Patty’s birthday party was a great success.

As a rule, young people love a “dress-up” party, and the guests all entered into the spirit of the thing.

Lady Hamilton was in her element.

For the occasion, she had engaged a large salon, and aside from the pretty floral decorations, there were dolls and Teddy Bears and rocking horses, and all sorts of children’s toys and games. On the walls hung bright-colored prints, intended for nursery use, and little, low chairs and ottomans stood about.

Of course, Lady Hamilton, as hostess, did not dress like a child, but wore one of her own lovely, trailing white house-gowns.

When the guests arrived they were shown to dressing-rooms, where white-capped nurses awaited them, and assisted them to lay aside their wraps.

Then led to the salon by these same nurses, the guests were presented to Lady Hamilton and Patty. Such shouts of laughter as arose at these presentations! The young people, dressed as tiny children, came in with a shy air (not always entirely assumed), and made funny little, bobbing curtseys. Some, finger in mouth, could find nothing to say; others of more fertile brain, babbled childishly, or lisped in baby-talk.

Before many had arrived, Patty and Lady Kitty were in such roars of laughter they could scarcely welcome the rest.

Tom Meredith was a dear. Though a boy nearly six feet tall, he had a round, cherubic face, and soft, curly hair. He wore a white dress of simple “Mother Hubbard” cut, the fulness hanging from a yoke, and ending just below his knees, in lace-edged frills. White stockings, and white kid pumps adorned his feet, and his short curls were tied at one side with an immense white bow. He was such a smiling, good-natured chap, and looked so girlish and sweet in his white frock, that Patty at once called him Baby Belle, and the name exactly suited him.

“Did you come all alone?” asked Lady Hamilton.

“Yeth, ma’am,” replied Tom, rolling up his eyes in pretended diffidence. “My nurthie went to a ball game, tho I had to come all by mythelf. But I’th a big dirl, now!”

“You are indeed,” said Patty, glancing at his stalwart proportions, “but you’re surely the belle of this ball.”

Grace Meredith was a little Dutch girl, and was charming in the picturesque Holland headgear, and a tight-waisted, long-skirted blue gown, that just cleared the tops of her clattering wooden sabots. She talked a Dutch dialect, or rather, what she imagined was such, and if not real Hollandese, it was at least, very amusing and funny.

Mabel Hartley looked very sweet as Little Red Riding-Hood, and she carried a little basket on her arm, which contained a real pat of butter.

Sinclair and Bob Hartley were the Princes in the Tower, and the black velvet suits and white lace collars were exceedingly becoming to them. They wore wigs of long flaxen hair, and often fell into the pose of the celebrated picture, to the delight of all who saw them. But when not posing as a tableau, they were so full of antics that Patty told them they were more like Court Jesters than Princes.

“Clowns, you mean,” said Bob, as with a flash of his black satin legs he leap-frogged over Sinclair’s back.

“Behave yourselves, Princes!” admonished Patty, and in a second, the two stood motionless, side by side, as in the great painting.

“You certainly must be photographed like that,” exclaimed Lady Hamilton; and then a brilliant idea came to her and she sent a message at once to a well-known photographer to send one of his men and a camera at once.

And so, the regular programme of the party was suspended while photographs of the guests were taken. Singly and in groups they were snapped off as fast as the camera could be adjusted, and Lady Hamilton promised to send copies to their homes later.

Some of the young people had hired very elaborate costumes and represented celebrated works of art.

Gainsborough’s “Blue Boy,” and Velasquez’ “Maria Teresa,” were truly beautiful, while Van Dyck’s “Baby Stuart,” made a lovely picture. But equally interesting were the less pretentious characters and costumes.

Simple Simon was a favourite with all. A faded blue smock frock, and a battered old hat formed his characteristic garb, and long, straight yellow locks, and a stupid, open-mouthed expression of face made him look like the traditional Simon. He was a boy of much original wit, and his funny repartee proved him, in reality, far from simple-minded.

Little Miss Muffet was present, and Struwelpeter, and “Alice,” and a merry brother and sister had to cut up many roguish antics before they were recognised as “The Heavenly Twins.”

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, wore a pretty Dolly Varden costume, and carried a watering-pot, while Little Boy Blue shyly blew his horn at her. There were several Lord Fauntleroys, and Buster Browns and Rollos, and also a great many who represented nobody in particular, but just a dear little child.

Mr. Fairfield and Nan, though they had said they would come to the party dressed as children, had changed their minds, and arrived later than the others, wearing the garb of elderly people.

They said they were the grandparents, come to look at the children enjoy themselves.

Nan made a very sweet old lady, with white wig, and gold glasses, while Mr. Fairfield pretended to be an old man, cross and gouty. But so funny was his ferocious crustiness that nobody felt in awe of him.

Led by Lady Hamilton, the boys and girls played all sorts of merry children’s games.

“Ring Around a Rosy,” “London Bridge is Falling Down,” “Hide the Thimble,” and other such infantile entertainments proved exceedingly mirth-provoking. The big babies were continually crying over fancied woes, and sometimes even the historic characters grew humorously quarrelsome.

At half-past four supper was served. The children were formed in pairs for a grand march. To the strains of “The Baby’s Opera” they marched to another room, where a long table was set for them.

At each place was a bread-and-milk set, and a mug which was lettered in gilt, “For a Good Child.”

The mugs were especially pretty ones, and were to be taken home as souvenirs. At each place was a bib with strings, and when these were tied around their necks, the big “children” looked absurd indeed.

In keeping with their assumed rÔles, their table manners were not impeccable, and many fists pounded on the table, while babyish voices said: “Me wants me thupper,” or “Div me some beddy-butter!” But though the bowls and mugs betokened infantile fare, the supper really served included dainty salads and sandwiches, followed by ices, jellies and cakes, and was fully enjoyed by the healthy appetites which belong to young people of eighteen or thereabouts.

After supper, they returned to the drawing-room for a dance.

Delightful music was played, and it was a pretty sight to see the fancy costumes gracefully flit about in the dance.

When it was nearly time to go home, one of the “nurses” came to Lady Hamilton saying that a belated guest had arrived.

“Who is it?” asked Lady Hamilton, surprised that any one should arrive so late.

“He says he is Peter Pan,” answered the maid.

“Show him in, at once,” said Lady Hamilton, “we surely want to see Peter Pan—the boy who never could grow up.”

And then through the doorway came a figure that unmistakably represented Peter Pan.

The well-known costume of russet browns and autumn-leaf tints, the small, close cap with its single feather, and the fierce-looking dagger were all there. To be sure, it was a much larger Peter Pan than any of them had seen in the play, but otherwise it was surely Peter.

At first, Lady Hamilton looked completely bewildered, and then, as she realised that it was really her own father, she turned pale and then very pink.

Patty stood near her, and though she didn’t know what might happen, she felt sure Lady Hamilton would be quite able to cope with the situation.

And so she was. After the first dazed moment, she stepped forward, and offering her hand, said cordially:

“Welcome, Peter Pan! We are indeed glad to see you. We’re sorry you couldn’t come earlier, but pray fall right into place with the rest of our little guests.”

It was the nature of Sir Otho Markleham to do thoroughly whatever he did at all.

So, now, throwing himself into the spirit of the moment, he made friends with the young people at once. He entertained them with stories of his thrilling adventures with the pirates; he told them how he lost his shadow, he explained all about Fairies, and soon the other guests were all crowded about him, listening breathlessly to his talk.

Lady Hamilton, standing a little to one side of the listening group, looked at her father. She realised at once what it all meant. She knew that Patty had persuaded him to come, and that it meant complete reconciliation between father and daughter. The whole matter could be discussed later, if they chose, but the mere presence of her father beneath her roof meant forgiveness and peace between them.

Softly Patty came up beside her and clasped her hand. “You’re a witch,” whispered Lady Hamilton, as she warmly returned the pressure. “How did you ever accomplish this?”

“Never mind that, now,” said Patty, her eyes shining. “Are you glad?”

“Glad! Yes, only that’s a short word to express my joy and my gratitude to you. But you took a risk! Suppose I had fainted, or done something foolish in my great surprise.”

“Oh, I knew you better than that,” returned Patty. “Isn’t he a dear in that Peter Pan suit? And, only think, he took off his beloved ‘sideboards,’ so he’d look the character better.”

“They’ll soon grow again,” said Lady Hamilton, carelessly; “but what I can’t understand is why he came at all.”

“Because he loves you,” whispered Patty, “and you love him. And you’ve both been acting like silly geese, but now that’s all over.”

“Yes, it is!” And Lady Hamilton gave a soft sigh of relief. Then, following her father’s example, she devoted herself to her young guests, and the time passed pleasantly until their departure.

Of course, these young people knew nothing of the state of affairs between “Peter Pan” and his hostess, though they soon discovered the identity of Sir Otho.

Soon after six, the “children” went away, declaring that it had been the event of the season, and they had never enjoyed a party more. The three Fairfields took leave at the same time, and Lady Hamilton was left alone with her father.

Exactly what was said in the next half hour neither of them ever told, but when it was past, the two were entirely reconciled, and Lady Kitty had consented to return to her father’s house to live. Then she sent a note to the Fairfields, asking them all to dine with herself and her father that evening.

“And meantime, Kitty,” said Sir Otho, “I’ll go and get out of this foolish toggery.”

“Yes, but save that suit to be photographed in. I must have your picture to put with those of the other ‘children.’”

Sir Otho went away, enveloped in a long raincoat, and promising to return at the dinner hour. It was a merry dinner party that night.

Patty had a new frock in honour of the occasion, and as she donned the pretty demi-toilette of pale green gauze, Nan said it was the most becoming costume she had ever worn.

“Now that you’re really eighteen, Patty,” she said, “I think you might discard hair-ribbons.”

“No, thank you,” said Patty, as Louise tied her big, white bow for her. “I’ll wear them a little longer. At least as long as I’m in this country where Dukes and Earls run wild. When I get back to New York, I’ll see about it.”

“Good-evening, Miss Yankee Doodle,” said Sir Otho, as he met her again at dinner. “Once more the American has conquered the English, and I would be greatly honoured by your kind acceptance of this tiny memento of the occasion.”

As Sir Otho spoke, he handed Patty a small jeweller’s box. She opened it and saw a dear little brooch in the form of an American flag. The Stars and Stripes were made of small sparkling brilliants of the three colours, and the twinkling effect was very beautiful.

“It is lovely!” she exclaimed; “how can I ever thank you! This is one of my very choicest birthday gifts, and I have received a great many.”

“It is nothing,” said Sir Otho, “compared to what you have given me,” and he glanced affectionately toward his daughter.

And this was all he ever said by way of expressing his gratitude to Patty, but it was enough, for the deep tone of his voice, and the suggestion of tears in his eyes, proved his inexpressible appreciation of Patty’s achievement.

Then the matter was dropped entirely, and the conversation became general and gay. Sir Otho proved to be as entertaining to older people as he had been to the children at the party, and Lady Kitty was in her most charming mood. Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield quite did their share toward the general entertainment, but Patty was queen of the feast. She enjoyed it all, for she dearly loved a festivity of any sort, but to-night she was specially happy to think that her plan had succeeded, and that she had given to her dear friend Kitty what she most wanted in all the world.

“And I trust it will not be long,” said Sir Otho, “before you will all accept an invitation to dine with me in Carlton Terrace, with Lady Hamilton presiding at my table.”

This invitation was delightedly accepted, and then they all went up to the Fairfields’ drawing-room, and Patty sang songs, and they all sang choruses, and then, as a final surprise, came a great, beautiful birthday cake, with eighteen lighted candles.

Then Patty cut the cake, and there were more congratulations and good wishes all round, and for pretty nearly the eighteenth time in her life Patty declared it was the best birthday she had ever had.