“I’m sick and tired of holly ribbon and red ribbon,” she said, as she deftly tied up her parcels. “So, this year, I’m using white satin ribbon and gilt cord. It’s an awfully pretty combination, and these little green and gilt tags are lovely, don’t you think?”
Her audience, which consisted of Elise and Mona, were watching her work with admiration. They had offered to help, but after an ineffectual attempt to meet Patty’s idea of how a box should be tied up, they abandoned the effort, and sat watching her nimble fingers fly.
“You ought to get a position in some shop where they advertise, ‘only experienced parcel wrappers need apply,’” said Elise. “I never saw such neat parcels.”
“You’re evidently going to be an old maid,” said Mona, “you’re so fussy and tidy.”
“I do like things tidy,” admitted Patty, “and if that interferes with my having a husband, why, of course I’ll have to give him up. For I can’t stand not having things neat about me.”
“Do you call this room neat?” asked Elise, smiling as she looked about at the scattered boxes and papers, cut strings, and little piles of shredded tissue.
“Yes, I do,” declared Patty, stoutly. “This kind of stuff can be picked up in a jiffy, and then the room is all in order. This is temporary, you see. By untidiness, I mean dirt and dust, and bureau drawers in a mess, and desks in disorder.”
“That’s me,” confessed Mona, cheerfully. “Not the dirt and dust, perhaps,—the maids look after that. But I just can’t keep my belongings in their places.”
“Neither can I,” said Elise. “I don’t see how you do it, Patty.”
“Oh, pshaw! it’s no credit to me, I just can’t help it. I’d have a fit if they weren’t all nice and in order. And if that means I’m going to be an old maid, I can’t help it,—and I don’t care!”