two at a time, and explained that they wanted a literary club, and while they all liked the boys and would be glad of their assistance in plays and tableaux, yet they knew that if boys came to the meetings, there'd be little or no serious reading done.
"It may be the effects of your tea," said Mrs. Elliott, "but the solution of your problem seems to me so easy that I wonder you didn't think it out for yourselves."
"Oh, what is it?" said Elsie and Marian together.
"Why, have your club of girls only, and have your meetings on Saturday afternoons, as you proposed, and then occasionally,--say, once a month,--have an evening meeting and invite the boys and have your dramatic or musical entertainments then."
"I knew you'd fix it, Aunt Alice," said Patty, beaming, "won't that be just right, girls?"
They all agreed to this wise plan, and immediately made out a list of twelve girls, who, if they accepted the invitation, were to attend the first club meeting at Elsie Morris's house on the following Saturday.
Every one did accept, and the club was formed, and the twelve members went to work with a will to make rules and plans.
Patty was unanimously elected president.
She hesitated about undertaking to fill such a responsible office, but the girls, one and all, insisted upon it in a determined if not very parliamentary way; and so she accepted the position, feeling sure that Aunt Alice would assist and advise her in any difficulties that might arise.
The Literary Club proved a great success. Patty made a very capable and graceful little president, and when at a meeting in November, the girls began to discuss an evening entertainment to be held in December, and Patty remarked that perhaps she wouldn't be in Vernondale then, a general outcry was raised.
"What do you mean?"
"Why not?"
"Why, Patty Fairfield, where are you going?"
"I don't know where I'm going," said Patty, "but my visit at Marian's will be over the first of December, and then I'm going to have a new home, and I don't know where it will be. But oh, girls, I wish it could be in Vernondale."
"Why can't it?" said Marian eagerly, "why can't Uncle Fred buy a house here, and then you can live here all your life. Oh, Patty, wouldn't that be just fine?"
"Oh, Patty, do!" chorused all the girls, and Patty resolved that if she had any voice in the matter, Vernondale should be her future home.
Chapter XXII.
A Welcome Guest
"Oh, Aunt Alice," cried Patty, flying into her aunt's room one morning in the latter part of November, "I've just had a letter from papa, and he'll be here for Thanksgiving-day! Isn't that grand?" and catching her aunt round the waist, Patty waltzed her up and down the room until the good lady was nearly breathless.
"I'm as glad as you are, Patty girl," she said, when her niece finally allowed her to come to a standstill, "for I haven't seen brother Fred for many long years. But I can tell you that his coming doesn't by any means bring your visit to an end; I'm going to keep you both here with me until after the holidays, and longer too, if I can."
"Well, I'll be only too glad to stay as long as papa is willing, and I do hope I can persuade him to settle in Vernondale. Do you believe he will, Aunt Alice?"
"I don't know. I think he is inclined to make his home in New York city. But Vernondale is a pleasant place and so near New York, as to be a sort of suburb."
"Well, I'm going to coax him, anyhow,--and now Aunt Alice, I'm going to ask you a big, big favor, may I?"
"Yes, you may ask, but I won't make any rash promises to grant it, until I hear what it is."
"Well,--I'm afraid you'll think I won't make them good enough,--but--I do want to make the pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving-day. Papa would be so surprised and pleased."
"Why, of course you may, child; I'll be very glad to be relieved of that duty, and cook will have all she can attend to."
"When is Uncle Fred coming?" said Frank, as they all sat at dinner that evening.
"The night before Thanksgiving," said Patty; "he'll arrive at about nine o'clock."
"Well, we'll give him a rousing welcome," said Frank, "a sort of 'Harvest Home,' you know."
"All right," said his father, who was ever ready for a frolic, "what can we do out of the ordinary?"
"We could decorate the veranda with jack-o'-lanterns," said Marian, "and he'll see them as he drives up."
"Just the thing," said Frank, "and, oh,--I have a fine plan, but we won't tell Patty,--at least, not yet."
The day before Thanksgiving, the children were all allowed to stay home from school to make the final preparations for Uncle Fred's reception.
While Patty was in the kitchen making her pumpkin pies, (and surely, such beautiful pies never were made, before or since!) there was much rushing in and out of the parlor; and sounds of hammering and of moving furniture reached Patty's ears, but she was told that she would not be allowed even to peep into the room until evening.
So after the pies were made, Patty ran up to put the finishing touches to her father's bedroom.
She filled the vases with fresh flowers, laid out a new book which she had bought as a welcoming gift for him, and on his dressing-table she placed the cherished portrait of her mother; and talking to the picture as she often did, she said:
"I'm going to lend you to him, motherdy, for a few days; I shall miss you, of course, but we want to give him the very best welcome possible."
Patty was allowed to help with all the preparations except those in the parlor, and she was extremely curious to know what was going on in there. But she found plenty to occupy her time, for the whole house was to be decorated.
On the veranda railing were many "jack-o'-lanterns," which when their candles were lighted would flash a welcome from their wide, funny mouths and round eyes.
The hall was decorated with boughs of evergreen, among which were tiny yellow squashes and gourds, also cut like jack-o'-lanterns and holding small candles.
The sitting-room was decorated with bunches of grain, and red peppers, "for," said Frank, "it won't be a Harvest Home, unless we have grain and winter vegetables."
After all was ready, Patty went to don the pretty dress which Aunt Alice and she had bought for the great occasion.
It was a dainty little blue and white striped silk, with ruffles edged with narrow black velvet. The yoke and sleeves were of fine white embroidered muslin, and very fair and sweet Patty looked as she clasped her "Victoria Cross" at her throat.
"Now can I go in the parlor, Frank?" she said, as she met her cousin on the stairs.
"Yes, Patsy, come along," and the boy threw open the parlor doors with a flourish. The room was elaborately trimmed with palms and chrysanthemums, and at one end was a raised platform, like a throne, on which stood a large armchair draped with a red velvet portière. Above this was a semicircular canopy cleverly made of cornstalks and bunches of grain and up on the very top was the biggest pumpkin you ever saw cut like a jack-o'-lantern.
More tall cornstalks formed a background to the throne and at each side stood a noble sheaf of wheat. Thickly scattered over the whole affair were gourds or mock-oranges, which had been hollowed out and held lighted tapers, while across the top was "welcome" in large letters made of gilt paper.
"Oh," said Patty, quite awestruck at this bright and novel scene, "what is it all for?"
"Tell her, mother," said Frank to Aunt Alice, who had just come in, "I must go and listen