“How kind it was of him to send them,” said Patty, as she arranged the flowers in tall glass vases; “we’ll keep these beautiful chrysanthemums in the library and put the pink carnations in the reception-room. Now, I’ll put these brass candlesticks on the mantel—and, papa, I wish you’d wind that fussy French clock of yours, for I don’t dare touch it.”
“Indeed, you’d better not touch it, Miss Harum-scarum; that clock insists on being treated with the utmost deference and respect. I’m afraid you’d smash it at the first winding.”
“I dare say I should; I never can make a clock go. Now, Grandma, can’t I help you with your unpacking?”
The three worked with right good-will, and by noon nearly everything was in place. This was fortunate, for just as Patty flung herself down in an easy chair to rest, and to survey the results of her labours, callers were announced.
These were Aunt Isabel St. Clair and Ethelyn.
“For goodness’ sake!” exclaimed Patty, in dismay, “I don’t want to see them—at least not just now.”
“You can’t very well help seeing them,” said Grandma, “so you may as well look pleasant about it. You may show them up,” she added to the servant who had brought the cards.
In a few moments Aunt Isabel and Ethelyn came bustling in.
“How do you do?” exclaimed Mrs. St. Clair, “how perfectly lovely to have you here in town. And how delightful, Mrs. Elliott, that you can be here to take care of our Patricia.”
Patty smiled at the name which no one ever called her except the St. Clair family, and Aunt Isabel chattered on.