of art.
Patty had always loved the picture, even before the added interest of learning the truth about the fir trees, and they all knew it was one of her favourites among the many art treasures of the old house.
“I was going to make this speech when the party was here,” proceeded Sinclair, “but I didn’t, partly because I feared it might embarrass Patty, and partly because I like it better to have only our own people here. But the speech itself is this: We, the Cromartys of Cromarty Manor, realising that we can never liquidate the great debt of gratitude we owe to our beautiful and beloved friend, Miss Patty Fairfield, wish, at least, to give her a token of our affection and a memento of her noble deed. We, therefore, one and all of the household of Cromarty, offer her this picture of fir trees, this painting by Hobbema, and we trust that she will accept it in the spirit it is tendered.”
Sinclair bowed and sat down, and Patty sat for a moment in awestruck silence.
Then, “The Hobbema!” she cried, “I won’t take it! The idea of giving me that painting! Why, it’s one of the gems of the house!”
“That’s why we want you to have it, Patty dear,” said Grandma Cromarty, gently. “It is one of our treasures, and for that very reason it is worthy to be presented as a souvenir to one who so gloriously deserves it.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried Bob. “Grandy makes a better speech than you, Clair.”
Patty’s scruples were lovingly overcome, and she was made to realise that she was the owner of a real masterpiece of art, that would be to her a lifelong delight.
“But what will take its place?” she said. “It has hung there so many years.”
“It hung there,” said Mrs. Hartley, “until its mission was fulfilled. Now that there is nothing to be searched for ‘between the fir trees and the oak,’ it need hang there no longer. It is fitting that we retain the ‘oak’ and you possess the ‘fir trees,’ thus assuring an everlasting bond of union between the fir trees and the oak.”
“Bravo, Mater!” cried Bob. “You’re coming out strong on speechifying, too. Mabel, we must look out for our laurels.”
But Mabel was too near the verge of tears to trust her voice, so she slipped her hand in Patty’s, knowing that she would understand all that could not be said.
“Well,” went on Bob, “I’m not much of an orator, but I’ll take it for my part to see that the Fir Trees are properly packed and sent to your home, Patty. Where shall I send the box?”
“I hate to have it go to New York now,” said Patty, “for I want it with me while I’m over here.”
So it was arranged to send the picture to Sir Otho’s house in London, there to remain until the Fairfields returned to America.
The departure from Cromarty was made next morning directly after breakfast. It was fortunate that the last details of luggage preparations, and the packing of luncheon and so forth, made a bustle and hurry that left little time for actual farewells. And, too, they were all too sensible to mar Patty’s last memory of Cromarty with futile regrets.
So after good-byes were said, and the party stowed away in the big car, Sinclair started one of their favourite nonsense songs.
The others joined in, and Patty sang too, and handkerchiefs were waved, and as the car slid out of sight among the trees, those who were left could still hear Patty’s high, sweet soprano ringing back to them.
PATTY'S SUCCESS
Chapter I.
Welcome Home
“I do think waiting for a steamer is the horridest, pokiest performance in the world! You never know when they’re coming, no matter how much they sight them and signal them and wireless them!”
Mrs. Allen was not pettish, and she spoke half laughingly, but she was wearied with her long wait for the Mauretania, in which she expected her daughter, Nan, and, incidentally, Mr. Fairfield and Patty.
“There, there, my dear,” said her husband, soothingly, “I think it will soon arrive now.”
“I think so, too,” declared Kenneth Harper, who was looking down the river through field-glasses. “I’m just sure I see that whale of a boat in the dim distance, and I think I see Patty’s yellow head sticking over the bow.”
“Do you?” cried Mrs. Allen eagerly; “do you see Nan?”
“I’m not positive that I do, but we soon shall know, for that’s surely the Mauretania.”
It surely was, and though the last quarter hour of waiting seemed longer than all the rest, at last the big ship was in front of them, and swinging around in midstream. They could see the Fairfields clearly now, but not being within