  The Sunset Tea-room did not belie its name. The draperies and decorations were of true sunset tints,—gold and amber, with glints of red, and all most harmonious and effective. The quartette found a pleasant table, where the shaded lights cast a soft glow over the pretty appointments, and Helen picked up the menu card with pleased anticipation. “You’re just incorrigible, Bumble!” laughed Patty; “you promised me you’d cut out sweet things for afternoon tea, yet I see you voraciously devouring the cake list!” “I know it, Patsy Poppet, but today is an exception,——” “What day isn’t? All right, girlie, but like Lady Jane in the play ‘there will be too much of you in the coming by-and-by!’” “There can’t be too much of a good thing!” said Herron, gaily, “so go ahead, Miss Barlow, choose all the puff paste and whipped cream you want.” “If I did that, I’d order the whole card,” Helen returned, “and that wouldn’t do at all.” “Like the story of the little pickaninny,” put in Van Reypen; “they said he was ill from eating too much watermelon. And a neighbour said, ‘Law sakes! Dey ain’t no such t’ing as too much watermillion!’ and the reply was, ’Den dere wasn’t enough boy!’” “That’s it exactly,” and Helen smiled; “there aren’t too many kinds of cakes here,—but there isn’t quite enough me!” But after some careful consideration, she selected the most irresistible dainties, and the others also made their choice. “You never told us the ‘Eagle’ story,” Herron reminded, as they waited for their order to be served. “That’s so,” said Patty, “what was it, Helen? Didn’t you say it had to do with the end of the war?” “That’s as you look at it. Here’s the tale. You see, down at Beverly, just before the close of the Revolution, there appeared a few eagles——” “Bald?” inquired Phil. “Dunno if they were bald or long-haired or blonde,—but they were eagles,—real, live American eagles. And they had never been seen in that locality before. Well, their appearance heralded the end of the Revolution,—and immediately it ended.” “Great!” cried Philip, a little ironically; “it reminds me of the slave who called out, ‘Oh, King live forever!’ and immediately the King lived forever!” “I shouldn’t wonder if that’s a better story than mine,” laughed Helen, “but I’ll proceed with mine, as, if I don’t, I may not get it done before my cakies come. Well, the Revolution ended, and no eagles were seen any more at all, in or near Beverly. Until,—near the close of the Civil War, those same eagles appeared in Beverly again!” “Sure they were the same ones? Pretty old birds!” “Oh, eagles live thousands of years! That’s nothing for an eagle! Anyway, the eagles came, and the Civil War soon came to its close.” “Now then for the point of this tale,” said Herron. “Has friend eagle showed up of late?” “He has!” cried Helen triumphantly; “several eagles were seen there last week! Now, I believe this war will soon end!” “The American eagle is a war-ender, all right!” declared Phil, “and I hope to goodness, Helen, your pet scheme works out. Just how long after the eagles’ arrival is peace declared? Usually, I mean.” “That I can’t say. Nor do I swear to the truth of the story. But I tell the tale as ’twas told to me, and you can take it or leave it.” “I’ll take it,” said Patty, promptly. “I’m a wee bit superstitious, and I like to think of the eagles appearing as a harbinger of hope of peace,—like the Ark dove.” “It can’t do any harm to believe it,” and Philip smiled at her; “and it may do good. If you believed in a thing I’m sure it would make me do so, too, and if a lot of us believe, it might help to make it come true.” “Then we’ll all believe,” said Helen, “and I’m sure glad to be the means,—in a small way,—of helping my country toward peace!” “One can scarcely call it more than a small way,” Herron said, mock-judicially, “and yet it’s as much as many of us do. Even if we’re willing, we can’t perform. I’m ready to fly to the ends of the earth for my old Uncle Sam, but I have to await orders.” “And I can’t help feeling glad that you do,” interposed Helen. “What would us girls do without you boys to play with? To be sure, we’ll give you up “When it’s ‘Ready! Fire!’ and you fire away, And fight ’em to a finish for the U. S. A.” “For us, it’s ‘Ready! Fly!’ and we fly away,” and Philip looked eager at the thought. “I hate to leave my ain fireside, and that of friends and fellow citizens, but there is an urge——” “You sound like Sam Blaney!” and Patty laughed. “He was always talking about the Cosmic Urge.” “That isn’t in it with the Urge of the Flag. Oh, you girls don’t know the thrill of feeling that you can be of real help,—however small or insignificant help it is!” Patty gave Phil an admiring glance. She liked this sort of talk and though she knew of his patriotism, she had rarely heard him express it so strongly. “Here’s your cakaroons!” cried Herron, as the tray appeared, and the tea and chocolate were served to them. “Now, no war talk, for the moment,” begged Helen. “It does interfere with my enjoyment of my frugal fare, to get stirred up, even by patriotism.” “Let’s talk about our visit at the Club,” said Patty, suddenly. “Did it strike any of you that Mrs. Doremus was a very strange person?” “Did it!” said Philip, with emphasis. “Well, rather!” “As how?” asked Herron. “To begin with, she was no lady,” Van Reypen asserted. “Just what do you mean?” pursued Herron. “That’s a little harsh,” Patty demurred, “but she certainly acted queer.” “What do you care?” Herron demanded, “she served the purpose of chaperon, when no one else was there to do so.” “Yes, I know. The principal thing I noticed that seemed strange was that she didn’t knit!” “My goodness gracious! I never thought of that!” exclaimed Herron. “Perhaps she couldn’t,” laughed Patty. “At least, she could have made a stab at it, which is what most women do. Oh, you needn’t laugh! I’ve observed them! They spend more time holding their work off and looking at it, or counting stitches, or picking back—whatever that is!—or correcting mistakes, or, just patting and pinching the thing!” “You’re right, Mr. Herron,” and Patty laughed at his graphic description, which was greatly aided by his dramatic imitation of a nervous knitter. “But Mrs. Doremus didn’t even do that. Nor did she say anything about it,—which was queer, I think.” “Yes, it was queer,” agreed Helen, “though I hadn’t thought of it before. Oh, Patty! This cream cake is a dream!” “A dream cake?” suggested Philip, “a cream cake dream cake,—well, what I noticed especially about our friend and benefactor, was her shoes.” Herron looked up quickly. “No lady would wear shoes like those!” Van Reypen asserted. “I didn’t see them,” said Patty, “her dress was so long. Queer, to have such very long skirts, nowadays.” “No lady would wear such a long skirt,” Van Reypen went on. “Oh, Phil, don’t be so critical,” and Patty shook her head at him. “Mrs. Doremus wasn’t fashionable, I know, nor even very well posted as to a chaperon’s duties, but she was kind, and she filled what I think is known as a long-felt want.” “She told me something you haven’t told me, Patty,” and Helen looked reproachfully at her cousin. “What?” “She says your Big Bill is coming to New York in February.” “She did! A lot she knows about it! She’s a meddlesome Matty,—I think! And, besides, he isn’t,—’cause why? ’cause if he had been he would have told his little Patty person!” “How’d she know?” asked Philip. “Dunno. She may have heard some rumours or had inside information from somebody. I thought you’d be glad to hear it, Patty.” “I am, if it’s true. But, I never believe good news, till I’m pretty positive. It saves disappointment, lots of times.” “Little philosopher!” and Van Reypen gave her a sympathetic glance. “But I shouldn’t be surprised if that news were true, for I saw something in the paper this morning that looked like it.” “When I get home, I’ll have a letter,” and Patty blushed a little, “and I rather guess I’ll be told, if there’s anything to tell.” “Of course you will,” said Herron. “Also, I’d not be surprised if Miss Fairfield knows more herself than she tells! These letters from Washington to personal friends are not to be read aloud in the market-place,—for more reasons than one.” Patty looked conscious, but said nothing. Indeed, it was true that Farnsworth often wrote bits of comment on subjects that Patty knew must not be talked over nor his information divulged. And so, she preserved a scrupulous secrecy regarding any war news her letters might hold. Also, once in a while, Farnsworth sent Patty a little letter, sealed and enclosed in another. This he sometimes asked her not to open until a certain time, or he asked her to mail it in New York, for secret reasons. All of these matters Patty attended to with punctilious care and she loved to think that she was helping her Little Billee and also her country. “One doesn’t read one’s love letters aloud,—naturally!” and Patty looked down and blushed. “Of course not!” cried Helen; “I should say not! And especially yours! Oh, I know! You’ve read bits to me now and then, and if what you omit is any more—ahem—well, turtle-dovish than what you do read, and I’ve no doubt it is——” “It is,” Patty returned, with unmoved equanimity. “What’s the use of being engaged if one may not be what you call turtle-dovey! I’m not a bit embarrassed about it. But for my part, I think Mrs. Doremus was decidedly over-curious and forward about me and my affairs.” “Unladylike,” put in Van Reypen. “How you harp on that word!” exclaimed Patty. “I don’t think it was so much that, as a lack of good breeding——” “Oh, come now, Patty, didn’t you catch on?” “Catch on to what?” “Why, that Mrs. Doremus was no lady,—because,—she was a man.” “What!” “She sure was! And I’d like an explanation, Herron. I thought I’d let the matter pass until I could see you alone, but I think it’s better to have it out here and now. You brought that person to us, you fixed up the matter, now tell us about it.” George Herron burst into laughter. “I own up!” he confessed, “I did it! Alone I did it! Oh, it was a joke!” Patty looked puzzled. “A man?” she said; “masquerading?” “Just that, dear lady,” and Herron laughed afresh. “I couldn’t help it! There was no woman on the premises save the housekeeper’s daughter, who was only a girl of fifteen or so. There was no way to keep you girls there for luncheon except by providing a chaperon. So,—I did my best. Don’t look so shocked. It was only a harmless jest. Surely, the quondam chaperon was in no way objectionable; and, as Miss Fairfield admits, she—or he—filled a long-felt want!” “But who was she—or he?” “One of the Club attendants. He’s on the house force, sort of manager of the heating and electricity departments. Well, I was put to it, as you know, and I was asking him what to do, and he suggested,—or to be accurate, he fell in with my suggestion,—that he slip into one of the housekeeper’s gowns and play ’Charley’s Aunt.’ So he did.” “What do you mean, ‘Charley’s Aunt’?” asked Helen. “That’s an old play, all college chaps know, where a young man played chaperon just as Munson did today. Not going to be mad about it, are you, Miss Fairfield?” “Of course she isn’t!” cried Helen; “I think it’s a great joke! And, as you say, we couldn’t have stayed there, otherwise! Oh, Patty, don’t get on your Puritanic high horse! It was only a regard for a convention, anyway, and the convention was regarded!” Helen went off in peals of laughter at the reminiscence of the so-called chaperon. “No wonder he wore a long skirt! To cover up his feet,—of course! And his white wig! Oh, it was perfect! Where did he get a wig so handy?” “It was in a little room where a lot of things are, left, I believe, from some theatrical jinks. Anyway, he said he could make up perfectly,—and he did.” “Oh, he did! I think he was fine!” “He was fine, Helen, as a masquerader,” said Patty, slowly, “but I don’t think it was a fine performance,—by any means!” She looked gravely at Herron, who reddened a little, but stood his ground. “Oh, come, now, Miss Fairfield, I didn’t mean any harm. Honest, I never dreamed of offending you, or annoying you,—I thought only of how to manage to keep you there for our little party. Moreover I thought you’d think it a great joke,—honest, I did.” Herron’s clear brown eyes were so earnest and his expression so troubled, that Patty’s heart was touched. “I don’t doubt it, Mr. Herron,” and she smiled kindly at him, “but it wasn’t just the thing to do,—was it, Phil?” “Oh, well, forget it, Pattibelle, and if you can’t forget it—forgive it, anyway. Herron meant no harm and I knew at once, that Dame Doremus,—as I told you,—was no lady! But I saw through Herron’s motive as well as his joke, and there’s no great harm done that I can see.” “I agree with Phil,” and Helen nodded her head positively; “I’m jolly glad you did it, for otherwise, I’d have had to come home without any luncheon!” “Than which there could be no worse hardship!” Herron sympathised. “Am I forgiven, Miss Fairfield?” “I’m not sure,” Patty gave him a half smile, “I’ll think it over. Didn’t you know this man?” “Not from Adam! But, you know, you can size up a chap a lot from appearances, and he was a good sort, and amenable to—well, to argument.” “Golden argument,” laughed Philip. “You put it over, all right, Herron, old chap, and I’m sure Miss Fairfield will overlook her chaperon’s extra-sized feet! Had it not been that I noticed those, I might have been fooled myself. For the boy,—isn’t he a boy?” “About twenty-five or so,—I should judge.” “Well, his face was boyish, and his general effect young, yet he donned age with his wig and gown, and on the whole I call it a remarkable bit of disguise.” “No wonder he didn’t knit!” exclaimed Helen. “And no wonder he choked when I proposed that we girls stay there longer!” “He acted queerly all the time;” Patty looked thoughtful. “I’m thinking he knew too much about me and my affairs.” “What are you getting at now, Patty?” Helen asked. “Think he’ll reappear in his proper person, and presume on our acquaintance?” “No,” said Patty, “I’m afraid he won’t!” Van Reypen looked at her. “Of course, the chap’s all right, eh, Herron? Credentials, and that?” “Must be or they wouldn’t have him in the Club.” “There are spies everywhere,” said Patty, in a whisper. “Oh, Pitty-Pat!” cried Helen, “is that what’s troubling you? Well, well! Those letters you get from Washington do sure go to your head! I see it, now, people! Bill tells Patty to look out for spies, and so,—she sees them everywhere!” “Spies in the brooks, spies in the pastry-cooks!” exclaimed Herron, and Helen giggled. “Yes, and I shouldn’t wonder if Patty suspects every one of us!” “You needn’t laugh,” and Patty shook her curly head. “There is danger, isn’t there, Phil?” “Of course, child. But even if this bad Mrs. Doremus was a spy,—she learned nothing from us, today.” “She—he asked a heap of questions.” “But nothing of any importance. It seems to me that,—Munson, is that his name?—only showed such curiosity as would become an elderly lady talking with two charming girls. You practically told her—him,—of your engagement, Patty, so you mustn’t wonder that he showed some interest.” “I s’pose so. Well, we won’t say anything more about it. I’m foolish, I suppose,—but I don’t like that sort of thing.” “Then I apologise,” said Herron, heartily; “I’m truly sorry I did it, but I ask you to believe that I would not have done it, had it occurred to me for a moment that you would feel about it as you do.” “I do believe that,” and Patty’s blue eyes shone with forgiveness and understanding. “I know, Mr. Herron, that you really did it out of the kindest motives, and I exonerate you——” “Wow! what a big word!” cried Helen. “If you’re exonerated, Mr. Herron, surely you can’t ask for more! Why, I thought to be ex—what do you call it? was what the Pope does!” “No, my child, that’s to be excommunicated, and Mr. Herron shan’t be that!” And Patty beamed full forgiveness on the culprit. |
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