One beautiful morning, about a week after the garden party, Patty lay in her favourite hammock out under the trees. She liked this hammock especially, for from it she could see both terraces, the formal gardens, and the lake beyond.

As she looked around this morning she could see the workmen busily engaged in restoring the gardens to their original symmetry and beauty. The Hartleys were by no means purse proud or ostentatious, and their sudden acquisition of a great fortune in no way changed their simple, pleasant attitude toward life. But they were now enabled to live in their dear old home, without financial anxieties, and moreover, were able to repair and restore its appointments.

But though Patty loved to let her idle gaze roam over the attractive landscape, her thoughts just now were far away. She had in her hand a letter from her father, and its message was strongly in favour of her leaving Cromarty Manor and joining her parents in Switzerland.

It was for Patty to make choice, but both Nan and Mr. Fairfield urged the plan they proposed. So Patty was thinking it over. She was very happy at Cromarty, and the life was quiet and pleasant, and interspersed with many little gaieties. But she thought, herself, it was a pity not to travel about and see sights and places when opportunity presented itself.

As she lay, thinking, she saw a large motorcar coming along the drive through the park. She jumped out of the hammock and started toward the house, in order to greet the guests whoever they might be. As the car came nearer, she saw a lady and gentleman in the tonneau, but so concealed were they by their motor-clothes she could not recognise them.

As they drew nearer, the lady waved her hand, and seeing the familiar gesture, Patty at once realised that it was Lady Hamilton.

Her father was with her, and Patty ran to meet them, and reached the steps of the great entrance of Cromarty just as the car swung round the last curve of the road.

“Oh, Kitty!” cried Patty; “I’m so glad to see you! Where did you come from? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? How do you do, Sir Otho. This is indeed a surprise.”

“How are you, my dear child?” said Sir Otho Markleham, after Patty had released Lady Kitty from her enthusiastic embrace, and turned to shake hands with her father.

“Come in,” said Patty, dancing about in her excited glee. “Come right in. You are welcome to Cromarty Manor, and in a moment the family will also tell you so.”

“What a delightful house!” said Lady Hamilton, pausing to admire the stately old portal.

“Yes, isn’t it? You know the Hartleys, don’t you?”

“Slightly. I’ll be glad to see them again. But, of course, we came to see you.”

“And it’s a lovely surprise. Are you staying near here?”

“Only for a day or two,” said Sir Otho. “We’re taking a little jaunt about, and as Kitty wanted to see you especially, we came in this direction.”

The chauffeur and the big touring car were put in charge of the Cromarty coachman, and Patty ushered her guests into the house.

The ladies soon appeared and with hospitable welcome insisted that Sir Otho and his daughter should remain for a few days. This they were unable to do, but it was finally decided that they should stay the night, and resume their trip the next day.

“And,” said Sir Otho, “it may seem a rather sudden proceeding, but we want to take Patty with us.”

“Take Patty!” exclaimed Mabel, aghast; “for how long?”

“You tell her,” said Sir Otho, smiling at his daughter. “I haven’t the courage.”

“I’ll explain later,” said Lady Hamilton. “But now, I want to enjoy the beauties of this grand old place. Is this the celebrated apartment where the fortune was hidden?”

“Yes,” said Patty, who had written to Lady Kitty about the matter. “And here is the old chimney-piece.”

“You can imagine, Lady Hamilton,” said Mrs. Hartley, “the deep debt of gratitude we are under to our dear Patty.”

“You must be, indeed. But I know Patty is quite as glad that she made the discovery as you are yourselves.”

The rest of the morning was devoted to showing the visitors about the place. Sir Otho was greatly interested in the plans for the restoration of the gardens, and both he and Lady Kitty were enraptured with the historic treasures of the old house. After luncheon, Lady Hamilton unfolded her plans to Patty.

“I have been in correspondence with Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield,” she said, “and we’ve concluded that we must have Patty back with us again. She has been very happy here, I know, but she has made you a long visit, and I’ve really been sent down here to kidnap her.”

Patty smiled, but the others didn’t. Mrs. Cromarty and Mrs. Hartley looked truly sorry, and Mabel had to struggle to keep her tears back.

“You are right,” said Mrs. Cromarty, at last. “We have enjoyed having Patty here more than I can tell you. But we must not be selfish. I know her parents have been writing for her to go to them, and it is wrong for us to urge her to stay here.”

“But I don’t want Patty to go away,” said Mabel, and now she was really crying.

“I know you don’t, dearie,” said her mother. “But I see it as Grandma does, and I think we must let her go. Perhaps some time she’ll come again.”

“Oh, I hope so,” said Patty, smiling through the tears that had gathered in her own eyes. “You’ve all been so good to me, and I’ve had such lovely times.”

The question once settled, Lady Hamilton went on to say that she proposed to take Patty away the next day. Of course this redoubled Mabel’s woe, but Lady Kitty was firm.

“It would be just as hard to spare her a week hence,” she said. “And then, who would take her to London? If she goes with us to-morrow, we will keep her with us for the rest of our motor tour—about a week—and then reach London about the first of July. After that Patty and I will join Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield in Switzerland, and go on to do some further travelling.”

Although Patty was sorry to leave Cromarty, this plan did sound delightful, and she was glad that it was all settled for her, and she had no further responsibility in the matter.

Lady Hamilton had a genius for despatch, and she superintended the packing of Patty’s clothes and belongings that same afternoon. Except for the luggage needed on the motor-tour, everything was to be sent to Lady Kitty’s home in London, and Patty had to smile, as she realised that her present temporary home was the great house where she had so daringly braved the irascible Sir Otho.

There was a daintily furnished room in the Markleham house that had been set aside for Patty’s very own, and whenever she cared to she was invited to occupy it.

When the boys came home that afternoon and heard the news, they set up a wail of woe that was both genuine and very noisy.

No one could help admiring Lady Kitty, but Sinclair and Bob felt as if she were robbing their household, and it required all their good manners to hide their feeling of resentment.

But they rose nobly to the occasion, and Bob said: “Well, since Patty must go, we’ll have to send her off in a blaze of glory. Let’s make a party, mother, a few people to dinner, and some more for the evening.”

Mrs. Hartley quickly realised that this would be the best way to tide over a sad occasion, and she agreed. The Merediths and a few others were sent for to come to dinner, and a dozen or more young people asked for a little dance in the evening. Notwithstanding her unwelcome errand, Lady Kitty fitted right into the house party, and both she and her father were so affable and pleasant that the Hartleys forgave them for stealing Patty away.

The tourists had luggage with them, so were able to don attire suitable to the party. Lady Hamilton wore one of her beautiful trailing lace gowns, which had won for her Patty’s name of “The White Lady.”

Patty, too, wore a white frock, of ruffled organdie, with touches of pale green velvet. In her pretty hair was a single pink rose, and as she arranged it, she felt a pang as she thought that might be the last flower she would ever wear from the dear old Cromarty rose garden. The dinner was a beautiful feast, indeed. The table sparkled with the old silver and glass that had belonged to the Cromarty ancestors. Flowers were everywhere, and the table and dining-room were lighted entirely by wax candles, with the intent of abiding by the old traditions of the manor.

At Patty’s plate was a multitude of gifts. How they managed it on such short notice, she never knew, but every one of the family and most of the guests gave her a parting souvenir.

Grandma Cromarty gave her a valuable old miniature that had long been in her historic collection. Mrs. Hartley gave her an exquisite fan, painted by a celebrated artist. Mabel gave her a ring set with a beautiful pearl, and the boys together gave her a splendid set of Dickens’ works in elaborately gilded binding. Grace Meredith brought her a bangle, and Tom a quaint old-fashioned candlestick; and many other guests brought pretty or curious trifles.

Patty was overwhelmed at this unexpected kindness, and opened parcel after parcel in a bewilderment of delight.

Everybody was gay and merry, yet there was an undercurrent of sadness, as one after another remembered this was the last time they would see pretty Patty.

After dinner they all assembled on the terrace, and the other guests, arriving later, joined them there.

But the soft beauty of the summer evening seemed to intensify the spirit of sadness, and all were glad to hear the strains of a violin coming from the great hall.

Bob had sent for two or three musicians, and soon the young people were spinning around in the dance, and merriment once more reigned.

Always a popular partner, Patty was fairly besieged that night.

“I can’t,” she said laughingly, as the young men gathered around to beg her favours; “I’ve halved every dance already; I can’t do more than that.”

“Don’t halve this one,” said Tom Meredith, as he led her away for a waltz. “I must have all of it. Unless you’ll sit it out with me on the terrace.”

“No, thank you,” said Patty. “I’d rather dance. I don’t suppose I’ll find another dancer as good as you all summer.”

“I hate to think of your going away,” said Tom. “You almost promised me you’d stay here all summer.”

“I know. But I’m not mistress of my own plans. They’re made for me.”

“And you’re glad of it,” said Tom, almost angrily. “You’re glad you’re going away from here—to go motoring in Switzerland, and all sorts of things.”

“Don’t be so savage. It isn’t surprising that I’m glad to go away from any one as cross as you are.”

Tom had to smile in return for Patty’s laughing tones, and he said more gently:

“I don’t mean to be bearish, but I wish you weren’t going. I—I like you an awful lot, Patty. Truly I do.”

“I’m glad of it,” said Patty, heartily, “and I like you too. After Sinclair and Bob, you’re the nicest boy in England.”

“There’s luck in odd numbers,” said Tom, a little ruefully, “so I’m glad I’m number three. But I’d like to be number one.”

“Well, you’re a number one dancer,” said Patty, as the music ceased, and with that Tom had to be content.

And now the hour was getting late and the young people began to go home.

It was really an ordeal for Patty to say good-bye, for she had many friends among them, and they all seemed truly regretful to part with her.

But after they had gone, and only those staying in the house remained, another surprise was in waiting for Patty. They were gathered in the great hall, talking over for the last time the mystery of the hidden fortune, and Patty’s clever solution of it.

“And now,” said Sinclair, “I’ve a little speech to make.”

He went and stood on the “stair across the hall,” in front of the old chimney-piece, and so, just beneath the picture of the fir trees. The painting was a fine one, and represented a landscape with firs in the foreground. It had hung there since the days of the earlier Cromartys, and was a valuable work of art.

Patty had always loved the picture, even before the added interest of learning the truth about the fir trees, and they all knew it was one of her favourites among the many art treasures of the old house.

“I was going to make this speech when the party was here,” proceeded Sinclair, “but I didn’t, partly because I feared it might embarrass Patty, and partly because I like it better to have only our own people here. But the speech itself is this: We, the Cromartys of Cromarty Manor, realising that we can never liquidate the great debt of gratitude we owe to our beautiful and beloved friend, Miss Patty Fairfield, wish, at least, to give her a token of our affection and a memento of her noble deed. We, therefore, one and all of the household of Cromarty, offer her this picture of fir trees, this painting by Hobbema, and we trust that she will accept it in the spirit it is tendered.”

Sinclair bowed and sat down, and Patty sat for a moment in awestruck silence.

Then, “The Hobbema!” she cried, “I won’t take it! The idea of giving me that painting! Why, it’s one of the gems of the house!”

“That’s why we want you to have it, Patty dear,” said Grandma Cromarty, gently. “It is one of our treasures, and for that very reason it is worthy to be presented as a souvenir to one who so gloriously deserves it.”

“Hear! Hear!” cried Bob. “Grandy makes a better speech than you, Clair.”

Patty’s scruples were lovingly overcome, and she was made to realise that she was the owner of a real masterpiece of art, that would be to her a lifelong delight.

“But what will take its place?” she said. “It has hung there so many years.”

“It hung there,” said Mrs. Hartley, “until its mission was fulfilled. Now that there is nothing to be searched for ‘between the fir trees and the oak,’ it need hang there no longer. It is fitting that we retain the ‘oak’ and you possess the ‘fir trees,’ thus assuring an everlasting bond of union between the fir trees and the oak.”

“Bravo, Mater!” cried Bob. “You’re coming out strong on speechifying, too. Mabel, we must look out for our laurels.”

But Mabel was too near the verge of tears to trust her voice, so she slipped her hand in Patty’s, knowing that she would understand all that could not be said.

“Well,” went on Bob, “I’m not much of an orator, but I’ll take it for my part to see that the Fir Trees are properly packed and sent to your home, Patty. Where shall I send the box?”

“I hate to have it go to New York now,” said Patty, “for I want it with me while I’m over here.”

So it was arranged to send the picture to Sir Otho’s house in London, there to remain until the Fairfields returned to America.

The departure from Cromarty was made next morning directly after breakfast. It was fortunate that the last details of luggage preparations, and the packing of luncheon and so forth, made a bustle and hurry that left little time for actual farewells. And, too, they were all too sensible to mar Patty’s last memory of Cromarty with futile regrets.

So after good-byes were said, and the party stowed away in the big car, Sinclair started one of their favourite nonsense songs.

The others joined in, and Patty sang too, and handkerchiefs were waved, and as the car slid out of sight among the trees, those who were left could still hear Patty’s high, sweet soprano ringing back to them.