Patty's Butterfly Days Part 10

"May I call you Aunt Adelaide, too?" she said, gently, for she wanted to be on the pleasantest possible terms with Mrs. Parsons, and hoped to be able to help her in some way.

"Yes, yes, my dear. I seem to take to you at once. I look upon you and Mona both as my nieces and my loved charges. I had a little daughter once, but she died in infancy. Had she lived, I think she would have looked like you. You are very pretty, my dear."

"You mustn't tell me so, Aunt Adelaide," said Patty, smiling at her.

"It isn't good chaperonage to make your girls vain."

"Mona is pretty, too," went on Mrs. Parsons, unheeding Patty's words.

"But of a different type. She hasn't your air of refinement,--of cla.s.s."

"Oh, don't discuss us before each other," laughed Mona, good-naturedly.

"And I'm jealous and envious enough of Patty already, without having those traits fostered."

"Yes," went on Aunt Adelaide, reminiscently, "my little girl had blue eyes and golden hair,--they said she looked like me. She was very pretty. Her father was a plain-looking man. Good as gold, Henry was, but plain looking. Not to say homely,--but just plain."

A faraway look came in the speaker's eyes, and she rambled on and on about her lost husband and daughter, until Patty looked at Mona questioningly.

"Yes, yes, Aunt Adelaide," Mona said, speaking briskly; "but now, don't you want to change your travelling gown for something lighter? And then will you lie down for a while, or come with us down to the west veranda? It is always cool there in the morning."

"No, I don't want to lie down. I'll join you girls very shortly. I suppose you have a maid for me, Mona? I shall need one for my exclusive service."

"Oh, yes, Auntie; you may have Lisette."

"Not if she's French. I can't abide a French maid."

"Well, she is,--partly. Then I'll give you Mary. She's a good American."

"Americans have no taste. Is there a Norwegian girl on the place? I had a Norwegian maid once, and she--"

"No, there isn't," said Mona, deeming it wise to cut short another string of reminiscences. "You try Mary, and if you don't like her, we'll see what we can do."

"Well--send her to me--and we'll see."

Mona rang for Mary, and then the two girls went down to the pleasant and cool veranda.

"It's lucky you have such shoals of servants," said Patty. "At our house, we couldn't give a guest a choice of nationalities."

"Oh, Patty, isn't she a terror?"

"Who, Mary?"

"No! Aunt Adelaide! It gives me the creeps to look at her. She's so slight and fragile, I expect to see her go to pieces like a soap bubble."

"She IS like a soap bubble, isn't she! But, Mona, you mustn't talk about her like that. I feel sorry for her, she looks so ill and weak. I think we ought to do all we can to cheer her up, and to restore her health and strength. I'm sure she's refined and dainty in her way."

"Yes, she's all of that. But I don't see how she can do the chaperon act."

"Oh, well, there isn't much to do. It's only the idea of having a matronly lady here to observe the proprieties."

"But I don't believe she can do that. I think she'll take to her bed soon. She ought to go to a good sanitarium."

"Nonsense, Mona, she isn't as ill as all that! Can't you see through her? She's the sort of lady who likes to fancy she's ill, and likes to try all sorts of quack medicines."

"Well, you can look after her, Patty; you seem to understand her so well."

"All right, I will. Hush, here she comes."

Mrs. Parsons came slowly out to the veranda. She was followed by Mary, carrying a fan, a light wrap, a book, a thermometer, and a gla.s.s of lemonade.

"Sit here, won't you, Aunt Adelaide?" said Mona, politely offering a comfortable wicker chair.

"I'll try this, my dear, but I fear it's too low for me. Can you get another cus.h.i.+on or two?"

Mona went for more cus.h.i.+ons, and then Aunt Adelaide had to have the chair moved, for fear of a possible draught,--though there wasn't a breath of wind stirring. Then a table must be moved nearer for the book and the lemonade, and the thermometer placed where it would get neither sun nor wind.

"I ALWAYS keep a thermometer near me," she explained, "and I always bring my own, for otherwise I can't feel sure they are accurate."

Mrs. Parsons wore a dress of light grey lawn. Though cool looking, it was unbecoming, for it had no touch of black or white to relieve its monotony, and on the colourless lady it had a very dull effect. But, though languid, Aunt Adelaide was quite able to give orders for what she wanted. She sent Mary for another book, and for more sugar for her lemonade. Then she fidgeted because a stray sunbeam came too near her.

"Mary," she said, petulantly. "Oh, I sent Mary away, didn't I? How long she's gone! Mona, can't you find a screen somewhere to shade that sun a little?"

"There are screens to roll down from the veranda roof, Aunt Adelaide; but it is so shady here, and they cut off the breeze so. However, if you want them down---"

"I certainly do," said the lady, and as Mary returned then, she lowered the rattan blinds.

But they were no sooner down than Aunt Adelaide wanted them up again, and when at last she became settled in comfort, she asked Mona to read aloud to her.

"Please excuse me," said Mona, who was thoroughly annoyed at the fussing and fidgeting ways of her aunt, "I am a very poor reader."

"I can read fairly well," said Patty, good-naturedly. "Let me try."

She picked up Mrs. Parson's book, secretly amused to find that its t.i.tle was "The Higher Health," and she began to read as well as she could, and Patty really read very well.

"Don't go so fast," commanded her hearer; "valuable information like this must be read slowly, with intervals for thought." But when Patty provided pauses for thought, Aunt Adelaide said, petulantly, "Go on, do; what are you waiting for?"

At last, Patty purposely let her voice grow monotonous and low, and then, as she had hoped, Aunt Adelaide dropped into a doze.

Seeing that she was really asleep, Patty beckoned to Mona, and the two girls slipped away, leaving Mary in charge.

"Oh, Patty!" cried Mona, as soon as they were out of hearing. "Isn't it awful! How CAN we stand having such a horrid old fusser around?"

"Whoopee! Mona! moderate your language! Mrs. Parsons isn't so very old, and she isn't horrid. If she's a fusser, that's just her way, and we must politely submit to it."

"Submit, nothing! If you think, Patty Fairfield, that I'm going to be taken care of by that worry-cat, you're greatly mistaken!"

"Stop, Mona! I won't let you call her such names; it isn't nice!"

"She isn't nice, either!"