Alone in her own room that same night, Patty thought out her great project. She was not at all doubtful of her success, she was only choosing among the various methods of earning money that occurred to her.

All were easy, and some of them even seemed delightful occupations.

“Father is an angel,” she thought to herself; “a big, splendid angel. He knew I could do my part easily enough, and he only made it a stipulation because he didn’t want to shoulder the whole affair outright. He wanted me to feel I had a hand in it. He’s so tactful and dear. Well, I’ll do my part so well, he’ll have nothing to complain of. Then I’ll get Nan to write to the girl, and invite her here for a few days or a week. Then I rather guess we can gently persuade her to accept the goods the gods provide.”

Considering the matter as settled, Patty went to sleep and dreamed happily of her coming triumphs as a wage-earner.

“Do you go to business to-day, Miss Fairfield?” asked her father, at the breakfast table.

“Yes, Mr. Fairfield. That is, I shall occupy myself with my—with my occupation.”

“Indeed! that is logical, at any rate. Would it be indiscreet to inquire the nature of said occupation?”

“It would be not only indiscreet, but useless, for I decline to tell. But it is work I shall do at home. I’ve no desire to enter an office. And, you don’t need a stenographer, anyway, do you?”

“No, and if I did, I shouldn’t take you. You’re too young and too self-assured,—not desirable traits in office work.”

“I may get over them both,” said Patty, smiling at him.

“You probably will,” said Nan, “before you’ve succeeded in this ridiculous scheme you’ve undertaken.”

“Now, Nannikins, don’t desert Mr. Micawber in that cruel fashion,” Patty flung back, gaily; “the game’s never out till it’s played out, you know; and this game isn’t even yet begun.”

“You’ll be played out before the game is,” said her father.

“Oh, daddy, I’m ’fraid that’s slang! I am truly ’fraid so!”

“Well, mind now, Puss; you’re not to tire yourself too much. Remember when you ’most worked yourself to death, at your Commencement celebration.”

“Yes, but I’ve had a lot of experience since that. And I’m much weller and stronger.”

“Yes, you’re well; but you’re not of a very strong constitution, and never will be. So remember, and don’t overdo.”

“Not I. I can earn fifteen dollars a week, and more too, I know, without overdoing myself.”

“Good-by, then; I must be off. I’ll hear to-night the report of your first day’s work.”

The family separated, and Patty ran singing away to make her preparations for the campaign.

“What are you doing?” asked Nan, as she went rummaging in the linen closet.

“Nothing naughty,” replied Patty, giggling. “Curb your curiosity, stepmothery, for it won’t be gratified.”

Nan laughed and went away, and Patty proceeded to select certain very pretty embroidered doilies and centrepieces,—two of each.

These she laid carefully in a flat box, which she tied up into a neat parcel. Then she put on her plainest cloth suit, and a small, dark hat, and was ready to start.

“Nan,” she said, looking in at the library door, “what time do you want the motor?”

“Oh, about eleven or twelve. Keep it as long as you like.”

“It’s only ten now. I’ll be back in less than an hour, I’m sure. Good-by.”

“Good-by,” returned Nan. “Good luck to you!”

She thought Patty’s scheme ridiculous, but harmless, for she knew the girl well enough to know she wouldn’t do anything that might lead her into an unpleasant position; but she feared that her boundless enthusiasm would urge her on beyond the bounds of her nervous strength.

Though soundly healthy, Patty was high-strung, and stopped at no amount of exertion to attain a desired end. More than once this nervous energy of hers had caused physical collapse, which was what Nan feared for her now.

But Patty feared nothing for herself, and going out to the waiting motor-car, she gave the chauffeur an address down in the lower part of Broadway.

It was so unusual, that Miller hesitated a moment and then said, deferentially: “This is ’way downtown, Miss Patty; are you sure the number is right?”

“Yes; that’s all right,” she returned, smiling; “go ahead.”

So he went ahead, and after a long ride southward, the car stopped in the crowded mercantile portion of lower Broadway.

Patty got out, and looked a little apprehensively at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Wait for me,” she said to Miller, and then turned determinedly to the door.

Yes, the number was right. There was the sign, “Monongahela Art Embroidery Company,” on the window. Patty opened the big door, and went in.

She had fancied it would be like the shops to which she was accustomed, where polite floor-walkers stepped up and asked her wishes, but it was not at all like that.

It was more like a large warehouse. Partitions that rose only part way to the ceiling divided off small rooms or departments, all of which were piled high with boxes or crates. The aisles between these were narrow, and the whole place was rather dark. Moreover, there seemed to be nobody about.

Patty sat down in a chair and waited a few moments, but no one appeared, so she got up again.

“Here’s where I need my pluck,” she said to herself, not frightened, but wondering at the situation. “I’ll go ahead, but I feel like Alice in Wonderland. I know I’ll fall into a treacle well.”

She traversed half the length of the long building, when she saw a man, writing in one of the small compartments.

He looked up at her, and then, apparently without interest in her presence there, resumed his work.

Patty was a little annoyed at what she thought discourtesy, and said:

“I’ve come to answer your advertisement.”

“Fourth floor,” said the man, indicating the direction by pointing his penholder across the room, but not looking up.

“Thank you,” said Patty, in a tone intended to rebuke his own lack of manners.

But he only went on writing, and she turned to look for the elevator.

She could see none, however, so she walked on, thinking how like a maze was this succession of small rooms and little cross aisles. When she saw another man writing in another coop, she said politely:

“Will you please direct me to the elevator?”

“What?” said the man, looking at her.

Patty repeated her request.

“Ain’t none,” he said. “Want work?”

Though unpolished, he was not rude, and after a moment’s hesitation, Patty said, “Yes, I do.”

“Have to hoof it, then. Three flights up; Department G.”

“All right,” said Patty, whose spirits always rose when she encountered difficulties. She saw the staircase, now; a rough, wooden structure of unplaned boards, and no balusters. But she trudged up the long flight hopefully.

The next floor seemed to be full of whirring looms, and the noise was, as Patty described it afterward, like the buzzing of a billion bees! But, asking no further directions, she ascended the next staircase and the next, until she found herself on the fourth floor.

Several people were bustling about here, all seeming to be very busy and preoccupied.

“Where is Department G?” she inquired of a man hurrying by.

“Ask at the desk,” he replied, without pausing.

This was ambiguous, as there were more than a score of desks about, each tenanted by a busy man, more often than not accompanied by a stenographer.

“Oh, dear, what a place!” thought Patty. No one would attend to her wants; no one seemed to notice her. She believed she could stand there all day if she chose, without being spoken to.

Clearly, she must take the initiative.

She saw a pleasant-faced woman at a desk, and decided to address her.

“Where is Department G, please?” she asked.

“G?” said the woman, looking blank.

“Yes, G. The man downstairs told me it was on the fourth floor. Isn’t this the fourth floor?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then, where is Department G?”

“G?”

“Yes, G!”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.”

“Who does know?”

“I don’t know.”

The absurdity of this conversation made Patty smile, which seemed to irritate the other.

“I can’t help it if I don’t know,” she snapped out. “I’m new here, myself; only came yesterday. I don’t know where G is, I’m sure.”

“Excuse me,” said Patty, sorry that she had smiled, and she turned away.

She caught a red-headed boy, as he passed, whistling, and said:

“Do you know where Department G is?”

“Sure!” said the boy, grinning at her. “Sashay straight acrost de room. Pipe de guy wit’ de goggles?”

“Thank you,” said Patty, restraining her desire to smile at the funny little chap.

She went over to the desk indicated. The man seated there looked at her over his glasses, and said:

“To embroider?”

“Yes,” said Patty.

“Take a chair. Wait a few moments. I’m busy.”

Relieved at having reached her goal, Patty sat down in the chair indicated and waited. She waited five minutes and then ten, and then fifteen.

The man was busy; there was no doubt of that. He dashed off memoranda, gave them to messengers, telephoned, whisked drawers open and shut, and seemed to be in a very whirl of business.

As there was no indication of a cessation, Patty grew impatient, at last, and said:

“Can you attend to my business soon? If not, I’ll call some other day.”

“Yes,” said the man, passing his hand across his brow a little wearily. He looked tired, and overworked, and Patty felt sorry for him.

But he whirled round in his office chair and asked her quite civilly what she wanted.

“You advertised for embroiderers,” began Patty, feeling rather small and worthless, “so I came–”

“Yes, yes,” said the man, as she paused. “Can you embroider? We use only the best. Have you samples of your work?”

“I have,” said Patty, beginning to untie her box.

But her fingers trembled, and she couldn’t unknot the cord.

The man took it from her, not rudely, but as if every moment were precious. Deftly he opened the parcel, and gave a quick glance at Patty’s exquisite needlework on the doilies and centrepieces she had brought.

“Do it yourself?” he asked, already closing the box again.

“Yes, of course,” said Patty, indignant at the implication.

“No offence; that’s all right. Your work goes. Report at Department B. Good-day.”

He handed her the box, whirled round to his desk, and was immediately at his work again.

Patty realised she was dismissed, and, taking her box, she started for the stairs.

She passed the red-headed boy again, and feeling almost as if she were meeting an old friend in a strange land, she said: “Where is Department B?”

“Caught on, didjer?” he grinned. “Good fer youse! B, first floor,—that way.”

He pointed a grimy finger in the direction she should take, and went on, whistling. Down the three flights of stairs went Patty, and thanks to the clarity of the red-headed one’s direction, she soon found Department B.

This was in charge of a sharp-faced woman, rather past middle age.

“Sent by Mr. Myers?” she inquired, looking at Patty coldly.

“I was sent by the man in Department G,” returned Patty. “He said my work would do, and that I was to report to you.”

“All right; how much do you want?” said the woman.

“How much do you pay?” returned Patty.

“Don’t be impertinent, miss! I mean how much work do you want?”

“Oh,” said Patty, who was quite innocent of any intent to offend. “Why, I want enough to last a week.”

“Well, that depends on how fast you work,” said the woman, speaking with some asperity. “Come now, do you want a dozen, or two dozen, or what?”

Patty was strongly tempted to say: “What, thank you!” but she refrained, knowing it was no occasion for foolery.

“I don’t know till I see them,” she replied. “Are they elaborate pieces?”

“Here they are,” said the woman, taking some pieces of work from a box. Her tone seemed to imply that she was conferring an enormous favour on Patty by showing them.

They were rather large centrepieces, all of the same pattern, which was stamped, but not embroidered.

“There’s a lot of work on those,” remarked Patty.

“Oh, you are green!” said the woman. She jerked out another similar centrepiece, on which a small section, perhaps one-eighth of the whole, was worked in silks.

“This is what you’re to do,” she explained, in a tired, cross voice. “You work this corner, and that’s all.”

“Who works the rest?” asked Patty, amazed at this plan.

“Why, the buyer. We sell these to the shops; they sell them to people who use this finished corner as a guide to do the rest of the piece. Can’t you understand?”

“Yes, I can, now that you explain it,” returned Patty. “Then if I take a dozen, I’m to work just that little corner on each one; is that it?”

“That’s it,” said the woman, wearily, as if she were making the explanation for the thousandth time,—as she probably was.

“You can take this as a guide for yourself,” she went on, a little more kindly, “and here’s the silks. Did you say a dozen?”

“Wait a minute,” said Patty; “how much do you pay?”

“Five dollars.”

“Apiece, I suppose. Yes, I’ll take a dozen.” The woman gave a hard little laugh.

“Five dollars apiece!” she said. “Not much! We pay five dollars a dozen.”

“A dozen? Five dollars for all that work! Why, each of those corners is as much work as a whole doily.”

“Yes, just about; do you work fast?”

“Yes; pretty fast.”

Patty was doing some mental calculation. Three dozen of those pieces meant an interminable lot of work. But it also meant fifteen dollars, and Patty’s spirit was now fully roused.

“I’ll take three dozen,” she said, decidedly; “and I’ll bring them back, finished, a week from to-day.”

“My, you must be a swift worker,” said the woman, in a disinterested voice.

She was already sorting out silks, as with a practised hand, and making all into a parcel.

Patty was about to offer her a visiting card, as she assumed she must give her address, when the woman said:

“Eighteen dollars, please.”

“What?” said Patty. “What for?”

“Security. You don’t suppose we let everybody walk off with our materials, and never come back, do you?”

“Do you doubt my honesty?” said Patty, haughtily.

“Don’t doubt anybody’s honesty,” was the reply. “Some folks don’t have any to doubt. But it’s the rule of the house. Six dollars a dozen is the deposit price for that pattern.”

“But eighteen dollars is more than you’re going to pay me for the work,” said Patty.

“Yes,” said the woman, “but can’t you understand? This is a deposit to protect ourselves if you never return, or if you spoil the work. If you bring it back in satisfactory condition, at the appointed time, we return your deposit, and pay you the price agreed upon for the work.”

“Oh, I see,” said Patty, taking out her purse. “And it does seem fair. But isn’t it hard for poor girls to put up that deposit?”

“Yes, it is.” The woman’s face softened a little. “But they get it back,—if they do the work right.”

“And suppose I bring it back unfinished, or only part done?”

“If what you do is done right, you’ll get paid. And if the pieces you don’t do are unsoiled and in good condition, we redeem them. But if you care for steady work here, you’d better not take more’n you can accomplish.”

“Thank you,” said Patty, slowly. “I’ll keep the three dozen. Good-morning.”

“Good-day,” said the woman, curtly, and turned away with a tired sigh.

Patty went out to the street, and found Miller looking exceedingly anxious about the prolonged absence of his young mistress.

A look of relief overspread his face as she appeared, and when she got into the car and said: “Home, Miller,” he started with an air of decided satisfaction.

CHAPTER VIII
EMBROIDERED BLOSSOMS

It was after twelve o’clock when Patty reached home, and she found Nan, with her wraps on, rather anxiously awaiting her.

“Patty! Wherever have you been all this time?” she cried, as Patty came in with her big bundle.

“Laying the foundations of my great career; and, oh, Nan, it was pretty awful! I’m in for it, I can tell you!”

“What a goose you are!” But Nan smiled affectionately at the rosy, excited face of her stepdaughter.

“Well, I’m going out on a short errand, Patty. I’ll be home to luncheon at one, and then you must tell me all about it.”

Patty ran up to her own room, and, flinging off her hat and coat, sat down to open her bundle of work.

It was appalling. The portion to be embroidered looked larger than it had done in the shop, and the pattern was one of the most intricate and elaborate she had ever seen.

“Thank goodness, they’re all alike,” thought poor Patty. “After I do one, the others will be easier.”

She flew for her embroidery hoops and work-basket, and began at once on one of the centrepieces.

The pattern was a floral design, tied with bow-knots and interlaced with a conventional lattice-work. The shading of the blossoms was complicated, and showed many shades of each colour. The bow-knots were of a solid colour, but required close, fine stitches of a tedious nature, while the lattice-work part seemed to present an interminable task.

Patty was a skilful embroiderer, and realised at her first glance that she had a fearful amount of work before her.

But as yet she was undismayed, and cheerfully started in on the flowers.

She selected the right silks, cut the skeins neatly, and put them in thread papers.

“For,” she thought, “if I allow my silks to get tangled or mixed up, it will delay me, of course.”

At one o’clock, Nan came to her room.

“Didn’t you hear the luncheon gong?” she said.

“No,” replied Patty, looking up. “Is it one o’clock already?”

“For goodness’, gracious’ sake, Patty! What are you doing? Is that your ‘occupation’?”

“Yes,” said Patty, proudly displaying a wild rose, beautifully worked, and carefully tinted. “Don’t I do it nicely?”

“Indeed you do! Your embroidery is always exquisite. But are you going to work that whole centrepiece?”

“No, only a section,—see, just this much.”

Patty indicated the portion she was to work, but she didn’t say that she had thirty-five more, carefully laid away in a box, to do within the week.

“Well,” agreed Nan, “that’s not such a terrific task. But will they give you fifteen dollars for that piece?”

“No,” said Patty, smiling a little grimly; “but there are others.”

“Oho! A lot of them! A dozen, I suppose. They always give out work by dozens. Well, girlie, I don’t want to be discouraging, but you can’t do a dozen in a week. Come on down to luncheon.”

At the table, Patty gave Nan a graphic description of her morning’s experiences.

Though more or less shocked at the whole performance, Nan couldn’t help laughing at Patty’s dramatic recital, and the way in which she mimicked the various people.

“And yet, Nan,” she said, “it’s really pathetic; they all seemed so busy and so tired. The woman who gave me the work was like a machine,—as if she just fed out centrepieces to people who came for them. I’m sure she hasn’t smiled for fourteen years. The only gay one in the place was the red-headed boy; and he talked such fearful slang it cured me of ever using it again! Father will be glad of that, anyway. Hereafter I shall converse in Henry James diction. Why, Nan, he said, ‘Pipe de guy wit’ de goggles’!”

“What did he mean?” asked Nan, puzzled.

“Oh, he meant, ‘observe the gentleman wearing spectacles.’”

“How did you know?”

“Intuition, I suppose. And then, he pointed to the man in question.”

“Patty, you’ll get more slangy still, if you go among such people.”

“No, I won’t. There’s no cure like an awful example. Watch the elegance of my conversation from now on. And besides, Nan, you mustn’t act as if I associated with them socially. I assure you I was quite the haughty lady. But that slangy boy was an angel unawares. I’d probably be there yet but for his kindly aid.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to carry this absurd scheme through. And, Patty, I’ll help you in any way I can. Don’t you want me to wind silks, or something?”

“No, ducky stepmother of mine. The only way you can help is to head off callers. I can do the work if I can keep at it. But if the girls come bothering round, I’ll never get it done. Now, this afternoon, I want to do a lot, so if any one asks for me, won’t you gently but firmly refuse to let them see me? Make yourself so entertaining that they’ll forget my existence.”

“I’ll try,” said Nan, dubiously; “but if it’s Elise or Clementine, they’ll insist on seeing you.”

“Let ’em insist. Tell ’em I have a sick headache,—for I feel sure I shall before the afternoon’s over.”

“Now, Patty, I won’t have that sort of thing! You may work an hour or so, then you must rest, or go for a drive, or chat with the girls, or something.”

“I will, other days, Nan. But to-day I want to put in the solid afternoon working, so I’ll know how much I can accomplish.”

“Have you really a dozen of those things to do, Patty?”

“Yes, I have.” Patty didn’t dare say she had three dozen. “And if I do well this afternoon, I can calculate how long the work will take. Oh, Nan, I do want to succeed. It isn’t only the work, you know, it’s the principle. I hate to be baffled; and I won’t be!”

A stubborn look came into Patty’s pretty eyes,—a look which Nan knew well. A look which meant that the indomitable will might be broken but not bent, and that Patty would persevere in her chosen course until she conquered or was herself defeated.

So, after luncheon, she returned to her task, a little less certain of success than she had been, but no less persevering.

The work was agreeable to her. She loved to embroider, and the dainty design and exquisite colouring appealed to her æsthetic sense.

Had it been only one centrepiece, and had she not felt hurried, it would have been a happy outlook.

But as she carefully matched the shades of silk to the sample piece, she found that it took a great deal of time to get the tints exactly right.

“But that’s only for the first one,” she thought hopefully; “for all the others, I shall know just which silks to use. I’ll lay them in order, so there’ll be no doubt about it.”

Her habits of method and system stood her in good stead now, and her skeins, carefully marked, were laid in order on her little work-table.

But though her fingers fairly flew, the pattern progressed slowly. She even allowed herself to leave long stitches on the wrong side,—a thing she never did in her own embroidery. She tried to do all the petals of one tint at once, to avoid delay of changing the silks. She used every effort to make “her head save her hands,” but the result was that both head and hands became heated and nervous.

“This won’t do,” she said to herself, as the silk frazzled between her trembling fingers. “If I get nervous, I’ll never accomplish anything!”

She forced herself to be calm, and to move more slowly, but the mental strain of hurry, and the physical strain of eyes and muscles, made her jerky, and the stitches began to be less true and correct.

“I’ll be sensible,” she thought; “I’ll take ten minutes off and relax.”

She went downstairs, singing, and trying to assume a careless demeanour.

Going into Nan’s sitting-room, she said:

“Work’s going on finely. I came down for a glass of water, and to rest a minute. Any one been here?”

“No,” said Nan, pleasantly, pretending not to notice Patty’s flushed cheeks and tired eyes. Really, she had several times stolen on tiptoe to Patty’s door, and anxiously looked at her bending over her work. But Patty didn’t know this, and wise Nan concluded the time to speak was not yet.

“No, no one came in to disturb you, which is fortunate. You’re sensible, dear, to rest a bit. Jane will bring you some water. Polly want a cracker?”

“No, thank you; I’m not hungry. Nan, that’s awfully fine work.”

“Yes, I know it, Patsy. But remember, you don’t have to do it. Give the thing a fair trial, and if it doesn’t go easily, give it up and try something else.”

“It goes easily enough; it isn’t that. But you know yourself, you can’t do really good embroidery if you do it too rapidly.”

“‘Deed you can’t! But you do such wonderfully perfect work, that I should think you could afford to slight it a little, and still have it better than other people’s.”

“Nan, you’re such a comfort!” cried Patty, jumping up to embrace her stepmother. “You always say just the very right thing. Now, I’m going back to work. I feel all rested now, and I’m sure I can finish a lot to-day. Why, Nan Fairfield! for goodness’ sake! Is it really four o’clock?”

Patty had just noticed the time, and was aghast! Two solid hours she had worked, and only a small portion of one piece was done! She hadn’t dreamed the time had flown so, and thought it about three o’clock.

Slightly disheartened at this discovery, she went back to work. At first, the silks went smoothly enough, then hurry and close application brought on the fidgets again.

Before five o’clock, she had to turn on the electric lights, and then, to her dismay, the tints of the silks changed, and she couldn’t tell yellow from pink; or green from gray.

“Well,” she thought, “I’ll work the bow-knots. They’re of one solid colour, and it’s straight sailing.”

Straight sailing it was,—but very tedious. An untrue stitch spoiled the smooth continuance of the embroidery that was to represent tied ribbon bows. An untrue stitch—and she made several—had to be picked out and done over, and this often meant frayed silk, or an unsightly needle hole in the linen.

Long before Patty thought it was time, the dressing-gong for dinner sounded.

She jumped, greatly surprised at the flight of time, but also relieved, that now she must lay aside her work. She longed to throw herself down on her couch and rest, but there was no time for that.

However, after she bathed and dressed, she felt refreshed, and it was a bright, merry-faced Patty who danced downstairs to greet her father.

If he thought her cheeks unusually pink, or her eyes nervously bright, he made no allusion to it.

“Well, Puss, how goes the ‘occupation’?” he said, patting her shoulder.

“It’s progressing, father,” she replied, “but if you’d just as leave, we won’t talk about it to-night. I’ll tell you all about it, after I finish it.”

“All right, Pattykins; we business people never like to ‘talk shop.’”

And then Mr. Fairfield, who had been somewhat enlightened by Nan as to how matters stood, chatted gaily of other things, and Patty forgot her troublesome work, and was quite her own gay, saucy self again.

Kenneth dropped in in the evening, to bring a song which he had promised Patty. They tried it over together, and then Patty said:

“Would you mind, Ken, if I ask you not to stay any longer, to-night? I’ve something I want to do, and–”

“Mind? Of course not. I rather fancy we’re good enough friends not to misunderstand each other. If you’ll let me come and make up my time some other night, I’ll skip out now, so quick you can’t see me fly!”

“All right,” said Patty, smiling at his hearty, chummy manner. “I do wish you would. I’m not often busy, as you know.”

“’Course I know it. Good-night, lady, I’m going to leave you now,” and with a hearty handshake and a merry smile, Kenneth went away, and Patty went to her own room.

“I can work on that bow-knot part, to-night,” she said to herself; “and then to-morrow, I’ll get up early and do the rest of the flowers before breakfast.”

Her task had begun to look hopeless, but she was not yet ready to admit it, and she assured herself that, of course, the others would go much more rapidly than the first.

She took down her hair and braided it into a long pigtail; then she put on a comfortable kimono and sat down to work.

She stitched, and she stitched, and she stitched, at the monotonous over and over bow-knots. Doggedly she kept on, though her shoulders ached, her eyes smarted, and her fingers trembled.

With a kind of whimsical pathos, she repeated to herself Hood’s “Song of the Shirt,” and said, under her breath, “‘Stitch, stitch, stitch, till the cock is crowing aloof,’ or whatever it is!”

Then she saw by her watch that it was eleven o’clock.

“I’ll just finish this bow,” she thought, “and then, I’ll stop.”

But before the bow was finished, there was a tap at her door.

“Who’s there?” said Patty, in a voice which carried no invitation to enter.

“It’s us,” said Nan, firmly, if ungrammatically, “and we’re coming in!”

Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield entered, and Patty, trying to make the best of it, looked up and smiled.

“How do you do?” she said. “Take seats, won’t you? I’m just amusing myself, you see.”

But the tired voice had a quiver in it, for all at once Patty saw that she had failed. She had worked hard all the afternoon and evening, and had not finished one of her thirty-six pieces! It was this discovery that upset her, rather than the unexpected visit from her parents.

“Girlie, this won’t do,” began her father, in his kindest tones.

“I know it!” cried Patty, throwing down her work, and flinging herself into her father’s arms. “I can’t do it, daddy, I can’t! I haven’t done one yet, and I never can do thirty-six!”

“Thirty-six!” exclaimed Nan. “Patty, are you crazy?”

“I think I must have been,” said Patty, laughing a little hysterically, as she took the great pile of centrepieces from a wardrobe, and threw them into Nan’s lap.

“But,—but you said a dozen!” said Nan, bewildered.

“Oh, no, I didn’t,” returned Patty. “You said, did I bring a dozen, and I said yes. Also, I brought two dozen more.”

“To do in a week!” said Nan, in an awe struck voice.

“Yes, to do in a week!” said Patty, mimicking Nan’s tones; and then they both laughed.

But Mr. Fairfield didn’t laugh. His limited knowledge of embroidery made him ignorant of how much work “three dozen” might mean, but he knew the effect it had already had on Patty, and he knew it was time to interfere.

“My child–” he began, but Patty interrupted him.

“Don’t waste words, daddy, dear,” she said. “It’s all over. I’ve tried and failed; but remember, this is only my first attempt.”

The fact that she realised her failure was in a way a relief, for the strain of effort was over, and she could now see the absurdity of the task she had undertaken.

She had reached what some one has called “the peace of defeat,” and her spirits reacted as after an escape from peril.

“I must have been crazy, Nan,” she said, sitting down beside her on the couch. “Just think; I’ve worked about six hours, and I’ve done about half of one piece. And I brought thirty-six!”