On Saturday morning the Fairfields and Grandma Elliott started for their New York home. Uncle Charlie went to town on the same train, and the rest of the Elliott family escorted the party to the station.

Marian had determined not to cry when Patty went away, but it required such a desperate effort to carry out her resolution that she made a most pathetic picture.

“Chirk up, sis,” said Frank; “the world isn’t coming to an end. I’ll be a Patty to you.”

“And a Grandmother, too?” asked Marian, smiling in spite of herself.

“Yes, and an Uncle Fred. I’ll be a whole family tree to you if you’ll only smile a little, and brace up. You look like a dying rubber plant.”

Marian did brighten up a little, and as the train rolled out of the station the last Patty saw of her cousin was a positive, if not very merry, smile of farewell.

Following the process of thought usual to those starting off on a journey, Patty spent the first half of the trip to New York thinking about those she had left behind; thinking of her pleasant Vernondale home, her dear relatives, and the merry crowd of Tea Club girls. At first it seemed to her that no new scenes or new friends could ever make up for those she was leaving. But as she neared Jersey City and as she crossed the long ferry her thoughts turned forward to her new home in New York, and her anticipations began to seem bright and happy.

Uncle Charlie parted from them at the ferry, and soon Patty and her large family, as she called it since the addition of Grandma Elliott, were in a cab driving uptown to The Wilberforce.

Grandma Elliott was perhaps the most enthusiastic member of the party. That good lady was very fond of New York city, and had the effect of a patriot returning home after an enforced absence.

When at last she was ushered into the pretty apartment at The Wilberforce, she was more delighted than ever.

“My dear Fred,” she exclaimed, “what beautiful rooms! So bright and sunny, and such a delightful outlook across the park. I’m sure we shall be very happy here.”

The rooms did look very attractive. The furniture sent from Vernondale had been unpacked and put in place, and now it only remained for Patty to arrange the smaller trifles that were to make the place distinctively home-like.

To Patty’s surprise they found awaiting them a large box of chrysanthemums addressed to Grandma, and a smaller box of carnations for Patty. These had been sent as a greeting of welcome from Mr. Hepworth.

“How kind it was of him to send them,” said Patty, as she arranged the flowers in tall glass vases; “we’ll keep these beautiful chrysanthemums in the library and put the pink carnations in the reception-room. Now, I’ll put these brass candlesticks on the mantel—and, papa, I wish you’d wind that fussy French clock of yours, for I don’t dare touch it.”

“Indeed, you’d better not touch it, Miss Harum-scarum; that clock insists on being treated with the utmost deference and respect. I’m afraid you’d smash it at the first winding.”

“I dare say I should; I never can make a clock go. Now, Grandma, can’t I help you with your unpacking?”

The three worked with right good-will, and by noon nearly everything was in place. This was fortunate, for just as Patty flung herself down in an easy chair to rest, and to survey the results of her labours, callers were announced.

These were Aunt Isabel St. Clair and Ethelyn.

“For goodness’ sake!” exclaimed Patty, in dismay, “I don’t want to see them—at least not just now.”

“You can’t very well help seeing them,” said Grandma, “so you may as well look pleasant about it. You may show them up,” she added to the servant who had brought the cards.

In a few moments Aunt Isabel and Ethelyn came bustling in.

“How do you do?” exclaimed Mrs. St. Clair, “how perfectly lovely to have you here in town. And how delightful, Mrs. Elliott, that you can be here to take care of our Patricia.”

Patty smiled at the name which no one ever called her except the St. Clair family, and Aunt Isabel chattered on.

“You’re looking well, Fred, and what lovely rooms you have; I shall spend a great deal of my time here, I’m sure. I shall always drop in to luncheon when I’m in town for the day shopping.”

“So shall I,” said Ethelyn, “and I’m coming to stay a week at a time, mayn’t I, Patty?”

“I’m not sure about that,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling kindly, “for you see Patty is going to be very busy this winter. She’s going to school, and I want her to study hard; and she is to take music lessons, so that really she will have little time to play.”

“Oh, are you going to school?” said Ethelyn, in a disappointed tone; “I’m not going any more. Mamma wanted me to, but I said I wouldn’t. I’m coming out this winter, and I’m going to have smashing good times. Don’t go to school, Patricia.”

“Patty hasn’t anything to say about it,” said Patty’s father, smiling at his daughter.

“I want to go, anyway,” said Patty; “I want to learn things, and, besides, I think sixteen is too young for a girl to come out.”

“Much too young,” said Grandma Elliott, decidedly; “Patty is in my charge this winter, and she is to be a schoolgirl and not a young lady in society.”

Aunt Isabel sniffed a little, and looked at Mrs. Elliott through her lorgnon. But the elder lady bore the scrutiny calmly, and only said, “I hope Patty will be happy in spite of my restrictions.”

“Oh, of course she will; and I dare say you are quite right,” said Mrs. St. Clair, quickly, for she had no wish to offend Mrs. Elliott. “What school are you going to, my dear child?”

“I selected her school,” said Mr. Fairfield, “and I decided that the Oliphant school would be best for her.”

“And a wise choice, too,” said Aunt Isabel; “that’s where I wanted Ethelyn to go this year. The best people in New York patronise it.”

“But they’re awfully strict there,” said Ethelyn; “they make you study every minute. The lessons are awful hard, and the rules are something terrible.”

Patty began to look a little serious at this prospect, but Mr. Fairfield said: “School management that isn’t strict is no management at all; but if Patty gives this school a fair trial and finds she doesn’t like it, we’ll try to find one that suits her better.”

Mr. Fairfield invited the guests to stay to luncheon and they willingly accepted.

Patty was a little disappointed, for though fond of her aunt and cousin in some ways, she would have preferred not to have them there the first day.

The St. Clairs were very assertive people and seemed to pervade the whole place. They fluttered about from room to room, examining everything, and freely offering advice and criticism.

“I will help you select some new clothes, Patricia,” said her aunt; “for I’m sure what you had in Vernondale will not be suitable for the city.”

Grandma Elliott looked dismayed. She was of such a gentle, refined nature that she could not quite bring herself to refuse Mrs. St. Clair’s offer, and yet as she glanced at the over-dressed Ethelyn she was very sure that she did not wish Patty similarly attired.

But Mr. Fairfield came to her rescue. “Thank you, Isabel,” he said; “but you see I’m still trying experiments with my daughter. And this winter I have put her entirely in charge of Mrs. Elliott in every particular—even including her millinery goods. But come, let us all go down to luncheon, and we shall be greatly indebted to you if you will assist us in ordering that.”

As Patty sometimes expressed it, her father had a happy faculty for offending people without their knowing it; and he had changed the subject so deftly that Mrs. St. Clair scarcely realised that her offer had been refused.

As they went down in the elevator, and passed through many beautiful rooms on their way to the dining-room, Ethelyn grew enthusiastic with delight.

“Oh,” she whispered, as she squeezed Patty’s arm, “it must be just gorgeous to live here! Such beautiful rooms, and such grand-looking people, and servants all about. I should think you would always want to sit in these parlours.”

“I don’t,” said Patty, laughing; “I wouldn’t know what to do sitting up here in state. I think our own rooms much more pleasant and home-like.”

The dining-room, too, excited Ethelyn’s admiration. The soft thick carpets, and daintily laid tables, each with its vase of flowers, seemed suddenly to her far more desirable than the well-appointed dining-room in her own home at Villa Rosa.

Ethelyn was of an envious disposition, and though she was indulged and petted by her parents, she always wanted the belongings of someone else. She determined right then and there to coax her father to close up Villa Rosa and come to New York for the winter, though she had little hope that he would do so.

Whatever might be Aunt Isabel’s taste in buying clothes, she certainly knew very well how to order a luncheon, and as Mr. Fairfield put the matter entirely in her hands, a most satisfactory repast was the result.

Patty enjoyed it all immensely, and as she looked around at the pleasant-faced people at the other tables she came to the conclusion that it was all very attractive, and that her home would be very happy.

She was glad that Aunt Isabel and Ethelyn were only temporary guests, for Patty could not help noticing that Mrs. St. Clair, though polite and correct, did not act quite like Grandma Elliott.

The elder lady, though equally sophisticated, had an air of reserve and gentle dignity which seemed to Patty far more charming than Aunt Isabel’s haughty self-assurance. Though Patty herself was inexperienced, she knew by instinct that Aunt Isabel laughed just a little too loudly, and expressed her opinions just a little too frankly, for a public dining-room.

But Mrs. St. Clair had been very kind to Patty during her visit the previous year, and, too, she had, as Patty was well aware, some very lovable traits. So Patty’s sense of justice asserted itself, and she reproached herself for having criticised her aunt unkindly, even in thought.

As the St. Clairs were going to a matinée, they left immediately after luncheon, and Patty drew a little sigh of relief after their departure.

“I like Aunt Isabel least of any of my aunts, papa,” she said.

“I don’t blame you much, my child; Isabel is kind-hearted, but she is a worldly woman, and exceedingly superficial. Your Aunt Alice is worth a dozen of her.”

“Yes,” said Patty, “and Aunt Grace is worth half-a-dozen, and Aunt Hester is worth three or four, anyway.”

“But she is your aunt, Patty,” said Grandma Elliott, gently; “you must remember that, and consequently you owe her respect and deference.”

“All right, Grandma; I’ll pay her all the respect and deference she wants; but I do hate to have her bothering around when we want to get settled to our housekeeping. But now they’ve gone, and I can have a good long afternoon to straighten things out.”

“All right, Puss,” said her father, “and I’m going out now, on some errands, and if you tuck Grandma away for a little nap, which I’m quite sure she needs, you can have an uninterrupted hour all to yourself.”

“Beautiful!” cried Patty; “then I can fix all my books just as I want them, and arrange my tea table and bureau-drawers and everything. And you’ll bring me home a box of candy, won’t you, so we can have a lovely cosey time this evening?”

“In the bright lexicon of your youth, a cosey time seems to mean a box of candy and a new book.”

“Yes,” said Patty; “I’m sure I don’t know anything cosier. Now run along, and come back early, and don’t forget the candy.”

A little fatigued with the unusual exertions of the day, Mrs. Elliott went to her room for her nap, and Patty prepared to enjoy herself in her own way. She was tidy by nature, and really enjoyed what she called straightening out. Deciding upon the best places for her belongings, and then arranging them in those places, proved an absorbing occupation, and she spent the whole afternoon thus happily at work.