Patty's Success. Wells Carolyn
what Kenneth called “foreign junk,” she had no notion of giving it all away.
Of course, the lovely fans, beads, and scarves she brought made lovely gifts for the girls, and the little curios and souvenirs were all right for the boys, but there were so many friends, and her relatives beside, that she soon realised she would have little left for herself. And, though unselfish, she did want to retain some mementos of her foreign trip.
So shopping was necessary, and nearly every day she went with Nan or Elise to buy the Christmas wares that the city shops displayed.
“And I do think,” she said, “that things are just as pretty and just as cheap here as over there.”
“Some things,” agreed Nan.
“Yes; I mean just the regular wares. Of course, for Roman silks and Florentine mosaics it’s better to shop where they grow. What’s father going to give me, Nan?”
“Inquisitive creature! I shouldn’t tell you if I knew, but as I don’t know, and he doesn’t either, I may as well tell you that he’d be glad of a hint. What would you like?”
“Honestly, I don’t know of a thing! Isn’t it awful to have everything you want?”
“You’re a contented little girl, Patty. And that’s a noble trait, I admit. But just at Christmas time it’s trying. Now, if you only wanted a watch, or a diamond ring, or some trifle like that, I’d be glad to give your father a hint.”
“Thank you, stepmamma,” said Patty, smiling; “but I have a watch, and I’m too young for diamonds. I can’t help it if I’m amply supplied with this world’s goods. And think of the lots of gifts I’ll get, anyway! Perhaps father’d better just give me the money and let me put it in the bank against a rainy day.”
“Why, Patty, you’re not getting mercenary, I hope! What do you want of money in the bank?”
Patty looked earnest.
“No, I don’t think I’m mercenary,” she said, slowly, “but, Nan, you never know what may happen. Suppose father should lose all his money.”
“Nonsense! he can’t do that. It’s most carefully invested, and you know, Patty, he thinks of retiring from business in a year or two more.”
“I know it,” said Patty, with a little sigh. “I know we’re rich. Not wealthy, like the Farringtons, but plenty rich enough. Only, you often hear of rich men losing their money, and sometimes I think I ought to save up some.”
“Goosie!” said Nan, smiling fondly at her; “don’t bother your curly head about such things before it’s necessary.”
“All right, then, I won’t,” said Patty, shaking the curly head and smiling back.
That afternoon she went to see Clementine Morse. Clementine had called one day when Patty was not at home, so this was the first time the girls had met since Patty’s return.
The maid asked Patty to go right up to Clementine’s own room, and there Patty found her friend surrounded by what looked like a whirlwind of rainbow-coloured rags.
On tables, chairs, and even on the floor, were scraps and bits of silks, satins, ribbons, and laces, and in a low chair sat Clementine, sewing rapidly, as if for dear life.
But at sight of Patty, she jumped up, upsetting her work-basket, and flew to greet her guest.
“You dear thing!” she cried, as she embraced her; “I was so sorry not to see you when I called. I should have come again, but I’m so rushed with Christmas work, that I can’t go anywhere until Christmas is over. Do take off your things and sit down, and don’t mind if I go on sewing, will you? I can talk just as well, you know.”
“Apparently you can!” said Patty, laughing, for as she chatted, Clementine had already resumed her work, and her fingers flew nimbly along the satin seams. “What are you doing?”
“Dressing dolls,” said Clementine, as she threaded her needle; “and I’ve forty-five still to do,—but their underclothing is done, so it’s only a matter of frocks, and some hats. Did you have a good time in Europe?”
Clementine talked very fast, apparently to keep time with her flying fingers, and as Patty picked up a lot of dry goods in order that she might occupy the chair they were in, her hostess rattled on.
“How did you like Venice? Was it lovely by moonlight? Oh, would you put this scarlet velvet on the spangled lace,—or save it for this white chiffon?”
“Clementine! do keep still a minute!” cried Patty; “you’ll drive me frantic! What are you doing with all these dolls?”
“Dressing them. How did you like Paris? Was it very gay? And was London smoky,—foggy, I mean?”
“Yes; everything was gay or smoky or lovely by moonlight, or just what it ought to be. Now tell me why you dress four hundred million dolls all at once.”
“Oh, they’re for the Sunshine Babies. Was Naples very dirty? How did you like–”
“Clementine, you leave the map of Europe alone. I’m talking now! What are Sunshine Babies?”
“Why, the babies that the Sunshine Society gives a Christmas to. And there’s oceans of babies, and they all want dolls,—I guess the boys must like dolls, too, they want so many. And, oh, Patty, they’re the dearest little things,—the babies, I mean,—and I just love to dress dolls for them. I’d rather do it than to make presents for my rich friends.”
Suddenly Patty felt a great wave of self-compunction. She had planned and prepared gifts for all her friends, and for most of her relatives, but for the poor she had done nothing! To charity she had given no thought! And at Christmas, when all the world should feel the spirit of good will to men, she had utterly neglected to remember those less fortunate than herself.
“What’s the matter?” said Clementine, dismayed by Patty’s expression of remorse.
“I’m a pig!” said Patty; “there’s no other word for such a horrid thing as I am! Why, Clementine, I’ve made presents for nearly everybody I know, and I haven’t done a thing for charity! Did you ever know such an ungrateful wretch?”
“Oh, it isn’t too late, yet,” said Clementine, not quite understanding why Patty was so serious about it; “here, help me sew these.”
She tossed her some tiny satin sleeves, already cut and basted, and offered a furnished work-basket.
“’Deed I will!” said Patty, and in a few moments she too was sewing, as deftly, if not quite so rapidly, as Clementine.
“You see, Clem,” she went on, “I’ve been so busy ever since I came home, that I simply forgot the poor people. And now it’s too late.”
“It’s too late to make things,” agreed Clementine, “but not too late to buy them.”
“But I’ve spent all my Christmas money,” said Patty, contritely. “Father gives me a liberal allowance, and then extra, for Christmas money. And it’s just about all gone, and I hate to ask him for more.”
“Well, never mind, Patsy, you can make up for it next year. And if you help me dress these dolls, that will square up your conscience.”
“No, it won’t. But I’ll find a way to do something, somehow. Are these Sunshine people all babies?”
“Oh, no; the society helps all sorts of poor people, children and grown-ups too. Mother is one of the directors, and we do a lot of this doll-dressing every year.”
“Well, I’ll help you a while this afternoon, but I won’t have another chance. You see just about every moment is taken up from now till Christmas.”
“You’re going to the Farringtons’, aren’t you?”
“Yes, for three or four days, while Nan and father are in Philadelphia at Nan’s mother’s. You’re coming to the Christmas Eve dance, of course?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s to