Patty was not sorry when her Elmbridge cousins concluded their visit, and the evening after their departure she sat on the veranda with her father, talking about them.

"It's a pity," she said, "that Ethelyn is so ill-tempered; for she's so pretty and graceful, and she's really very bright and entertaining when she is pleased. But so much of the time she is displeased, and then there's no doing anything with her."

"She's selfish, Patty," said her father; "and selfishness is just about the worst fault in the catalogue. A selfish person cannot be happy. You probably learned something to that effect from your early copybooks, but it is none the less true."

"I know it, papa, and I do think that selfish ness is the worst fault there is; and though I fight against it, do you know I sometimes think that living here alone with you, and having my own way in everything, is making me rather a selfish individual myself."

"I don't think you need worry about that," said a hearty voice, and Kenneth Harper appeared at the veranda steps. "Pardon me, I wasn't eavesdropping, but I couldn't help overhearing your last remark, and I think it my duty to set your mind at rest on that score. Selfishness is not your besetting sin, Miss Patty Fairfield, and I can't allow you to libel yourself."

"I quite agree with you, Ken," said Mr. Fairfield. "My small daughter may not be absolutely perfect, but selfishness is not one of her faults. At least, that's the conclusion I've come to, after observing her pretty carefully through her long and checkered career."

"Well, if I'm not selfish, I will certainly become vain if so many compliments are heaped upon me," said Patty, laughing; "and I'm sure I value very highly the opinions of two such wise men."

"Oh, say a man and a boy," said young Harper modestly.

"All right, I will," said Patty, "but I'm not sure which is which.
Sometimes I think papa more of a boy than you are, Ken."

"Now you've succeeded in complimenting us both at once," said Mr.
Fairfield, "which proves you clever as well as unselfish."

"Well, never mind me for the present," said Patty; "I want to talk about some other people, and they are some more of my cousins."

"A commodity with which you seem to be well supplied," said Kenneth.

"Indeed I am; I have a large stock yet in reserve, and I think, papa, that I'll ask Bob and Bumble to visit me for a few weeks."

"Do," said Mr. Fairfield, "if you would enjoy having them, but not otherwise. You've just been through a siege of entertaining cousins, and I think you deserve a vacation."

"Oh, but these are so different," said Patty. "Bob and Bumble are nothing like the St. Clairs. They enjoy everything, and they're always happy."

"I like their name," said Kenneth. "Bumble isn't exactly romantic, but it sounds awfully jolly."

"She is jolly," said Patty, "and so is Bob. They're twins, about sixteen, and they're just brimming over with fun and mischief. Bumble's real name is Helen, but I guess no one ever called her that. Helen seems to mean a fair, tall girl, slender and graceful, and rather willowy; and Bumble is just the opposite of that: she's round and solid, and always tumbling down; at least she used to be, but she may have outgrown that habit now. Anyway, she's a dear."

"And what is Bob like?" asked her father. "I haven't seen him since he was a baby."

"Bob? Oh, he's just plain boy; awfully nice and obliging and good-hearted and unselfish, but I don't believe he'll ever be President."

"I think I shall like your two cousins," said Kenneth, with an air of conviction. "When are they coming?"

"I shall ask them right away, and I hope they'll soon come. How much longer shall you be in Vernondale?"

"Oh, I think I'm a fixture for the summer. Aunt Locky wants me to spend my whole vacation here, and I don't know of any good reason why I shouldn't."

"I'm very glad; it will be awfully nice to have you here when the twins are, and perhaps somebody else will be here, too. I'm going to ask Nan Allen."

"Who is she?" inquired Mr. Fairfield.

"Oh, papa, don't you remember about her? She is a friend of the Barlows, and lives near them in Philadelphia, and she was visiting them down at Long Island when I was there last summer. She's perfectly lovely. She's a grown-up young lady, compared to Bumble and me—she's about twenty-two, I think—and I know Kenneth will lose his heart to her. He'll have no more use for schoolgirls."

"Probably not," said Kenneth; "but I'm afraid the adorable young lady will have no use for me. She won't if Hepworth's around, and he usually is. He's always cutting me out."

"Nothing of the sort," said Patty staunchly. "Mr. Hepworth is very nice, but he's papa's friend,"

"And whose friend am I?" said young Harper.

"You're everybody's friend," said Patty, smiling at him. "You're just
'Our Ken.'"

Miss Nan Allen was delighted to accept an invitation to Boxley Hall, and it was arranged that she and the Barlow twins should spend August there.

"A month is quite a long visit, Pattikins," said her father.

"Yes, but you see, papa, I stayed there three months. Now, if three of them stay here one month, it will be the same proportion. And, besides, I like them, and I want them to stay a good while. I shan't get tired of them."

"I don't believe you will, but you may get tired of the care of housekeeping, with guests for so long a time. But if you do, I shall pick up the whole tribe of you and bundle off for a trip of some sort."

"Oh, papa, I wish you would do that. I'd be perfectly delighted. I'll do my best to get tired, just so you'll take us."

"But if I remember your reports of your Barlow cousins, it seems to me they would not make the most desirable travelling companions. Aren't they the ones who were so helter-skelter, never were ready on time, never knew where things were, and, in fact, had never learned the meaning of the phrase 'Law and order'?"

"Yes, they're the ones, and truly they are something dreadful. Don't you remember they had a party and forgot to send out the invitations? And the first night I reached there, when I went to visit them, they forgot to have any bed in my room."

"Yes, I thought I remembered your writing to me about some such doings; and do you think you can enjoy a month with such visitors as that?"

"Oh, yes, papa, because they won't upset my house; and, really, they're the dearest people. Oh, I'm awfully fond of Bob and Bumble I And Nan Allen is lovely. Nobody can help liking her. She's not so helter-skelter as the others, but down at the Hurly-Burly nobody could help losing their things. Why, I even grew careless myself."

"Well, have your company, child, and I'll do all I can to make it pleasant for you and for them."

"I know you will, you dear old pearl of a father. Sometimes I think you enjoy my company as much as I do myself, but I suppose you don't really. I suppose you entertain the young people and pretend to enjoy it just to make me happy."

"I am happy, dear, in anything that makes you happy; though sixteen is not exactly an age contemporary with my own. But I enjoy having Hepworth down, and I like young Harper a great deal. Then, of course, I have my little friends, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, to play with—so I am not entirely dependent on the kindergarten."

The Barlow twins and Nan Allen were expected to arrive on Thursday afternoon at four o'clock, and everything at Boxley Hall was in readiness for the arrival of the guests.

"Not that it's worth while to have everything in such spick-and-span order," said Patty to herself, "for the Barlows won't appreciate it, and what's more they'll turn everything inside out and upside down before they've been in the house an hour."

But, notwithstanding her conviction, she made her preparations as carefully as if for the most fastidious visitors and viewed the result with great satisfaction after it was finished.

She went down in the carriage to meet the train, delighted at the thought of seeing again her Barlow cousins, of whom she was really very fond.

"I wish Aunt Grace and Uncle Ted were coming, too," she said to herself; "but I suppose I couldn't take care of so many people at once. It would be like running a hotel."

The train had not arrived when they reached the station, so, telling the coachman to wait, Patty left the carriage and walked up and down the station platform.

"Hello, Patty, haven't your cousins come yet?"

"Why, Kenneth, is that you? No, they haven't come; I think the train must be late."

"Yes, it is a little, but there it is now, just coming into sight around the curve. May I stay and meet them? Or would you rather fall on their necks alone?"

"Oh, stay, I'd be glad to have you; but you'll have to walk back, there's no room in the carriage for you."

"Oh, that's all right. I have my wheel, thank you."

The train stopped, and a number of passengers alighted. But as the train went on and the small crowd dispersed, Patty remarked in a most exasperated tone:

"Well, they didn't come on that train. I just knew they wouldn't. They are the most aggravating people! Now, nobody knows whether they were on that train and didn't know enough to get off, or whether they missed it at the New York end. What time is the next train?"

"I'm not sure," said Kenneth; "let's go in the station and find out."

The next train was due at 4.30, but the expected guests did not arrive on that either.

"There's no use in getting annoyed," said Patty, laughing, "for it's really nothing more nor less than I expected. The Barlows never catch the train they intend to take."

"And Miss Allen? Is she the same kind of an 'Old Reliable'?"

"No, Nan is different; and I believe that, left to herself, she'd be on time, though probably not ahead of time. But I've never seen her except with the Barlows, and when she was down at the Hurly-Burly she was just about as uncertain as the rest of them."

"Is the Hurly-Burly the Barlow homestead?"

"Well, it's their summer home, and it's really a lovely place. But its name just expresses it. I spent three months there last summer, and I had an awfully good time, but no one ever knew what was going to happen next or when it would come off. But everybody was so good-natured that they didn't mind a bit. Well, I suppose we may as well drive back home. There's no telling when these people will come. Very likely not until to-morrow."

Just then a small messenger boy came up to Patty and handed her a telegram.

"Just as I thought!" exclaimed Patty. "They've done some crazy thing."

Opening the yellow envelope, she read:

"Took wrong train. Carried through to Philadelphia. Back this evening. BOB."

"Well, then, they can't get here until that nine-o'clock train comes in," said Kenneth, "so there's no use in your waiting any longer now."

"No, I suppose not," said Patty; "I'm awfully disappointed. I wish they had come."

An east-bound train had just come into the station, and Patty and Kenneth stood idly watching it, when suddenly Patty exclaimed:

"There they are now! Did you ever know such ridiculous people?"