Patricia raised a small, flushed face. "Please, Aunt Julia, I'm in bed—and you didn't have to send me. I've had a most fatiguing day; and I'm dreadfully afraid that if you start in to talk to me the 'Kirby temper''ll make me say something back."
Miss Kirby sat down, surveying her niece in silence for a moment. Patricia had frankly stated a quite undeniable fact; and she had no desire to put the matter to the test. "Very well," she said, presently, "we will wait until to-morrow morning."
"But that would be ever so much worse," Patricia pleaded. "I do so hate waiting for things. I thought—maybe—if I went straight to bed—you'd skip the—talk part, this time. I'm very tired; finding a home for a dog takes it out of you a lot. People 'round here don't seem very anxious to have dogs. And—I went considerably beyond bounds—so I've got Daddy to settle with yet. All the same, I did find him a home, Aunt Julia—I haven't got that on my mind."
Miss Kirby rose, and going over to the bed bent and kissed the tired, wistful face. Patricia had a fashion of exciting sympathy at the wrong time, in a way that was perilous to discipline. "For this time, then, Patricia," she said. "Now I must go downstairs."
Left to herself, Patricia suddenly remembered that there was to be strawberry shortcake for supper. Oh, dear, if only Custard had chosen any other day to drift across her path! A sent-to-bed bed-supper meant simply bread and milk. Patricia wondered if Dr. Vail would mind about not having custard as much as she did about not having strawberry shortcake. She decided that when she was grown up and had little girls of her own she'd never send them to bed early on strawberry shortcake night.
She heard her father drive into the yard, heralded by Cæsar's deep bark. Cæsar had gone with the doctor on his day's round. Patricia knew how he was running about now, looking for her. She hoped Sarah would forget and leave the screen door open. Cæsar would be sure to come upstairs then. She rather thought Daddy would delay his coming until after supper.
Sarah was taking in supper now; she could hear the dishes rattling. She was very hungry; that hasty raid on the pantry had not been very satisfactory. If Custard had felt that way she didn't much blame him for eating up Miss Susan's custard. Probably no one had ever taught him that it was wrong to take what didn't belong to him.
There! Sarah was bringing up her supper now!
Patricia sat up in bed; even bread and milk appeared highly desirable at that moment.
But there was more than bread and milk on the tray Sarah carried. Patricia stared at the generous square of strawberry shortcake, plentifully supplied with cream, in wondering silence.