“Thank you, stepmamma,” said Patty, smiling; “but I have a watch, and I’m too young for diamonds. I can’t help it if I’m amply supplied with this world’s goods. And think of the lots of gifts I’ll get, anyway! Perhaps father’d better just give me the money and let me put it in the bank against a rainy day.”
“Why, Patty, you’re not getting mercenary, I hope! What do you want of money in the bank?”
Patty looked earnest.
“No, I don’t think I’m mercenary,” she said, slowly, “but, Nan, you never know what may happen. Suppose father should lose all his money.”
“Nonsense! he can’t do that. It’s most carefully invested, and you know, Patty, he thinks of retiring from business in a year or two more.”
“I know it,” said Patty, with a little sigh. “I know we’re rich. Not wealthy, like the Farringtons, but plenty rich enough. Only, you often hear of rich men losing their money, and sometimes I think I ought to save up some.”
“Goosie!” said Nan, smiling fondly at her; “don’t bother your curly head about such things before it’s necessary.”
“All right, then, I won’t,” said Patty, shaking the curly head and smiling back.
That afternoon she went to see Clementine Morse. Clementine had called one day when Patty was not at home, so this was the first time the girls had met since Patty’s return.
The maid asked Patty to go right up to Clementine’s own room, and there Patty found her friend surrounded by what looked like a whirlwind of rainbow-coloured rags.
On tables, chairs, and even on the floor, were scraps and bits of silks, satins, ribbons, and laces, and in a low chair sat Clementine, sewing rapidly, as if for dear life.
But at sight of Patty, she jumped up, upsetting her work-basket, and flew to greet her guest.
“You dear thing!” she cried, as she embraced her; “I was so sorry not to see you when I called. I should have come again, but I’m so rushed with Christmas work, that I can’t go anywhere until Christmas is over. Do take off your things and sit down, and don’t mind if I go on sewing, will you? I can talk just as well, you know.”
“Apparently you can!” said Patty, laughing, for as she chatted, Clementine had already resumed her work, and her fingers flew nimbly along the satin seams. “What are you doing?”
“Dressing dolls,” said Clementine, as she threaded her needle; “and I’ve forty-five still to do,—but their underclothing is done, so it’s only a matter of frocks, and some hats. Did you have a good time in Europe?”
Clementine talked very fast, apparently to keep time with her flying fingers, and as Patty picked up a lot of dry goods in order that she might occupy the chair they were in, her hostess rattled on.
“How did you like Venice? Was it lovely by moonlight? Oh, would you put this scarlet velvet on the spangled lace,—or save it for this white chiffon?”
“Clementine! do keep still a minute!” cried Patty; “you’ll drive me frantic! What are you doing with all these dolls?”
“Dressing them. How did you like Paris? Was it very gay? And was London smoky,—foggy, I mean?”
“Yes; everything was gay or smoky or lovely by moonlight, or just what it ought to be. Now tell me why you dress four hundred million dolls all at once.”
“Oh, they’re for the Sunshine Babies. Was Naples very dirty? How did you like–”
“Clementine, you leave the map of Europe alone. I’m talking now! What are Sunshine Babies?”
“Why, the babies that the Sunshine Society gives a Christmas to. And there’s oceans of babies, and they all want dolls,—I guess the boys must like dolls, too, they want so many. And, oh, Patty, they’re the dearest little things,—the babies, I mean,—and I just love to dress dolls for them. I’d rather do it than to make presents for my rich friends.”
Suddenly Patty felt a great wave of self-compunction. She had planned and prepared gifts for all her friends, and for most of her relatives, but for the poor she had done nothing! To charity she had given no thought! And at Christmas, when all the world should feel the spirit of good will to men, she had utterly neglected to remember those less fortunate than herself.
“What’s the matter?” said Clementine, dismayed by Patty’s expression of remorse.
“I’m a pig!” said Patty; “there’s no other word for such a horrid thing as I am! Why, Clementine, I’ve made presents for nearly everybody I know, and I haven’t done a thing for charity! Did you ever know such an ungrateful wretch?”
“Oh, it isn’t too late, yet,” said Clementine, not quite understanding why Patty was so serious about it; “here, help me sew these.”
She tossed her some tiny satin sleeves, already cut and basted, and offered a furnished work-basket.
“’Deed I will!” said Patty, and in a few moments she too was sewing, as deftly, if not quite so rapidly, as Clementine.
“You see, Clem,” she went on, “I’ve been so busy ever since I came home, that I simply forgot the poor people. And now it’s too late.”
“It’s too late to make things,” agreed Clementine, “but not too late to buy them.”
“But I’ve spent all my Christmas money,” said Patty, contritely. “Father gives me a liberal allowance, and then extra, for Christmas money. And it’s just about all gone, and I hate to ask him for more.”
“Well, never mind, Patsy, you can make up for it next year. And if you help me dress these dolls, that will square up your conscience.”
“No, it won’t. But I’ll find a way to do something, somehow. Are these Sunshine people all babies?”
“Oh, no; the society helps all sorts of poor people, children and grown-ups too. Mother is one of the directors, and we do a lot of this doll-dressing every year.”
“Well, I’ll help you a while this afternoon, but I won’t have another chance. You see just about every moment is taken up from now till Christmas.”
“You’re going to the Farringtons’, aren’t you?”
“Yes, for three or four days, while Nan and father are in Philadelphia at Nan’s mother’s. You’re coming to the Christmas Eve dance, of course?”
“Yes, indeed. It’s to be a lovely party. The Farringtons always have such beautiful entertainments. Now, Patty, do tell me about your trip.”
So Patty told many tales of her stay in Paris and in England, and of her pleasure trip through Italy, and as she talked, her fingers flew, and she had soon completed three doll dresses, that were quite as pretty and well-made as Clementine’s.
“Now, I must go,” she said, at last. “I’m glad to have been of a little help, and next year I’ll help you a lot. Though, I suppose your Sunshine Babies could have dolls when it isn’t Christmas.”
“Oh, yes; these are for their Tree, you know.”
“Well, Clem, if I should have some money left me unexpectedly, is it too late to buy some toys for the Tree?”
“I don’t know,” said Clementine, “but we can ask mother. She’ll know.”
They found Mrs. Morse in her sitting-room, tying up parcels and addressing them.
Patty soon discovered that these were all charitable gifts, and not presents to Mrs. Morse’s own friends.
“I’m so glad I came here to-day,” she said, after the welcoming greetings were over, “for it has roused my charitable instincts. I am quite sure, Mrs. Morse, I can send some toys for your society’s tree, if you want them.”
“Want them? Indeed we do! Why, Patty, there are forty little boys who want drums or trumpets and we can only give them candy and an orange. It’s harder than you’d think to get subscriptions to our funds at Christmas time, and though we’ve dolls enough, we do so want toys for the boys.”
“Well, I’ll send you some, Mrs. Morse. I’ll send them to-morrow. Do you care what they are?”
“No, indeed. Drums, or balls, or tin carts,—anything that a boy-child can play with.”
“Well, you may depend on me for the forty,” said Patty, smiling, for she had formed a sudden, secret resolve.
“Why, Patty, dear, how kind of you! I am so glad, for those children were on my mind, and I’ve already asked every one I know to give to our fund. You are a generous little girl, and I know it will gladden your own heart as well as the children’s.”
Patty ran away, and all the way home her heart was full of her project.
“If he will only consent,” she thought. “If not, I don’t know how I shall keep my promise. Oh, well, I know I can coax him to say yes.”
After dinner that evening, Patty put her plan into action.
“Father Fairfield,” she said, “what are you going to give me for a Christmas gift?”
“Well, Pattykins, that’s not considered a correct question in polite society.”
“Then let’s be impolite, just for this once. Do tell me, daddy.”
“You embarrass me exceedingly, young lady,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling at her, “for, to tell you the truth, I haven’t bought you anything.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Patty, “for, father, I want to ask you a great favour. Won’t you give me the money instead, and let me spend it as I like?”
“That would be a funny Christmas gift. I thought you liked some pretty trinket, tied up in holly paper and red ribbons and Santa Claus seals, and served to you on a silver salver.”
“Well, I do, from other people. But from you, I just want the money that my present would cost, and—I want it now!”
“Bless my soul! She wants it now! Why, Patsy, what are you going to do? Buy stock?”
“No, but I do want it, father. Won’t you give it to me, and I’ll tell you afterward what I’m going to do with it.”
“I’ll tell you now,” said Nan, smiling at the pair. “She’s going to put it in the bank, because she’s afraid she’ll be poor some day.”
“I don’t wonder you think that, stepmothery,” said Patty, her eyes twinkling at Nan, “for I did tell you so. But since then I’ve changed my mind, and though I want my present from father in cash, I’m going to spend it before Christmas, and not put it in the bank at all.”
“Well, you are a weathercock, Patty. But before morning you will have changed your mind again!”
“No, indeedy! It’s made up to stay this time. So give me the money like a duck of a daddy, won’t you?”
Patty was very wheedlesome, as she caressed her father’s cheek, and smiled into his eyes.
“Well, as you don’t often make a serious request, and as you seem to be in dead earnest this time, I rather think I shall have to say yes.”
“Oh, you dear, good, lovely father!” cried Patty, embracing him. “Will you give it to me now, and how much will it be?”
“Patty,” said Nan, laughing, “you’re positively sordid! I never saw you so greedy for money before.”
Patty laughed outright. Now that she had gained her point she felt in gay spirits.
“Friends,” she said, “you see before you a pauper,—a penniless pauper! Therefore, and because of which, and by reason of the fact that I am in immediate need of money, I stoop to this means of obtaining it, and, as aforesaid, I’d like it now!”
She held out her rosy palm to her father, and stood waiting expectantly.
“Only one hand!” exclaimed Mr. Fairfield, in surprise. “I thought such a grasping young woman would expect both hands filled.”
“All right,” said Patty, and she promptly extended her other palm, too.
Putting both his hands in his pockets, Mr. Fairfield drew them out again, and then laid a ten-dollar goldpiece on each of Patty’s outstretched palms.
“Oh, you dear daddy!” she cried, as she clasped the gold in her fingers; “you lovely parent! This is the nicest Christmas gift I ever had, and now I’ll tell you all about it.”
So she told them, quite seriously, how she had really forgotten to give the poor and the suffering any share of her own Christmas cheer, and how this was the only way she could think of to remedy her neglect.
“And it’s so lovely,” she concluded; “for there are forty little boy-children. And with this money I can get them each a fifty-cent present.”
“So you can,” said Nan. “I’ll go with you to-morrow to select them. And if we can get some cheaper than fifty cents, and I think we can, you’ll have a little left for extras.”
“That’s so,” agreed Patty. “They often have lovely toys for about thirty-nine cents, and I could get some marbles or something to fill up.”
“To fill up what?” asked her father.
“Oh, to fill up the tree. Or I’ll get some ornaments, or some tinsel to decorate it. Oh, father, you are so good to me! This is a lovely Christmas present.”
CHAPTER III
THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS
Mr. Fairfield’s gift to his wife was a beautiful motor-car, and as they were going away for the holiday, he presented it to her the day before Christmas.
It was practically a gift to Patty as well, for the whole family could enjoy it.
“It’s perfectly lovely,” said Nan, as they all started out for a little spin, to try it. “I’ve had so much trouble of late with taxicabs, that it’s a genuine comfort to have my own car at my beck and call. It’s a lovely car, Fred, and Patty and I shall just about live in it.”
“I want you to enjoy it,” returned Mr. Fairfield, “and you may have every confidence in the chauffeur. He’s most highly recommended by a man I know well, and he’s both careful and skilful.”
“A nice-mannered man, too,” observed Patty. “I like his looks, and his mode of address. But if this car is partly my present, then I ought not to have had that gold money to buy drums with.”
“Oh, yes, you ought,” said her father. “That was your individual gift. In this car you and Nan are partners. By the way, Puss, did you ever get your forty drums? I didn’t hear about them.”
“You’re lucky that you didn’t hear them,” laughed Patty. “Yes, I did get them,—not all drums, some other toys,—and I took them down to the Sunshine place yesterday. I went with Mrs. Morse and Clementine. You know the kiddywids had their Christmas tree, the little poor children, and such a noise you never heard! They yelled and shouted for glee, and they banged drums and tooted horns, and then they sang songs, and I think I never knew such a noisy celebration, even on the fourth of July.”
“And were they glad to get your gifts?”
“Oh, yes, indeed! Why, just think, father, the little girls all had dolls, but if I hadn’t taken the gifts for the boys, they would only have had candy or an orange. Next Christmas I’m going to do more for them.”
“I’m glad to see your charitable spirit waking up, Patty-girl. I don’t want you to be a mere social butterfly. But, you know, you needn’t wait for Christmas to make the poor babies happy.”
“No; I know it, daddy, dear; and after Christmas is over, I’m going to try to do some good in the world.”
“Now, Patty,” said Nan, “don’t you go in for settlement work, and that sort of thing. I won’t let you. You’re not strong enough for it.”
“I don’t know exactly what settlement work is,” said Patty, “but I do know I’m not going to be a mere butterfly. I’m going to accomplish something worth while.”
“Well, wait till the holiday season is over,” advised Mr. Fairfield. “You’ve made forty boys happy, now turn your attention to making your family and friends happy. What are you going to give your poor old father for a Christmas gift, I should like to know.”
“I haven’t any such relative as you describe,” returned Patty, smiling at him affectionately. “I have a young and handsome father, and I think he seems to be rather a rich gentleman. Also I have a gift awaiting him at home, and I think we’d better be going there.”
“I do, too,” said Nan. “We’ve none too much time to get our luncheon and go to the train. Oh! what a comfort it will be to go to the train in our own motor-car.”
“Yes,” said Patty, “and then Miller can come back and take me over to Elise’s.”
So home they went, and had their own little Christmas celebration, before they went their separate ways.
“This is a make-believe Christmas feast,” said Patty, as they sat at their own luncheon table.
She had placed a sprig of holly at each plate, and a vase of poinsettia blossoms graced the centre of the table.
“This ox-tail soup is in place of the boar’s head,” she went on, gaily; “and I know we are going to have chicken croquettes, which we will pretend are the roast turkey. And then we’ll have our presents, as I know you two will fly for your train as soon as you leave the table.”
So Patty gave Nan her present, which was a lovely white couch pillow of lace and embroidery. And Nan gave Patty a picture to hang in her own room. It was a beautiful water-colour, a Venetian scene, and Patty was delighted with it.