The next morning, Patty came down to breakfast, wearing a plain street costume, a small, but very well made hat, and a look of determination.

“Fresh start?” said her father, smiling kindly at her.

“Yes,” she replied; “and this time I conquer. I see success already perching on my banners.”

“Well, I don’t then!” declared Nan. “I see you coming home, not with your shield, but on it.”

“Now, don’t be a wet blanket and throw cold water on my plans,” said Patty, a little mixed in her metaphor, but smiling placidly at her stepmother. “This time it’s really a most sensible undertaking that I’m going to undertake.”

“Sounds as if you were going into the undertaking business,” said her father, “but I assume you don’t mean that.”

“No, I go into a pleasanter atmosphere than that suggests, and one in which I feel sure I can accomplish good work.”

“Well, Patty,” said Mr. Fairfield, “it’s lucky you’re of a sanguine temperament. I’m glad to see you’re not disheartened by failure.”

“Not I! To me a failure only means a more vigorous attempt next time. Now, Nan, I shall be away all day,—until about five o’clock. Won’t you play with Darby and Juliet a little, so they won’t get lonesome?”

“Oh, yes; I’ll amuse them. But, Patty, where are you going?”

“Never mind, pretty stepmothery; don’t ask questions, for they won’t be answered. If all goes well, I’ll tell you on my return.”

Mr. Fairfield looked serious.

“Patty,” he said, “you know you’re not to do anything unbecoming or ridiculous. Don’t you go and sell goods behind a counter, or anything extreme like that.”

“No, sir; I won’t. I promise not to put myself in the public eye in any such fashion. And you may trust me, father, not to do anything of which you’d disapprove, if you knew all about it.”

“That’s a good Patty-girl! Well, go ahead in your mad career, and if you keep your part of the bargain, I’ll keep mine.”

Patty started off, and this time she gave Miller an address not so far away as before. When he brought the motor-car to a standstill, before a fashionable millinery shop, he felt none of the surprise that he had when he took Patty to what he considered inappropriate places.

“Now, Miller,” said Patty, as she got out of the car, “you are not to wait for me, but I want you to return here for me at five o’clock.”

“Here, Miss Fairfield?”

“Yes; right here. Come exactly at five, and wait for me to come out.”

“Yes, Miss Fairfield,” said Miller, and Patty turned and entered the shop.

“I’m ’most sorry I sent him away,” she thought to herself, “for I may not want to stay. Well, I can go home in a street-car.”

Though Patty’s costume was plain and inconspicuous, it bore so evidently the stamp of taste and refinement, that the saleswoman who met her assumed she had come to buy a hat.

But it was early for fashionable ladies to be out shopping, so the rather supercilious young woman greeted Patty with a cautious air of reserve. It was so different from the effusive manner usually shown to Nan and Patty when they really went shopping, that Patty was secretly much amused. But as she was also secretly greatly embarrassed, it was with an uncertain air that she said:

“I am not shopping; I wish to see Madame Villard.”

“Madame is not here. What can I do for you?”

“I have come in answer to her advertisement for an assistant milliner.”

“Oh,” said the young woman, raising her eyebrows, and at once showing an air of haughty condescension. “You should have asked for the forewoman, not Madame.”

Patty’s sense of humour got the better of her resentment, and it was with difficulty she repressed a smile, as she answered:

“Indeed? Well, it is not yet too late to correct my error. Will you show me to the forewoman?”

Patty’s inflections were not in the least sarcastic, in fact her whole manner was gentle and gracious, but something in her tone, perhaps the note of amusement, made the saleswoman look at her suddenly and sharply.

But Patty’s face was demure and showed only a desire to be conducted to the right person.

“Come this way,” said the young woman, shortly, and she led Patty, between some heavy curtains, to a back room.

“This is our forewoman, Miss O’Flynn,” she said, as she ushered Patty into her presence.

Miss O’Flynn was an important looking woman who took in every detail of Patty’s appearance in a series of careful and systematic glances.

She seemed puzzled at what she saw, and said, inquiringly:

“Miss——?”

“Miss Fairfield,” said Patty, pleasantly, “and I have come in answer to your advertisement.”

“For assistant milliner? You.”

Miss O’Flynn was surprised out of her usual calm by the amazing proposition of the young stranger.

“Yes,” said Patty, quite calm herself. “I can trim hats very prettily.”

“Did you trim the one you have on?”

“Well, no,” admitted Patty. “I brought this from Paris. But I am sure I can trim hats to suit you. May I try?”

“What experience have you had?”

“Well,—not any professional experience. You see, it is only recently that I have desired to earn my own living.”

“Oh,—sudden reverses,” murmured Miss O’Flynn, thinking she had solved the problem. “Well, my dear, you have evidently been brought up a lady, so it will be hard for you to find work. I am sorry to say I cannot employ you, as I engage only skilled workwomen.”

“But trimming hats doesn’t require professional skill,” said Patty. “Only good taste and a,—a sort of knack at bows and things.”

Miss O’Flynn laughed.

“Everything requires professional skill,” she returned. “A course of training is necessary for any position.”

“But if you’d try me,” said Patty, quite unconscious that her tone was pleading. “Just give me a day’s trial, and if I don’t make good, you needn’t pay me anything.”

Miss O’Flynn was more puzzled than ever. Insistent though Patty was, it didn’t seem to her the insistence of a poor girl wanting to earn her bread; it was more like the determination of a wilful child to attain its desire.

So, moved rather by curiosity to see how it would turn out, than a belief in Patty’s ability, she said, coldly:

“I will do as you ask. You may go to the workroom for to-day; but on the understanding that unless you show unusual skill or aptitude to learn, you are not to be paid anything, nor are you to come to-morrow.”

“All right,” said Patty, smiling jubilantly at having received her opportunity, at least.

Miss O’Flynn took her to a workroom, where several girls were busily engaged in various sorts of millinery work.

“Sit here, Miss Fairfield,” and Miss O’Flynn indicated a chair at one end of a long table. “You may line this hat.”

Then she gave Patty an elaborate velvet hat, trimmed with feathers, and materials for sewing. She also gave her white silk for the lining of the hat, and a piece stamped with gilt letters, which Patty knew must be placed inside the crown.

It all seemed easy,—too easy, in fact, for Patty aspired to making velvet rosettes, and placing ostrich plumes.

But she knew she was being tested, and she set to work at her task with energy.

Though she had never lined a hat before, she knew in a general way how it should be done, and she tried to go about it with an air of experience. The other girls at the table cast furtive glances at her.

Though they were not rude, they showed that air of hostile criticism, so often shown by habituÉs to a newcomer, though based on nothing but prejudiced curiosity.

But as Patty began to cut the lining, she saw involuntary smiles spring to their faces. She knew that she must be cutting it wrongly, but it seemed to her the only way to cut it, so she went on.

The girls began to nudge each other, and to smile more openly, and, to her own chagrin, Patty felt her cheeks growing red with embarrassment.

She was tempted to speak pleasantly to them, and ask what her mistake was, but a strange notion of honesty forbade this.

She had said at home that she believed it would be possible for her to earn her living without special instruction, and it seemed to her, that if she now asked for advice it would be like getting special training, though in a small degree.

So she went calmly on with her work; cut and fitted the hat lining, and carefully sewed it in the hat.

Remembering that the stitch she used on her “white work” had been criticised as too long, she now was careful to take very short stitches, and she used her utmost endeavour to make her work neat and dainty.

Miss O’Flynn passed her chair two or three times while the work was in progress, but she made no comment of any sort.

It was perhaps eleven o’clock when Patty completed the task. Next time Miss O’Flynn came by her she handed her the hat with an unmistakable air of triumph.

“I’ve done it,” Patty thought to herself, exultantly. “I’ve lined that hat, and, if I do say it that shouldn’t, it’s done perfectly; neat, smooth, and correct in every particular.”

While Patty was indulging in these self-congratulatory thoughts, Miss O’Flynn took the hat from her hand. She gave it a quick glance, then she looked at Patty.

Had Patty looked more meek, had she seemed to await Miss O’Flynn’s opinion of her work, the result might have been different.

But Patty’s expression was so plainly that of a conquering hero, she showed so palpably her pride in her own achievement, that Miss O’Flynn’s eyes narrowed, and her face hardened. Without a word to Patty, she handed the hat to a sad-eyed young woman at another table, and said:

“Line this hat, Miss Harrigan.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the girl; and even as Patty watched her, she began to snip deftly at Patty’s small, careful stitches, and in a few moments the lining was out, and the girl was shaping and cutting a new one, with a quick, sure touch, and with not so much as a glance in Patty’s direction.

The other girls,—the ones at Patty’s table,—looked horrified, but they did not look openly at Patty. Furtively, they darted glances at her from beneath half-closed lids, and then as furtively glanced at each other.

It all struck Patty humorously. To have her careful work discarded and snipped out, to be replaced by “skilled labour,” seemed so funny that she wanted to laugh aloud.

But she was also deeply chagrined at her failure, and so it was an uncertain attitude of mind that showed upon her face as Miss O’Flynn again approached her.

Without making any reference to the work she had already done, Miss O’Flynn gave Patty a hat frame and some thick, soft satin.

“Cover the frame neatly, Miss Fairfield,” was all she said, and walked away.

Patty understood.

It was her own independent and assured attitude that had led Miss O’Flynn to pursue this course. She didn’t for a moment think that all beginners were treated like this. But she had asked to be given a fair trial—and she was getting it.

Moreover, she half suspected that Miss O’Flynn knew she was not really under the necessity of earning her own living.

Though wearing her plainest clothes, all the details of her costume betokened an affluence that couldn’t be concealed.

Astute Patty began to think that Miss O’Flynn saw through her, and that she was cleverly getting even with her.

However, she took the hat frame and the satin, and set to work in thorough earnest. Though not poor, she could not have tried any harder to succeed had she been in direst want.

But as to her work, she was very much at sea.

She knew she had to get the satin on to the frame, without crease or wrinkle. She knew exactly how it ought to look when done, for she had a hat of that sort herself, and the material covered the foundation as creaselessly as paint.

“I’m sure it only needs gumption,” thought Patty, hopefully. “Here’s my real chance to prove that it doesn’t need a series of lessons to get some satin smoothly on a crinoline frame. If I do it neatly, she won’t ask some other girl to do it over.”

Paying no attention to the covert glances of her companions, Patty set to work. She cut carefully, she fitted neatly; she pinned and she basted; she smoothed and she patted; and finally she sewed, with tiny, close stitches, placed evenly and with great precision.

So absorbed did she become in her task that she failed to notice the departure of the others at noon. Alone she sat there at the table, snipping, sewing, pinning, and patting the somewhat refractory satin.

It was almost one o’clock when she finished, and looked up suddenly to see Miss O’Flynn standing watching her.

“Why are you doing this?” she said to Patty, as she took the hat from the girl’s hands.

Patty sat up, all at once, conscious of great pain in the back of her neck, from her continued cramped position at work.

“Because I want to earn money,” replied Patty, not pertly, but in a tone of obstinate intent. “Is it done right?”

Miss O’Flynn looked at Patty, with an air of kindliness and willingness to help her.

“Tell me all about it,” she said.

But Patty was in no mood for confidences, and with a shade of hauteur in her manner, she said again: “Is it done right? Does it suit you?”

At Patty’s rejection of her advances, Miss O’Flynn also became reserved again, and said, simply: “I cannot use it.”

“Why not?” demanded Patty. “It is covered smoothly and neatly. It shows no crease nor fold.”

“It is not right,” said Miss O’Flynn. “It is not done right, because you do not know how to do it. You have never been taught how to cover hats or how to line them; consequently you cannot do them right.”

The other girls had gone to luncheon, so the two were alone in the room. Patty knew that Miss O’Flynn was telling her the truth, and yet she resented it. A red spot burned in each cheek as she answered:

“But the hat is covered perfectly. What matter, then, whether I have been taught or not?”

“Excuse me, it is not covered perfectly. The stitches are too small——”

“Too small!” exclaimed Patty. “Why, I didn’t know stitches could be too small!”

The other smiled. “That is my argument,” she said. “You don’t know. Of course stitches should be small for ordinary sewing, and for many sorts of work. But not for millinery. Here long stitches are wanted, but they must be rightly set,—not careless long stitches.”

“Why?” said Patty, somewhat subdued now.

“Because a better effect can be produced with long stitches. You see, your stitches are small and true, but every one shows. With a skilful long stitch, no stitch is seen at all. It is what we call a blind stitch, and can only be successfully done by skilled workers, who have been taught, and who have also had practice.”

Patty was silent a moment, then she said:

“Miss O’Flynn, we agreed that I was to have a day’s trial.”

“Yes, Miss Fairfield; I will stand by my word.”

“Then may I select my own work for the afternoon?”

“Yes,” said Miss O’Flynn, wondering whether, after all, this pretty, young girl could be a harmless lunatic.

“Then I want to trim hats. Make bows, you know; sew on flowers or feathers; or adjust lace. May I do such things as that?”

Miss O’Flynn hesitated.

“Yes,” she said, finally; “if you will be careful not to injure the materials. You see, if your work should have to be done over, I don’t want the materials spoiled.”

“I promise,” said Patty, slowly.

“But, first, will you not go out for your lunch?”

“No, thank you; I’m not hungry. Please bring me my work at once.”