“Oh well,” she replied, tossing her head, “Mr. Bruce’s spider made seven attempts before he succeeded. So I think my record’s pretty fair.”
“I think so, too,” said Mr. Hepworth, heartily. “And I congratulate you on your plucky perseverance and your indomitable will. You put up a brave fight, and you won. I know how you suffered under that petty tyranny, and your success in such circumstances was a triumph!”
“Thank you,” said Patty, greatly pleased at this sincere praise from one whom she so greatly respected. “It would have been harder still if I hadn’t had a good sense of humour. Lots of times when I wanted to cry I laughed instead.”
“Hurrah for you, Patty girl!” cried her father. “I’d rather you’d have a good sense of humour than a talent for spatter-work!”
“Oh, you back number!” exclaimed Patty. “They don’t do spatter-work now, daddy.”
“Well, china painting—or whatever the present fad is.”
But Mr. Hepworth seemed not to place so high a value on a sense of humour, for he said, gravely:
“I congratulate you on your steadfastness of purpose, which is one of the finest traits of your character.”
“Thank you,” said Patty, with dancing eyes. “You give it a nice name. But it is a family trait with us Fairfields, and has usually been called ‘stubbornness.’”
“Well,” supplemented her father, “I’m sure that’s just as good a name.”