sociable.” Then, like a flash, she realised that this was not true, and endeavoured to amend it. “I mean,” she went on, “in the summer time, when I’m away from home. That is,—don’t you know,—I think one likes a sort of vacation from society during the summer; don’t you?”
“Oh, yes! But, of course, the social doings down here are not like those in the city. I’m not much in society down here, myself; so we can have real good times with each other, and give society the go-by.”
Patty gave up in despair. She couldn’t make this girl understand that she did not desire her intimate friendship, without being positively rude; and, though of an independent nature, Patty was always unwilling to hurt the feelings of others.
But very soon Nan rose to take leave, and the call was over.
“What can I do?” exclaimed Patty, as they were safely out of hearing distance of “Red Chimneys.” “That girl is the limit! She’ll be over to our house all the time, if I don’t do something to stop her!”
“Oh, don’t take it too seriously!” advised Nan. “Sometimes these troubles that loom up so darkly fade away of themselves.”
“She won’t fade away,” declared Patty; “Mona is no fader! But some day I shall take her out in my motor car, way, way out beyond civilisation, and come back without her!”
“That’s a splendid plan!” said Nan, approvingly; “practical, sensible, and easily carried out!”
“Yes, isn’t it,” said Patty, grinning. And then they were at “The Pebbles” again, and were soon arrayed in their motor toggery, and starting away in the Swift Camilla.
“Which way?” asked Patty, as she grasped the steering bar.
“Straight along the coast,” answered Nan; “the ocean is so beautiful to-day, I don’t want to get out of sight of it.”
“All right, here we go;” and Patty headed the car south along the line, continuous shore drive.
“Nan,” she observed, as they flew along, “do you happen to know of any remarkable, important, and very-much-to-be-celebrated day that is going to occur soon?”
“Day?” repeated Nan, looking blank,—so exceedingly blank that it seemed an assumed expression.
“Yes, day! A day,—one day,—an especial day! Do try to think. It may occur next week!”
“Let me see,” said Nan, in a deeply thoughtful tone, “this is May,—so you can’t mean Washington’s Birthday or Lincoln’s Birthday.”
“No! nor Christmas Day, nor St. Patrick’s Day in the Morning! But, all the same, it’s one of the most important dates in the annals of Time, and I’ll give you one more chance to save your reputation by guessing what it is, before I tell you.”
“Well, of course I have no idea when it occurs, but, if I’m merely guessing, I’ll guess that you refer to Mona Galbraith’s birthday.”
“Oh, Nan! you are too exasperating! Another speech like that and I’ll put you out of this car and let you walk home! Now the occasion to which I refer, and which you know well enough, only you think it’s roguish to pretend you don’t, is the birthday of one Miss Patricia Fairfield! a clever and charming young girl, who will on that day achieve the dignity of being nineteen years old!”
“Why, sure enough, it will be your birthday soon, won’t it?” exclaimed Nan, in affected surprise, which by no means deceived Patty.
“Yes, and what are you going to do about it?”
“Well, you ask me so suddenly, I scarce know what to say! What do you want done?”
“Well, you ask me suddenly, too, but I know exactly what to say! I want a celebration of the event.”
“Oh, you do! brass band, and torch-light parade?”
“Not exactly that, but something just as good. I want a house-party,—quite a large one,—to come the day before the birthday, and stay several days after, and celebrate all the time.”
“You’re so modest in your demands, Patty! Why don’t you have something really worth while?”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Nan; you’re too pretty to say such things! Now take a deep interest in my plans, won’t you, and help me decide things?”
“All right, Patty, I will, indeed. But I thought you didn’t want company down here, especially the boys, because you wanted to enjoy your scouring the plain, all alone.”
“Well, I did feel that way for a time, but I’m getting over it. Anyway, I want to try having company, and, if I don’t like it, I’ll try solitude again. Now you see, Nan, my birthday is next week, Thursday. I’d like to ask the people to come Wednesday, and then stay over the weekend.”
“All right, Patty, I’ll do all I can to make it pleasant for you. But, you know, we have only four guest rooms. How big did you mean your house party to be?”
“Well, of course the two Farringtons and Christine and Kenneth would be about all we could accommodate. Then I thought, if Mr. Hepworth and Mr. Van Reypen cared to come, they could stay at the hotel.”
“It doesn’t seem very hospitable to invite them that way,” said Nan, demurring.
“Then they’ll have to stay home,” said Patty, cheerfully, “for, as you say, we have only the four rooms to give them. I thought our house was large, but it doesn’t seem so when you begin to invite guests.”
“Well, we’ll see about it,” said Nan.
Chapter X.
The Courtesy of the Road
That evening they discussed the project with Mr. Fairfield.
“I heartily approve of the plan,” he said. “It’s time we had some young life down here to stir Patty up. She’s getting too sentimental from gazing at the sea and sky. And I think it will be quite all right to invite two of the men to lodge at the hotel. They can come over here for all their meals, and so they will practically be part of the house party. But, Patty, are you sure you want this house party for several days? You may find it more of a burden than you think, to entertain guests so long.”
“Oh, they’re not formal guests; it’s just a young people’s frolic. We’ll go motoring and swimming and picnicking just as we like. But, of course, on my birthday I shall have a party,—a real party.”
“You don’t know enough people down here to make an evening party,” said Nan.
“Oh, well, I know several,” said Patty; “and if we have eight or ten in the house, and get eight or ten more from among the Spring Beach cottagers, that will be enough for a small dance.”
“And there’s Mona,” put in her father, mischievously.
“Oh, Mona! I’m not going to ask her!”
“Why, Patty,” said Nan, “you’ll have to ask her,—your very next neighbour!”
“No, I won’t have to, either! I’m not going to spoil my whole birthday just because she happens to live next-door to me!”
“Patty,” said her father, “I think you must be a little more generous in your attitude toward that girl. You may not like her altogether, but you must be kind and polite to her, because, in a country place like this, we do owe a certain duty to our neighbours such as is never recognised in New York. And I want you to grow up an unselfish, generous woman, who would sacrifice her own feelings to those of her neighbour.”
“Of