Patricia Part 1

Patricia.

by Emilia Elliott.

CHAPTER I

PATRICIA'S FATIGUING DAY

Patricia sat on the back fence, almost hidden by the low-spreading branches of an old apple-tree. Below her, on the gra.s.s, lay a small, curly, black dog, his brown, trustful eyes fixed confidently on Patricia.

"Really, you know," the child said, gravely, "it's a very perplexing situation. Aunt Julia needn't have been so inhospitable. Why didn't I wait until Daddy got home! Daddy's so much more--convincible. But it's no use now; Daddy never goes back on Aunt Julia."

Patricia slipped from the fence. "I rather think you and I'd better go down to the back meadow to talk things over; it's getting pretty near sewing-time."

Out in the meadow, flat on her back in the long gra.s.s, Patricia set herself to the task of solving this perplexing situation.

Half an hour earlier she had appeared back from one of her desultory rambles, accompanied by this most forlorn of all forlorn dogs, explaining that she had met him on the road, and he had followed her home.

It was no unusual occurrence, but when Patricia added that he didn't seem to belong to anybody, and she thought she would keep him, Miss Kirby promptly and firmly protested.

To Patricia's pleading, that he was poor and lame and homeless, that Caesar, the pointer, was the only dog they had now, and he was too old to play much, Miss Kirby had proved adamant. Patricia might give her foundling a good meal, but keep him she _could not_.

Whereupon, Patricia, having given the wanderer what was in reality several meals condensed into one, had retired with him to think things over.

"It really seems as if you'd been meant for me," she told him now; "I found you. I can't see why Aunt Julia won't look at things in a proper light. I'm afraid she hurt your feelings. Aunt Julia generally means pretty well, but she's apt to speak out sort of quick. We Kirbys mostly do. I wonder what your name is?"

The dog stretched comfortably out in the warm gra.s.s, quite as happy and contented as if he had been everything he wasn't, sat up suddenly, with a short little bark, as if trying to give the desired information.

Rolling over, Patricia, her chin in her hands, surveyed him carefully.

"You aren't very handsome just now; but then, I know lots of people who aren't very good looking. I don't see why that saying Aunt Julia is so fond of--about 'Handsome is as handsome does'--shouldn't apply to dogs as well as people. All the same, you are a very mixed numbery sort of a dog: you've got one and three-quarters ears, three and one-half legs,--at least you don't use that front paw very much,--and half a tail; and your hair is rather--patchy. But inside, I'm sure you're all right. And you have _beautiful_ eyes; _they're_ all there, too."

The dog blinked back at her soberly, wagging his abbreviated tail in apologetic fas.h.i.+on.

"You've simply got to have a home," Patricia went on; "and it's up to me to find you one. But I think you'll have to have a bath first, and your paw bandaged."

Jumping up, Patricia darted back to the house, and around to the side door, leading to her father's office. Presently, she reappeared with a cake of antiseptic soap, a box of salve, a roll of bandage, a pair of scissors, and a bath-towel; with these gathered up in the skirt of her frock she led the way down to the brook, followed by a most unsuspecting small dog.

Ten minutes later that same small dog--decidedly sadder and wetter, if not wiser--lay s.h.i.+vering on the sunny bank, while Patricia rubbed him vigorously with one of her aunt's largest bath-towels.

Then the cut paw was salved and bandaged, and the most hopelessly tangled knots of curls cut away. After which, Patricia, sitting back on heels, studied her charge approvingly.

"If Aunt Julia could see you _now_! Why didn't I do all this first?

But--well, Aunt Julia's made up her mind; and she isn't exactly the changey kind. I wonder if you'd like it at the Millers'? They've got a lot of children, but they're ever so nice children! They've three dogs now, so one more oughtn't to count--and you'd have plenty of company."

The dog, whose only present anxiety was to feel dry once more, merely rolled over on his back by way of answer.

"Oh, but you mustn't!" Patricia protested. "You'll get all dirty again.

I know it's horrid to feel too clean, but, you see, it's so necessary to make a good first impression! I reckon it was the first impression that made all the trouble with Aunt Julia this morning. Come on, we'll start right off; it's a pretty long walk to the Millers'."

They went 'cross-lots, stopping for more than one romp by the way, one quite as light-hearted and irresponsible as the other; though behind Patricia lay more than one neglected task, and before her companion stretched a possibly homeless future.

It was a nearly perfect June day, the blue sky overhead just flecked with soft, fleecy white clouds, and with enough breeze stirring to lift Patricia's short brown curls and fan her sunburned cheeks.

Out on the highroad the wild roses were in bloom, and the air was full of soft summer sounds; the very birds hopping lightly about from fence to fence had a holiday air--and to Patricia there was something very friendly in the inquisitive c.o.c.k of their pert little heads, as they stopped now and then to inspect her.

"Oh!" she cried, joyously, reaching up on tiptoe to gather a spray of wild roses just above her head, "aren't we having the loveliest time, Dog?"

Her companion wagged agreeingly; he was, at any rate. The hot sun on his back felt exceedingly good; he began to entertain hopes of actually feeling really and thoroughly dry again--some time.

"That's the Millers' house--the brown one, beyond the curve," Patricia told him. And as it was the only house in sight, he had no trouble in locating it.

"I'm sure you'll be happy there," Patricia added. "It's funny there aren't any children, or dogs, about. There's Mrs. Miller."

Mrs. Miller was hanging out a wash. "Patricia Kirby!" She pushed back her sunbonnet, the better to survey the child. "Where is your hat?

You're redder'n one of my big pinies!"

Patricia put her hand up to her head. "Maybe I left it in the meadow; I'm not sure I've had it on at all this morning."

"Well!" Mrs. Miller's tone was emphatic. "The children and the dogs've all gone off picnicking," she added. "I suppose you've come to see them?"

"N-no," Patricia answered. "I came to bring you a--present, Mrs. Miller.

The nicest--"

She stopped abruptly, as Mrs. Miller rushed by her, with a shriek, waving her ap.r.o.n frantically.

On the gra.s.s spread out to bleach, lay one of Mrs. Miller's best tablecloths; and in the middle of the cloth Mrs. Miller's present was rolling and twisting his damp, dusty little self, uttering all the while short, sharp little barks of satisfaction.

But he was on his feet before any one could reach him, and with one corner of the cloth caught in his mouth, had run gayly away.

"Head that dog off, Patricia!" Mrs. Miller screamed. "What dog is it, anyway--mischievous, good-for-nothing little scamp? He doesn't belong about here! Ten to one, he followed you in. I never knew such a child for taking up with stray dogs!"

After several strenuous moments the cloth was rescued. "Is it hurt very much?" Patricia asked, anxiously.

Mrs. Miller held it up; one of the corners was torn and frayed rather badly, and the whole cloth was covered with gra.s.s-stains and dirt.

"You can see for yourself," she said wrathfully; "and it a _new_ cloth--never used yet!"

"But it'll wash, won't it?" Patricia suggested. "And the torn part won't show when it's on the table; and it won't show when it's folded up in the drawer." She stooped to lay a restraining hand on the wrongdoer, who already had an eye on various other articles scattered about the gra.s.s.

"I wouldn't have thought he could run so, with a lame paw, would you, Mrs. Miller?"

"The sooner he runs out of my sight, the better for him," Mrs Miller declared, warmly. "If he don't get started mighty quick I'll help him along a bit with a broom handle."

Patricia drew herself up. "I--I think I'll be going."

"But, Patricia," Mrs. Miller called after her, "what was that about a present? Something your aunt sent?"

"No, Aunt Julia didn't send him. I brought you a--a dog, Mrs. Miller."

"_That_ little nuisance! Well, well, of all--"