They were so dusty, so disheveled; all but Patricia had shoes on—Custard had made off with both of Susy's, and Patricia had most willingly offered hers—the opportunity to go barefoot was too good to be lost; Nell had only one stocking, Kitty none at all, Ruth was wearing Patricia's, Custard had certainly made the most of his chance to carry off things that afternoon.
"But we've had a be-au-ti-ful time," Susy said, slipping a hand into the doctor's. She quite forgot that he was a comparative stranger, remembering only that he was Patricia's father—Patricia, who had invited her to this most wonderful of parties, where one had been so busy having fun that there had been no time for feeling shy and strange.
Dr. Kirby smiled down at the little guest of honor. "Upon my word, I believe you have," he said.
"Aunt Julia says," Patricia possessed herself of his other hand, "that to feel sure that one's guests have honestly enjoyed themselves is to know that one's party has been a success. So I reckon mine's been a perfectly tremendous success."
"Suppose you come up to the house—all of you—and see if you can reassure Aunt Julia and—Sarah," the doctor suggested.
Patricia sighed. "I—I sort of wish Aunt Julia—looked at things the way we do, Daddy."
They went on up to the house. On the back steps, Miss Kirby was waiting; in the kitchen doorway stood Sarah.
"Patricia Kirby!" Aunt Julia exclaimed. "Well of all the—"
"Miss P'tricia," Sarah broke in wrathfully, "where's that cherry pie I done made for Marse Doctor's supper?"
Patricia slowly drew up her uppermost apron. "It's here—most of it; Custard got the rest. I—I stumbled and fell—into it. You see, we were playing pirate—and we were smuggling."