ard, as they
once more made their way towards the house.

If only the coast were clear!

Sarah was on the back piazza, pitting cherries, but Sarah was easily
managed.

"My sakes, Miss P'tricia!" Sarah lifted her plump hands in horror,
"whatever is you-un been up to now?"

"Where's Aunt Julia, Sarah?"

"Done left for Gar's Hollow just five minutes ago, your pa sent Jim back
for her in the gig. What you say, Miss P'tricia?"

For under her breath, Patrica was saying jubilantly:
"It's--providential!"

"N-nothing--that is, I was only thinking out loud," she told Sarah.

"Don't you go worrying 'bout dat ere party, honey; hit'll come off all
right."

"I think it will--now," Patricia answered; her tone so full of some
hidden enjoyment that Sarah glanced at her suspiciously.

"Miss Julia, she done left word for you-un to do everything like you
know she'd want you to, Miss P'tricia."

Patricia selected a pair of earrings from the finest of Sarah's bowl of
cherries. "Don't you worry, Sarah."

"You ain't 'xplained yet how you come to be in such a disrepec'ble
condition, Miss P'tricia. If the rag man was to see you, he'd just up
and toss you into his cart--he shore would."

"Have I got a clean gingham apron, Sarah?" Patricia was a past-mistress
in the art of ignoring what she considered inconvenient, or personal,
remarks.

"Looks to me like you's got more clean gingham aprons than you's got
manners," Sarah said severely.

Patricia went indoors to the telephone, shutting the door behind her
as she went. Sarah was too fat and too heavy on her feet to get out of
a chair, once comfortably settled in it, unless the call were really
urgent.

Patricia first called up Mrs. Hardy. Quite unconsciously--being on her
dignity and feeling, besides, very important--she spoke more slowly than
was usual, and with more than a trace of her aunt's formality.

Back over the line came a prompt: "Why, good morning, Miss Kirby!"

Patricia's eyes sparkled and the demon of mischief, always lurking in
her neighborhood, immediately put idea number two into her head. Her
imitation of her aunt's voice and manner this time was perfect. "Good
morning, Mrs. Hardy, I just called you up to let you know that the
little party we are giving this afternoon is to be a gingham apron
party."

"A w-what?" Mrs. Hardy questioned.

"Miss Kirby" gave herself vigorous mental treatment for a moment or
so--one giggle and the game was up. As if Aunt Julia