“No, sir!” said Patty, gravely, but wagging a roguish forefinger at him; “people can’t undo their mistakes so easily. If, as you say, you brought about this painful situation, then you must sit patiently by and watch me as I flounder about in the various sloughs of despond.”
“Oh, Patty, don’t! Please drop it all,—for my sake!”
Patty looked up in surprise at his earnest tones, but she only laughed gaily, and said:
“Nixy! Not I! Not by no means! But I’ll give in to this extent. I’ll agree not to make more than three more attempts. If I can’t succeed in three more efforts, I’ll give up the game, and confess myself a butterfly and an idiot.”
“The only symptoms of idiocy are shown in your making three more attempts,” said Mr. Hepworth, who was almost angry at Patty’s persistence.
“Oh, pooh! I probably shan’t make three more! I just somehow feel sure I’ll succeed the very next time.”
“A sanguine idiot is the most hopeless sort,” said Mr. Hepworth, with a resigned air. “May I ask what you intend to attempt next?”
“You may ask, but you can’t be answered, for I don’t yet know, myself. I’ve two or three tempting plans, but I don’t know which to choose. I’ve thought of taking a place as cook.”
“Patty! don’t you dare do such a thing! To think of you in a kitchen,—under orders! Oh, child, how can you?”
Patty laughed outright at Mr. Hepworth’s dismay.