Patty had set the table the day before, and, to the awestruck admiration of Pansy Potts, had arranged the beautiful new glass and china with most satisfactory effects. Pansy had watched the proceedings with intelligent scrutiny and, when it was finished, had told Patty that the next time she would be able to do it herself.
"You'll have a chance to try," Patty had answered, "for in the evening we'll have supper, and you may set the table all by yourself; and I'll come out and look it over to make sure it's all right."
But, as Patty had said, there was yet much to be done on Thursday morning, even though there were eight hands to make the work light.
Boxes of flowers had arrived from the florist's, and these had to be arranged in the various rooms; also, a few potted plants in full bloom had come for the conservatory, and these so delighted the soul of Pansy Potts that Patty feared the girl would spend the whole day nursing them.
"Come, Pansy," she called; "let them grow by themselves for a while; I want your help in the kitchen."
"But, oh, Miss Patty, they're daisies! Real white daisies, with yellow centres!"
"Well, they'll still be daisies to-morrow, and you'll have more time to admire them then."
Patty's ambitions in the culinary line ran to the fanciful and elaborate confections which were pictured in the cook-books and in the household periodicals; especially did she incline toward marvellous desserts which called for spun sugar, and syllabubs, and rare sweetmeats, and patent freezing processes.
For her New Year's dinner party she had decided to try the most complicated recipe of all, and, moreover, intended to surprise everybody with it.
Warning her father to keep out of the kitchen on pain of excommunication, she rolled up her sleeves and tied on a white apron; and with her open book on the table before her, began her proceedings.