After returning from her motor ride with Roger, Patty went to her room to write some letters.

But she had written only so far as "My dearest Nan," when a big pink rose came flying through the open window and fell right on the paper.

Patty looked up, laughing, for she knew it was Bill who threw the blossom.

The bay window of Patty's boudoir opened on a particularly pleasant corner of the upper veranda,—a corner provided with wicker seats and tables, and screened by awnings from the midday sun. And when Patty was seated by her desk in that same bay window, half-hidden by the thin, fluttering curtain draperies, Big Bill Farnsworth had an incurable habit of strolling by. But he did not respond to Patty's laughter in kind.

"Come out here," he said, and his tone was not peremptory, but beseechingly in earnest. Wondering a little, Patty rose and stepped over the low sill to the veranda. Bill took her two little hands in his own two big ones, and looked her straight in the eyes.

"What part are YOU going to take in this foolish racket they're getting up?" he asked.

"I'm going to be Maid of the Mist," answered Patty, trying to speak as if she didn't care.

"Why aren't you going to be Spirit of the Sea?"

"Because Guy asked Daisy to take that part."

"Yes! he asked her after you had refused to take it!"

"Refused! What do you mean?"

"Oh, I know all about it! You wrote a note to Martin, telling him you wouldn't take the part, and asking him not to mention the subject to you again."

"What!" and all the colour went out of Patty's face as the thought flashed across her mind what this meant. She saw at once that Daisy had given that note to Guy, as coming from HER! She saw that Daisy MUST have done this intentionally! And this knowledge of a deed so despicable, so IMPOSSIBLE, from Patty's standpoint, stunned her like a blow.

But she quickly recovered herself. Patty's mind always JUMPED from one thought to another, and she knew, instantly, that however contemptible Daisy's act had been, she could not and would not disclose it.

"Oh, that note," she said, striving to speak carelessly.

"Yes, THAT NOTE," repeated Bill, still gazing straight at her. "Tell me about it."

"There's nothing to tell," said Patty, her voice trembling a little at this true statement of fact.

"You wrote it?"

"Yes,—I wrote it," Patty declared, for she could not tell the circumstance of her writing it.

Bill let go her hands, and a vanquished look came into his eyes.

"I—I hoped you didn't," he said, simply; "but as you did, then I know
WHY you did it. Because you didn't want to be on the float with me."

"Oh, no,-NO, Bill!" cried Patty, shocked at this added injustice. "It wasn't THAT,—truly it wasn't!"

Gladness lighted up Bill's face, and his big blue eyes beamed again.

"Wasn't it?" he said. "Wasn't it, Apple Blossom? Then, tell me, why DID you write it?"

"But I don't want to tell you," and Patty pouted one of her very prettiest pouts.

"But you shall tell me! If you don't,"—Bill came a step nearer,—"I'll pick you up and toss you up into the top branches of that biggest pine tree over there!"

"Pooh! Who's afraid?"

Patty's saucy smile was too much for Bill, and, catching her up, he cradled her in his strong arms, and swung her back and forth, as if preparatory to pitching her into the tree.

"Here you go!" he said, laughing at her surprised face. "One,—two—"

"Mr. Farnsworth!" exclaimed a shocked voice, and Aunt Adelaide came hastening toward them.

Bill set Patty down, not hastily, but very deliberately, and then said, with an anxious air:

"How did it go, Mrs. Parsons? We're practising for our great scene in the Pageant—the Spirit of the Sea, tossed by old Father Neptune. I do my part all right, but Miss Fairfield needs more practice, don't you think so?"

Aunt Adelaide looked scrutinisingly at the young man, but his expression was so earnest that she couldn't doubt him.

"Patty looked scared to death," she said, with reminiscent criticism.
"Oughtn't she to look more gay and careless?"

"She certainly ought," assented Bill. "Will you try the scene once more, Miss Fairfield, with Mrs. Parsons for audience?"

"I will not!" exclaimed Patty, and trying hard to repress her giggles, she fled back through her window, and drew the curtains.

"I didn't know you were to have acting on the floats," said Aunt
Adelaide, innocently.

"I'm not sure that we shall," returned Farnsworth, easily. "I had a notion it would be effective, but perhaps not. Do you know where Miss Dow is, by any chance?"

"Why, I think she's just starting for the Sayres'. Yes, there she goes now,—walking down the path." "WILL you excuse me then, Mrs. Parsons, if I make a hurried exit? I want to see her on a MOST important matter."

Big Bill fairly flung himself down the little staircase that led from the upper veranda to the lower one, and in a few moments, with long strides, he had overtaken Daisy, who was alone.

"Whoop-ee! Daisy, wait a minute!" he cried, as he neared her.

"What for?" and Daisy turned, smiling, but her smile faded as she caught sight of Bill's face.

"Because I tell you to!" thundered Bill. "Because I want to talk to you,—and, right now!"

"I—I'm going on an errand—" faltered Daisy, fairly frightened at his vehemence.

"I don't care if you're going on an errand for the Czar of Russia; you turn around, and walk along with me."

"Where to?"

"Wherever I lead you! Here's a rose arbour, this will do. In with you!"

Daisy entered the arbour, trembling. She had never seen Farnsworth so angry before, and her guilty conscience made her feel sure he had discovered her treachery. In the arbour they were screened from observation, and Bill lowered his voice.

"Now," said he, "tell me all about this 'Spirit of the Sea' business.
What underhanded game did you play to get the part away from Patty
Fairfield?"

"I didn't! She told Guy Martin she wouldn't take it."

"Yes; she wrote him a note. Now, in some way or other, you made her write that note. How did you do it?"

"Did she tell you I made her write it?"

"No, she didn't! She said she wrote it, but she wouldn't tell me why."

Daisy's eyes opened wide. Then Patty KNEW the note had been given to
Guy in her name, and yet she didn't denounce Daisy! Such generosity was
almost outside Daisy's comprehension, and she paused to think it out.
At last she said:

"Why do YOU think she wouldn't tell you?"

"I don't THINK, I KNOW! A man has only to look into Patty Fairfield's
clear, honest eyes to know that she's incapable of meanness or deceit.
While you,—forgive me, Daisy, but I've known you for years,—and you
ARE capable of gaining your own ends by underhanded methods."

"What do you accuse me of?" and Daisy's air of injured innocence was well assumed.

"I don't know," and Bill looked exceedingly perplexed. "But I DO know that in some way you persuaded Patty to give up that part, because you wanted it yourself."

Daisy drew a long breath of relief. Then, she thought, he didn't know, after all, just what she HAD done, and perhaps she could carry it through yet.

"You're mistaken," she said, in a kind way, "Patty did write that note, but she had her own reasons, and she desired, especially, that no one should mention the subject to her."

"Yes," said Bill, "and it's that strange reluctance to having the subject mentioned that makes me suspect YOUR hand in the matter. Patty refused to discuss it with me, but the look of blank astonishment in her face, when I referred to that note, convinced me there's a bit of deviltry SOMEWHERE. And I ascribe it to you!"

"You do me an injustice," and now Daisy's tone was haughty and distant; "but I cannot resent it. For Patty's sake, I too must refuse to discuss this matter. Think of me as you will,—I cannot defend myself."

Daisy's face grew so sad and martyr-like that generous-hearted Bill was almost convinced of her innocence.

"I say, Daisy," he began, "if I'm wronging you in this matter, I'll never forgive myself."

"Oh, never mind, Bill; I'm used to being misunderstood. But I'll forgive you, if you'll promise never to refer to the subject again to me, or to any one else."

Bill might have promised this, but the too eager gleam in Daisy's eyes again roused his suspicions. And just then he saw Patty crossing a bit of lawn near them.

"Whoo-ee!" he called, and as Patty turned, he beckoned for her to come to them.

"What's wanted?" called Patty, gaily, as she neared the arbour.

"You," said Bill, while Daisy sank down on the arbour seat, and seemed to crumple up in abject fear of what was about to happen.

"Now, Miss Fairfield," Bill began, "there's a little matter I want cleared up. It's the note you wrote to Mr. Martin saying you didn't wish to be Spirit of the Sea."

Daisy cast one piteous, despairing glance at Patty, and then covered her face in her hands.

At first, Patty's blue eyes flashed with a righteous indignation, to think how Daisy had abused her kindness in writing that note at dictation. Then a great wave of compassion swept through her heart. The deed was so foreign to her own nature that she felt deep pity for one who was capable of such a thing. And Daisy's evident misery roused her sympathy. She didn't stop to think that probably Daisy's regret was at being found out and not for the deed itself, but Patty's forgiveness was full and free, even before it was asked. In her unbounded generosity of heart, she resolved to shield Daisy from Farnsworth's wrath.

"What about the note?" she asked, simply.

"Did you write it?"

"I did."

"Did any one force or persuade you to write it?"

"I did it willingly, and without compulsion."

"Did Daisy know you wrote it?"

"She knew it, yes. She gave it to Guy Martin."

Bill was nonplussed. He KNEW there was some secret about that note, but he couldn't quite fathom it.

And every word Patty spoke, though quite true, and seeming to exonerate Daisy, made the guilty girl more and more amazed that one she had so injured COULD be so forgiving.

"Didn't you want to be Spirit of the Sea?" Bill said at last, desperately anxious on that point.

Patty hesitated. She couldn't truly say she didn't, and to say she did would bring up the question of the note again.

"I DID want to," she said, slowly, "but, since Daisy has that part,—and I have another, and a very pretty part,—I am quite content."

"Then there is nothing more to be said," Farnsworth muttered. "The incident is closed."

He started to leave the arbour, and Daisy lifted her troubled eyes to Patty's face. Patty tried to smile, but there must have been an involuntary shadow of reproach in her blue eyes, which, for some reason, went straight to Daisy's heart.

"DON'T look at me like that, Patty," she cried out; "I can't bear it! Bill, come back! The incident ISN'T closed. I want to tell you, Bill, what I did. Patty wrote that note, at my dictation, thinking it was for me,—I had a hurt finger,—and I told her I'd sign it,—and I DIDN'T sign it,—I gave it to Guy as if it was from her—oh, Patty—will you forgive me? WILL you?"

"There, there, Daisy," and Patty put her arms around the sobbing girl.
"Never mind, it's all right."

"It isn't all right!" exclaimed Farnsworth, his eyes blazing. "Daisy
Dow, do you mean to tell me—"

"She doesn't mean to tell YOU anything," interrupted Patty. "She's only going to tell me. I wish you'd go away. This note matter is entirely between Daisy and myself. It's—it's a sort of a—a joke, you see."

Daisy sat up straight, and stared at Patty. What sort of a girl was this, anyhow, who could forgive so freely and fully, and then call it all a JOKE!

But Daisy knew generosity when she saw it, and with her heart overflowing with gratitude at Patty's kindness, she bravely acknowledged her own fault.

"It ISN'T a joke, Bill," she said, in an unsteady voice. "I did a horrid, hateful thing, and Patty is so angelic and forgiving she makes me feel too mean to live."

"Nonsense," said Patty, "there's no harm done, I'm glad you owned up,
Daisy, for now we can forget the whole episode, and start fresh."

But Farnsworth couldn't toss the matter aside so easily.

"Daisy," he said, looking at her sternly, "I never heard of such a mean piece of business in my life! I think—"

"Never mind what you think!" cried Patty, turning on him like a little fury. "YOU'RE the MEAN one,—to rub it in when Daisy is feeling so bad over it."

"She ought to feel bad," growled Bill.

"Well, she DOES, if that's such a comfort to you," retorted Patty. "Now, go away, and leave us girls alone, won't you? This is our own little sewing circle, and we don't want any men at it."

Patty was really so relieved at the turn things had taken, that she gave Bill a happy smile, which contradicted her crusty words.

"No, I won't go away," he declared; "you girls want to weep on each other's shoulders,—that's what you want. I'm going to stay and see the performance."

"You can't stay, unless you'll say you forgive Daisy, and love her just the same."

"Just the same as who?" demanded Bill, quickly, and Patty blushed adorably.

"Just the same as you always did," she returned, severely.

"Do forgive me, Bill," said Daisy, contritely; "I'm awfully sorry."

Farnsworth looked at her, squarely. "I'll forgive you, Daisy," he said, "if you'll make good. Let Patty take the Spirit of the Sea part, and you take something else."

"I won't do it," said Patty, quickly, but Daisy said, "Yes, you must. I shan't feel that you've really forgiven me unless you do."

As a matter of fact, Daisy saw little prospect of pleasure for herself in being Spirit of the Sea, after all this, and she doubted whether Bill would be Neptune if she did.

Patty demurred further, but both the others coaxed so hard that she finally yielded to their persuasions.

"What will the others say?" she asked, at last.

"Nothing at all," responded Bill, promptly. "Simply announce that you and Daisy have agreed to change parts. Then Daisy can be 'Maid of the Mist,' and you can be the Water Sprite of old Neptune's float."

"I'll do it, on one condition," said Patty; "and that is, that no one else is let into our secret. Let Guy continue to think that I sent him that note, but that I changed my mind about it. And don't tell anybody at all, not even Mona, the truth of the matter."

"Gee! You're a wonder!" exclaimed Farnsworth, and Daisy threw her arms round Patty's neck and kissed her.

"Oh, don't give me undue credit," Patty said, laughing; "but, you see, I just naturally hate a 'fuss,' and I want to forget all about this affair right away. Daisy, you're just the sort of brown hair and eyes Mr. Cromer wants for his Maid of the Mist. You'll be perfectly sweet in that."

"You're perfectly sweet in everything, Patty; I never saw any one like you!"

"Neither did I," said Farnsworth, with emphasis.

"Oh, here you are," drawled a slow voice, and Laurence Cromer came sauntering along in search of Patty. "Don't you want to discuss your costume now? There's only a half-hour before luncheon time."

"Well, you see, Mr. Cromer," said Patty, smiling at him, "you said you wanted a more brownish lady for your misty maid. So Miss Dow and I have decided to change places."

"All right," agreed Cromer. "It makes no difference to me, personally, of course. I'm merely designing the Niagara Float as an architect would. I think perhaps a brunette would be better adapted to the part of Maid of the Mist, as I have planned it, but it's as you choose."

"Then we choose this way," declared Patty.

"Run along, Daisy, and Mr. Cromer will tell you just what to get for your misty robes."

Daisy went away, and Farnsworth turned to Patty with a reproachful glance.

"You let her off too easy," he said. "A girl who would do a thing like that ought to be punished."

"Punished, how?" said Patty, quietly.

"Her deceit ought to be exposed before the others. It oughtn't to be hushed up,—it makes it too easy for her."

"Her deceit, as you call it, affected no one but me. Therefore, there's no reason for any one else to know of it. And Daisy has been punished quite enough. I read in her eyes the sorrow and remorse she has suffered for what she did. And I know she did it on a sudden impulse,—an uncontrollable desire to have that particular part in the Pageant. Now, I have forgiven and forgotten it all, it's but a trifle. And I can see no reason why YOU should still hold it against her."

Farnsworth looked steadily into Patty's eyes, and a sort of shamed flush rose to his cheeks.

"You're bigger than I am, Little Girl," he said, as he held out his hand.

Patty put her little hand into his, and in that understanding clasp, they buried the subject never to refer to it again.

"Oh, no, I'm not really bigger than you," she said, lightly.

"Not physically, no," he returned, looking down at her. "If you were, I couldn't toss you into a treetop!"

"You got out of that beautifully with Aunt Adelaide," and Patty laughed at the recollection. "But I'm going to scold you for picking me up in that unceremonious fashion."

"I know,—it WAS dreadful! But,—perhaps I did it on a sudden impulse,—you know,—you forgive THOSE!"

Patty remembered her defence of Daisy, and couldn't repress a smile at the boy's wheedlesome argument.

"Well, don't let it happen again," she said with an attempt at extreme hauteur.

But Farnsworth replied, "When I get a real good chance, I'm going to pick you up and carry you a million miles away."

"Catch me first!" cried Patty, and darting away from him, she ran like a deer toward the house.

Farnsworth stood looking after her, but made no move to follow.

The big fellow was thinking to himself, wondering and pondering in his slow, honest way, on why that little scrap of pink and white humanity had all unconsciously twined herself around his very heartstrings.

"Apple Blossom!" he murmured, beneath his breath, and then sauntered slowly toward the house.