to it. You see, we were
playing pirate--and we were smuggling."

The doctor, much to his sister's indignation, sat down suddenly on one
of the garden benches. "Oh, Pat, Pat!" he gasped.

"Patricia Kirby, how many gingham aprons have you on?" Miss Kirby
demanded.

"Three, Aunt Julia; you said I must wear the first one all the
afternoon--and I tore it--and then the pie sort of stained the second;
I got kind of interested to see how many it would take to get me through
the afternoon. I had to make it a gingham apron party, Aunt Julia, on
account of what you said yesterday. You see, I got pretty well torn and
dirty this morning--and, of course, I needn't have climbed that tree."

"Casabianca," the doctor murmured; Miss Kirby was past murmuring
anything; all her efforts were directed towards at least a semblance
of self-control.

"I shore told you, that young-un was a limb," Sarah muttered.

"Sarah was very anxious to fix me all up properly, Aunt Julia," Patricia
went on, "but of course, after you had said--and I thought you'd feel
better if the rest wore gingham aprons too. Sarah was very kind about it
though," with a smile in her direction.

"You go 'long, Miss P'tricia," Sarah protested.

Miss Kirby bit her lip. "That is all very well, Patricia, but--"

"We've had such fun, haven't we, girls?" Captain Kidd appealed to her
fellow pirates.

"Oh, we have," they chorused back.

"And having supper out in the meadow when we hadn't expected it was the
best part," Nell added.

"What would you suggest?" Miss Kirby turned to her brother.

His smile told her that he knew quite well that she was shifting upon
him the responsibility of deciding. As a strict disciplinarian--in
theory--it would never do for her to countenance such unlawful
proceedings. He rose to the occasion promptly. "Soap and water for these
highly reprehensible young folks, after that--the ice cream--seeing that
the cherry pie came to a timely end. And for us--supper."

"Isn't Daddy the dearest?" Patricia demanded, as she led her guests
upstairs. "Daddy's always so understandified."

CHAPTER III

THE WAY OF A GRANDMOTHER

Patricia sat on the back steps carefully arranging purple and white
asters in an old blue and white punchbowl, the pride of her Aunt Julia's
heart.

"It's the 'Washington bowl,' Custard," she explained to the small curly
black dog, watching her intently. "Daddy says it's called that because
it is just as easy to prov