but
what can you do when they come running up, begging to be ridiculed?"

"They didn't," declared Patty. "Nobody would have thought of
ridiculing them, Chick, if you hadn't. They talked a lot of wisdom
that you couldn't assimilate, and you're envious of their superior
minds, that's what ails you."

"Patty, Patty," said her father, laughing outright at this, "my dear
child, are you really so infatuated with those people that you believe
what you're saying?"

"Of course, I am. I don't expect you to understand them, Father,
you're older, and belong to another generation."

"Good gracious, Patty," cried Nan, gasping, "do you think your father
is too old to understand that drivel?"

"I do," said Patty, calmly, "and you are too, Nan. It takes the modern
viewpoint, the young soulsight to apprehend the beauty of vision, the
vast--vast----"

"Horizon," suggested Chick, kindly.

"Yes, horizon," said Patty; "how did you know, Chick?"

"Oh, horizons are always vast. Deeps are vasty. Nothing much else is
vast, except once in a while a distance. So I felt safe in chancing
the horizon."

"Oh, Chick, you are the funniest thing!" said Nan, who was shaking with
laughter at Patty's chagrin. "But," and her voice suddenly became
serious, "I won't stand for your nonsense. I range myself on Patty's
side. These people were our guests. I forbid any slighting allusions
to them. Their ways may not be our ways, but if they are Patty's
friends they are my friends."

The warm, sincere ring of Nan's voice went to Patty's heart, and she
smiled again.

"Good for you, you old trump!" she exclaimed, looking gratefully at
Nan. "Now, Dad, you come over, and I can manage Chick, myself."

Patty was in gay good humour again, and she perched on the arm of her
father's chair, as she proceeded to win him over.

"You know I can't resist your blandishments, my angel child," he said,
as Patty caressed his handsome iron-grey hair, "but I must admit your
Cosmickers have no message for me."

"That's just it," cried Patty, triumphantly. "I knew it! They have no
message for you, because you don't understand their language,
you're--Dad, I hate to say it,--but, you're too old!"

And with a kiss on his frowning forehead, Patty ran to the piano, and
began to play "Silver Threads Among the Gold," to a rag-time
improvisation of her own.

"Oh, Pattibelle," cried Chick, "what would your vast-horizoned friends
say if they could hear you play