Patty's Summer Days

CHAPTER XIX

ROSABEL

“Rosabel who?” exclaimed Nan, as Patty came up on the verandah with the baby in her arms.

“I don’t know, I’m sure. You may call her Rosabel anything you like. We picked her up by the wayside.”

“Yes,” said Dick Phelps, who had followed Patty up the steps. “Miss Rosabel seemed lonely without anyone to talk to, so we brought her back here to visit you.”

“You must be crazy!” cried Nan, “but what a cunning baby it is! Let me take her.”

Nan took the good-natured little midget and sat down in a verandah rocker, with the baby in her arms.

“Tell a straight story, Patty,” said her father, “is it one of the neighbour’s children, or did you kidnap it?”

“Neither,” said Patty, turning to her father; “we found the baby lying right near the edge of a wood, in plain sight from the road. And there was nobody around, and Papa, I just know that the child’s wretch of a mother deserted it, and left it there to die!”

“Nonsense,” said her father. “Mothers don’t leave their little ones around as carelessly as that.”

“Well, what else could it be?” said Patty. “There was the baby all alone, smiling and talking to herself, and no one anywhere near, although we waited for some time.”

“It does seem strange,” said Mr. Fairfield, “perhaps the mother did mean to desert the child, but if so, she was probably peeping from some hiding-place, to make sure that she approved of the people who took it.”

“Well,” said Mr. Phelps, “she evidently thought we were all right; at any rate she made no objection.”

“But isn’t it awful,” said Nan, “to think of anybody deserting a dear little thing like this. Why, the wild animals might have eaten her up.”

“Of course they might,” said Mr. Phelps, gravely, “the tigers and wolves that abound on Long Island are of the most ferocious type.”

“Well, anyway,” said Patty, “something dreadful might have happened to her.”

“It may yet,” said Mr. Phelps cheerfully, “when we take her back to-morrow and put her in the place we found her. For I don’t suppose you intend to keep Miss Rosabel, do you?”

“I don’t know,” said Patty, “but I know one thing, we certainly won’t put her back where we found her. What shall we do with her, Papa?”

“I don’t know, my child, she’s your find, and I suppose it’s a case of ‘findings is keepings.’”

“Of course we can’t keep her,” said Patty, “how ridiculous! We’ll have to put her in an orphan asylum or something like that.”

“It’s a shame,” said Nan, “to put this dear little mite in a horrid old asylum. I think I shall adopt her myself.”

Little Rosabel had begun to grow restless, and suddenly without a word of warning she began to cry lustily, and not a quiet well-conducted cry either, but with ear-splitting shrieks and yells, indicative of great discomfort of some sort.

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Nan, abruptly. “I don’t want to adopt any such noisy young person as that. Here, take her, Patty, she’s your property.”

Patty took the baby, and carried her into the house, fearing that passers-by would think they must be torturing the child to make her scream like that.

Into the dining-room went Patty, and on to the kitchen, where she announced to the astonished cook that she wanted some milk for the baby and she wanted it quick.

“Is there company for dinner, Miss Patty?” asked the cook, not understanding how a baby could have arrived as an only guest.

“Only this one,” said Patty, laughing, “what do you think she ought to eat?”

“Bread and milk,” said the cook, looking at the child with a judicial air.

“All right, Kate, fix her some, won’t you?”

In a few moments Patty was feeding Rosabel bread and milk, which the child ate eagerly.

Impelled by curiosity, Nan came tip-toeing to the kitchen, followed by the two men.

“I thought she must be asleep,” said Nan, “as the concert seems to have stopped.”

“Not at all,” said Patty, calmly, “she was only hungry, and the fact seemed to occur to her somewhat suddenly.”

Little Rosabel, all smiles again, looked up from her supper with such bewitching glances that Nan cried out, “Oh, she is a darling! Let me help you feed her, Patty.”

In fact they all succumbed to the charm of their uninvited guest. During dinner Rosabel sat at the table, in a chair filled with pillows, and was made happy by being given many dainty bits of various delicacies, until Nan declared the child would certainly be ill.

“I don’t believe she is more than a year old,” said Nan, “and she’s probably unaccustomed to those rich cakes and bonbons.”

“I think she’s more than a year,” said Patty, sagely, “and anyway, I want her to have a good time for once.”

“She seems to be having the time of her life,” said Dick Phelps, as he watched the baby, who with a macaroon in one hand, and some candied cherries in the other, was smiling impartially on them all.

“She’s not much of a conversationalist,” remarked Mr. Fairfield.

“Give her time,” said Patty, “she feels a little strange at first.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Phelps, “I think after two or three years she’ll be much more talkative.”

“Well, there’s one thing certain,” said Patty, “she’ll have to stay here to-night, whatever we do with her to-morrow.”

After dinner they took their new toy with them to the parlour, and Miss Rosabel treated them all to a few more winning smiles, and then quietly, but very decidedly fell asleep in Patty’s arms.

“I can’t help admiring her decision of character,” said Patty, as she shook the baby to make her awaken, but without success.

“Don’t wake her up,” said Nan. “Come, Patty, we’ll take her upstairs, and put her to bed somewhere.”

This feat being accomplished, Nan and Patty rejoined the men, who sat smoking on the front verandah.

“Now,” said Patty, “we really must decide what we’re going to do with that infant; for I warn you, Papa Fairfield, that if we keep that dear baby around much longer, I shall become so attached to her that I can’t give her up.”

“Of course,” said Mr. Fairfield, “she must be turned over to the authorities. I’ll attend to it the first thing in the morning.”

A little later Mr. Fairfield and Nan strolled down the road to make a call on a neighbour, and Patty and Dick Phelps remained at home.

Patty had declared she wouldn’t leave the house lest Rosabel should waken and cry out, so promising to make but a short call, Mr. Fairfield and Nan went away.

Soon after they had gone, a strange young man came walking toward the house. He turned in at the gate and approached the front steps.

“Is this Mr. Richard Phelps?” he asked, addressing himself to Dick.

“It is; what can I do for you?”

“Do you own a large black racing automobile?”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Phelps.

“And were you out in it this afternoon,” continued the stranger, “driving rapidly between here and North Point?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Phelps again, wondering what was the intent of this peculiar interview.

“Then you’re the man I’m after,” declared the stranger, “and I’m obliged to tell you, sir, that you are under arrest.”

“For what offence?” enquired Mr. Phelps, rather amused at what he considered a good joke, and thinking that it must be a case of mistaken identity somehow.

“For kidnapping little Mary Brown,” was the astonishing reply.

“Why, we didn’t kidnap her at all!” exclaimed Patty, breaking into the conversation. “The idea, to think we would kidnap a baby! and anyway her name isn’t Mary, it’s Rosabel.”

“Then you know where the child is, Miss,” said the man, turning to Patty.

“Of course I do,” said Patty, “she’s upstairs asleep. But it isn’t Mary Brown at all. It’s Rosabel,—I don’t know what her last name is.”

Mr. Phelps began to be interested.

“What makes you think we kidnapped a baby, my friend?” he said to their visitor.

The man looked as if he had begun to think there must be a mistake somewhere. “Why, you see, sir,” he said, “Mrs. Brown, she’s just about crazy. Her little girl, Sarah, went out into the woods this afternoon, and took the baby, Mary, with her. The baby went to sleep, and Sarah left it lying on a blanket under a tree, while she roamed around the wood picking blueberries. Somehow she strayed away farther than she intended and lost her way. When she finally managed to get back to the place where she left the baby, the child was gone, and she says she could see a large automobile going swiftly away, and the lady who sat in the front seat was holding little Mary. Sarah screamed, and called after you, but the car only went on more and more rapidly, and was soon lost to sight. I’m a detective, sir, and I looked carefully at the wheel tracks in the dust, and I asked a few questions here and there, and I hit upon some several clues, and here I am. Now I’d like you to explain, sir, if you didn’t kidnap that child, what you do call it?”

“Why, it was a rescue,” cried Patty, indignantly, without giving Mr. Phelps time to reply. “The dear little baby was all alone in the wood, and anything might have happened to her. Her mother had no business to let her be taken care of by a sister that couldn’t take care of her any better than that! We waited for some time, and nobody appeared, so we picked up the child and brought her home, rather than leave her there alone. But I don’t believe it’s the child you’re after anyway, for the name Rosabel is embroidered on the blanket.”

“It is the same child, Miss,” said the man, who somehow seemed a little crestfallen because his kidnapping case proved to be only in his own imagination. “Mrs. Brown described to me the clothes the baby wore, and she said that blanket was given to her by a rich lady who had a little girl named Rosabel. The Browns are poor people, ma’am, and the mother is a hard-working woman, and she’s nearly crazed with grief about the baby.”

“I should think she would be,” said Patty, whose quick sympathies had already flown to the sorrowing mother. “She oughtn’t to have left an irresponsible child in charge of the little thing. But it’s dreadful to think how anxious she must be! Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do; Mr. Phelps, if you’ll get out your car, I’ll just bundle that child up and we’ll take her right straight back home to her mother. We’ll stop at the Ripleys’ for Papa and Nan, and we’ll all go over together. It’s a lovely moonlight night for a drive, anyway, and even if it were pitch dark, or pouring in torrents, I should want to get that baby back to her mother just as quickly as possible. I don’t wonder the poor woman is distracted.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Phelps, who would have driven his car to Kamschatka if Patty had asked him to, “and we’ll take this gentleman along with us, to direct us to Mrs. Brown’s.”

Mr. Phelps went for his car, and Patty flew to bundle up the baby. She did not dress the child, but wrapped her in a warm blanket, and then in a fur-lined cape of her own. Then making a bundle of the baby’s clothes, she presented herself at the door, just as Mr. Phelps drove up with his splendid great car shining in the moonlight.

A few moments’ pause was sufficient to gather in Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield, and away they all flew through the night, to Mrs. Brown’s humble cottage.

They found the poor woman not only grieving about the loss of her child, but angry and revengeful against the lady and gentleman in the motor-car, who, she thought, had stolen it.

And so when the car stopped in front of her door, she came running out followed by her husband and several children.

Little Sarah recognised the car, which was unusual in size and shape, and cried out, “That’s the one, that’s the one, mother! and those are the people who stole Mary!”

But the young detective, whose name was Mr. Faulks, sprang out of the car and began to explain matters to the astonished family. Then Patty handed out the baby, and the grief of the Browns was quickly turned to rejoicing, mingled with apologies.

Mr. Fairfield explained further to the somewhat bewildered mother, and leaving with her a substantial present of money as an evidence of good faith in the matter, he returned to his place in the car, and in a moment they were whizzing back toward home.

“I’m glad it all turned out right,” said Patty with a sigh, “but I do wish that pretty baby had been named Rosabel instead of Mary. It really would have suited her a great deal better.”

CHAPTER XX

THE ROLANDS

“There’s a new family in that house across the road,” said Mr. Fairfield one evening at dinner.

“The Fenwick house?” asked Nan.

“Yes; a man named Roland has taken it for August. I know a man who knows them, and he says they’re charming people. So, if you ladies want to be neighbourly, you might call on them.”

Nan and Patty went to call and found the Roland family very pleasant people, indeed. Mrs. Roland seemed to be an easy-going sort of lady who never took any trouble herself, and never expected anyone else to do so.

Miss Roland, Patty decided, was a rather inanimate young person, and showed a lack of energy so at variance with Patty’s tastes that she confided to Nan on the way home she certainly did not expect to cultivate any such lackadaisical girl as that.

As for young Mr. Roland, the son of the house, Patty had great ado to keep from laughing outright at him. He was of the foppish sort, and though young and rather callow, he assumed airs of great importance, and addressed Patty with a formal deference, as if she were a young lady in society, instead of a schoolgirl.

Patty was accustomed to frank, pleasant comradeship with the boys of her acquaintance; and the young men, such as Mr. Hepworth and Mr. Phelps, treated Patty as a little girl, and never seemed to imply anything like grown-up attentions.

But young Mr. Roland, with an affected drawl, and what were meant to be killing glances of admiration, so conducted himself that Patty’s sense of humour was stirred, and she mischievously led him on for the fun of seeing what he would do next.

The result was that young Mr. Roland was much pleased with pretty Patty, and fully believed that his own charms had made a decided impression on her.

He asked permission to call, whereupon Patty told him that she was only a schoolgirl, and did not receive calls from young men, but referred him to Mrs. Fairfield, and Nan being in an amiable mood, kindly gave him the desired permission.

“Well,” said Patty, as they discussed the matter afterward, “if that young puff-ball rolls himself over here, you can have the pleasure of entertaining him. I’m quite ready to admit that another season of his conversation would affect my mind.”

“Nonsense,” said Nan, carelessly, “you can’t expect every young man to be as interesting as Mr. Hepworth, or as companionable as Kenneth Harper.”

“I don’t,” said Patty, “but I don’t have to bore myself to death talking to them, if I don’t like them.”

“No,” said Nan, “but you must be polite and amiable to everybody. That’s part of the penalty of being an attractive young woman.”

“All right,” said Patty, “since that’s the way you look at it, you surely can’t have any objection to receiving Mr. Roland if he calls, for I warn you that I shan’t appear.”

But it so happened that when a caller came one afternoon, Nan was not at home, and Patty was.

The maid brought the card to Patty, who was reading in her own room, and when she looked at it and saw the name of Mr. Charles Roland upon it, she exclaimed in dismay.

“I don’t want to go down,” she said, “I wish he hadn’t come.”

“It’s a lady, Miss Patty,” said the girl.

“A lady?” said Patty, wonderingly, “why this is a gentleman’s card.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know it, but it’s a lady that called. She’s down in the parlour, waiting, and that’s the card she gave me. She’s a large lady, Miss Patty, with greyish hair, and she seems in a terrible fluster.”

“Very mysterious,” said Patty, “but I’ll go down and see what it’s all about.”

Patty went down to the parlour, and found Mrs. Roland there. She did indeed look bewildered, and as soon as Patty entered the room she began to talk volubly.

“Excuse my rushing over like this, my dear,” she said, “but I am in such trouble, and I wonder if you won’t help me out. We’re neighbours, you know, and I’m sure I’d do as much for you. I asked for Mrs. Fairfield, but she isn’t at home, so I asked for you.”

“But the card you sent up had Mr. Charles Roland’s name on it,” said Patty, smiling.

“Oh, my dear, is that so? What a mistake to make! You see I carry Charlie’s cards around with my own, and I must have sent the wrong one. I’m so nearsighted I can’t see anything without my glasses, anyway, and my glasses are always lost.”

Patty felt sorry for the old lady, who seemed in such a bewildered state, and she said, “No matter about the card, Mrs. Roland, what can I do for you?”

“Why it’s just this,” said her visitor. “I want to borrow your house. Just for the night, I’ll return it to-morrow in perfect order.”

“Borrow this house?” repeated Patty, wondering if her guest were really sane.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Roland; “now wait, and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m expecting some friends to dinner and to stay over night, and would you believe it, just now of all days in the year, the tank has burst and the water is dripping down all through the house. We can’t seem to do anything to stop it. The ceilings had fallen in three rooms when I came away, and I dare say the rest of them are down by this time. And my friends are very particular people, and awfully exclusive. I wouldn’t like to take them to the hotel; and I don’t think it’s a very nice hotel anyway, and so I thought if you’d just lend me this house over night, I could bring my friends right here, and as they leave to-morrow morning, it wouldn’t be long, you know. And truly I don’t see what else I can do.”

“But what would become of our family?” said Patty, who was greatly amused at the unconventional request.

“Why, you could go to our house,” said Mrs. Roland dubiously; “that is, if any of the ceilings will stay up over night; or,” she added, her face brightening, “couldn’t you go to the hotel yourselves? Of course, it isn’t a nice place to entertain guests, but it does very well for one’s own family. Oh, Miss Fairfield, please help me out! Truly I’d do as much for you if the case were reversed.”

Although the request was unusual, Mrs. Roland did not seem to think so, and the poor lady seemed to be in such distress, that Patty’s sympathies were aroused, and after all it was a mere neighbourly act of kindness to borrow and lend, even though the article in question was somewhat larger than the lemon or the egg usually borrowed by neighbourly housekeepers.

So Patty said, “What about the servants, Mrs. Roland? Do you want to borrow them too?”

“I don’t care,” was the reply, “just as it suits you best. You may leave them here; or take them with you, and I’ll bring my own. Oh, please, Miss Fairfield, do help me somehow.”

Patty thought a minute. It was a responsibility to decide the question herself, but if she waited until Nan or her father came home, it would be too late for Mrs. Roland’s purpose.

Then she said, “I’ll do it, Mrs. Roland. You shall have the house and servants at your disposal until noon to-morrow. You may bring your own servants also, or not, just as you choose. We won’t go to your house, thank you, nor to the hotel. But Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield and myself will go over to my aunt, Mrs. Barlow’s, to dine and spend the night. They can put us up, and they won’t mind a bit our coming so unexpectedly.”

“Oh, my dear, how good you are!” said Mrs. Roland in a burst of gratitude. “I cannot tell you how I appreciate your kindness! Are you sure your parents won’t mind?”

“I’m not at all sure of that,” said Patty, smiling, “but I don’t see as they can help themselves; when they come home, you will probably be in possession, and your guests will be here, so there’ll be nothing for my people to do but to fall in with my plans.”

“Oh, how good you are,” said Mrs. Roland. “I will surely make this up to you in some way, and now, will you just show me about the house a bit, as I’ve never been here before?”

So Patty piloted Mrs. Roland about the house, showed her the various rooms, and told the servants that they were at Mrs. Roland’s orders for that night and the next morning.

After Mrs. Roland had gone back home, made happy by Patty’s kindness, Patty began to think that she had done a very extraordinary thing, and wondered what her father and Nan would say.

“But,” she thought to herself, “I’m in for it now, and they’ll have to abide by my decision, whatever they think. Now I must pack some things for our visit. But first I must telephone to Aunt Grace.”

“Hello, Auntie,” said Patty, at the telephone, a few moments later. “Papa and Nan and I want to come over to the Hurly-Burly to dinner, and to stay all night. Will you have us?”

“Why, of course, Patty, child, we’re glad to have you. Come right along and stay as long as you like. But what’s the matter? Has your cook left, or is the house on fire?”

“Neither, Aunt Grace, but I’ll explain when I get there. Can you send somebody after me in a carriage? Papa and Nan have gone off in the cart, and I have two suit cases to bring.”

“Certainly, Patty, I’ll send old Dill after you right away, and I’ll make him hurry, too, as you seem to be anxious to start.”

“I am,” said Patty, laughing. “Good-bye.”

Then she gathered together such clothing and belongings as were necessary for their visit, and had two suit cases ready packed when her aunt’s carriage came for her.

Patty looked a little dubious as she left the house, but she didn’t feel that she could have acted otherwise than as she had done, and, too, since their own trusty servants were to stay there, certainly no harm could come to the place.

So, giggling at the whole performance, Patty jumped into the Barlow carriage and went to the Hurly-Burly.

“Well, of all things!” said her Aunt Grace, after Patty had told her story. “I’ve had a suspicion, sometimes, that we Barlows were an unconventional crowd, but we never borrowed anybody’s house yet! It’s ridiculous, Patty, and you ought not to have let that woman have it!”

“I just couldn’t help it, Aunt Grace, she was in such a twitter, and threw herself on my mercy in such a way that I felt I had to help her out.”