ll, Aunt Julia's made up her mind; and she isn't exactly the
changey kind. I wonder if you'd like it at the Millers'? They've got a
lot of children, but they're ever so nice children! They've three dogs
now, so one more oughtn't to count--and you'd have plenty of company."

The dog, whose only present anxiety was to feel dry once more, merely
rolled over on his back by way of answer.

"Oh, but you mustn't!" Patricia protested. "You'll get all dirty again.
I know it's horrid to feel too clean, but, you see, it's so necessary to
make a good first impression! I reckon it was the first impression that
made all the trouble with Aunt Julia this morning. Come on, we'll start
right off; it's a pretty long walk to the Millers'."

They went 'cross-lots, stopping for more than one romp by the way, one
quite as light-hearted and irresponsible as the other; though behind
Patricia lay more than one neglected task, and before her companion
stretched a possibly homeless future.

It was a nearly perfect June day, the blue sky overhead just flecked
with soft, fleecy white clouds, and with enough breeze stirring to lift
Patricia's short brown curls and fan her sunburned cheeks.

Out on the highroad the wild roses were in bloom, and the air was full
of soft summer sounds; the very birds hopping lightly about from fence
to fence had a holiday air--and to Patricia there was something very
friendly in the inquisitive cock of their pert little heads, as they
stopped now and then to inspect her.

"Oh!" she cried, joyously, reaching up on tiptoe to gather a spray of
wild roses just above her head, "aren't we having the loveliest time,
Dog?"

Her companion wagged agreeingly; he was, at any rate. The hot sun on his
back felt exceedingly good; he began to entertain hopes of actually
feeling really and thoroughly dry again--some time.

"That's the Millers' house--the brown one, beyond the curve," Patricia
told him. And as it was the only house in sight, he had no trouble in
locating it.

"I'm sure you'll be happy there," Patricia added. "It's funny there
aren't any children, or dogs, about. There's Mrs. Miller."

Mrs. Miller was hanging out a wash. "Patricia Kirby!" She pushed back
her sunbonnet, the better to survey the child. "Where is your hat?
You're redder'n one of my big pinies!"

Patricia put her hand up to her head. "Maybe I left it in the meadow;
I'm not sure I've had it on at all this morning."

"Well!" Mrs. Miller's tone was