In a blaze of September glory, the sun shone across the lake. The leaves had not yet begun to turn, and the summer trees were as green as the stalwart evergreens, but of varying shades. From deep, almost black, shadowy forests, the range ran to brilliant, light green foliage, in a gamut of colour. Some of the younger and more daring trees crept down to the water’s edge, but much of the lake shore was rocky and more or less steep. Here and there a picturesque inlet had a bit of sandy coast, but the main effect was rugged and wild.
But even the intrusive sun could only peep into Patty’s boudoir through a chink or two between the drawn shades and the window frames. And so his light was not enough to wake the sleeper, still cuddled among the couch pillows.
But she was awakened by a bombardment of raps on the door.
“Patty!” called Daisy’s impatient voice; “whatever are you doing? Open this door!”
The blue eyes flew open. But Patty was the sort of person who never wakes all at once. Nan always said Patty woke on the instalment plan. Slowly, and rubbing her eyes, she rose and unlocked the door.
“Why, Patty Fairfield!” Daisy exclaimed, “your lights are still burning! You—why, look at you! You didn’t undress at all! You have on your evening petticoat and slippers! and the very same boudoir robe I left you in last night. And”—Daisy looked in at the bedroom door,—“your bed hasn’t been slept in! What is the matter?”
Daisy rattled on so, that Patty, still half asleep, was bewildered. “I don’t know——” she began, “Philip called——”
“Philip called! Patty, are you crazy? Wake up!” Daisy shook her a little and under this compulsion Patty finished waking up.
“Good gracious!” she exclaimed, laughing, “did I sleep there all night? No wonder I feel like a boiled owl.”
“But why,—why did you do it?”