yonnaise dressing had been upset in the refrigerator; the
ice cream was spoiled, because by mistake the freezer had been set in the
sun until the ice melted, and the pretty pink pyramid was in a state of
soft collapse.

But, as Aunt Grace cheerfully remarked, if it hadn't been that, it would
have been something else, and it didn't matter much, anyway.

It was this happy philosophy of the Barlow family that charmed Patty so,
and it left no room for embarrassment at these minor accidents, either on
the part of the family or their guest.

"Now," said Patty, after dinner, "if necessary, I'm going to set all the
clocks forward, for, Helen, I do want you to be ready when Mrs. Allen
sends for us. She doesn't like to be kept waiting, one bit."

"Never mind the clocks, Patty," said Helen good-naturedly. "I'll be
ready." She scampered off to dress, and sure enough was entirely ready
before the carriage came.

"You see, Patty," she said, "we _can_ do things on time, only we've
fallen into the habit of not doing so, unless there's somebody like you
here to spur us up."

Patty admitted this, but told Bumble that she was sorry her influence was
not more lasting.

* * * * *

On Saturday they started with the Banks's on the automobile trip. Mrs.
Allen provided Patty with a long coat for the journey, and a veil to tie
over her hat. Not being accustomed to motoring, Patty did not have
appropriate garments, and Mrs. Allen took delight in fitting her out with
some of Nan's.

Mr. Banks's motor-car was of the largest and finest type. It was what is
called a palace touring car, and represented the highest degree of
comfort and luxury.

Patty had never been in such a beautiful machine, and when she was snugly
tucked in the tonneau between Mrs. Allen and Ethel, Mr. Banks and Mr.
Allen climbed into the front seat, and they started off.

The ride to Atlantic City was most exhilarating, and Patty enjoyed every
minute of it. There was a top to the machine, for which reason the force
of the wind was not so uncomfortable, and the tourists were able to
converse with each other.

"I thought," said Patty, "that when people went in these big cars, at
this fearful rate of speed, you could hardly hear yourself think, much
less talk to each other. What's the name of your car, Mr. Banks?"

"The Flying Dutchman," was the reply.

"It's a flyer, all right," said Patty, "but I don't see anything Dutch