At Farnsworth's directions, the "rescuing party" had brought with them a glazier and his kit of tools and materials. While he fitted a new pane of glass in place of the broken one, Mona expressed her opinion of the escapade of the night before.

"It was all your fault, Bill!" she exclaimed. "You ought not to have driven so fast and so far."

"I know it, ma'am," said Big Bill, looking like a culprit schoolboy. "I'm awful 'shamed of myself!"

"And well you may be!" chimed in Adele Kenerley. "Suppose this house hadn't been here, what would you have done?"

"I should have built one," declared Bill, promptly.

"So you would!" agreed Patty, heartily.

"You're equal to any emergency, Little Billee; and it WASN'T all your fault, anyway. I egged you on, because I love to drive fast, especially at night."

"Very reprehensible tastes, young woman," said Jim Kenerley, trying to be severe, but not succeeding very well.

"Oh, you might have known this house was here," said Mona. "It's Mr. Kemper's house. They've gone away for a month. They're coming back next week."

"Well, they'll find everything in order," said Patty. "We didn't hurt a thing, except the window, and we've fixed that. We burned up a lot of their firewood, though."

"They won't mind that," said Mona, laughing. "They're awfully nice people. We'll come over and tell them the whole story when they get home."

"And now, can't we go home?" said Patty. "I'm just about starved."

"You poor dear child," cried Mrs. Kenerley. "You haven't had a bite of breakfast! Come on, Mona, let's take Patty and Daisy home in one of the cars; the rest can follow in the other."

Two cars of people had come over to escort the wanderers home, so this plan was agreed upon.

But somehow, Bill Farnsworth managed to hasten the glazier's task, so that all were ready to depart at once.

"I'll drive the big car," cried Bill. "Come on, Patty," and before any one realised it, he had swung the girl up into the front seat of the big touring car, and had himself climbed to the driver's seat.

"I had to do this," he said to Patty, as they started off. "I must speak to you alone a minute, and be sure that you forgive me for the trouble I made you."

"Of course I forgive you," said Patty, gaily. "I'd forgive you a lot more than that."

"You would? Why?"

"Oh, because I'm such a good forgiver. I'd forgive anybody, anything."

"Huh! then it isn't much of a compliment to have YOUR forgiveness!"

"Well, why should I pay you compliments?"

"That's so! Why SHOULD you? In fact, it ought to be the other way. Let ME pay them to YOU."

"Oh, I don't care much about them. I get quite a lot, you see—"

"I see you're a spoiled baby, that's what YOU are!"

"Now,—Little Billee!" and Patty's tone was cajoling, and her sideways glance and smile very provoking.

"And I'd like to do my share of the spoiling!" he continued, looking at her laughing, dimpled face and wind-tossed curls.

"So you shall! Begin just as soon as you like and spoil me all you can," said Patty, still in gay fooling, when she suddenly remembered Daisy's prohibition of this sort of fun.

"Of course I don't mean all this," she said, suddenly speaking in a matter-of-fact tone.

"But I do, and I shall hold you to it. You know I have your blossom wreath; I've saved it as a souvenir of last night."

"That forlorn bit of drowned finery! Oh, Little Billee, I thought you were poetical! No poet could keep such a tawdry old souvenir as that!"

"It isn't tawdry. I dried it carefully, and picked the little petals all out straight, and it's really lovely."

"Then if it's in such good shape, I wish you'd give it back to me to wear. I was fond of that wreath."

"No, it's mine now. I claim right of salvage. But I'll give you another in place of it,—if I may."

Patty didn't answer this, for Daisy, tired of being neglected, leaned her head over between the two, and commenced chattering.

The two girls were well wrapped up in coats and veils Mona had brought them, but they were both glad when they came in sight of "Red Chimneys."

Patty went gaily off to her own rooms, saying she was going to have a bath and a breakfast, and then she was going to sleep for twenty-four hours.

"I'm not," announced Daisy. "I'm going to make a straight dive for the breakfast room. Come with me, Bill, and see that I get enough to eat."

Roger, Mona, and the Kenerleys were going for an ocean dip, and Laurence Cromer, who was a late riser, had not yet put in an appearance. Aunt Adelaide was with Patty, hearing all about the adventure, so Bill was obliged to accept Daisy's rather peremptory invitation.

"What's the matter with you, Bill?" asked the girl, as she threw off her motor coat and sat at the table in her low-necked party gown.

"Nothing. I say, Daisy, why don't you go and get into some togs more suitable for 9 A.M.?"

"Because I'm hungry. Yes, James, omelet, and some of the fried chicken. Bill, don't you like me any more?"

"Yes, of course I do. But you ought to act more,—more polite, you know."

"Oh, fiddlesticks! You mean more finicky,—like that paragon, Patty. You think she's perfect, because she never raises her voice above a certain pitch, and she expects all you men to lie down and let her walk over you."

"She MAY walk over me, if she likes; and I want you to stop speaking of her in that slighting way, Daisy."

"Oh, you do, do you? And, pray, what right have you to say HOW I shall speak of her?"

"The right that any man has, to take the part of one who is absent."

"You'd like to have more rights than that, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe I would, but I'm not confiding in you."

"You don't have to. Yours is an open secret. Everybody can see you're perfectly gone on that little pink and white thing!"

"That will do, Daisy; don't say another word of that sort!" and Bill's voice was so stern and tense that Daisy stopped, a little frightened at his demeanour.

What he might have said further, she never knew, for just then Guy Martin and Lora Sayre came strolling into the room.

"Hello, people!" said Guy. "Where's everybody that belongs to this chateau? We've come through myriads of empty rooms, but at last we find the gems of the collection."

"Why, Miss Dow," exclaimed Lora, looking at Daisy's gown, "is this a DINNER party?"

Daisy laughed, and explained, rather pleased than otherwise to be the sole narrator of the interesting tale. Needless to say, she and Bill Farnsworth figured as the principal actors in her dramatic version of the motor adventure, and, naturally, Bill could not contradict her.

"I congratulate you, Miss Dow," said Guy, "on looking so fit after such a trying ordeal. Patty is all right, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes; she's all right, but you know, she can't stand much fatigue. And the whole performance unnerved her, and gave her a chance to insist on having a beauty sleep."

"Which she doesn't need for THAT purpose," laughed Lora, good-naturedly. "But I fear we are keeping you, Miss Dow. Don't you want to get into a morning frock? Wouldn't you feel more comfortable?"

"No, it doesn't matter," and Daisy's manner gave the effect of sacrificing her comfort to the guests, though really she was of no mind to run away and lose this call.

"We came to talk about the Pageant," began Guy. "We want to get the various parts settled."

"Well, of course we can't answer for the others," said Daisy, "but let's discuss it,—it's such fun, and among us, we may think up some good ideas. I've had lots of experience with this sort of thing out West."

"Oh, have you?" said Guy, eagerly. "Then DO help me out. I have to get up such a lot of characters,—all representative of the sea, you know. I want Mr. Farnsworth here for Father Neptune, that's certain."

"I'm quite willing," said Bill, good-naturedly. "Do I wear a bathing suit?"

"No, indeed," replied Lora. "You wear a gorgeous robe, all dark green muslin, in billowy waves, and cotton wool on it for sea foam. Then you'll have a stunning crown and a trident and a lot of paraphernalia."

"Lovely," said Bill. "I do think I'll look just sweet! Who is with me in this misery?"

"Well, the Spirit of the Sea is the next most important figure on this float. I wanted to be it, but mother thinks I'm not strong enough to stand it. She refuses to let me try. So I suppose it will be Patty."

"Patty Fairfield!" exclaimed Daisy. "She's not strong enough, either. Suppose I take that part. I'm used to posing, and I can stand in one position without getting tired. I'll do it, if you want me to."

"But we've really asked Patty," demurred Guy, "and she hasn't decided yet."

"Well, leave it to me," said Daisy. "I'll ask her, and if she wants the part, all right, and if not, I'll take it."

This seemed satisfactory, and the matter was dropped while they discussed other details of the float.

Laurence Cromer came down while they were talking, and they all adjourned to the veranda, while the artist gave them the benefit of his advice as to decorations and scenic effects.

Then the bathers came back from the beach, and all went to work heartily to make and carry out plans for the Pageant.

Patty had luncheon sent to her room, for she was more affected by the exposure to the storm and the nerve exhaustion of the adventure than the others were. However, as Mona and Mrs. Kenerley and Baby May spent much of the time with her, she did not have a dull day. In the afternoon Daisy came in. Patty, in a blue silk negligee, sat at her desk writing letters.

"How sweet you look!" said Daisy, sitting beside her. "When are you coming downstairs? The boys are moping all over the place. I believe you're staying up here for coquetry."

The tone was light, but Patty could see that Daisy's words were at least partly in earnest. But they were untrue, and Patty said, "Oh, I'm going down for tea. I'm just writing to my father. Then I'll dress and go downstairs. I'm all right, you know."

"Yes, you look so," said Daisy, glancing at the bright eyes and roseleaf complexion. "You don't look a bit tired."

"I'm not now; but I was when I reached home this morning. Weren't you?"

"Not very. I'm stronger than you are. Guy Martin and Lora Sayre were here to talk about the Pageant."

"Were they? Is Lora going to be Spirit of the Sea?"

"No; her mother won't let her. They asked me to take the part, but I don't want to."

"Why not?" said Patty, looking at her curiously.

"Oh, I think they'd better have a Spring Beach girl. You, for instance."

"They asked me before, but if you'll do it, I'll take something else.

Who's going to be Neptune?"

"Bill. That's another reason why you'd better be the Sea Spirit."

"Nonsense!" and Patty was angry at herself to feel the blush that rose to her cheek. But Daisy made no comment, and in a moment she said suddenly:

"Patty, write a note for me, will you? I've run a sliver into my forefinger and I can't hold a pen."

"A sliver? Oh, Daisy, does it hurt?"

"No, not much now. I got it out. But the tip of my finger is painful if I write. You've your pen in your hand, so just scribble a line for me. I can sign it."

"Of course I will. Dictate, please!"

Patty took a fresh sheet of paper, and tried to look like a professional amanuensis.

"I really would rather not be the Spirit of the Sea," dictated Daisy, and Patty wrote obediently. "Please try to get some one else for the part. But may I ask you as a personal favour not to speak of the matter to me at any time."

"Thank you," said Daisy, taking the paper from Patty and folding it. "I can sign it, even if I have to use my left hand. I'm going to give it to Mr. Martin for, somehow, I don't want to talk about the matter to him."

"I don't see why," said Patty, a little puzzled.

"Never mind, girlie. You know sometimes there are little foolish reasons we don't like to tell of. Don't say anything about all this to anybody, will you?"

"No, certainly not," said Patty, wonderingly.

"Don't tell any one I asked you to write the note."

"No."

"You see, I hate to acknowledge a hurt finger. It sounds so silly."

The whole affair seemed silly to Patty, for she could see no reason why Daisy shouldn't tell Guy that she didn't want to be Spirit of the Sea. But it was none of her affair, and as Daisy went away she put the whole matter out of her mind. After making a leisurely toilette, she went downstairs and found a group of young people having tea on the veranda. Her appearance was hailed with shouts of joy. Seats were offered her in every choice position, but the pleading look in Farnsworth's big blue eyes persuaded her to sit beside him in a broad, red-cushioned swing.

"You're all right, little girl, aren't you?" he said, anxiously, and Patty laughed gaily up at him as she answered, "Yes, indeed! and all ready for another adventure, if YOU'LL take care of me!"

"You apple blossom!" whispered Bill. "I won't hold you to your word, but I'd like to. Do you know, I've promised to be Father Neptune in this dinky parade they're getting up. Won't I be the gay old Sea Dog! I hope you'll be the Spirit of the Sea."

"That isn't decided; don't ask me about it yet," said Patty, who had no mind to commit herself until Guy should ask her definitely to take the part. Though since Lora couldn't take it, and Daisy wouldn't, she felt pretty sure it would fall to her.

A number of the Spring Beach boys and girls had drifted in, as they often did at tea time, and the talk of the many small groups was all of the coming festivity. Beside the Sea Float, there were the various rivers to be represented. The Nile would be characterised by Egyptian costumes and effects. The Hudson would be an attempt at a representation of "The Half Moon." The Tiber was to show gorgeous Roman citizens; the Thames proudly contemplated a houseboat, and the Seine, French scenery. Also, there would be floats representing Venice, Holland, the Panama Canal, Niagara Falls, the Open Polar Sea, and many others showing some phase or manifestation of water's great kingdom.

Daisy had inveigled Guy Martin into a tete-a-tete corner with her, but after a polite quarter of an hour, he declared he must move around and confer with a few people concerning their parts in the carnival.

"How about Patty's being Spirit of the Sea?" he asked.

"Oh," Daisy said, "you'd better not say anything to her about that. I asked her, and she gave me this note to give you. It isn't signed, nor addressed, but you see it's her handwriting. She wrote it hastily, but she said she didn't want to talk about the matter."

Guy looked a little surprised, but took the note and read it. "H'm," he said, "rather NOT be Spirit of the Sea. Get some one else. And—as a personal favour, don't speak of the matter to her! Well, Pretty Patty must have a miff of some sort. Most unlike her! However, her word is law. I'll never mention the subject to her, since she asks me not to. But our time is getting short, and most of the girls have their parts. Miss Dow, won't you be Spirit of the Sea?"

"Why, yes, if you want me to," said Daisy, looking modest and demure. "I can make the costume easily, because I know just how. It requires fishnet draperies over green chiffon, and lots of seaweed decorations and that sort of thing."

"Yes; you have just the right idea. Then I'll put you down for that. You and Mr. Farnsworth will make a fine pair. I wonder what Patty WOULD like to be."

"I'll ask her," volunteered Daisy. "I know you're awfully busy, Mr. Martin, and I want to help you all I can. So leave that matter to me."

"Very well, I will," said Guy, who really had a multitude of cares and affairs; "but be sure to make her take some good part. It wouldn't be a Pageant at all with Patty Fairfield left out! If I didn't have to skip away this very minute to keep an engagement with a scene painter, I'd ask her what's the matter, anyhow!"

"Oh, Mr. Martin, you forget she asked you, as a personal favour, not to speak to her about it."

"By Jove! So she did! Wonder what's come over the girlie! If anybody has offended her, I'll kill him! Well, I must fly, Miss Dow; attend the rehearsals, won't you? See you tomorrow."

Guy made hasty adieux to Mona, and went off on his errands.

Daisy, in high spirits at the success of her ruse, went straight over to Patty.

"Patty, dear," she said, sweetly, "I couldn't withstand Mr. Martin's persuasions, and I've promised him I'll be the Spirit of the Sea. You know I told you I didn't want to, but he overruled my objections and I consented."

"All right, Daisy," said Patty, without a trace of regret on her sweet face. She did feel regret keenly, for Guy had asked her long ago, and she had only hesitated out of generosity toward Lora, who also wanted it. But it was not her nature to resent such things, and she concluded that Guy thought Daisy better adapted for the part than herself.

"What part will you take?" Daisy went on. "Mr. Martin told me to ask you and arrange for you."

Daisy's manner showed such undue importance and ostentatious authority that Jack Pennington spoke up.

"Are you assistant chairman, Miss Dow?"

"Mr. Martin didn't call it that," said Daisy, smiling pleasantly; "he only left it to me to see that Miss Fairfield had a good place in the Pageant."

"You bet Miss Fairfield will have a good place!" exclaimed Jack. "Don't you bother about it, Miss Dow. Let me relieve you of that duty. I'LL see to Miss Fairfield's place."

"But Mr. Martin left it in my care," persisted Daisy, getting a little frightened lest her deceit about the note should be discovered.

"Leave Mr. Martin to me," said Jack, a little curtly. "I'll explain to him that I relieved you of the responsibility of Patty's place in the show. I say, Patty, let's you and me be Dutch kiddies on the Holland Float."

"Shall us?" said Patty, smiling in a whimsical way that meant nothing at all.

CHAPTER XIV
PAGEANT PLANS

As Patty was preparing for bed that night, Mona came tapping at her door.

"Come in," said Patty. "Oh, it's you, Mona,—well, I AM glad to see you! In the turmoil of this 'house party' of yours, we almost never see each other alone, do we?"

"No; and I'm sorry. But you're enjoying it, aren't you, Patty?"

"Yes, indeed! I love it! People running in and out all the time, and a lot of people all over the house,—oh, yes, it's gay."

"Patty, I'm bothered about this Pageant business. How does it happen that Daisy has taken your part?"

"It wasn't my part. It had never been assigned, until Guy persuaded Daisy to take it."

"Persuaded fiddlesticks! She MADE him give it to her."

"No, she didn't. She was determined NOT to have that part, but he coaxed her into it. She told me so herself."

"Pooh! You don't know Daisy as I do. You're so sweet and generous yourself you think everybody else is. I wish I hadn't asked her here. I thought she had outgrown her school-girl tricks. She was always like that."

"Like what?"

"Nothing; never mind. What does Bill say about it?"

"Nothing. I don't believe he knows who's to be Spirit of the Sea. And probably he doesn't care."

"Probably he DOES! Don't be a goose, Patty Fairfield! You know that great big angel Bill adores the ground you walk on."

"Is he as fond of Real Estate as all that? Well, I can't give it to him, for it's your ground that I'm on most of the time, and I suppose the beach is owned by the Realty Company or something."

"FUNNY girl! Patty, you make me laugh boisterously with that wit of yours! Well, Miss Sweetness, will you help me with my costume? Guy has 'persuaded' ME to be Cleopatra on the Nile Float."

"Oh, Mona, how lovely! You'll be a PERFECT Cleopatra. Indeed I will help you! What are you going to wear?"

"Whatever's the right thing. Of course it must be magnificent in effect. I'm going to send for a dressmaker and two helpers to-morrow morning, and put them to work on it. They can fit linings while I send to New York for the material. Lizette can go and select it. What do you think of gold-brocaded white satin?"

"Appropriate enough for Cleopatra, but ridiculous for a pantomime costume! Get white paper muslin or sateen, and trace a design on it with gold paint."

"No, sir-ee! I don't get a chance to shine as a dramatic star often, and I'm going to have the finest costume I can think up!"

"Oh, Mona, you have no sense of proportion," laughed Patty; "go ahead then, and get your white satin, if it will make you happy."

Apparently it would, and the two girls discussed the Cleopatra costume in all its details, until the little clock on the dressing-table held its two hands straight up in shocked surprise.

After Mona left her, Patty gave herself a scolding. It was a habit of hers, when bothered, to sit down in front of a mirror and "have it out with herself" as she expressed it.

"Patty Fairfield," she said to the disturbed looking reflection that confronted her, "you're a silly, childish old thing to feel disappointed because you weren't chosen to be Spirit of the Sea! And you're a mean-spirited, ill-tempered GOOSE to feel as you do, because Daisy Dow has that part. She'll be awfully pretty in it, and Guy Martin had a perfect right to choose her, and she had a perfect right to change her mind and say she'd take it, even if she HAD told you she didn't want it! Now, Miss, what have you to say for yourself? Nothing? I thought so. You're vain and conceited and silly, if you think that you'd be a better Spirit of the Sea than Daisy, and you show a very small and disagreeable nature when you take it so to heart. Now, WILL you brace up and forget it?"

And so practical and just was Patty's true nature that she smiled at herself, and agreed to her own remarks. Then dismissing the whole subject from her mind, she went to bed and to sleep.

Next day she went in search of Laurence Cromer, and found that young man sketching in a corner of one of the picturesque terraces of "Red Chimneys."

"Why these shyness?" asked Patty, as he quickly closed his sketch-book at her approach. "Why these modest coquetry? Art afraid of me? Gentle little me? Who wouldn't hurt a 'squito? Or am it that I be unworthy to look upon a masterpiece created by one of our risingest young artists?"

"I don't want you to see this sketch till it's finished," said Cromer, honestly. "It's going to be an awfully pretty bit, but unfinished, it looks like the dickens. Let me sketch you, Miss Fairfield, may I?"

"Yes, indeed; but can you talk at the same time? I want your advice."

"Oh, yes; the more I talk the better I work. Turn a little more to the right, please. Oh, that's perfect! Rest your fingertips on the balustrade, so—now, don't move!"

"Huh," remarked Patty, as Cromer began to sketch in swiftly, "how long do I have to stand this way? It isn't such an awful lot of fun."

"Oh, DON'T move! This is only a beginning, but I'll make a wonderful picture from it. That shining white linen frock is fine against the gleaming, sunlit marble of the terrace."

"All right, I'll stand," said Patty, goodnaturedly. "Now you can return the favour by helping me out of a quandary. Won't you advise me what part to take in the Pageant? As a matter of fact, I think all the best parts are assigned, and I don't want to be 'one of the populace,' or just 'a voice heard outside'! I want a picturesque part."

"I should say you did! Or, rather the picturesque parts all want you. Now, I'M designing the Niagara Float. It's unfinished, as yet,—the scheme, I mean,—but I know I want a figure for it, a sort of a,—well, a Maid of the Mist, don't you know. A spirituelle girl, draped all in grey misty tulle, and dull silver wings,—long, curving ones, and a star in her hair."

"Lovely!" cried Patty. "And do you think I could be it?"

"Well, I had a brown-haired girl in mind. Your colouring is more like 'Dawn' or 'Spring' or 'Sunshine.'"

"Oh, I HATE my tow-head!" exclaimed Patty. "I wish I was a nut-brown maid."

"Don't be foolish," said Cromer, in a matter-of-fact way. "You are the perfection of your own type. I never saw such true Romney colouring. Pardon me, Miss Fairfield, I'm really speaking of you quite impersonally. Don't be offended, will you?"

"No, indeed," said Patty. "I quite understand, Mr. Cromer. But what part AM I adapted for in the Pageant?"

"If you will, I'd like you to be Maid of the Mist. As I say, I had thought of a darker type, but with a floating veil of misty grey, and grey, diaphanous draperies, you would be very effective. Turn the least bit this way, please."

Patty obeyed directions, while she thought over his idea. "Maid of the Mist" sounded pretty, and the artist's float was sure to be a beautiful one.

"Yes, I'll take that part, if you want me to," she said, and Mr. Cromer said he would design her costume that afternoon.

"Hello, Apple Blossom!" called a big, round voice, and Bill Farnsworth came strolling along the terrace. Perched on his shoulder was Baby May, her tiny hands grasping his thick, wavy hair, and her tiny feet kicking, as she squealed in glee.

"Misser Bill my horsie," she announced. "Me go ridy-by."

"IS there something on my shoulder?" asked Bill, seemingly unconscious of his burden. "I thought a piece of thistledown lighted there, but it may have blown off."

"There is a bit of thistledown there," said Patty, "but don't brush it off. It's rather becoming to you."

"Indeed it is," agreed Cromer. "I'd like to sketch you and that mite of humanity together."

"You're ready to sketch anybody that comes along, seems to me," observed Bill. "Isn't this Miss Fairfield's turn?"

"I expect she's about tired of holding her pose," said the artist. "I'll give her a rest, and make a lightning sketch of you two. Baby's mother may like to have it."

"Oh, give it to me!" begged Patty. "I'd love to have a picture of Baby May."

"But there'll be so much more of me in it than Baby May," said Bill, gravely.

"Never mind," laughed Patty. "I shan't object to your presence there. Now, I'll run away while you pose, for I MIGHT make you laugh at the wrong time."

"Don't go," pleaded Bill, but Patty had already gone.

"What a beautiful thing she is," said Cromer, as he worked away at his sketch-block. He spoke quite as if referring to some inanimate object, for he looked at Patty only with an artist's eye.

"She is," agreed Bill. "She's all of that, and then some. She'll make a perfect Spirit of the Sea. I say, Cromer, help me rig up my Neptune togs, will you?"

"Of course I will, old chap. But Miss Fairfield isn't going to be on your float. She's agreed to be my Maid of the Mist."

"She HAS! I say, Cromer, that's too bad of you! How did you persuade her to change her plan?"

"She didn't change. She had no idea of being on your float. She asked me what I thought she'd better be, and she said all the most desirable parts were already assigned."

"H'm, quite so! Oh, of course,—certainly! Yes, yes, INDEED!"

"What's the matter with you, Bill? Are you raving? Your speech is a bit incoherent."

"Incoherent, is it? Lucky for you! If I were coherent, or said what I'm thinking, you'd be some surprised! You go on making your pencil marks while I think this thing out. All right, Baby; did Uncle Bill joggle you too much? There,—now you're comfy again, aren't you? I say, Laurence, I'll have my picture taken some other day. Excuse me now, won't you? I have a few small fish to fry. Come, Babykins, let's go find mummy."

"H'm," said Laurence Cromer to himself, as Bill swung off with mighty strides toward the house. "Somehow, I fancy he'll regain his lost Spirit of the Sea, or there'll be something doing!"

Baby May was gently, if somewhat unceremoniously, deposited in her mother's lap, and Bill said gaily, "Much obliged for this dance. Reserve me one for to-morrow morning at the same hour. And, I say, Mrs. Kenerley, could you put me on the trail of Miss Fairfield?"

"She went off in her runabout with Roger Farrington. I think she's heading for the telegraph office to order much materials and gewgaws for the Pageant."

"Then, do you know where Daisy Dow is? I MUST flirt with somebody!"

"Try me," said pretty little Mrs. Kenerley, demurely.

"I would, but I'm afraid Baby May would tell her father."

"That's so; she might. Well, Daisy is at the telephone in the library;

I hear her talking."

"Thank you," said Big Bill, abruptly, and started for the library.

"Yes," he heard Daisy saying as he entered the room, "a long, light green veil, floating backward, held by a wreath of silver stars … Certainly … Oh, yes, I understand … Good-bye."

She hung up the receiver, and turned to see Bill looking at her with a peculiar expression on his handsome, honest face.

"What are you going to represent in your light green veil, Daisy?" he asked.

"The Spirit of the Sea," she replied. "I've arranged for the loveliest costume,—all green and shimmery, and dripping with seaweed."

"How did you happen to be chosen for that part, Daisy?"

"Guy Martin insisted upon it. He said there was no one else just right for it."

"How about Patty Fairfield?"

"Oh, she WOULDN'T take it. She told Guy so."

"She did! I wonder WHY she wouldn't take it?"

"I don't know, Bill, I'm sure. It COULDN'T have been because you're Neptune, could it?"

"It might be," Bill flung out, between closed teeth, and turning, he strode quickly away.

"Bill," called Daisy, and he returned.

"What is it?" he said, and his face showed a hurt, pained look, rather than anger.

"Only this: Patty asked Guy as a special favour not to mention this matter to her. So I daresay you'll feel in honour bound not to speak of it."

"H'm; I don't know as my honour binds me very strongly in that direction."

"But it MUST, Bill!" and Daisy looked distinctly troubled. "I oughtn't to have told you, for Patty trusted me not to tell anybody."

"Patty ought to know better than to trust you at all!" and with this parting shaft, Bill walked away. On the veranda he met Guy Martin, who had called for a moment to discuss some Pageant plans with Mona. Guy was just leaving, and Bill walked by his side, down the path to the gate.

"Just a moment, Martin, please. As man to man, tell me if Patty Fairfield refused to take the part of the Spirit of the Sea?"

"Why, yes; she did," said Guy, looking perplexed. "It's a queer business and very unlike Patty. But she wrote me a note, saying she didn't want the part, and asking me not to mention the matter to her at all."