Breakfast was at half-past seven, and after that, the long morning dragged. The fun and novelty had worn off, and Patty was anxious to get back to Fern Falls. She was bright and entertaining as ever, but the spontaneous enthusiasm of the day before had vanished.
But it was impossible to start that morning, Philip said. The roads were piled high with drifts, and almost impassable.
“But why can’t we break the roads?” asked Patty. “Somebody has to do it, and I’m sure Jim’s horses are as good as anybody’s.”
“Little girls mustn’t advise on matters which they know nothing about,” said Philip, unable to resist the temptation to tease her.
Patty pouted a little, and then, with a sudden resolution, was her own sunny self again. “All right, Philip,” she said, smiling at him. “I know you’ll start as soon as it’s possible. When will that be?”
“Perhaps we can go this afternoon, dear; right after dinner, maybe. The man thinks the roads will be broken by that time.”
The storm had ceased, and it was cloudy most of the morning, but about noon the sun came out, and by two o’clock they prepared to start.
The two kind old ladies were sorry to see them go, and begged them to come again some time to visit them.
Patty said good-bye with expressions of real and honestly meant gratitude, for surely Mrs. Fay and her sister had been kindness itself to their young guests.
“But goodness, gracious, Philip,” Patty exclaimed, as they went flying down the road, “if I had had to stay there another night, I should have died!”