After Patty had told Mrs. Van Reypen the whole story of her efforts to earn her living for a week, and why she had undertaken such a thing, she found herself occupying a changed place in that lady’s regard.

“It was fine of you, perfectly fine!” Mrs. Van Reypen declared, “to sacrifice yourself, your tastes, and your time for a noble end like that.”

“Don’t praise me more than I deserve,” said Patty, smiling. “I did begin the game with a charitable motive, but I thought it was going to be easy. When I found it difficult I fear I kept on rather from stubbornness than anything else.”

“I don’t call it stubbornness, Miss Fairfield; I call it commendable perseverance, and I’m glad you’ve told me your story. Of course, I wouldn’t have wished you to tell me at first, for had I known it I wouldn’t have taken you. But you have honestly tried to do your work well, and you succeeded as well as you could. But, as I told you, you are not made for that sort of thing. Your disposition is not that of a subordinate, and I am glad you do not really have to be one. You have earned your salary this week, however, and I gladly pay you the fifteen dollars we agreed upon.”

Mrs. Van Reypen handed Patty the money, and as the girl took it she said, earnestly: “As you may well believe, Mrs. Van Reypen, this money means more to me than any I have ever before received in my life. It is the first I have ever earned by my own exertions, and, unless I meet with reverses of fortune, it will probably be the last. But, more than that, it proves my success in the somewhat doubtful enterprise I undertook and it assures a chance, at least, of another girl’s success in life.”

“I am greatly interested in your young art student,” went on Mrs. Van Reypen. “Can you not bring her to see me when she comes, and perhaps I may be of use to her in some friendly way?”

“How good you are!” exclaimed Patty.

She was surprised at the complete change of demeanour in Mrs. Van Reypen, though of course she realised it was due to the fact that she was now looked upon as a social equal and not a dependent.

“It is all so uncertain yet,” Patty went on. “I don’t know exactly how we are to persuade the girl to come North at all. She is of a proud and sensitive nature that would reject anything like charity.”

“Well, you will doubtless arrange the matter somehow, and when you do, remember that I shall be glad to help in any way I can.”

“Thank you very much,” said Patty. “It may be that you can indeed help us. And now, Mrs. Van Reypen, mayn’t I read to you, or something? You know my week isn’t up until this afternoon.”

“Not literally, perhaps; but for the few hours that are left of your stay with me I shall look upon you as a guest, not a ‘companion.’ And as I always like to entertain my guests pleasantly, I shall, if you agree, telephone for Philip to come to luncheon with us.”

The old lady’s eyes twinkled at the idea of Philip’s surprise at the changed conditions, and Patty smiled, too, as she expressed her assent.

When Philip arrived he was, of course, amazed at his aunt’s demeanour. She not only seemed to approve of Miss Fairfield, but treated her as an honoured guest and seemed more than willing that Philip should chat socially with her. Soon she explained to him the cause of her sudden change of attitude.

Philip laughed heartily. “I suspected something of the sort,” he said. “Miss Fairfield didn’t strike me as being of the ‘thankful and willin’ to please’ variety. She tried her best, but her deference was forced and her meekness assumed.”

“But she did it well,” said Mrs. Van Reypen.

“Oh, yes; very well. Still I like her better in her natural rÔle of society lady.”

“Oh, not that!” protested Patty. “I’m not really a society lady. In fact, I’m not ‘out’ yet. I’m just a New York girl.”

“Were you born here?” asked Mrs. Van Reypen.

“No,” said Patty, laughing; “I was born South, and I’ve only lived North about five years. One of those I’ve spent abroad, and one or two outside of New York. So when I say I’m a New York girl I only mean that I live here now.”

“Mayn’t I come to see you?” asked Philip. “Where do you live?”

“I live on Seventy-second Street,” said Patty, “and you may come to tea some Wednesday if you like. That’s my mother’s ‘day,’ and I often receive with her.”

“I see you’re well brought up,” said Mrs. Van Reypen, nodding her head approvingly. “I’m a bit surprised though that your mother allowed you to undertake this escapade.”

“Well, you see, she’s my stepmother—she’s only six years older than I am. So she hasn’t much jurisdiction over me; and as for my father—well, really, I ran away!”

The luncheon was a merry feast, for Mrs. Van Reypen made a gala affair of it, and, though there were but the three at table, there was extra elaboration of viands and decorations.

Philip Van Reypen was in his gayest humour, and his aunt was beaming and affable.

So they were really sorry when it was time for Patty to say good-by.

At four o’clock Miller came for her, and when Patty saw the familiar motor-car her homesickness came back like a big wave, and with farewells, speedy though cordial, she gladly let Philip hand her into the limousine.

“Home, Miller!” she said, with a glad ring in her voice, and then, with a final bow and smile to the Van Reypens, she started off.

“Discharged!” she thought, smiling to herself. “Didn’t give satisfaction! Too high-falutin to be a companion! Huh, Patty Fairfield, I don’t think you’re much of a success!”

She was talking to the reflection of herself in the small mirror opposite her face, but the happy and smiling countenance she saw there didn’t tally with her remarks. “Oh, well,” she thought, “I only agreed to earn my living for a week, and I’ve done it—I’ve done it!”

She opened her purse to make sure the precious fifteen dollars was still there, and she looked at it proudly. She had more money than that in another part of her purse, but no bills could ever look so valuable as the ten and five Mrs. Van Reypen had paid her.

At last she reached home, and as she ran up the steps the door flew open, and she saw Nan and her father, with smiling faces, awaiting her.

“Oh, people!” she cried. “Oh, you dear people!”

She flung herself indiscriminately into their open arms, embracing both at once.

Then she produced her precious bills, and, waving them aloft, cried:

“I’ve succeeded! I’ve really succeeded! Behold the proofs of Patty’s success!”

“Good for you, girlie!” cried her father. “You have succeeded, indeed! But don’t you ever dare cut up such a prank again!”

“No, don’t!” implored Nan. “I’ve had the most awful time the whole week! Every night Fred vowed he was going to bring you home, and I had to beg him not to. I wanted you to win,—and I felt sure you would this time,—but you owe it to me. For if I hadn’t worked so hard to prevent it your father would have gone after you long ago——”

“Good for you, Nan!” cried Patty. “You’ve been a trump! You’ve helped me through every time, in all my failures and in my one success. Oh, I’ve so much to tell you of my experiences! They were awfully funny.”

“They’ll keep till later,” said Nan. “You must run and dress now; Ken and the Farringtons are coming to dinner to help us celebrate your success.”

So Patty went dancing away to her own room, singing gaily in her delight at being once more at home.

“Oh, you booful room!” she cried, aloud, as she reached her own door. “All full of pretty homey things, and fresh flowers, and my own dear books and pictures, and—and everything!”

She threw herself on the couch and kissed the very sofa cushions in her joy at seeing them again.

Then she made her toilette, and put on one of her prettiest and most becoming frocks.

“Oh, daddy, dear,” she cried, meeting him in the hall on her way down, “it has done me lots of good to be homeless for a week! I appreciate my own dear home so much more.”

“But you were away from it for a year.”

“Oh, that’s different! Travelling or visiting is one thing, but working for your living is quite another! Oh, don’t lose all your fortune, will you, father? I don’t want to have to go out into the cold world and earn my own support.”

“Then it isn’t as easy as you thought it was?”

“Oh, dear no! It isn’t easy at all! It’s dreadful! Every way I tried was worse than every other. But I succeeded, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. You fulfilled your part of the contract, and when the time comes I’m ready to fulfil mine.”

“We’ll have to see Mr. Hepworth about that,” replied Patty.

Then Kenneth and the two Farringtons came, and the wonderful fifteen dollars had to be shown to them, and they had to be told all about Patty’s harrowing experiences.

“I’ll never again express an opinion on matters I don’t know anything about,” declared Patty. “Just think! I only said I thought it would be easy to earn fifteen dollars a week, and look what I’ve been through in consequence! But I’ve won at last!”

“Plucky Patty!” said Kenneth, appreciatively. “I knew you’d win if it took all summer!”

“But it wasn’t a complete triumph,” confessed Patty, “for she wouldn’t have kept me another week. She practically discharged me to-day.”

“Fired?” cried Roger, in glee. “Fired from your last place! Wanted, a situation! Oh, Patty, you do beat all!”

Then Patty told them of her own surprise when Mrs. Van Reypen told her she would not do as a permanent companion, and they all laughed heartily at the funny description she gave of the scene.

“Never mind,” said her father, “you fulfilled the conditions. A week was the stipulated time, and nothing was said about your outlook for a second week.”

The next night Mr. Hepworth came, and the whole story was told over again to him. He didn’t take it so lightly as the young people had done, but looked at Patty sympathetically, and said:

“Poor little girl, you did have a hard time, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” replied Patty, “though nobody else seems to realise that.”

The kindness in Mr. Hepworth’s glance seemed to bring back to her all those long, lonely, weary hours, and she felt grateful that one, at least, understood what she had suffered.

“It was worth spending that awful week to achieve your purpose,” he went on, “but I well know how hard it was for a home-loving girl like you. And I fancy it was none too easy to find yourself at the beck and call of another woman.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Patty, surprised at his insight. “How did you know that?”

“Because you are an independent young person, and accustomed to ordering your own times and seasons. So I’m sure to be obedient to another’s orders was somewhat galling.”

“It was so!” and Patty’s emphatic nod of her head proved to Mr. Hepworth that he had struck a true chord.

“And now,” said Mr. Fairfield, “when can I make my offer good? How can we induce the rising young artist to come to the metropolis to seek fame and fortune?”

“It will be difficult,” said Mr. Hepworth, “as she is not only proud and sensitive, but very shy. I think if Mrs. Fairfield would write one of her kind and tactful letters that Miss Farley would be persuaded by it.”

“Why can’t I write a kind and tactful letter?” asked Patty. “It’s my picnic.”

“You couldn’t write a tactful letter to save your life,” said Mr. Hepworth, looking at her with a grave smile.

Patty returned his look, and she wondered to herself why she wasn’t angry with him for making such a speech.

But, as she well knew, when Mr. Hepworth made a seemingly rude speech it wasn’t really rude, but it was usually true.

She knew herself she couldn’t write such a letter as this occasion required, and she knew that Nan could. So she smiled meekly at Mr. Hepworth, and said:

“No, I couldn’t. But Nan can be tactful to beat the band!”

“Oh, Patty!” said her father. “Did you talk like that to Mrs. Van Reypen? No wonder she discharged you!”

“No, I didn’t, daddy; truly I didn’t. I never used a word of slang that whole week, except one day when I talked to Nan over the telephone.”

“Soon you’ll be old enough to begin to think it’s time to stop using it at all,” observed Mr. Hepworth, and again Patty took his mild reproof in good part.

“Well, I’ll write,” said Nan. “Shall I ask Miss Farley to come to visit us? Won’t she think that rather queer?”

“Don’t put it just that way,” advised Mr. Hepworth. “Say that you, as a friend of mine, are interested in her career. And say that if she will come to New York for a week and stay with you, you think you can help her make arrangements for a course in the Art School. Your own tact will dress up the idea so as to make it palatable to her pride.”

“Won’t it be fun?” exclaimed Patty. “It will be almost like adopting a sister. What is she like, Mr. Hepworth? Like me?”

“She is about as unlike you as it is possible for a girl to be. She is very slender, dark, and timid, with the air of a frightened animal.”

“I’ll scare her to death,” declared Patty, with conviction. “I’m sure I shall! I don’t mean on purpose, but I’m so—so sudden, you know.”

“Yes, you are,” agreed Mr. Hepworth, as he joined in the general laughter. “But that ‘suddenness’ of yours is a quality that I wish Miss Farley possessed. It is really a sort of brave impulse and quick determination that makes you dash into danger or enterprise of any kind.”

“And win!” added Patty saucily.

“Yes, and win—after a time.”

“Oh well,” she replied, tossing her head, “Mr. Bruce’s spider made seven attempts before he succeeded. So I think my record’s pretty fair.”

“I think so, too,” said Mr. Hepworth, heartily. “And I congratulate you on your plucky perseverance and your indomitable will. You put up a brave fight, and you won. I know how you suffered under that petty tyranny, and your success in such circumstances was a triumph!”

“Thank you,” said Patty, greatly pleased at this sincere praise from one whom she so greatly respected. “It would have been harder still if I hadn’t had a good sense of humour. Lots of times when I wanted to cry I laughed instead.”

“Hurrah for you, Patty girl!” cried her father. “I’d rather you’d have a good sense of humour than a talent for spatter-work!”

“Oh, you back number!” exclaimed Patty. “They don’t do spatter-work now, daddy.”

“Well, china painting—or whatever the present fad is.”

But Mr. Hepworth seemed not to place so high a value on a sense of humour, for he said, gravely:

“I congratulate you on your steadfastness of purpose, which is one of the finest traits of your character.”

“Thank you,” said Patty, with dancing eyes. “You give it a nice name. But it is a family trait with us Fairfields, and has usually been called ‘stubbornness.’”

“Well,” supplemented her father, “I’m sure that’s just as good a name.”