er.

She selected a portion of the wall where the wire seemed slack, and
wriggled under, stomach-wise, tearing only a small hole in the shoulder
of her blouse. She played with the enchanted wood half an hour or so;
then following a path, she quite suddenly left the wood behind, and
popped out into a garden--not a flower garden, but a kitchen garden on
an heroic scale. Neat plots of sprouting vegetables were bordered by
currant bushes, and the whole was surrounded by a high brick wall,
against which pear trees were trained in the English fashion.

A gardener was engaged, with his back toward Patty, in setting out baby
onions. She studied him dubiously, divided between a prompting to run,
and a social instinct of friendliness. He was an extremely picturesque
gardener, dressed in knickerbockers and leather gaiters, with a touch of
red in his waistcoat, and a cardigan jacket and a cap on the side of his
head. He did not look very affable; but he did look rheumatic--even if
he chased her, she was sure that she could run faster than he. So she
settled herself on his wheelbarrow and continued to watch him, while she
pondered an opening remark.

He glanced up suddenly and caught sight of her. The surprise nearly
tipped him over.

"Good morning!" said Patty pleasantly.

"Ugh!" grunted the man. "What are you doing there?"

"Watching you plant onions."

This struck Patty as a self-evident truth, but she was perfectly willing
to state it.

He grunted again as he straightened his back and took a step toward her.

"Where'd you come from?" he demanded gruffly.

"Over there." Patty waved her hand largely to westward.

"Humph!" he remarked. "You belong to that school--Saint Something or
Other?"

She acknowledged it. Saint Ursula's monogram was emblazoned large upon
her sleeve.

"Do they know you're out?"

"No," she returned candidly, "I don't believe they do. I am quite sure
of it in fact. They think I've gone to the dentist's with Mam'selle, and
she thinks I'm at school. So it leaves me entirely at leisure. I thought
I'd come over and see what Mr. Weatherby's Italian garden looks like.
I'm interested in Italian gardens."

"Well I'll be--!" He commenced, and came a trifle nearer and stared
again. "Did you happen to see any 'No Trespassing' signs as you came
through?"

"Mercy, yes! The whole place is peppered with 'em."

"They don't seem to have impressed you much."

"Oh, I never pay any attention to 'No Trespassi