Patty Fairfield. Wells Carolyn
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Patricia, you don't want to begin lessons yet. Why, you're scarcely rested from your journey. I am going to New York to-day to buy you some new dresses, and if you're not too tired, you may go with me and help select them."
"Well, I just guess Patricia won't go to New York, unless I go too," cried
Ethelyn in great excitement. "Do you think I'll stay at home and grub in
the schoolroom while she's having a good time in the city? Not much, my
Mary Anne!"
"Ethelyn!" said her mother, reprovingly, "how many times must I tell you not to use slang? It is vulgar and unladylike, and quite out of keeping with your social position."
"I don't care; it's expressive if it isn't stylish."
"Don't say stylish, either. That isn't genteel at all. Say 'correct.'"
"Oh, 'correct.' Well, mother, I guess it must be correct to use slang, 'cause Gladys Mahoney does, and she's a hummer on style."
"And I've no doubt her mother reproves her for it, just as I do you. Now go to the schoolroom, it is nearly ten o'clock."
"I won't go unless Patricia comes too. If she's going to New York with you,
I'm going."
"Ethelyn," said Mrs. St. Clair, sternly, "do as I bid you. Go to the schoolroom at once, and study your lessons diligently."
"No, I won't," replied Ethelyn, stubbornly, "I won't stir a step unless
Patty comes too."
"But I'm going to take Patricia to New York."
"Then I'm going to New York," said Ethelyn, with an air of settling the question, and then she began drumming on the table with her fingers.
"I want to go to New York with you, mamma," said Florelle; "I want to buy a new dolly."
"No, baby," said her mother, "you can't go this time. You stay at home like a good girlie, and I'll bring you a beautiful new doll."
"But I want to go! I will go!" and Florelle began to cry.
"Stop that crying," said her father, "stop it at once, and when I come home
I'll bring you a big box of candy."
"No, I don't want candy,—I want to go to New York,—I want to go—I do-o-o," she wound up with a prolonged wail.
"Good gracious, Florelle," said Reginald, "do stop that fearful yowling. If you don't, as soon as I go down town I'll send a bear back here to eat you up."
At this Florelle screamed louder than ever, and had to be taken away from the table.
Patty felt quite helpless in the midst of this commotion. She had been accustomed to obey willingly her father's lightest wish, and Ethelyn's impertinence amazed her. As for little Florelle, she thought the child was quite old enough to be reasoned with, and taught not to cry so violently over every trifle.
But she realized it was not her place to criticise her cousins' behavior, so she did the best she could to pour oil on the troubled waters.
"Aunt Isabel," she said, "if you don't mind, I'll stay at home and study with Ethelyn."
"Well, do as you like, child," said her aunt, carelessly; "of course I can select your clothes just as well without you, and I'll take you both to New York some Saturday. But you needn't study unless you choose, you know."
"Well, I'll stay with Ethelyn, anyway," said Patty, tucking her arm through her cousin's as they went off to the schoolroom.
"What a mean old thing you are," said Ethelyn crossly. "You might just as well have said you'd go to New York, and then I would have gone too, and we could have had a lovely time shopping, and lunching at Delmonico's, and perhaps going to a matinée."
"But your mother said you couldn't go," said Patty, in surprise.
"Oh, that's nothing. I would have gone all the same, and now you've spoiled it all and we've got to drudge over our books. Here's the schoolroom. Miss Morton, this is my cousin, Patricia Fairfield. She is to begin lessons to-day."
While Ethelyn was talking, the girls had mounted to the third floor of the great house, and entered the large and attractive-looking schoolroom.
Miss Morton was a sweet-faced young woman, who greeted Ethelyn pleasantly and then turned cordially to the stranger.
"We are glad to have you with us," she said; "you may sit here at this desk, and presently I will ask you some questions about your studies."
Reginald was already in his place and was studying away for dear life. He was naturally a studious boy, and he was anxious to prepare himself to enter a certain school the next year.
But Ethelyn had no taste for study, and she flounced herself into her chair and unwillingly took up her books.
"Now, Ethelyn," said Miss Morton, "you must learn that history lesson to-day. You've dawdled over it so long, that it has become a real bug bear to you. But I'm sure if you determine to conquer it, you can easily do so. Just try it."
"Ho," called out Reginald, teasingly, "can't learn a history lesson! I couldn't wait for you, so I went on ahead. I'm 'way over to the 'Founding of the German Empire.' Where are you in history, Patricia?"
"I've only studied United States History," she replied, a little ashamed of her small attainments, "but I've been through that twice."
"Well," said Miss Morton, kindly, "it's better to know one thing thoroughly than to have smatterings of a great many. If you are familiar with United States History, you will enjoy lessons in the history of other countries for a change."
"I'm sure I shall," said Patty, "and my father told me to study whatever you thought best for me. But I don't like to study very much. I'd rather read story books."
Miss Morton examined Patty in arithmetic, geography, and some other branches, and decided that as her attainments in knowledge were about equal to those of her cousins, they might all have the same lessons each day.
Patty afterwards discovered that Reginald learned these lessons, and Ethelyn did not. But she simply skipped them and went on to the next, apparently making the same progress as her brother.
Patty had become absorbed in her history lesson, which was very interesting, when Ethelyn began to chatter.
"Miss Morton," she said, "we are going to have a party for my cousin."
"Are you? That will be very nice, but don't let us discuss it now, for I want you to put your whole attention on that history lesson."
"I will,—but, Miss Morton, it's going to be a very grand party. Everybody in Elmbridge will be invited. I mean," she added, tossing her head, "everybody that is anybody."
"Everybody is somebody," said Reginald, without looking up from his book, "and I wish you'd keep still, Ethelyn."
"Well, you know what I mean; everybody that's rich and important, and fit for us to know."
"Why," said Patty, looking at her cousin in surprise, "aren't people fit for you to know unless they're rich?"
"No," said Ethelyn, "I wouldn't associate with people unless they were rich, and neither would you, Patricia."
"Yes, I would," said Patty, stoutly, "if they were good and wise and refined, and they often are."
"Well, you can't associate with them while you're living with us, anyhow; we only go with the swells."
"Ethelyn," said Miss Morton, gently, "that isn't the right way to talk. I think—"
"Oh, never mind what you think," said Ethelyn, rudely, "you know the last time you preached to me, I nearly made mamma discharge you, and I'll do it for sure if you try it again."
Miss Morton bit her lip and said nothing, for she was a poor girl and had no wish to lose her lucrative position in the St. Clair household, though her ideas were widely at variance with those of her employers. But Patty's sense of justice was roused.
"Oh, Ethelyn," she said, "how can you speak to your teacher so? You ought to be ashamed