Patty Fairfield/Chapter 18
CHAPTER XVIII
AT VERNONDALE
After the Barlows had left them Mr. Elliott put Patty in a cab to go across New York to the New Jersey ferry, and seating himself beside her he said:
"Well, my little maid, I am very glad to get you at last; and as there is a whole houseful of people out at Vernondale who are eagerly watching for your arrival, I am going to get you there as soon as possible."
"Yes, do," said Patty; "I am so anxious to see Marian and all the rest. Tell me something about them, Uncle Charlie. I am getting accustomed to meeting new relatives, but I like to hear about them beforehand, too."
"Well," said Uncle Charlie, "to begin with, your Aunt Alice is the loveliest woman on the face of the earth."
"I am sure she is," said Patty, heartily, "for she has written me such beautiful letters about my coming, and I feel as if I already know her. And then, of course, she is papa's sister, so she must be nice."
"Then there is Grandma Elliott," her uncle went on; "she is my mother, and a dearer old lady never breathed. You'll love her at first sight."
"Oh, I know I shall," said Patty; "there hasn't been a single grandmother in all my other visits, and as I have none of my own, I shall just adopt yours, if she'll let me."
"Try it, and see," said her uncle, smiling. "As to your cousins, they are four specimens of young America who must be seen to be appreciated. Frank is seventeen and Marian is about your own age. Edith is ten, and little Gilbert is six. They are all moderately good and moderately pretty, but on the whole, I think you'll like them."
The travelers crossed the ferry to New Jersey, and after riding nearly an hour in the cars they reached Vernondale.
Mr. Elliott's carriage met them at the railway station, and a short drive brought Patty to her new home. The house was a large one, surrounded by beautiful grounds with fine trees, carefully kept lawns and beds of bright flowers.
The whole family had assembled on the veranda to greet Patty, and as the carriage came up the driveway there was a great waving of handkerchiefs and clapping of hands and shouts of "Here she comes," "Here's our cousin!"
As Uncle Charlie helped Patty out of the carriage, Aunt Alice was the first to clasp her in her arms, and it was with such a warm loving embrace that Patty felt the motherliness of it, and loved her Aunt Alice at once.
Next she was introduced to Grandma Elliott and the dear old lady beamed through her spectacles at pretty Patty, and willingly agreed to adopt her as a really, truly granddaughter.
Cousin Frank proved to be a big, stalwart lad, with merry eyes and a boyish smile, and he welcomed Patty with hearty good-will.
Marian was a beautiful girl with fun and intelligence written all over her bright face, and when she said, "Oh, Patty, I'm so glad you've come," Patty felt sure they would be not only warm friends but congenial chums. Ten-year old Edith clasped Patty's hand in both her own and held it for a long while, looking up in her cousin's face with an occasional smile of happy confidence.
Last came little Gilbert, the pet of the household, and a lovely boy he was. Short dark curls clustered all over his head and his great brown eyes gazed at Patty in rapt contemplation.
"I'm glad you've come," he said, finally, "and I love you, and I'll try to be good all the time you're here."
"That's right, my boy," said Uncle Charlie, catching Gilbert up in his arms and setting him on his shoulder, "and after Patty is gone, what then?"
"Then,—I'll see about it," said the child, gravely, and they all laughed at the carefully considered decision.
Then Aunt Alice took Patty up to her room, and as they went through the halls, Patty thought she had never seen such a beautiful house in her life. It was as large as the St. Clairs' house, but the decorations and furnishings were in subdued tints and quiet effects and there was no loud or garish ornamentation.
When they entered a room on the second floor, Patty could not repress an exclamation of delight.
"Oh, Aunt Alice," she said, "what a lovely room! Is this mine?"
"Yes, dear," said her aunt, "and I'm glad you like it. It was a great pleasure for Marian and me to arrange it for you."
The room was a large one, with windows on two sides, and the coloring was all pale green and ivory.
The walls were a beautiful shade of light green, with a few water-colors and etchings in narrow gilt or ivory frames.
The carpet was plain green, soft and velvety, like moss; and the furniture, of a light cream-colored wood, was in dainty shapes, with delicate spindle-legged tables and chairs. The dressing-table was furnished with ivory-backed brushes and mirrors, and there was a charming little work-table with sewing materials of all kinds.
An open desk showed every kind of writing-implement, made of ivory or cut-glass, and the blotting-pad was pale green.
A couch by a corner window was provided with many ruffly fluffy pillows, covered with green silk, and a knitted afghan of soft green wool lay folded at the foot.
Two or three vases of mignonette and ferns harmonized with the general effect, and gave the room a delightful fragrance.
Although unable to appreciate all these details at a first glance, Patty at once realized that the whole room presented a far more charming and refined appearance than her more elaborate apartment at Villa Rosa, with its ornate bric-a-brac and expensive rugs.
"It is lovely," she said to her aunt. "I never saw a room that I liked as well. I think a fairy must have touched it with her wand, it is all so fresh and sweet, just like a woodland dell."
"This is your fairy bower," said Aunt Alice, and she opened a glass door leading out on a balcony.
The balcony was as large as a small room, and it had a roof to it, and rattan shades at the sides that could be rolled up or down at pleasure.
Vines clambered around the pillars, and on the railings between them, were palms and bright flowers growing in jars or tiled boxes.
On the balcony were several easy chairs, a round table and a couch, all of wicker basket-work, and across the corner was swung a green and white hammock with pillows of green linen.
"Oh, Aunt Alice," cried Patty, "this is fairy-land! Is this my balcony?"
"Yes, dear," said her aunt, kissing her happy, surprised little face, "and I hope you will often enjoy it. I want you to be a happy Patty during your stay with us."
"I am happy already," said Patty, as they went back into her room, "in such a lovely home, and among such lovely people."
"May I come in?" said Marian, tapping at the open door. "Mother mine, are you going to monopolize our Patty? I haven't half seen her yet."
"You can see me," said Patty, smiling at her cousin, "but you can't hear me, for I am speechless with delight at this beautiful room, and that fairy-land place outside. And now I'm going to put my mother's picture on the desk and then it will be just perfect."
Patty took the portrait from her traveling-bag, and Aunt Alice looked at it tenderly. Though she had known her brother's young wife but a short time, she had greatly loved and admired her.
"You are like your mother, Patty," she said.
"So every one tells me, Aunt Alice. But I want to be a Fairfield too. Don't you think I am like papa?"
"Not very much in appearance. Perhaps you are like him in disposition. I'll wait until I know you better before I judge. Brother Fred was the stubbornest boy I ever saw. But when I told him so, he said it was only firmness of character."
"I think that's what it is with papa," said Patty, loyally, "but I've often heard him say that I used to be very stubborn when I was little."
"It's a Fairfield trait," said Aunt Alice, smiling, and as Patty looked at the sweet-faced lady she thought she seemed as if perhaps she could be very firm if occasion required.
"Marian," said Patty, "Aunt Alice says you helped arrange this lovely room for me, and I want to thank you and tell you how much I admire it."
"Oh, I didn't do much," said Marian. "I only selected the books and stocked the writing-desk and sewing-table, and made the sofa-pillows and did a few little things like that. Mamma did most of it herself. And grandma knitted the afghan. Isn't it pretty? We were all glad to get ready for your coming. We've looked forward to it ever since you came North."
"Come, Marian," said her mother, "let us run away now, and leave Patty to dress for dinner. Unless we can help you unpack, may we? Your trunks have come, and I will have them sent up here at once."
"Oh, yes, let me help you put away your things," said Marian, but Patty, with a slight blush, thanked them for their kind offers but declined their assistance. And for a very good reason, or at least it seemed so to the embarrassed child. During her stay at the Hurly-Burly, poor Patty's wardrobe had become sadly dilapidated.
It never occurred to the Barlow family to mend their clothes. Missing buttons were never replaced except by pins; torn ends of trimming were left hanging or snipped off; and after a whole summer's carelessness, Patty's garments were in a deplorable state.
So the child really felt ashamed for her aunt and cousin, who seemed to be the quintessence of neatness, to discover her untidy wardrobe.
Even her best dresses were soiled and wrinkled. Nan and Bumble had helped her to pack, and their idea of packing a trunk seemed to be to toss everything in in a heap, and then jump on the lid to make it shut tight.
So woful Patty looked over her clothes in dismay. They had seemed all right down at the Hurly-Burly, but here, in this immaculate green and white room they seemed utterly out of place, and quite unworthy of being put away in the bureau-drawers or cupboards.
It was with difficulty that she decided upon a dress to wear down to dinner. Her light summer dresses had been bought ready-made during one of Aunt Grace's hurried trips to New York, and with the well-known viciousness of ready-made clothing, had shrunk and stretched in the wrong places, and showed occasional rips besides. Then being badly laundered and afterwards crumpled in the trunk, they presented anything but the fresh, crisp appearance that summer dresses ought to have.
So Patty looked over her other frocks. But the gorgeous ones that she hadn't worn since she was at Aunt Isabel's, seemed more than ever in glaring bad taste, and as she had needed no new clothes at Aunt Hester's, she had bought none while in Boston.
With a sigh, she selected a pink muslin, that did fairly well, except that the lace was gone from one sleeve and two buttons were missing. She ripped the lace from the other sleeve, so that they might match, at least, and was rejoiced to find that there were some buttons in a drawer of her new work-table.
Of course needles and thread were there too, which was fortunate, for Patty had none in her trunk, and indeed, she scarcely knew how to use them anyway.
As she dressed, she resolved that she would confide her troubles to Aunt Alice, and ask help in replenishing her wardrobe.
"I'm all out of proportion," she said to herself, "and papa wouldn't like it a bit if he knew that I didn't have a decent dress to put on. But down at the Hurly-Burly nobody cared or thought anything about it."
As all her shoes seemed to lack some buttons or to have broken laces, she put on her best slippers, and after she had brushed her pretty hair, and improved the despised pink muslin with some bows of black velvet, she looked quite presentable, and if Aunt Alice noticed anything amiss she gave no hint of it to her young guest.