Patty hurriedly undressed and tumbled into a kimono. Sleepily rubbing her eyes, she joined the assemblage in the hall.
"What's happened?" she asked, blinking at the lights. "Has there been a fire?"
A chorus of laughter greeted the question.
"It's a burglar!" said Conny, exhibiting the wrench.
"Oh, why didn't you wake me?" Patty wailed. "I've wanted all my life to see a burglar."
Two weeks later, a groom arrived on horseback with a polite note for the Dowager.
Mr. Weatherby presented his compliments to Mrs. Trent, and desired the pleasure of showing the young ladies of the Senior class through his art gallery on Friday next at four o'clock.
The Dowager was at a loss to account for this gratuitous courtesy on the part of her hitherto unneighborly neighbor. After a moment of deliberation, she decided to meet him half way; and the groom rode back with an equally polite acceptance.
On Friday next, as the school hearse turned in at the gates of Weatherby Hall, the owner stood on the portico waiting to welcome his guests. If there were a shade more empressement in his greeting to Patty than to her companions, the Dowager did not notice it.