CHAPTER XI
MRS. FABIAN'S GIFTS
Mrs. Fabian had taken her daughter to the train before she appeared to Pat's amazed eyes at the stable door. Her chagrin at discovering the removal of the barrel did not prevent her recognition of the discomforts of Phil's north-lighted chamber. Her nostrils dilated as she looked about her at the rumpled pile of blankets where the artist had evidently slept; the unlighted stove, and the open windows through which came an eager and a nipping air.
"Poor boy! Poor boy!" she said to herself repeatedly.
She had had an unpleasant fifteen minutes with Kathleen in the motor, for the girl had asked her directly if she intended to kidnap the missent barrel, and she had replied in an emphatic affirmative.
"Would you rather have those old dishes than Mr. Sidney's respect?" Kathleen asked her.
Mrs. Fabian looked her surprise. "It sounds very absurd to hear you call Phil 'Mr. Sidney,'" she said, fencing. "Don't you remember your Aunt Mary Sidney?"
"Indeed, I do."