So Patty shut the door, and then, opening the piano, she sang “Home, Sweet Home,” and then some gayer songs to express her enthusiasm.
Her own rooms, Patty concluded, were the gem of the house. From her balcony, on which she proposed to sleep, she had not only a wide view of the sea, but an attractive panorama of the beautiful estates along the shore. A hammock was slung between two of the pillars, and, throwing herself into this, with an Indian blanket over her, Patty swayed gently back and forth, and indulged in daydreams of the coming summer. An hour later, Nan found her still there.
“Come to tea, Patty,” she said; “we’re having it indoors, as the wind is rising.”
“Yes, it’s breezing up quite some;” and Patty looked out at the waves, now so darkly blue as to be almost black.
She followed Nan downstairs to the hall, and looked approvingly at the tea-table, set out near the blazing wood-fire.
“Lovely!” she cried. “I believe I am chilly, after all. But the air is fine. Buttered muffins, oh, goody! Father, the table bills will be a lot bigger down here than in the city.”
“I daresay; but I won’t begrudge them, if you will put some more flesh on that willowy frame of yours. You’re not strong, Patty, and I want you to devote this summer to building yourself up physically. No study, not much reading, no ‘Puzzle Contest’ work. Just rest, and exercise moderately, and spend most of your time out-of-doors.”
“Why, daddy dear, your plans and specifications exactly suit me! How strange that our ideas should be the same on this subject! You see, with my new Stanhope, I’ll be out-of-doors all day, and, as I propose to sleep in the open, I’ll be out-of-doors all night. Can I do more?”
“I’m not sure about this sleeping outside. You must never do it on damp or foggy nights.”
“Now, father, the sanitariums advise it for everybody—every night. Well, I’ll agree not to sleep out in a thunderstorm, for I’m scared to death of them.”