ever giggled!

"A gingham apron party," she repeated; "it is Patricia's suggestion, so
that the children may have a nice jolly time."

"That sounds exactly like Patricia," Mrs. Hardy commented, laughing.
"I'll tell Nell; I'm sure she will approve."

"Miss Kirby" said thank you, then she hung up the receiver; after which,
seizing Custard, she hugged him ecstatically. "I really am 'Miss Kirby,'
you know," she explained. "Daddy's only got me--and I didn't say a word
that wasn't perfectly true. And Mr. Baker, out at Long Farm, always
calls me that. Now, I'll have to finish 'phoning."

Mrs. Lane and Mrs. Blake were next informed as to the kind of party
under way for that afternoon; then came Mrs. Vail, with her Patricia
made a break. "And if Susy hasn't any gingham--" she began.

"If Susy hasn't what?" Mrs. Vail interrupted. "Why, of course--"

"I only thought--I mean," Patricia felt herself floundering--and Aunt
Julia never floundered. "Then we may look for Susy," she said hastily.

"Why, certainly," Mrs. Vail answered.

"That is well. Good-by."

"Miss Kirby" hung up the receiver hastily.

"I think she almost suspected--something, Custard; I reckon she's the
suspiciony kind--Susy Vail looks the kind of girl to have a suspiciony
mother. But the rest didn't." Patricia danced the interested Custard
down the hall.

As she reappeared on the back piazza, Sarah asked sternly: "What you
been up to now, Miss P'tricia? You've been doing a heap of talking at
dat ere 'phone."

"I had some very important business to transact," Patricia answered
loftily, the mantle of her aunt's manner still enveloping her. "I guess
I'll go put my apron on now."

Sarah sniffed indignantly, "You needn't tell me dere ain't some
foolishness afoot," she declared.

"What time was you-un 'spectin' the comin' cer'mony to commence?" she
asked, when Patricia came in to her solitary dinner. Neither Miss Kirby
nor the doctor would be back before late afternoon.

"Aunt Julia said half-past three to seven; I suppose they'll begin
coming 'long about three."

That note of hidden jubilation in her voice worried Sarah. She had not
known Patricia for all of her eleven years for nothing. "Honey, what you
cog'tating?" she coaxed; as she brought Patricia a generous slice of
fresh cherry pie.

"I'm thinking about--my party. It's going to be a--a--corker, Sarah!
You'll see!"

Sarah groaned, both in spirit and outwardly. "Honey," she pleaded,
leaning on