When Patty reached home she flung herself into the library like a small whirlwind.

“It’s just awful, Grandma,” she exclaimed, throwing herself into a big armchair with absolute despair written on her face. “It’s a horrid, horrid school, and I wish I didn’t have to go to it. The girls are snippy and rude and disagreeable! They don’t like me and I don’t like them; and won’t you help me to coax papa not to make me go there any more? I’d rather have a governess, or anything!”

“Tell me all about it, dear,” said Grandma, as she quietly took Patty’s hat and gloves away from the excited child.

“Why, they just snubbed me right and left; and Lorraine says it’s because I came from the country! Did you ever hear such foolishness?”

“I certainly never did,” said Grandma, smiling in spite of the seriousness of the occasion. “You are not a New York girl, but you are not countrified enough to be a subject of ridicule. Weren’t any of the girls nice to you?”

“Only one, and she wasn’t anything to brag of. Her name is Clementine Morse, and she’s awfully pretty and sweet-looking, but I didn’t see much of her. She was pleasant, but she seemed to be so more from a sense of duty than because she really liked me.”

“I don’t understand it,” said Grandma; “I think you’re a very nice girl, and I don’t see why anyone should think otherwise.”

“Well, they do,” said Patty; “but never mind, I’m not going to think anything more about it until papa comes home and then I’m going to ask him not to make me go there any more.”

As Grandma Elliott was a wise old lady she refrained from further questions and dropped the subject entirely. She proposed to Patty that they should go out and do a little shopping, and get some fresh air and exercise.

This proved a most successful diversion, and soon Patty was her own merry, bright self again.

But when Mr. Fairfield came home at five o’clock Patty laid the case before him in emphatic and graphic language.

“They’re different kinds of horrid,” she said in conclusion, “but they’re all horrid. Only a few of them were really rude, but they all ignored me, and seemed to wish that I’d get off the earth.”

“How did you treat them?” asked her father, who was really puzzled at the turn affairs had taken.

“Why, I did the best I knew how. I waited for them to be nice to me, and then when they didn’t, I tried to be nice to them. But they wouldn’t let me. Of course, papa, you know I know enough not to be forward, or push myself in where I’m not wanted; but I just tried to get acquainted in a nice way, and they wouldn’t have it at all.”

“I can’t see through it, Puss; it’s really most extraordinary. But I can’t believe they don’t like you; a nice, pretty little girl like you ought to make friends at first sight. And you always have done so.”

“I know it, papa; I never had anybody act like this before. Please say I needn’t go any more.”

“Patty, my dear child, I can’t consent to take you away from the school at once, though I am very, very sorry for you. The whole thing seems so strange, and I can’t believe but that it will straighten itself out in a day or two. Now I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If you’ll go to school the remainder of this week and try your best to do your part toward bringing about a better understanding, I’ll promise you that if you don’t succeed by the end of the week you needn’t return next Monday. I know it will be hard for you, but I think it only just to give the school a fair trial, and I don’t want you to decide after only one day’s experiences.”

Patty looked disappointed, but she had a brave heart, and, too, she had implicit confidence in her father’s judgment.

“All right, papa,” she said; “I’ll do it. I hate like fury to go back there to-morrow. But I will. And I’ll do my part, too; I’ll try my very best to make the girls like me, but if they don’t act differently by Friday, I’ll give up the fight.”

“That’s my own brave girl; and truly, Patty, I believe it will be all right in a day or two. It’s preposterous to think that a lot of schoolgirls should unanimously agree to dislike you. I’m sure there is some explanation. Either you exaggerate their natural hesitation toward a comparative stranger, or else there is a serious misunderstanding somewhere.”

“Then you don’t think it’s because I came from the country, papa?”

“Nonsense! you weren’t brought up in the back woods. Vernondale is too near New York to be as countrified as all that. I don’t suppose you talked bad grammar, or displayed uncouth table-manners.”

“No,” said Patty, smiling; “I tried to behave like a little lady; but apparently I didn’t succeed.”

“Well, don’t think another thing about it,” said her father; “just go right along every day this week; and if you don’t want to go—go because I want you to. Clinch your hands and grit your teeth, if necessary; but march along each day like my brave little soldier, and somehow I think we’ll conquer in the long run.”

Patty had inherited a good deal of the Fairfield pluck, and she caught the spirit of her father’s advice.

“I’ll do it,” she said, determinedly; “I’ll try as hard as I can to win, but I don’t see much hope.”

“Never mind the hope; just go ahead with your efforts and let the results take care of themselves. And now let us go down and have an especially nice dinner, to restore us after this heart-rending scene.”

When they entered the dining-room Patty was surprised to see Adelaide Hart at one of the tables. Patty bowed cordially as she passed her, but Adelaide returned it without enthusiasm.

Fortified by her talk with her father, Patty determined not to mind this, and passed on with a heightened colour. She did not tell her father about Adelaide, for she had resolved to fight her own battles through the week.

The dinner was very pleasant. Mr. Fairfield was merry and entertaining, Grandma was very sweet and comforting, and Patty began to feel as if life were worth living, after all.

After dinner they joined the Hamiltons in the parlour, and Patty and Lorraine talked over the events of the day.

“I thought you wouldn’t like the girls,” said Lorraine; “I don’t like them either, and they don’t like me.”

“I saw Adelaide Hart in the dining-room to-night,” said Patty; “does she live here?”

“Yes, they’re on the fourth floor. That was her father and mother at the table with her, and her two sisters. They’re awfully disagreeable girls; I don’t speak to them.”

Patty was more puzzled than ever. Adelaide Hart looked like a nice girl, but she certainly had not treated Patty nicely, and Lorraine had evidently noticed it.

The second day at school was much like the first. The girls made no advances, and when Patty tried to be sociable, although not actually rude, they did not encourage her, and made use of the slightest pretext to get away from her. This left Patty entirely dependent on the society of Lorraine, and so the two were constantly together.

The third day brought no change for the better, and Patty’s pride began to assert itself. What the reason could be, she had no idea, but she was certain now that the girls avoided her for some definite reason; and as she was innocent of any intentional offence she deeply resented it. She learned her lessons, went to the various classrooms and recited them, and was generally commended by the teachers for her studiousness and good deportment.

By Thursday she had come to the conclusion that there was no hope of making friends with any of her schoolmates, and with this conviction she practically gave up the struggle. To hide her defeat she unconsciously assumed a more haughty air, and herself ignored the very girls who had neglected her. On Thursday afternoon the whole school went for a walk in Central Park, as was the custom on stated occasions. Clementine Morse asked Patty to walk with her. This was a distinct advance, and Patty would have welcomed it joyfully earlier in the week. But it came too late, and though Patty really wanted to go with Clementine, her outraged pride and growing resentment forced her to refuse and she answered coldly: “Thank you, but I’m going to walk with Lorraine.”

Thursday night Mr. Fairfield asked Patty how the experiment was succeeding. They had not discussed the matter much through the week, but Mr. Fairfield had gathered a pretty accurate knowledge of the state of affairs from Patty’s demeanour.

“There’s no hope,” said Patty; “at least, Clementine Morse did ask me to walk with her to-day, but after her coolness all the week I wasn’t going to do it.”

“Revenge is so sweet,” said Mr. Fairfield, looking at the ceiling, but with a quizzical expression in his eyes; “I hope you thoroughly enjoyed refusing her invitation.”

“Now, papa, you’re sarcastic,” said Patty; “but I just guess you wouldn’t go walking with people who had snubbed you right and left for four days!”

“It is hard lines, my girl; and you must use your own judgment. But don’t be a brave and plucky soldier all through the week, only to be conquered by a mean little spirit of retaliation at last.”

Patty thought this over pretty thoroughly, as she always thought over her father’s advice, and she went to school Friday morning resolved to be magnanimous should any opportunity present itself.

Friday was the day for the gymnasium class. This was a novelty to Patty, and she greatly enjoyed it, for she was fond of physical exercise.

Lorraine did not attend gymnasium, for, as she had said, she hated exercise of any kind, and the class was not compulsory.

But Clementine was there, and as the girls stood or sat around, resting after some calisthenics, she came over to Patty.

“You’re fond of this sort of thing, aren’t you?” she said, with such frank good-humour that Patty responded at once.

“Yes, I love it; I love any kind of vigorous exercise. Rowing, or swimming, or out-of-door games I like the best; but this is splendid fun. I’ve never been in a gymnasium before.”

“Haven’t you? You take to it all so readily I thought you knew all about it. You’ll like the club-swinging. We’ll have that next week.”

“I won’t be here next week.”

Patty said this involuntarily. She had not meant to announce it so abruptly, but she spoke before she thought.

“Why not?” exclaimed Clementine, looking dismayed. “Don’t you like the school?”

“No,” said Patty, feeling suddenly an irresistible desire to probe the mystery. “No—I don’t. I suppose it’s my own fault, but if so, I don’t know why. None of the girls like me, they will scarcely speak to me; and I’m not accustomed to being treated that way.” Patty’s voice trembled a little, and a suggestion of tears came into her blue eyes, but she stood her ground bravely, for she was not whining, and she knew it; but she felt that the time had come for an explanation.

“My goodness gracious!” exclaimed Clementine, “don’t you know why the girls don’t chum with you?”

“No,” said Patty, her amazement and curiosity rising above all other sentiments; “and if you know, I wish for pity’s sake you’d tell me.”

“Why,” said Clementine, “it’s only because you’re such an inseparable chum of Lorraine Hamilton’s. The girls can’t bear her; she is so disagreeable and doleful and generally unpleasant. We’ve tried our best; she’s been here two years, you know, but we simply can’t like her. And so, when you came with her and seemed to be such a desperate friend of hers, why of course we couldn’t take you up without taking her, too. And, too, we thought that since you were so terribly intimate with her, you probably weren’t any nicer than she is. But I soon came to the conclusion that you weren’t a bit like her and I want awfully to be friends with you, and so do lots of the other girls. But when I asked you to walk with me yesterday, you said no, you’d rather walk with Lorraine, and I felt myself decidedly out of it.”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Patty impulsively; “I was horrid, I know; but, you see, I had felt so lonely and neglected all the week that somehow yesterday I got my spunk up, and I just felt like hurting somebody to make up for the way they had hurt me. I was awfully sorry about it afterwards.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Clementine; “don’t think of it again. And don’t leave the school, will you? Try it another week, anyhow; I’m sure you’ll like it when you get started straight.”

“I think I shall,” said Patty; “anyway, I’ll try it one week more. I’m not a baby, you know, but it was horrid.”

“Yes, I know; but just you wait until next week and see.”