. Pat wanted very much to tell the others what great things Garrett was going to do but he had made her promise on her scout's honor to keep his secret, so she carried it faithfully locked away in her heart, proud that Garrett should have honored her with his confidence after the unhappy accident at Hill-top!

"We're pals--just's if I was a boy," she said to herself.

As the weeks slipped by Renée, to Aunt Pen's delight, was rapidly developing a fascinating and forceful personality. With so many true friends and playmates the shyness had gradually disappeared from her manner; contrasted with Pat's dynamic spirits Renée would always seem quiet, but her will was strong and often, in her gentle way, she was a leader among the young people. With a character that had been moulded and guarded by a simple life, she had in her a rare beauty and purity of thought that seemed to shine in her pretty face and clear eyes. Happiness and healthy living were dispelling the shadows from her young life; she could talk of Susette and the old cottage without a quivering of the lips; she often drew for Pat, as though she enjoyed it, a vivid description of how splendid Emile had looked in his uniform as he had marched away with the others--a rose she had given him stuck jauntily in his belt!

The cessation of the fighting and the approaching peace had brought many problems. Wounded men were coming home, employment was uncertain, living expenses soaring higher and higher; actual want stalked in many homes. And to add to it all a terrible epidemic had raged through the city, leaving in its wake untold misery and suffering.

There was serious work for everyone to do. There were countless ways in which the Girl Scouts helped. "Good turns," they called it and they held themselves always ready for the command of any organization, never counting one moment of sacrifice, tireless and faithful.

"What do you think now?" Pat burst in upon her family from a special meeting of the troop. "The Scouts are going to adopt families!"

This astonishing announcement caused Mr. Everett to throw up his hands in mock dismay.

"Good gracious, Pat, black or white?"

"I'm really very serious, Daddy, and Mrs. Townsend from the Red Cross says we can make it a beautiful work! One family is assigned to each of us. We give as much time as we can spare and do everything we can--amuse the children, take 'em out, make things easier for the mothers so's they can rest and get strong again! You see these are families that have been sick. Mine is Mrs. K-a-s-u-b-o-w-s-k-i," she read from a card.

Pat had, in her way, expressed the scout orders. To each of the older scouts had been assigned a family that had suffered from the epidemic. Each girl was to work under the direction of the District Nurse and in coöperation with the Red Cross. She was to give brief reports of each visit. And knowing that these girls could, in the homes to which they were sent, win trust where older women often met suspicion and unfriendliness, the Red Cross hoped to build up through their services, a sympathy and understanding that would benefit everyone and draw more closely the bonds of common interest.

In her youthful mind Pat did not sense any such vision; she only knew that her scout orders directed her to go and do all she could for a family whose name she simply could not pronounce; that her card stated that there was a Rosa, aged seven, a Josef, age six, a Stephanie, aged three and a baby Peter; that everyone of them had been desperately ill, including the father and mother; that only within the last two or three weeks had the father been able to go back to work and that upon the poor mother, still weak from the ravages of fever, had fallen the burden of making the meagre savings tide them over.

Pat called them all her "Kewpies." Her first two visits left her discouraged, the children were dirty and quarrelsome, the mother unfriendly. But, gradually, armed with picture books and toys, Pat won the liking of the little ones; at the next visit she gave them cakes of soap which Renée had carved to resemble dogs and pigs and promised them more if they would use these "all up"; warm sunshine permitted a long walk and outdoor play and Mrs. Kewpie, gratefully realizing that for an hour she was absolutely without chick or child, caught a much-needed moment of rest!

Renée had not been given a family by the Red Cross. At first she was disappointed, then, wholeheartedly, she fell to helping Pat. Aunt Pen and Daddy, too, were deeply interested. Almost every evening the "Kewpies" were discussed at the "pow-wow." Aunt Pen was aghast that Mrs. Kewpie could speak only a word or two of English!

"How can she be expected to bring up good American citizens--let alone be one herself?" she asked heatedly.

Through Rosa Pat learned that poor Mrs. Kewpie would really like to talk and read English. Her husband had learned it at his shop, the older children were learning it at school; less and less they were talking the only language she had ever known! She felt, with the quick instinct of her mother's heart, that they were growing away from her into a world of interests where she could not follow. No one had ever offered to teach her this new, strange tongue! She was afraid of the teachers in Rosa's school! She misunderstood and resented the approaches of the few English-speaking women she had met; proud herself, she had thought them patronizing and officious! But Pat was just a girl!

So Pat, quite unconsciously, began making a good American citizen out of Mrs. Kewpie. She found that the picture books she brought the children interested the mother, too--not because of the pictures alone but because the mother could make out, through them, the meaning of the words beneath them. When Pat told of this at home Aunt Pen thought of the beautiful plan of making for Mrs. Kewpie a primer out of pictures. Every evening, for a week, the entire Everett family worked industriously with scissors and paste, compiling what Aunt Pen laughingly called: "Everett's First Lessons in the American Language."

"She'll know all about this country of ours when she's graduated from this book," declared Mr. Everett, proudly smoothing down a colored picture of the Capitol at Washington.

"And for everything I teach her in English I'm going to ask her to teach me a word in Polish! It's such a funny looking language and then it sounds like music! They have lots of awfully exciting stories in their history--Keineth Randolph told us some that her father had told her! And in the next book, let's have pictures of flowers and mountains and water and things like the country, 'cause I guess poor Mrs. Kewpie thinks there aren't such things!"

Prompted by this thought on her next visit Pat carried to the Kewpie kitchen a pink geranium plant. Then she conceived the idea of making the untidy kitchen look as much like Mrs. Quinn's as possible! So interested did she grow in her work that for two afternoons she completely forgot basketball practice, thereby bringing down upon her head the fury of the Captain of the Yellowbirds!

And when Baby Peter fell sick with some digestive disorder, Pat, with the help of the District Nurse, was able to persuade Mrs. Kewpie that a daily bath would reduce the slight fever and to substitute the sweet, fresh milk that the nurse had brought in the place of the coffee she was accustomed to feed the baby.

Now Renée, to her delight, was given an opportunity to share the "good turns."

One afternoon Mrs. Lee, always an angel of kindness and of wide charity, had sought Renée's help. She explained to Renée, as they walked along together, that this was a "case" of her own, and that she was taking her to this house because she thought she might bring a little sunshine into a very lonely life there.

"Poor Mrs. Forrester is very cross and very queer, my dear! No one ever goes to see her now and she lives all alone with a servant almost as old as she is! I thought that if you would go there once in awhile and read to her you might help her pass the long hours."

Mrs. Lee did not add that she hoped the child's quiet, sympathetic manner might waken some tenderness in a heart as cold and dead as stone.

Mrs. Forrester lived in a very old house in an out-of-the-way street. Standing almost concealed by trees and overgrown shrubbery, it looked like some forgotten corner of the big, growing city. The door creaked on its hinges as the untidy old servant grudgingly opened it just far enough to permit them to enter. The rooms were dark, dusty and absolutely bare of any furnishings except a few worn chairs. Not a picture, not a book, not one spot of color was to be seen! There were no curtains at the windows and the cracked dingy-brown shades had been pulled close to the sill as though to forbid one tiny gleam of sunlight filtering through.

Renée thought it the most horrid house she had ever seen and wondered how Mrs. Lee could step into it so cheerfully!

But always tender with old people, she immediately felt sorry for the queer old woman propped up against a pile of pillows in a great, ugly bed.

"It isn't that she's so very old--or sick! I believe she just won't stir! Mrs. Lee says she has had a very unhappy life," Renée explained at home. Now Mrs. Forrester and the ugly old stone house shared the interest of the pow-wow.

Another time Renée told, with much amusement, how she had insisted upon raising the shade at the bedroom window so that Mrs. Forrester might see how spring-like the sun made everything look and how the old lady had promptly hopped out of bed and had pulled it down with such a snap that it fell to the floor!

"But she just had to go back to bed and leave it there and I went on reading's though nothing had happened and I know she really loved the sunshine because she lay there as quiet as could be, staring at the window!"

But one afternoon Renée returned, deeply excited, with a secret that she kept for Pat's ears and the seclusion of the Eyrie.

"I was reading something awfully stupid for I thought she might go to sleep and I know she wasn't listening at all, and finally I heard her say, "If I could find my baby--I'd be ready to die!" Now I wasn't reading a thing about dying or a baby and she frightened me dreadfully! I suppose she had forgotten I was there. Then when I went on reading she said it again--real plain! Now, Pat, isn't that exciting? Where do you suppose her baby is and how'd she ever lose it?"

None of Pat's experiences could equal this for mystery! Pat stared at Renée and Renée stared back; in the quiet of the Eyrie they thought up all sorts of explanations and stories--tragic, all of them! Pat fairly shivered with delight.

"Aren't you lucky, Renée--to have such a spliffy mystery! It's just spooky! I'm going to write a story about that! You get her to talk more--read a lot about babies and listen hard! And talk to that old Crosspatch, maybe she'll tell you something. That's the way they always do in detective stories. Something dreadful must have happened to make her live like that, in that ugly old house! Oh, rapture, I know I'm going to be famous! This goes way ahead of Aunt Pen's story! Of course," she added, hastily, "I don't know all Aunt Pen's secret sorrow yet and she doesn't stay in bed and act queer! I think I'll call this "The Lost Baby!"

So that evening, armed with several newly-sharpened pencils and much of Daddy's writing paper, Pat began her first chapter. However, its progress met with a serious setback when Aunt Pen laid in her hands a letter from Angeline Snow. Pat opened it eagerly; she had not heard from any of her old schoolmates at Miss Prindle's for a long time.

She read it quickly. Miss Angeline, in a few breezy sentences, informed Pat that she would come immediately to make her a visit!

"... You were such a dear to ask me (Pat read that twice, thoughtfully)--and the doctor says I need a teeny rest. Mama is in California and of course I cannot go to her! But we'll have a perfectly sweet time together and I'm just dying to see you again. We've missed you dreadfully here! I have bushels to tell you--just you. (About the girls and things--you'll die when you hear it all!) I'll come on the Empire on Thursday, so please meet me. I have a stunning new hat, henna and turquoise blue and a feather you'll want to eat. Bye-bye, your Angeline."

So intent was Pat upon examining the gold crest on the paper that she did not see the curious look that flashed over Aunt Pen's face.

"Good gracious," she exclaimed, suddenly, "that's to-morrow!"

"Yes," Aunt Pen answered quietly, "and we must do everything we can to make her visit pleasant!"

CHAPTER XVII

ANGELINE

At a first glimpse, from the crown of her glossy black head to the patent tip of her smart little shoe, Angeline Snow, arriving the day following, was like a stranger to Pat!

Pat had left her at the close of that last term of school, after parting embraces and repeated pledges of undying friendship, a girl, long of leg and short of skirt like herself; now she beheld a fascinating young creature whose slim body was robed in a dress of the most stylish fabric and cut, its clinging skirts reaching quite to the tops of the little patent leather shoes, and the hair that Pat had always loved to braid and unbraid was pinned in curious puffs and waves close to the small head.

However, in the transformation, Angeline had lost none of the fascination that had made of Pat, in the old days at Miss Prindle's, a sort of adoring slave. She was amazingly pretty, her black hair made her white skin dazzling, the faintest of rose-pink flushed her cheeks and the tip of her pointed chin; her eyes set deep under long black lashes were as blue as a June sky; her mouth alone marred the perfection of her face--when the lips were not twisted into an affected smile, acquired after faithful study before the mirror, they glaringly betrayed the girl's little weaknesses.

There might well be some doubt in anyone's mind as to why a doctor had prescribed a rest for the young lady! From the moment when, clasping her Pekinese under her arm and followed by a porter with two huge shiny leather suitcases she stepped down from the train, she fairly bubbled with spirits!

Quickly Pat fell under the old charm! Because Renée had developed a light attack of influenza which confined her to her bed and kept Aunt Pen in close attendance, lessons were suspended and the two girls were left very much to themselves. At Aunt Pen's suggestion Pat moved into Celia's room, which adjoined the room assigned to Angeline. A door opened from one to another and every night and morning Pat crept in under Angeline's covers for a little while and listened breathlessly while Angeline told the "secrets" of the school. Almost always there was a box of chocolates under Angeline's pillow so that at regular intervals the stories were interrupted while the two girls munched on the candies.

"The very most exciting thing of all--and don't you dare breathe it to a soul"--and Angeline sat bolt upright and clasped her arms about her knees--"is the awful scrape that Jule Kale and I got into and that's really why I'm here!"

Jule Kale had been a Junior when Pat had been at Miss Prindle's. Pat remembered her as a daring young lady whose adventures had more than once thrilled her and the other girls in the school.

"You know she'd been writing to a French soldier for over a year, even after Prin said we couldn't and what do you think! He came to New York! He was the handsomest thing--the girls were all crazy about him, when we described him! He wrote to Jule right away and asked her to meet him at the Waldorf and she went real often and took me with her. I used to take a book and pretend to read, but I watched every minute so's I could tell the other girls. Once he bought me some chocolate, too, when Jule told why I was sitting there. He said there were some more Frenchmen coming over and he'd introduce them to us! Oh, the girls were wild with excitement! Then one afternoon Jule went to a tea-room and danced with him and she didn't take me and some one saw her there and told Prin and Jule was awfully scared, 'cause you remember Prin had told her that the next scrape she was in she'd have to leave the school! And what does Jule do but tell Prin that he was her cousin who had been in the French flying service! And Prin insisted that she invite him up to school for dinner like we always do our relatives and have him give a talk about the war and Jule had the worst time explaining how he had to go away and couldn't come! And we knew all the while that Prin was sniffing around the way she does for more information so Jule thought I'd better go away for awhile so's she couldn't question me! I pretended to faint one day--I can do it awfully well now--and Prin never said a word when I told her I wanted to come here for a visit. But wasn't that all exciting and wouldn't it be funny if some day Jule married the French soldier? His name is Henri Dupres. Only Jule says his teeth are all filled with gold and he shows 'em all the time as if he was proud of them!"

Contrasted to these exciting revelations Pat felt that the telling of her little experiences--the happy school with Aunt Pen, the Eyrie and its secrets, the jolly hours at the Lee's, the basketball games, the Scout work and play, would be stupid to Angeline!

Aunt Pen had bade Pat do everything she could to entertain her guest; Pat found that Angeline was easily entertained. Indeed, the young lady never failed to indicate with daring frankness just what she wanted to do and what she did not want to do. And to Pat's dismay none of Angeline's desires included any of the other girls! Angeline stated very plainly that she considered Peggy "stupid," Keineth "a kid," and Sheila--"downright common."

"Why, do you mean she lives in that tumble-down house and her mother keeps lodgers?" she had asked with scorn.

Pat had opened her lips to answer and then closed them quickly. Something within her told her that nothing she could say would win Angeline's approval of Sheila--she, too, months ago, when she was at Miss Prindle's, might have thought the same thing!

Angeline, with pretty condescension, found Renée interesting. "Poor little refugee!" she said when Pat told Renée's story.

The two girls divided their time in the moving-picture theatres, the chocolate shops and the stores. Angeline never tired of hanging over counters and showcases; because she was smartly dressed and possessed a fund of information as to styles, she commanded respect and attention from the clerks. Each day Pat grew more and more envious and impressed by Angeline's "grown-upness."

Under Angeline's influence Pat began to feel ashamed of her own simple garments and to contrast them unhappily with the finery Angeline spread out over the bed for her inspection. She turned the henna and turquoise creation over and over while Angeline told that it had cost twenty-five whole dollars! "That's more than Renée and I earned all winter," Pat thought. And Angeline put into her hands a pair of pumps, gleefully remarking that "they were sixteen and I got them for twelve--wasn't that a great bargain?"

In her rude way, which Angeline considered pretty frankness, she made Pat understand, too, that she was "simply amazed" to find that Pat lived in such a plain old house!

"Of course it's nice and roomy and all that--and a long time ago it must have been fashionable, but you just ought to see Brenda Chisholm's father's new house on the Drive--why, it's like a palace!" She enlarged, then, upon its grandeur until Pat felt deep chagrin that her father had preferred to live on in the old homestead rather than to move into a newer part of the city.

Pat knew that she loved the old library with its deep fireplace and the rows of book shelves reaching to the ceiling and the long, deep windows overlooking the slope of lawn between her house and Sheila's, the old paintings on the walls and the softly colored rugs; she knew that her own room, over the library, held all her memories of nursery days; that she loved the way the morning sun, streaming in through the little conservatory where the birds sang among the flowers, turned to gold the dark oak panels of the dining-room. However, it must seem shabby to Angeline after she had visited Brenda's new home! She looked at the more modern houses they were passing, great piles of stone and marble surrounded by well-kept lawns, and resolved to urge her Daddy to move immediately!

One morning, a week after Angelina's arrival, the girls found themselves with nothing to do. Aunt Pen had taken Renée out for a walk in the Park. The sun was shining warmly, buds were appearing on the lilac bushes, everywhere was the hint of spring. Aunt Pen had declared she had heard an oriole, she and Renée had started in search of the songster's nest. Pat had watched them depart with a little longing in her heart and a hurt that they had not even asked her and Angeline to go with them! Yet she knew how Angeline would have scoffed at the suggestion of a walk in the Park!

Angeline now was arranging and rearranging her hair before the mirror. Pat was crossly wishing she'd stop--she'd been fussing there for ages! "What'll we do?" she asked, as Renée's and Aunt Pen's figures disappeared up the street.

"Oh, let's go out somewhere for lunch. Then we can shop. You know, I think it's a shame your aunt doesn't buy you some decent things! If I were you I'd just go and get them myself! My goodness, you're too old to be dressed like a little kid. How the girls at school will laugh when I tell them!"

Pat's face flushed crimson. Angeline went on in her persuasive voice; "If you don't just show your independence sometime they'll go on treating you like a child! Of course it's none of my business, but you're my dearest friend and I do feel sorry for you! And I can help you pick out--oh, just a few things!"

Pat gave her head a little toss! "Shall we walk or ride?" she asked, mutely yielding to Angeline's tempting.

"Oh, dear me, ride, of course! I couldn't walk a block in those heels!" and Angeline extended one of the bargain pumps for a loving inspection.

It was necessary, before they started forth, for Pat to open her treasure box in the Eyrie and take from it the crisp six dollar bills which she had ready for her Victory pledge, due on April first. This, with her week's allowance, seemed a great deal of money and would surely meet the expenses of their outing.

As they whirled along the street toward the shopping section of the city Pat caught Angeline's gay mood. With a little thrill she told herself that they were embarked upon an adventure! At Angeline's suggestion they lunched at a fashionable restaurant, always thronged at the noon-hour. Emboldened by Angeline's composed manner, Pat gradually lost her own awkward consciousness and enjoyed to the fullest the gay bustle and confusion, the clatter of china, the music rising discordantly above the endless chatter at the tables.

"This is more like what we girls do at school," declared Angeline, dipping her pink finger-tips into the glass bowl before her. "And now let's go to the stores and find some things for you!"

Under Angeline's direction this was an absorbing process. She recalled a love of a taffeta dress they had seen in a window. Of course it could be charged--everyone must know who Miss Everett was! Fortunately for the success of their shopping they found a clerk who had often sold dresses to both Mrs. Everett and Celia. Anxious to make a sale, she assured Pat that the dress would look beautiful on her! She shook out its flounces temptingly as she said it. Angeline added that the flame-colored chiffon collar was "chic--everyone's wearing them in New York!" Pat was promptly thrilled with a mental picture of herself in the stylish gown!

"Of course your aunt will look cross for a moment," Angeline whispered, "but it's really none of her business is it? I know my mother likes to have me look after myself!"

So Pat bought the dress, gave the address, and carried it away with her in a box. They then made other purchases; a silk and lace petticoat that Angeline declared a "love," some chiffon ties, a velvet bag with a jeweled top, a vanity case and a box of face powder.

"What fun!" cried Angeline, seizing some of the precious packages. "Now I tell you what let's do! Let's stop at that Madame Ranier's place and let her curl your hair and do it up! Then you'll look just peachy! All the girls are wearing their hair up now--truly, Pat! Why, you'd be ridiculous in New York!"

They found Madame Ranier's and Pat spent an uncomfortable hour before the mirror while a yellow-haired young woman curled her pretty hair with long, hot irons. Angeline hovered over them both, giving suggestions from time to time and exclaiming over the transformation. The hairpins hurt cruelly and Pat had a feeling that she could never move her head again; however, in spite of all this, she was secretly satisfied, as was Angeline and Madame and the young woman, that the result was most becoming and that she looked quite "grown-up!"

Then Angeline caught her arm. "Now, silly, just stand still one moment and I'll have you looking really like something," and to complete her afternoon's work, she dabbed at Pat's nose with the tiny powder puff she carried in her bag.

As they marched forth Pat tried to assume an airiness of manner she did not feel. Between their luncheon and Madame Ranier she had spent almost all of her money; the purchases she had had charged began to trouble her soul. Angeline stopped suddenly at Brown's window--she saw a book there that she declared she must have! All the girls were reading it! She ran in without another word and Pat could do nothing but follow her. The book, "All on a Summer's Day," was purchased and Pat paid for it out of what remained of her money.

"Prin said we younger girls couldn't read it, but guess she can't say anything to me now!"

"Now to wind up this jolly day, Pat--I'll treat," Angeline said, edging toward a chocolate shop.

As they sat down at one of the little tables Pat saw across the room Garrett and Peggy Lee and Keineth Randolph. Her first thought was to join them but something in their faces stopped her. In that moment's exchange of glances, though the girls had nodded pleasantly enough, Pat read surprise, disgust, and outright amusement!

A deep crimson dyed her face, in funny contrast to the powdery whiteness of her nose. Trying to assume an indifferent air she turned her back on the others and devoted herself to Angeline; her pride and satisfaction had fled, though, leaving her deeply hurt, not so much because of the girls' suppressed ridicule as by the thought that they had not invited her and Angeline to join them.

Then Garrett added the last drop to her humiliation! As they trooped out, giving a passing smile to Pat and her guest, Garrett slyly poked Pat in the back and, leaning over, whispered: "Where'd you lose your ears, Miss Everett?" Involuntarily Pat clapped her hands to the curly puffs that were pinned carefully over her ears and threw Garrett a wrathful look!

But her adventure was ending most dismally! Reaching home she threw her boxes and bags and the book on her bed and fiercely shook out the miserable hairpins! For ten minutes she brushed the offending curls and then braided them into a tight pigtail. If Aunt Pen noticed the work of Madame Ranier's young woman, or the daub of powder still decorating the bridge of Pat's nose, she said nothing; neither did she question Pat concerning her absence at luncheon. She and Renée were in high good humor, they had had a happy afternoon and Renée was herself again.

"Pat, dear, don't you think--Renée is all better now--we might have some sort of a party in honor of Angeline?"

Angeline's expressive face brightened. She was always prettily agreeable when with the family. She clapped her hands to express her delight.

"Let's have a dinner dance," she cried; then--"oh, how dreadful of me to speak right out--like that!" and she affected deep embarrassment.

"I had in mind a picnic at Hill-top on Saturday. The roads are open and we can all motor out, have lunch and then go to the sugar camp. The sap is running well, Mrs. Lee says."

Aunt Pen kept her eyes on her knitting and did not see the blank look of astonishment that crossed Angeline's face. Pat had exclaimed eagerly over the suggestion:

"I've never seen a sugar camp, have you, Renée?"

"Then I will tell Mrs. Lee that we will all go, Sheila and Peggy and Keineth, and Garrett may ask some of the boys. Garrett can drive their car too."

The next morning Angeline stayed locked in her room until after eleven o'clock. Then, hearing Pat in the adjoining room, she suddenly threw open the door and appeared fully dressed, even to the henna hat. To Pat's exclamation of astonishment she answered:

"I'm going back on the Empire! Will you tell Watkins? Now don't be a silly and make a fuss, Pat--just tell your aunt that I had a telegram! Jule wrote that everything was smoothed over and that I was missing some fun! So you don't think I'm going to stay any longer in this dead hole!" She snuggled her face in the Pekinese. "You've been a dear to keep me, Pat, but, you poor child, couldn't you see I was just bored to death? And a sugar-party! Oh, la, la--won't the girls laugh? Why, I wouldn't be seen dead at one!"

Slowly Pat stiffened until she stood as though made of stone. Her lips tried to frame the tumult of wrath that raged within her, but she only managed to say lamely: "I'll tell Watkins--if you've really--got to go!"

So Angeline and her dog and her bags of finery departed and ten minutes later, the rage in Pat's soul bursting all bounds, she presented herself at Aunt Pen's door, her arms filled with the hateful purchases of the day before, her face red with the effort to choke back her tears.

Aunt Pen had just come in. So she was amazed when Pat burst out: "She's gone and I'm glad of it! I just hate her! She said we were stupid and that Sheila was common--and she was--bored to death and we--we weren't fashionable--and--and she wouldn't be seen dead at a sugar-party! As if anyone wanted her, anyway!"

"Pat, dear, one thing at a time! Who's gone? Angeline?"

Pat dumped her boxes on the floor and sitting like a little girl on Aunt Pen's lap told of Angeline's dramatic departure. She could not see the smile that stole over Aunt Pen's face; she could not know that the sugar-party had been planned to bring about just what had happened! Wise Aunt Pen had decided that Pat had had just about as much of Angeline's company as was good for her! She listened to the tale of the shopping, glanced at each purchase, then patted the hair that was still curly.

"Poor Patsy, what a time you've had!"

"But I hate her, Aunt Pen, and I hate myself for ever having let her say Sheila was common! Dear old Sheila!"

"Well, dear, you've learned something in values--all around! Sheila, even though her life is a continual sacrifice of all the pleasures and luxuries most girls have, is a finer girl and a more worth-while friend than poor Angeline--and I think the next time you'll stand up for her, won't you, my dear? Now, for the book--that's the place for that," aiming it at the waste-basket, "and if you want some novels I'll find you some that are more thrilling and better brain-food. Your curls"--she fondled the dark head--"they are pretty, Pat--it's too bad we aren't all born with curly hair and there's no particular harm in having it curled, only--it does take so much time that could be spent in some much better way! And after a few years you can do up these braids and be a young lady, but for awhile longer we want our Pat a girl that can romp and play and get all the joy that youth alone offers!"

"Oh, Aunt Pen, you make me feel as if I'd been so silly! But what on earth will I do with all these things!" and Pat kicked at the offending boxes.

"Well," Aunt Pen glanced appraisingly over the spilled contents. "You can give the bag to Melodia and the vanity case to Maggie and we'll just go back with the other things and ask the store manager to exchange them for--what do you say to shoes for all the Kewpies?"

"Oh, joy! For Easter! Oh, you're such a comfort, Aunt Pen!"

"Seriously, Pat, do you feel that you really need a dress? Perhaps I have neglected you!"

"Oh, gracious no, I don't want to fuss with any more clothes! That's all Angeline talked about! Let's take this truck back right after luncheon!"

"Pat, dear, just a moment," Aunt Pen still had a little sermon tucked away in her mind. "You mustn't hate Angeline--when you think all this over you'll realize she has taught you a valuable lesson--perhaps you, too, have given her something in return! Each one of us has within us much that we give all unknowingly to others, that helps them. Think how much little Renée has taught you with her unselfish companionship and Sheila, who is so brave and cheerful and honest, and Peggy and all the others! And you must think that you, too, in turn, through your friendship, give them something of what is good in you! Can you understand what I mean? So let Angeline go away with grateful thoughts in your heart--she is silly now but some day she may outgrow all that and be a fine girl!"

Pat's face reflected Aunt Pen's seriousness. "I just ought to feel sorry for her 'cause she hasn't a mother and a daddy and an Aunt Pen like I have! But, oh, I don't want to ever look another piece of chocolate candy in the face again! And I'm as broke as broke can be and have spent even my Victory money and I'll have to draw more from 'LaDue and Everett' to meet my pledge and save all this month to pay it back," with a groan. "But, Aunt Pen, will we have the sugar-camp picnic just the same?"

"We surely will," smiled Aunt Pen, folding the dress back into its box, "and a good time, too!"

So Pat quickly forgot Angeline's insults, her abused stomach and her empty pocketbook in a happy anticipation of the day in the woods at Hill-top with the boys and girls who were her "really worth-while friends."

CHAPTER XVIII

FOR HIS COUNTRY

"Paddy! Pad-dy Quinn! You get right straight out of there!" The cry came from Sheila. Returning from school she had spied, as she turned into her walk, Paddy digging among her mother's precious tulips.

Sheila threw her books inside the kitchen door, taking pains to notice that the room was empty, and then went back to punish the culprit. Paddy lay crouched on the ground watching her with bright eyes and wagging his stub of a tail in a way that was anything but repentant!

Perhaps the only thing that Mrs. Quinn loved more than Paddy, except of course her Sheila and her Denny and her Matt and her Dare, were the bulbs that grew each spring in the little border bed along the old fence. Her tulips always put their tiny green leaves up through the earth long before any other tulips; they were always bigger and brighter and seemed almost human, the way they nodded on their silvery green stalks and leaned toward one another as though repeating, like old gossips the stories the robins sang over their heads. Each fall Mrs. Quinn carefully covered them over and each spring, at the first feel of warmth in the sunshine, she watched daily for the tiny green tips, as a mother might watch for the return of a long absent son.

The children shared her interest, too--they could not be her children if they did not love the flowers and birds and sunshine that made their living joyous! The fairy stories she had taught them in their babyhood, as she had rocked them in her loving arms, had made the familiar things about them have a magic of their own; the old clock in the corner was not ugly because elves lived in it by day and pranced from its old case at night; a fairy princess had her fairy-palace in the nearby tree tops, a prince hid in the wood box, the nodding posies that always budded and grew wherever Mrs. Quinn lived, were the souls of sprites and at night danced about under the star-light; the dew that could be found on the blades of grass in the early morning were the jewels that they dropped in their haste to flee back to hiding from the approaching dawn!

Trouble had been a frequent visitor in this magic household but the only mark it ever left was an added line in the corner of Mrs. Quinn's smiling lips, made by long night struggles over the dilapidated book which contained the family accounts. Even when left a widow with four children to bring up, she did not lose one bit of the optimism that, years before, had made the whole world her Denny's and hers for the conquering! Her Denny had been taken from her before any one of the dreams they had dreamed had come true; still, for her, he lived on in her Sheila and the three small boys who had red hair and blue eyes like the father, and she still dreamed the old dreams for them. "There was no cloud so dark but that it had its bright lining somewhere" was the brave philosophy with which she directed her household, and the meals that were often frugal she made cheery with some loving nonsense. The sacrifices Sheila had to make as she grew older were nothing because she knew her mother made them, too, and there was comfort in the sense of sharing. The summer before Mrs. Quinn had taken the old brick house, fashionable in its day, comfortable now, even in its shabbiness, and had rented its rooms to lodgers. With careful economy this slender income would keep them comfortable until the day, to which Sheila always looked forward, when she herself could earn money and give to the boys the advantages of education that she would not ask for herself. To her her own little ambitions were as nothing compared to the big things that must be done for the boys so that they would grow into great men!

Paddy had become, immediately upon his adoption, a favored member of the family. He had privileges, too, and these increased as he willed because, from the mother down, not one of them could speak crossly to what little Dare called "the orphing dog." He slept in a box near the stove when he was not stretched across the foot of one of the boy's beds; he ate from a plate under the chair in the corner, a spot of his own choosing, from which he could watch the course of the family meal and ask for a second helping when he wished. He shared the rise and fall of the family fortunes--a bit of liver when the rest had chicken, a good bone on a holiday, a new collar when Matt found, on the walk before the house, a crisp five-dollar bill that had no owner.

Though, as a dog--especially an "orphing" dog Paddy measured in good manners up to the average, he had occasionally, during the winter, fallen into deep disgrace. Time and again he had been found digging vigorously in the back yard. Both Mrs. Quinn and Sheila had protested violently! The bulbs were there and, too, it was Sheila's precious war-garden--the best in the troop! Paddy had been punished--severely for the Quinns; in spite of this he was found again and again at his mischief.

"Oh, dear, he'll ruin everything," Sheila had cried, eying the havoc Paddy had worked. The more the snow melted from the ground the more determined Paddy seemed to dig his way straight through to China!

Then Mrs. Quinn had made the ultimatum! The children heard it with worried faces; Paddy listened, disturbed, from the stove behind which, after a chastisement, he had taken refuge.

"If we find him at it once more he'll go straight to the pound! I'm not going to have my bulbs ruined!" And Mrs. Quinn had turned resolutely away from the dismay and grief she saw in four young faces.

Sheila knew that her mother had meant what she said. That was why, on this day, she had peeped into the kitchen before she went back to Paddy. If no one had seen him then he might have just one more chance!

"You're a bad, bad dog!" she said, advancing threateningly upon the culprit.

But Paddy barked protestingly. His whole manner seemed to say: "I'm through now. See what I've found!" And between his paws he held a small tin tube, badly discolored from long contact with the earth.

As Sheila leaned over he jumped upon her, then pawed the ground where the tube lay.

"What have you got? Don't you dare bury that in the tulip bed!" But he barked so hard in protest that Sheila gingerly picked up his treasure.

Under her fingers it came apart and from it dropped three folded slips of paper.

"For goodness sake!" cried Sheila, almost frightened. She smoothed them out; except for a slightly mouldy smell they were in good condition and the writing upon them could be easily read.

They were the lost formulas!

"Mother! Mother! Mother!" With one bound Sheila was in the house confronting her mother who had come up from the cellar, panting with alarm.

"Paddy's found 'em! Paddy's found 'em!" And she threw her arms about her mother's neck in a hug that swept the two of them straight into the big rocker!

"Sheila Quinn, are you loony? What have you got? And do stop that dog's barking!"

"Oh, mumsey, it's the lost formulas--they were buried in the tulip bed! That's what Paddy's been digging for--all this time!"

The two spread the papers out on the table and read them over and over.

"Don't they sound dreadful! Just's if they'd explode all by themselves!" whispered Sheila, recalling what Mr. Everett had said about the formulas.

So giving Paddy a warm hug by way of tribute Sheila put the formulas back in the tin tube and started forth to find Mr. Everett, to tell him the whole story. All through the winter the loss of the formulas had worried Mr. Everett. His experts had been working over the experiments again and in time would, of course, have made new formulas; it was the fear, however, that some other government already possessed the secret that had troubled, not only the officials of the Everett Works, but the United States government as well. So that when Sheila, with Aunt Pen, Pat and Renée, burst into the office with the wonderful news, Mr. Everett felt as though a great load was rolling off his shoulders!

A curious gathering inspected the dirty tube and listened to the story; Mr. Everett and his staff, some secret service men, two chemists from the experimental laboratory, in their long white coats, some workmen who were passing the door and had been attracted by the exclamations--and the girls. Mr. Everett questioned Sheila closely. She recalled that Paddy had--all winter long--barked a great deal at night, so much so that after awhile the family grew accustomed to it and did not notice it.

"Marx buried it--intending to go later and dig it up! The man was smart enough to know that if they'd been found on his possession nothing could have saved him. It was a lucky thing they kept him locked up so long! Your dog has done good work, Miss Sheila!"

Mr. Everett then, turning the tube over and over in his hands, said to one of the others in a low tone:

"After all--perhaps the best service we could do for our country and the world would be to bury it again--where it would lie forever and ever!"

That night, for the second time, Mr. Everett, with Pat, came to the Quinn kitchen. But this time he was accompanied by Aunt Pen and Renée, too. They made a very loud noise at the doorstep, as though dragging to the door some heavy object. Mr. Everett insisted that the three small Quinns must stay up and to make it certain drew little Dare to his knee.

"We're going to have a regular ceremony," declared Pat so solemnly that Mrs. Quinn nervously fell to lighting more gas jets and Sheila sent Matt off to the sink to wash the jam from his face.

"We must decorate Mr. Paddy Quinn for distinguished service," Pat finished. So the boys with shouts dragged Paddy from his basket--for Paddy believed in an early bed-hour--and set him in the centre of the merry circle. Thereupon Mr. Everett produced a handsome collar decorated with a red, white and blue bow and allowed Dare to fasten it about the shaggy neck. Everyone laughed at the comical picture Paddy made in his gay decoration! Then a knock came at the door and in trooped Peggy and Keineth, trying to look as though they had not known what had been happening!

Mr. Everett rose with much seriousness. "And now that everyone is here I want to present another badge of honor, that has been left in my keeping!" Sheila guessed what was coming! She threw one wildly happy look toward her mother and then stood quite still, blushing. Mr. Everett drew from his pocket the flat tissue-paper package, unwrapped it, and held up the badge of the Golden Eaglet.

"It gives me profound pleasure to return this to Miss Sheila Quinn! May she always keep and give to others, too, her sense of a true scout's honor! It is one of the strongest weapons we can carry!"

His voice was so earnest and the eyes he fixed on Sheila so full of sincere respect and admiration that the laughter in the room suddenly died. As Pat said afterwards: "It was just as though Sheila was a knight and was starting out on some crusade!" And Mrs. Quinn, who knew something of the weapons one needed to fight the battles of life, choked down a catch in her throat and Aunt Pen whispered something under her breath with a look that was like a caress for Sheila!

Then the girls opened the door and revealed a tub of ice cream on the threshold; while two of them were lifting it out of the ice Pat brought in and opened a big box full of dewy-wet pink roses.

Keineth went to the piano and played so that "the fairies danced," and then everyone sang--Dare, holding tightly to one of Mr. Everett's hands, almost splitting his throat in his effort to express his joy!

"Such an evening!" said Mrs. Quinn as she closed the door behind the last guest. "And who'd have ever thought of it at six o'clock and you, Matty, with your elbow out of your sleeve! Well, well, I guess those good folks don't mind a thing like that!"

"Mother--look!" Sheila had gone to the roses and had leaned over them to whisper good-night into the fragrant petals. And there, hidden among the leaves, she had found a small envelope addressed to "Miss Sheila Quinn."

She opened it quickly. "Oh, Mumsey!" she cried. For before her amazed eyes she unfolded a check for two hundred dollars!

And with it was just one short line.

"As a small token of appreciation for Paddy's services I present this to his mistress, begging her to do with it whatever she wants most in the world."

"Mumsey--the music!" Sheila ran to the piano, which had been scarcely touched during the long winter. With ecstatic fingers she ran up and down the scale.

And Mrs. Quinn, watching her girl with happy, misty eyes, seeing in the young face a look of the father who had gone on, and the glow of the rosy dreams she had used to dream in her own girlhood, thought it the most beautiful music in the world!

CHAPTER XIX

A LETTER FROM FRANCE

"A letter for you, Miss Renée!" and Jasper laid down at Renée's elbow a square, bluish envelope with a foreign postmark.

From time to time Renée and Mr. Everett had received cards from Renée's guardian--but this was a fat envelope! Aunt Pen reached eagerly for it and turned it over and over in her fingers. Whereupon Pat nodded to Renée, as much as to say: "The plot thickens! The mystery clears!"

"What fun to have it come on a nasty, rainy day like this!" she declared aloud. "Let's take it to the Eyrie and read it very slowly so's to make it last a long time!"

"Renée may want to read her own letter by herself, Pat," laughed Aunt Pen, looking as happy as though the letter had come straight to her.

"Oh, no, please! Let's do what Pat says! And you read it, aloud, Aunt Pen!"

So the fat envelope was carried to the Eyrie and Aunt Pen sat down in the one sound chair while Pat and Renée stretched out on the floor at her feet. And as Aunt Pen began to read no one minded the rain beating in torrents against the Eyrie windows!

"My dear little girl and all her good friends, the Everetts," the letter began. "Because I am confined by an inconsiderate doctor to a very small bed in a very big room in what, in the sixteenth century, used to be a monastery and is now one of the best of the American base hospitals--though I wish the window was bigger so it could let in a little more sunshine to warm these ancient walls--I have time at last to write to you a real letter. Since I returned from God's country I have been continually on the jump. I got back to the boys just in time to fire one last shot at the Jerrys, though it was a waste of good honest steel, for they were running faster than even a bullet could go. After the armistice they sent us almost directly up to the Rhine. Somehow, now that I've got the time to write, and a fairly good pen, I can't seem to find the words that will describe to you just how we men felt when we knew we were there--at the old Rhine--the way we'd talked and sung about back in the training camp. Things were not tedious--not for a moment--and we were as busy as ever and constantly on the alert that Jerry didn't slip anything over us. And then just when I was getting used to the eternal rain and mud and the Germanness of everything--and good honest, sheets, too, on a regular old grandmother's feather bed--I was ordered back with a detachment to Le Mans.

"And now, Renée, I must tell you a little story. It is about a poor French soldier I found in one of the many small villages not far from Valenciennes. We were going back in lorries, one had broken down and that held us up for a couple of hours. Some of us were prowling around for souvenirs. (By the way I am sending a German helmet to you by mail. Turn it upside down, fill it with earth and plant flowers in it--that'll redeem it.) To go back to my story--I happened upon a very old man digging in a strip of a back yard that looked the way one of our streets home look when they're paving it and putting sewers through--it was back of what had been a cottage only the roof and two of the walls were gone. I asked him for a drink and he took me to the one room that was whole to give me some of the wine which--he told me proudly--he had hidden months before, and there I found his very old wife and a young French soldier. The Frenchman would not talk to me at all, just stared and shrank away as though he was frightened. I shall never forget how the poor fellow looked, a bag of bones, hollowed eyes that burned in his white face and an empty sleeve. The old man told me the boy's story, then, and with the knowledge of French I have picked up I was able to put it together. He had been released from a German prison, he had had to walk back with other French prisoners, but because he had had his arm amputated in the prison and had had a long run of fever and was half starved he had not been able to keep up with the others and had dropped behind. The old peasant had found him lying by the road, raving in delirium. There had been a nasty wound on his forehead, too, as though back in the prison camp some Jerry had struck him over the head. The old couple had taken him in and for weeks and weeks had nursed him as best they could, keeping him alive with their precious wine. His fever had gone, the wound had healed, his strength had begun to slowly return, but he could not remember one single thing of what had happened nor tell who he was--that blow had wiped everything out of his mind! He was like a little child. But the shock of seeing me started something working in his brain; he stared and stared, after a little he got up his courage to feel of my face and of my uniform--and then of his own uniform--or the rags and tatters of what had been a good French uniform, and I think at that moment blessed memory began to return!

"To make a long story short I just took him along on the lorry to Paris and put him in a hospital there under expert care and now he's as sane as he ever was and says he can remember the German doctor who struck him and wants to go back and find him! But I told him that a higher Justice was going to settle all those scores and that he was going back to America with me--when I go. That is why I am telling you the story; I know your kind little heart that is part French will find pity and affection for this poor fellow who has suffered so much that little girls like you might go on living happy safe lives in a good world, and you will be kind to him when I bring him home with me.

"Home--Renée, it seems so funny for me to think of a home! I used to dream of having one but I have found out some dreams don't come true, and since then I've just wandered from one country to another building bridges and railroads and such things. But I feel tired now and I think when I go back I'll fix over an old house I own in a little town up in the Adirondack mountains, and we'll go there and we'll be happy, or at least I promise I'll see that you are happy. And we'll keep the French soldier I've adopted as long as he will stay, won't we?

"When I was in Paris I went down and spent a whole day with Susette and Gabriel. They are well, Gabriel's rheumatism is better, and he declares it is the slippers you sent him--he wears them all the time. They are happy getting their garden ready, and the florists in Paris are placing more orders for violets than before the war. Prosperity shines in every wrinkle in Susette's face. She pointed out to me where she has hung the Stars and Stripes alongside of the Tri-color and told me that I must tell you. Your picture was in a place of honor on the shelf under the Madonna and there was over it a tiny wreath of waxed snowdrops which Susette says she made herself. I looked at the picture and I said to myself: 'Bill Allan, that big girl with the very nice eyes is your ward, given into your care by the bravest lad you ever knew--see that you live up to the charge with the best that's in you!' That was the vow I made in front of your picture, Renée.

"Some day when we've saved enough money we'll go back and visit Susette. But she's happy, Renée--the way we're all happy over here--the fighting is over!

"You and I can never thank the Everetts for all they have done for us. I bless the Fate that brought that very lively Miss Pat into the Red Cross office for I'll admit right at that moment I didn't know what to do with you! I think that in a few weeks I'll be sent back to America and then I will try to tell them how grateful we are..."

The letter concluded with a brief description of the hospital and its beautiful, cloistered grounds where, long before, monks had found rest from the world's strife. But not one of the three listened; Aunt Pen's thoughts, even while her lips went on framing the words of the letter, were back, repeating over and over--"I used to dream of having a home but I found out some dreams can't come true!" and, as she finished and folded the letter, her eyes, staring out over the wet housetops, saw vividly again the college campus and the old stone bench under a spreading elm where she and another had talked about that very house in the Adirondacks!

"It is my Will!" she murmured almost aloud. But for once Pat was too concerned with her own worry to notice her Aunt Pen's absorption!

"I think it's just mean in him to say he's coming over here and take Renée away to some old place--we won't let her go!" she exploded.

A little dread of this same thing was disturbing Renée! Though she had in the long trip across the sea learned to respect and trust her new guardian, and, because Emile had placed her under his care, would always feel a strong loyalty for him, she shrank a little from the thought of leaving these kind friends and going to a strange home. Aunt Pen, coming with an effort back from her own dreams, read what was passing in both Pat's and Renée's minds.

"Let's not worry, girlies! I know everything is going to turn out just the way that will make everyone happy--when Capt. Allan returns!"

Now Pat suddenly grew suspicious!

"You speak just as though you knew something we didn't know, Penelope Everett! What is it? Did you know Renée's guardian before? You've got to tell us every thing!" And Pat, a vision in her mind of romance and mystery unfolded at last, knelt before Aunt Pen and rested her elbows upon Aunt Pen's knees with an air that said: "I'm ready now to hear the whole story!"

But Aunt Pen's face, rosy red, did not suggest the secret sorrow that Pat had liked to imagine! She laughingly pushed Pat away.

"What an old teaser you are! Yes, this is the same Will Allan I knew! He used to tell me, sometimes, of the old house in the mountains which an aunt had left him. Then he went to South America to build a bridge or something! There's nothing more to tell!"

Pat was visibly disappointed.

"Well, anyway, will you promise to keep him from separating Ren and me?" she begged.

Aunt Pen slipped the letter back into its envelope.

"I'll promise to do my best to keep him from--separating you--very far! If he remembers me," she added with sudden alarm! Such a thought had not occurred to her! Now it brought a tiny droop in the corner of her lips. "Anyway, Pat, much as we love Renée we must not forget that Capt. Allan has the first claim, though I am sure he will be anxious to do whatever will make her the most happy! He may let Renée decide."

"Oh, that would be dreadful!" cried Renée.

But the thought satisfied Pat. She stood up with sudden resolution. "Well, then, I'm going to begin right now teasing Renée every minute to choose us! I'm glad the letter came! Everything was so dull and now it's exciting again! And that poor Frenchman--let's go over to Peggy's, Ren, and tell her all about him! As if we minded rain, anyway!"

CHAPTER XX

THE LOST BABY

"Ren, you look as though you'd stepped out of a picture book!"

Renée did, indeed! With odds and ends from the scrap-bag and the store-room upstairs she and Pat had put together an Alsatian costume. Pat, perched cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a book on Historical Costumes stretched across her knees, proclaimed her satisfaction with their handiwork while Renée turned and turned before the long mirror, stopping to spread out the full short skirt or perk up the enormous bow that adorned her head.

Keineth Randolph was going to give a party. It was to be a costume party; there was to be dancing as well as games; all the boys and girls of the Randolph's acquaintance had been invited. They always loved to go to the Randolph's home; the house, though small, seemed to have been built for the sole purpose of giving young people room for a good time; John Randolph, himself, could be as young as the youngest and Keineth, always good-humored, was a hospitable little hostess. Add real musicians, tucked off on the landing of the stair, a table in the corner of the dining-room laden with goodies dear to young folks, witches and goblins, lords and ladies of past kingdoms, monks, fairies, clowns and elves to make merry--well, "it will be one grand party!" Pat had declared.

She herself had been torn in mind as to what she wanted to be. She pictured herself as Jeanne d'Arc, glorious in silver armor and lance in hand; she considered Mary, Queen of Scots; then her romantic fancy favored Cinderella! But learning from Peggy that Garrett was going as the brave Powhatan, the Indian Chief, she promptly decided to tease Garrett by appearing as Pocahontas! Aunt Pen was shopping at that very moment trying to find the gayest feather duster in the city with which to decorate her.

"Pat, I'll wear my locket!" cried Renée, turning from the mirror.

She ran to her drawer as she spoke and drew from it the little case. Pat watched her approvingly as she fastened the bright red band about her throat. It added a piquant spot of color to the quaint costume and the curious old locket looked as though it might have been fashioned by some old artisan for a royal lady in the days when feudal lords reigned over France!

"It's perfect!" Pat gave a leap over the low footboard of her bed to examine more closely Renée's entire appearance.

"You're going to be the best thing there," she declared conclusively. "I know everyone will be crazy over you! Won't it be fun? I can't wait until Thursday comes! Only then it'll be over so soon!" And Pat sighed deeply, as millions of others have sighed over the rapid flight of time!

Maggie tapped at the door.

"There's a queer old woman downstairs a-asking for you, Miss Renée!"

"For me?" Renée turned, startled. Then a sudden thought enlightened her. "It must be Elsbeth!"

She ran quickly down the stairs to the door followed by Pat. It was Elsbeth, the queer old servant who lived with Mrs. Forrester. At sight of Renée she turned a face white with distress.

"Oh, Miss Renny, Miss Renny, she's took again! Mis' Lee sent me to fetch you! You must come!"

"What do you mean, Elsbeth--Mrs. Forrester? I'll go with you at once!"

"I think that's mean, Renée! We were going to plan my costume--you know it!" protested Pat.

"Oh, Pat!" Renée's voice pleaded from the depths of the hall closet where she was hunting for her warm coat. "Oh, Pat--you wouldn't want me not to go! The poor thing!"

Pat was a little ashamed; however she did not want to show it--she cast an accusing look at old Elsbeth as though she was to blame.

"Well, I don't believe I'd leave you for any of the Kewpies, but I'll get along somehow!" and assuming the air of a martyr she started slowly back up the stairs.

"I'll get back as quickly as I can, truly, Patsy, so wait for me!" Pat paused in her ascent. "You're never going in that costume, are you?"

Renée had completely forgotten what she had on! However, she only laughed and buttoned the coat up closely about her throat.

"Oh, it won't make any difference! I'm ready, Elsbeth--let's hurry!"

"She was took last night with one of her spells and cried and wouldn't take her powders! And to-day she's still like she was dead," the old servant explained to Renée as they almost ran through the streets. They made a curious pair--the young girl's scarlet skirts swinging out below the coat, the gilded cardboard with which she had covered her slippers flopping about her ankles and the ends of the big black bow peeping out from under the soft hat she had clapped upon her head; Elsbeth, hobbling in her effort to keep up with the younger feet, her loosened ends of stringy gray hair flying in every direction, and her hands rolled in the apron she tried vainly to conceal under the short, shabby jacket she wore.

"The Lord sent Mis' Lee," she gasped, panting for breath, "and she sez--go fetch Miss Renny! An' I come!"

"She'll be better, I know, with Mrs. Lee there! Don't worry, Elsbeth," and Renée, heedless of the panting breath beside her, quickened her pace so that in a very few minutes she was tapping at the door.

Mrs. Lee opened it and drew Renée into the dingy parlor. She went to one of the windows and raised the shade to the very top, letting in a flood of warm sunshine. Then she whispered to Renée:

"The doctor is with her now. It is the first time since I have known her that we could get her to see a doctor! Take off your coat, my dear! Oh----" she stared for a moment, puzzled, then laughed: "you were trying on your costume for Keineth's party! You are a picture, my dear!" She hesitated, as though something in Renée's face suddenly held her attention.

"Just for a moment you made me think of someone, but I can't tell who! Perhaps it is that you so thoroughly look the part of a little Maid of Alsace! I thought, while we were waiting, I might tell you a little more of poor Mrs. Forrester's story. Then you will understand why she suffers as she does! She was not always alone as she is now--she once had a beautiful young daughter----"

"Oh," broke in Renée, excitedly, "was that the lost baby?"

"Yes, though she was twenty years old! Now the mother always thinks of her as a baby."

"Did she die?"

"No--to Mrs. Forrester then it was worse than death. The two of them seemed to have been quite alone in the world; the mother cared for nothing but the little girl. Every luxury that money could buy she heaped upon her with a lavish hand. One might think that the child would have been dreadfully spoiled but those who knew them say she was sweet and gentle, pretty as a flower. When she was a little older the mother took her away--she must have the best schooling that money could obtain. They traveled a great deal, too. And all the while, as the young girl grew toward womanhood, the proud mother was building plans for the wonderful future her child must have! I do not know of just what greatness she dreamed--whether it was of some Duchess Somebody or even a prince's title--I only know that she held money and high social position as the greatest gifts with which a Kindly Providence could endow her flower and lost sight of what makes real happiness in this world!

"It sounds like a fairy tale, my dear! While the proud mother was dreaming her golden dreams, the young girl met and fell in love with a poor artist--a boy, for he was only twenty-two, whose family was quite unknown and who had nothing in the wide world but a profound belief in his own great talent. The young girl went proudly and joyously with him to the mother to tell of their happiness. The mother would only believe that the boy was an adventurer--a fortune seeker; she saw an end to the plans of her whole lifetime, an obscure future for the girl she had so carefully educated. She sent the young man away and forbade his communicating in any way with her daughter. For weeks the girl pleaded vainly, the mother would not listen; in a fury of disappointment she even locked her for days in her room, thinking to break the young will! But there is an old saying that true love will find a way--the day came when the young girl slipped away, joined her lover and a few hours later returned to tell the mother that they had been married. Then it was that anger and baffled pride drove out all love and justice from the mother's heart; heaping curses upon the frightened girl she drove her from her, bidding her never cross her path again! The girl and boy went away and from that day to this the unhappy woman has never laid eyes upon them. Her rage brought about a spell not unlike what she is having now; for days and days she lay in her bed refusing to let anyone near her. Then, finally, as the weeks grew into months, slowly into her heart crept the realization of what she had done. Remorse began eating at her soul. She tried vainly to find some trace of the daughter; with only Elsbeth she wandered for month after month over every country of the globe, seeking everywhere! She spent almost a fortune on her search. But there was never a sign. It was as if the world had swallowed them. And, finally, broken by her sorrow, unhappy and discouraged, without any friends and with only a little of her former wealth left, she came back to this city and to this old house. It looked then just the way it does now. She threw out anything in it that might make it even a little cheerful and then settled down to die! But life, cruelly enough, has hung on and on! I have learned her story from things she has told me; for some strange reason she has seemed to want to confide in me. And Elsbeth, too, has sometimes softened a little and talked about the old days! That is her sad story, my dear! I know, now, how tender you will always be with her and I have often thought that perhaps you may remind her--a little--of the--lost baby, because you are young and like a flower, too!"

Two bright spots of color burned in Renée's cheeks. To herself she was saying: "Wait until I tell Pat!" The thrill of the secret of the lost baby held her more than any sympathy for the old lady; perhaps deep in her heart some sense of justice told her that the proud mother had had just the punishment she deserved.

Mrs. Lee had turned toward the door. "The doctor is going! Wait here, Renée, until I call you. He may have some directions to give."

Renée looked about the room. What a horrible place! Even the gold of the sunlight dimmed to a cold lustre as it lay across the dusty surface of the shabby furniture! Everything was so unspeakably ugly and so still! She suddenly felt very lonely. A moment's wild impulse tempted her to run back to Pat as fast as her feet could fly! They had been having such fun fixing the costumes; the pink-curtained room had been so cheery, Peter Pan had been singing so lustily--why should she stay here?

Except for the low murmur of voices from the hall where Mrs. Lee was talking to the doctor, the only sound to break the awful stillness was the loud ticking of old Elsbeth's clock in the kitchen. It had a mournfully resentful tick as much as to say to its unhappy listeners: "No matter how wretched you feel, I go on--I go on--I go on!"

The door going into the room where Mrs. Forrester lay was closed. As she thought of crossing its threshold little Renée shuddered. A fear she could not explain gripped her! After all, she was only a little girl; she had never seen anyone suffer--except Gabriel when he was tortured with his rheumatism; she had never seen anyone die--her own dear mother had seemed to just go to sleep! And what if Mrs. Forrester should die? If she wanted to go back home, surely Mrs. Lee would let her go!

And then, as she waited, bits of the story Mrs. Lee had told her flashed back across her thoughts and held her. Now her sympathy was not so much for the girl bride as for the poor, lonely mother, wandering broken-hearted, over the world!

"The poor thing!" she said aloud, and then jumped at the sound of her own voice.

A door closed behind the doctor; Mrs. Lee came into the room.

"She is quiet now. The doctor says there is no danger. It is all her nerves. Only--women her age can't indulge in hysterics without serious results! What a picture you are in all this gloom, child! It's a strange coincidence that you should have had this dress on! Perhaps it will rouse her."

Somehow, now, Renée did not feel a bit like asking to go home. She was not even very much afraid. With Mrs. Lee she stepped softly down the dim hall toward the closed door.

"Anything, Renée, that will make her forget herself will help her," whispered Mrs. Lee. "Tell her about Keineth's party--anything!" They walked into the room. The doctor had raised one of the cracked shades so that the sun was slanting in. Mrs. Lee had put some extra pillows under the patient's head; she was half-sitting, a pathetically little figure in the great ugly bed. Her face was turned toward the wall. She lay perfectly still; Renée might have thought that, like her mother, she was sleeping, except that her thin fingers twitched at the edge of the bedspread.

"I have brought Renée," Mrs. Lee said softly.

There was no answer.

"Perhaps you would like to have her stay with you for a little while!"

"Oh--go away--all of you!" came pettishly. "Can't you let an old woman die in peace? Will it ever come?" she moaned into her pillow.

Renée felt so indignant that anyone should be praying like this to die that she stepped to the side of the bed.

"But the doctor says you are not going to die," she answered quickly, with a stubborn note in her sweet voice.

The moment she had spoken she was very frightened but she could not have said anything that would have so quickly roused the old lady. It roused her because it angered her; she jerked her head around. However, what she might have retorted in answer was checked by her utter amazement at seeing the strange, quaint little figure by her bedside.

"Who are you?" she demanded angrily. "Who let you in here?"

The child stepped closer. "I'm Renée!" she answered gently.

"You that little Renée? Come here!" Mrs. Forrester commanded stretching out a thin hand.

Renée stepped close to the head of the bed and leaned over. Mrs. Forrester touched her cheek and her hair.

"So it is! So it is!" and her voice softened. Then a gleam of sunlight from the unshaded window struck across the curious old locket. Suddenly the sick woman sat bolt upright in bed and clutched with both hands at the red band.

"That--that----" she screamed. "Where did you get it?" She tore at the velvet band until it hurt Renée cruelly. Her voice rose to a shriek. "It is hers! My baby!"

As her fingers fumbled over the face of the locket a part of it suddenly opened and from a hiding place within dropped a tiny gold key! The old lady cried loudly and held it up.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Then she sank back among the pillows, turned slowly to Renée and whispered hoarsely:

"But who are you?"

CHAPTER XXI

RENÉE'S BOX

"Who are you?"

Of course they all thought Mrs. Forrester was having a spell! Renée was terribly frightened--the more so because now one of the thin hands was gripping her arm so that it hurt.

Elsbeth, more wild and disheveled than ever, pushed at Renée and leaned over the bed, a tumbler in one hand, some powders in the other.

"Mis' Forrester! Please, Mis' Forrester!" she pleaded, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.

But Mrs. Forrester struck angrily at the hand holding the powders and sent them in a tiny cloud of dust all over the covers.

"Go away, you old fool!" she cried, "can't you see I've found my baby? No one else anywhere in the world had a locket like that!"

Mrs. Lee suddenly remembered who it was that Renée had looked like! It was the faded picture Elsbeth had once shown her of the young daughter of Mrs. Forrester! She stepped forward now and answered for Renée.

"She is Renée LaDue, but I think--I believe--she must be your grandchild!"

Mrs. Forrester was sitting bolt upright and the pillows had fallen all about her. Two bright spots of red burned on her cheeks and her eyes, as they stared through and through Renée, were alight with life. She was a different creature from the one who had lain limply on the ugly bed, her face turned toward the wall! Only her voice still sounded weak and shrill.

"Your mother--answer, child!"

Then, more than anything else in the world, Renée wanted to run away! But the hand on her arm held her tight. And, too, who was this old lady who had known that the key was in the locket when she and Emile had not known it?

"My mother's name was Amy----"

"My baby!" Now the old lady sank back among the pillows; she commenced to sob--dry, heart-breaking sobs, "My baby! You are her little girl! I have found her!"

And then a strange thing happened! For suddenly Renée lost all her fear and over her swept a joy that she had found someone--someone to really, truly belong to! So very shyly she reached out and took one of the thin hands in her own.

Mrs. Lee gently told the old woman as much of Renée as she knew; how the mother had died five years before, how she had made the brother promise to some day bring the little girl back to America to live, how the brother had given his life for France, the country of his mother's adoption, and an American officer had fulfilled the promise. As she listened Mrs. Forrester kept her eyes fastened on Renée's face and Renée held tightly to the trembling hand.

When Mrs. Lee had finished Mrs. Forrester lay still for a long time. Then she said softly: "God has been good to a wicked old woman because my flower had gone to Heaven and pleaded for me! I am forgiven." And she closed her eyes as though at last a peace of soul had come upon her!

"Is--is the key--a key to a box?" Renée asked.

Her grandmother roused suddenly.

"Yes--yes! A leather box--have you got it? My grandmother gave it to my darling--with the locket--when she was fifteen."

"My mother gave it to Emile just before--she died! She never told him about the key but she made him promise to let no one break it open. And of course we never would!"

"Shall I go and get it?" asked Mrs. Lee. She felt that for a little while it might be better to leave the old lady and the child alone. Renée made a move as though to go, too, but Mrs. Lee motioned her back.

"Aunt Pen will tell me where I can find it! You stay here, my dear," and she hurried away.

Elsbeth had been watching the unusual happenings with a suspicious, jealous eye. She loved her strange old mistress better than anything on earth; she resented these strangers usurping her place!

"Missus had best lay down now and keep quiet," she said, coming forward with an authoritative air. "If ye'll jes' take a powder----" But she got no further; Mrs. Forrester burst into a laugh! And Elsbeth was so startled that her knees knocked together, for, not for many years, had she heard her mistress laugh--and such a laugh!

"Elsbeth, stupid, can't you see I'm a well woman? That I am happy again? None of your powders any more! Go about your business--ransack your pantry and find some food for my pretty one here! My flower--my baby!" And with a look that transformed her thin face she lifted her arms and closed them about little Renée.

"Tell me," she whispered, as though it must be a secret between them, "was she ever unhappy?"

Renée answered very slowly because she was thinking very hard. She tried to make the mother know that her own dear mother had been always cheerful, always singing and telling beautiful stories and playing with her among the flowers--and was only unhappy when Emile brought out the father's tools.

"That was because he had been blind, and I heard her tell Emile once that his heart had broken because he could not do his work! For a long time she guided his fingers for him! She herself used to take the things they made to Paris to sell, and, when she couldn't sell them, she and Susette used to hide them so he couldn't know--Susette told me all that! I think we were very, very poor, but my mother always seemed happy. She used to sew sometimes, until she was very tired. We never had anything but the flowers to play with and the games she used to make up. And she always talked of the time when she would bring us both to America! 'It was my country and it must be yours,' she used to tell us over and over!"

"Did she--did she--ever tell you--about me?"

Renée hesitated. She knew that what she must say would hurt the old lady deeply. But before she could speak Mrs. Forrester answered herself.

"Of course she would not! I had forbidden it!" and in her voice was the bitterness of remorse.

Then Renée told her of the cottage at St. Cloud where, since as far back as she could remember, they had lived with Susette and Gabriel. She told, too, of Emile and the days when he had gone to Paris to study with an old sculptor, and how bravely he had gone away to war with a company from St. Cloud!

Mrs. Forrester pushed Renée's hair back and looked intently at her.

"I can see it now! You are like her--a little! But your eyes are like--your father's."

There were voices in the hall and in a moment Mrs. Lee and Aunt Pen walked into the room. Aunt Pen was greatly excited and came straight to Renée.

"I am so glad, my dear," she whispered.

But no one had eyes for anything but the queer old box which Mrs. Lee had placed upon the bed.

"How old it looks," sighed Mrs. Forrester, caressing for a moment the worn leather. Her fingers trembled so that she could not hold the tiny key and it was Renée who fitted it into the lock and turned it. It turned slowly and the lid fell back, revealing packages of papers and letters, tied neatly together.

Although not knowing exactly what she had always imagined was in the box, Renée was vaguely disappointed! But Mrs. Forrester fell to eagerly sorting over the packages. Lying loose among them was a folded sheet, addressed to herself.

"Her writing!" she cried, holding it close to her eyes. "Read it for me--I cannot."

"Dearest of mothers," Renée read. The writing showed that the letter had been written under stress of deep emotion. "It was only because he needed me so much, for the doctors had told him his eyesight was slowly going, that I could hurt you by acting against your wishes. And sometime you may know that I have always loved you dearly and that I forgive you as I pray you will forgive me."

"Oh, my darling," and a flood of tears dropped on the sheet of paper. "It is as though she was speaking to me!" she whispered, kissing the lines. And indeed a great stillness held the room as though each of those in it felt, too, the spirit of Renée's young mother among them!

Mrs. Forrester, her eyes still dim with tears, spread out the other papers and she and Mrs. Lee and Aunt Pen fell to examining them, while Renée watched, feeling as though it was all a dream.

They found an old journal whose contents explained how John LaDue, who before his marriage with Amy Forrester had been John Tellers, had gone with his young bride to Paris where they had taken the name of LaDue. Living as they did in simple obscurity, and because John Tellers had been born and brought up among the French-speaking people of New Orleans, it was very easy for them to pass as a young French sculptor and his wife. And the friends they made were other young artists, struggling along like themselves, who could know nothing about the proud, unhappy woman who was traveling all over the world, seeking her daughter!

The journal stopped abruptly at the record of Renée's birth. Renée remembered Susette telling her that it was when she had been a tiny baby that her father had become totally blind and they had moved to St. Cloud that he might have the benefit of the pure air and the sunshine.

Aunt Pen discovered a package of papers that proved to be United States government bonds. They had been given to Renée's mother on her twentieth birthday, six months before her marriage. They had not been touched. Penelope exclaimed:

"A small fortune! And they are Renée's!"

Many thoughts were shaping in poor Renée's sadly bewildered little head. She had now, what Peggy always called "folks"--a grandmother and Elsbeth; even though it was an ugly old house she'd have a real, real home all of her own! She would not have to go to the mountain place with her guardian and the strange French soldier! And yet that disturbed her a little. Emile had, in a way, given her into the guardian's keeping and not to a strange old woman! So, even though belonging to so many, Renée felt torn and unhappy. And she looked almost scornfully at the packet which Aunt Pen held up as though precious--how could just plain papers like that be a fortune!

Mrs. Forrester, who looked less and less like a sick woman, commenced to slowly gather up the papers and place them back neatly in the leather box. When she shut down the lid she turned to Renée.

"I thank God that He has shown me His mercy! I have not deserved to find my darling. But I have been punished! No one knows how I have suffered! And maybe, even now, I am not fit to have you. I am an ugly old woman who has cast everything beautiful out of her life! Perhaps I have no right to keep you! You have good friends--go back to them, only keep in your heart a kind thought for an old woman----"

"Oh, I'll stay--I'd rather!" and Renée was quite startled that she could decide so quickly.

"You mean it? Oh, my baby--my pretty flower!" Then a sudden resolution lighted the old woman's face. "It will be as though that motherhood I sacrificed by my wicked pride was given back to me! Oh, I know how wicked and wrong I was and how I wanted for my precious one only the things that my own pride clamored for! But you shall not stay now--my pretty flower would wither and fade in these ugly walls. I am well, again--and Elsbeth and I will clean out this place! It shall be made bright and pretty for my little one! You must go now, back with your good friends, then after a little----"

Every one thought that was best. Elsbeth came in with a tray of sandwiches and some cocoa. Every one was hungry because the dinner hour was long past and, in the excitement, had been forgotten. And as they ate, Mrs. Forrester, like a new creature, began energetically to give Elsbeth orders as to what she must do on the morrow to begin the work of transforming the ugly old house into a beautiful home for her "pretty flower."

Then, one by one, they said good-night to Mrs. Forrester, and Renée, leaning over, kissed her and whispered shyly:

"Good-night, grandmother! Very soon I will come back--to stay."

CHAPTER XXII

SURPRISES

"Dinner is served, Miss Pat!"

"Why, Aunt Pen and Renée are not here," cried Pat, looking up from a book.

"Miss Everett said that dinner should not wait! It is a quarter past seven."

"But my father----"

"Mr. Everett is dining out."

"Well, I never!" Pat threw down her book crossly. Drawing herself to her full height, she stalked down the length of the room on into the dining-room, where, at the end of the long table, alight with the sparkle of silver, glass and china, one lonely place had been set.

She wanted very much to throw a plate at Jasper who was biting his lip to keep from laughing at her aggrieved air. Instead she tossed her head higher and, in her haughtiest manner, ordered:

"Jasper, will you see at once what Melodia has made for dessert and, whatever it is, tell her that I want two extra big helpings!"

"So there!" she muttered to his retreating back and felt much better!

Pat had really had a very bad afternoon. She had not liked one bit having Renée rush away in the midst of all their fun fixing their costumes! She had helped Renée and Renée had left her to fix her own. She had felt decidedly aggrieved. Of course she was sorry for the sick old lady, but didn't Renée love her more than anyone else? Or didn't she?

When a little girl begins to ponder in such a fashion she can soon work herself into a sad state of blues. That was what Pat did! So that when Aunt Pen returned with a feather duster made of the biggest, brightest feathers that had ever grown to grace a young Indian princess, Pat didn't care whether or not she even went to Keineth's party!

Then the climax of her unhappiness was reached after Mrs. Lee rushed in with the story of the locket and the key. Aunt Pen and Pat had listened with eyes wide with astonishment.

"Oh, it's just like a fairy story!" Pat had cried.

"Dear Renée! It will mean a home of her own for the child! I will get the box at once."

Pat was startled--a home of Renée's own! She had felt that they might coax the soldier-guardian to leave Renée with them forever and ever, but here was a new and much stronger claim! A real grandmother--even if it was a terrible old lady who had had a mystery!

Aunt Pen came back wearing her coat and hat. Pat jumped to her feet.