success was really owing to Mabel’s mistake in going out.
The test was to win two games out of three, so with one game in favor of Patty’s side they began the next.
Patty was considered a good croquet player in America, but in England the rules of the game, as well as the implements, were so different that it seriously impeded her progress.
The wickets were so narrow that the ball could barely squeeze through if aimed straight, and a side shot through one was impossible.
But all this added to the zest, and it was four very eager young people who strove for the victory.
The second game went easily to Mabel and Jack Stanton, and then the third, the decisive one, was begun. According to the laws of the tournament, this was the final game. The opponents had already vanquished all the other contestants, and now, pitted against each other, were playing for the prize.
Patty knew in her heart she would be glad to have Mabel win it, and yet, so strong was her love of games, and so enthusiastic her natural desire to succeed, that she tried her best to beat the third game.
All played conservatively. The partners kept together, and progressed evenly. Toward the last Jack and Mabel began to creep ahead. Tom saw this, and said to Patty: “This is our last chance; if we plod on like this, they’ll calmly walk out and leave us. Unless we can make a brilliant dash of some sort, we are beaten.”
“I don’t believe I can,” said Patty, looking doubtfully at her ball. “It’s my turn, and unless I can hit Mabel’s ball, clear across the grounds, I can’t do anything.”
“That’s just it. You must hit Mabel’s ball.”
So Patty aimed carefully, and sent her ball spinning over the ground toward Mabel’s, and missed it by a hair’s breadth!
“Goody!” cried Mabel, and hitting Patty’s ball, she roqueted it back where it had come from.
“Now here’s our very lastest chance,” said Tom, with a groan of despair. “And I’m sure, Patty, I won’t do any better than you did.”
Nor did he. Although not far from Jack’s ball, at which he aimed, there was a wicket in the way, which sent his own ball glancing off at an angle, and he did not hit his opponent.
A minute more, and Jack skilfully sent Mabel’s ball and then his own against the home stake, and the game was over.
The onlookers crowded up and congratulated the winners, and offered condolence to Patty and Tom. Patty smiled, and responded merrily. She did not try to lay the blame on the unusual shaped wickets, or short, heavy mallets. She declared that the best players had won, and that she was satisfied. And indeed she was.
When she saw the lovely prize that was given to Mabel, she was deeply thankful that she hadn’t won it. It was a white parasol, of silk and chiffon, with a pearl handle. A really exquisite, dainty affair, and just the very thing Mabel had wanted, but couldn’t afford to buy. As for Patty herself, she had several parasols, and so was delighted that Mabel had won.
But though she truly preferred that Mabel should have the prize, she felt a little chagrined at losing the contest, for like all people who are fond of games and sports, Patty loved to win.
These feelings, though, she successfully concealed, and gave Mabel very sincere and loving congratulations. Mr. Stanton’s prize was a pretty scarf pin, and Tom Meredith loudly bewailed his own misfortune in losing this. Though, really, as the tournament was at his own home, he would not have taken the prize had he won it, but would have passed it on to the one with the next highest record.
The victors were cheered and applauded, and were then led in triumph to the pretty tent where tea was being served.
If Patty had had a shadow of regret that she had not been the honoured one, it was lost sight of in her gladness that it fell to Mabel’s lot.
“You’re a plucky one,” said Tom Meredith, who was observing her closely. “You’re a good loser, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” said Patty, thoughtfully. “I want to be, but do you know, I just love to win contests or games. And when I lose—I’m ashamed to say it—but I do feel put out.”
“Of course you do! That’s only natural. And that’s why I say you’re a good loser. If you didn’t care tuppence whether you won or not, it wouldn’t be much to your credit to look smiling and pleasant when you lose. But since you do care, a whole lot, you’re a jolly plucky girl to take it so well. Now, what can I get for you? An ice?”
“Yes, please,” said Patty, really gratified at Tom’s appreciative words.
“How long are you staying with the Hartleys?” Tom asked, as, returning with ices, he found cosy seats at a small table for himself and Patty.
“Two or three weeks longer, I think. But I shall hate to go away, for I’ve become so interested in their ‘mystery,’ that I can’t stop trying to solve it.”
“Oh, you mean that old affair of the hidden fortune. I don’t believe there’s any at all. I think the old man who pretended to hide it was merely guying them.”
“Oh, no! That can’t be. Why, it all sounds so real and natural. The story of the hiding, I mean.”
“Yes, but why should he want to hide it? Why not bank it decently, like other people?”
“Oh, because he was eccentric. People who are naturally queer or freakish are always hiding things. And I know it’s silly of me, but I’m going to try to find that money.”
“I’ve lots of faith in your energy and perseverance, but I can’t think you’ll succeed in that job. Better try something easier.”
“I don’t think I can say I expect to succeed. But I’m going to try—and—who can tell what might happen?”
“Who, indeed? But you know, of course, that the Cromarty people have been hunting it for nearly forty years.”
“Yes,” said Patty, and her eyes fairly blazed with determination, “yes—but I am an American!”
Tom Meredith shouted with laughter.
“Good for you, little Stars and Stripes!” he cried. “I’ve always heard of the cleverness of the Yankees, but if you can trace the Cromarty fortune, I’ll believe you a witch, for sure. Aren’t there witches in that New England of yours?”
“I believe there used to be. And my ancestors, some of them, were Salem people. That may be where I get my taste for divination and solving problems. I just love puzzles of all sorts, and if the old Cromarty gentleman had only left a cipher message, it would have been fun to puzzle it out.”
“He did leave messages of some sort, didn’t he? Maybe they are more subtle than you think.”
“I’ve been wondering about that. They might mean something entirely different from what they sound like; but I can’t see any light that way. ‘The headboard of a bed against a wall,’ is pretty practical, and doesn’t seem to mean anything else. And the oak trees and fir trees are there in abundance. But that’s the trouble with them, there are so many.”
“Go on, and do all you can, my child. You’ll get over it the sooner, if you work hard on it at first. We’ve all been through it. Nearly everybody in this part of the country has tried at one time or another to guess the Cromarty riddle.”
“But I’m the first American to try,” insisted Patty, with a twinkle in her eye.
“Quite so, Miss Yankee Doodle Doo; and I wish you success where my own countrymen have failed.”
Tom said this with such a nice, kindly air that Patty felt a little ashamed of her own vaunting attitude. But sometimes Patty showed a decided tendency to over-assuredness in her own powers, and though she tried to correct it,