Patsy accepted them all with a gracious little nod, and, spreading the paper on the improvised desk, she wrote quickly:
“If it do come to pass That any man turn ass,” Thinking the world is blind And trust forsworn mankind, “Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame”: Here shall he find Both trust and peace of mind, An he but leave all foolishness behind.
“With apologies to Willie Shakespeare,” Patsy chuckled again as she returned paper and pencil to their owner. “Ye put it somewhere he’d be likely to look—furninst something that would naturally take his notice.”
“I know just the spot—and they’re in blossom now, too. I’ll fasten it to a rock, there, wedge it in the cracks. Billy won’t miss it if he comes within yards of the place.” He grasped Patsy’s hand with growing fervor that gave promise of developing suddenly into almost anything. “You’re a brick, Miss O’Connell—a solid gold brick of a girl, and I wish—”
“Take care!” warned Patsy. “Ye’re not improving as fast in your compliments as ye might—and there’s no poetry in gold—for me.”
Gregory Jessup looked puzzled, but his fervor did not abate one whit. “I want you to promise me if you ever need a friend—if there is anything I can ever do—”
“Ye can,” interrupted Patsy, “and ye can do it now. Take that riding-crop of yours and draw me a map in the dust there of the country hereabouts—ye can make a cross for Arden.... That’s grand. Now where would ye put Brambleside Inn? And is it seven miles from there to Arden?”
Gregory nodded an affirmative while he considered Patsy with grave perplexity. Patsy saw it, and smiled reassuringly. “’Tis all right. I’ve always had a great interest entirely to know the geography of every new country—and I haven’t the wits to discover it for myself. Now where would ye put the cross-roads and the Catholic church? And where would Lebanon be? Aye—Did ye ever see an old tabby chasing her tail? Faith! ’tis a very intelligent spectacle, I’m thinking. Now where might ye put the cross-roads where ye picked me up with the Dempsy Carters?... And Dansville?... and the railroad bridge? ... and the golf links, back yonder?”
She stood for many minutes, studying the rough chart in the dust at her feet. The connecting lines of roads between the places named made fully a hundred and twenty degrees of a circle about the cross marking Arden. And as chance would have it, every one of the encircling towns measured approximately seven miles from the central cross. Patsy smiled, and the smile grew to a chuckle—and the chuckle to a long, rippling laugh. Patsy was forced to hold her sides with the ache of it.
“I know ye think I’m crazy—but ’tis the rarest bit of humor this side of Ireland. Willie Shakespeare himself would steal it if he could to put in one of his comedies. There is just one thing I’d like to be knowing—how much of it was chance, and how much was the tricks of a tinker?”