“Isn’t it wonderful!” said Patty, almost in a whisper. “Motoring by daylight is gay and festive, but now, to glide along so swiftly and silently through the darkness, is so strange that it’s almost solemn. As it grows darker and blacker, it seems as if we were gliding away,—away into eternity.”
“For gracious’ sake, child,” said Mrs. Farrington, “don’t talk like that! You give me the shivers; say something more lively, quick!”
Patty laughed merrily.
“That was only a passing mood,” she said. “Really, I think it’s awfully jolly for us to be scooting along like this, with our lamps shining. We’re just like a great big fire-fly or a dancing will-o’-the-wisp.”
“You have a well-trained imagination, Patty,” said Mrs. Farrington, laughing at the girl’s quick change from grave to gay. “You can make it obey your will, can’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Patty demurely, “what’s the use of having an imagination, if you can’t make it work for you?”
The car was comfortably lighted inside as well as out, with electric lamps, and the occupants were, as Mr. Farrington said, as cozy and homelike as if they were in a gipsy waggon.
Patty laughed at the comparison and said she thought that very few gipsy waggons had the luxuries and modern appliances of The Fact.
“That may be,” said Mr. Farrington, “but you must admit the gipsy waggon is the more picturesque vehicle. The way they shirr that calico arrangement around their back door, has long been my admiration.”
“It is beautiful,” said Patty, “and the way the stove-pipe comes out of the roof,——”