sires, I'll own up that I'd
like a strawberry ice."

"Well, that's just what I'm dying for myself," said Mr. Hepworth gaily;
"and if you'll reserve this orchestra chair for me, I'll go and forage
for it. It looks almost impossible to get through that crowd, but I'll
return either with my shield or on it. Unless you'd rather I'd send
Harper back with the ice?"

"Do just as you please," said Patty, with a sudden touch of coquetry in
her smiling eyes; "it doesn't matter a bit to me."

But though a willing messenger, Mr. Hepworth found it impossible to
accomplish his errand with any degree of rapidity, and when he
returned, successful but tardy, he found young Harper waiting where he
had left Patty.

"She's gone off to dance with Frank Elliott," explained the boy
cheerfully, "and she said you and I could divide the ices between us."

"All right," said the artist; "here's your share."

The next morning Patty, Nan, and Marian went down to the beach for a
quiet chat.

"Let's shake everybody," said Patty, "and just go off by ourselves. I'm
tired of a lot of people."

"You're becoming such a belle, Patty," said Nan, "that I'm afraid you'll
be bothered with a lot of people the rest of your life."

"No, I won't," said Patty. "Lots of people are all very well when you
want them, but I'm going to cultivate a talent for getting rid of them
when you don't want them."

"Can you cultivate a talent, if you have only a taste to start with?"
said Marian, with more seriousness than Patty's careless remark seemed
to call for.

"If you have the least little scrap of a mustard-seed of taste, and
plenty of will-power, you can cultivate all the talents you want,"
said Patty, with the air of an oracle, "Why, what do you want to do
now, Marian?"

Marian's ambitions were a good deal of a joke in the Elliott family. At
one time she had determined to become a musician, and had spent,
unsuccessfully, many hours and much money in her endeavours, but at last
she was obliged to admit that her talents did not lie in that
direction. Later on she had tried painting, and notwithstanding
discouraging results, she had felt sure of her artistic ability for a
long time, until at last she had proved to her own satisfaction that she
was not meant to make pictures; and now, when she asked the above
question in a serious tone, Patty felt sure that some new scheme was
fermenting in her cousin's brain.

"What's up, Marian?" she said. "Out with it, an