“No, Patty; I think I need say nothing more. I see you know when you’re beaten, and I fancy you won’t touch needle to that pile of work again! I hope you can settle matters with your ‘employer’; if not, I’ll help you out. But I want to congratulate you on your pluck and perseverance, even if,—well, even if they were–”

“Crazy,” supplemented Patty.

CHAPTER IX
SLIPS AND SLEEVES

The next morning Nan went with Patty to take the centrepieces back to the embroidery company.

“I shall really like to see that woman,” said Nan, as they reached the shop.

“I’m sorry for her,” said Patty; “she’s so pathetically weary and hopeless-looking.”

So she was, and when Nan saw her, she felt sorry for her, too.

“Couldn’t work as fast as you thought?” she said to Patty, not unkindly, but with the hard smile that seemed to be permanently fastened to her face.

“No, I couldn’t,” confessed Patty. “I only worked part of one piece. I’ve brought all the rest back, in good order, and I want you to redeem them.”

In her mechanical way, the woman took the untouched centrepieces, looked at them critically, and laid them aside. Then she took up the piece Patty had worked on.

“I’ll have to deduct for this,” she said; “a dollar and a half.”

“What do you mean?” asked Nan, angry at what she considered gross injustice. “Miss Fairfield does not ask payment; she is giving you all that work.”

“She has spoiled this piece for our use. She works nicely enough, but no two people work exactly alike, so no one else could now take this and complete the corner. So, you see the piece is valueless, and we must charge for it. Moreover, I should have to deduct fifty cents if it had been finished, because long stitches show on the wrong side.”

“And you don’t allow that?” said Nan.

“Never. We deduct for that, or for soiling the work, or for using wrong colours.”

“Well,” said Patty, “return me as much of my deposit as is due me, and we’ll consider the incident closed.”

Stolidly, the woman opened a drawer, counted out sixteen dollars and a half, and gave it to Patty, who said good-day, and stalked out of the shop.

Nan followed, and when they were seated in the motor-car, both broke into peals of laughter.

“Oh, Patty,” cried Nan, “what a financier you are! You nearly killed yourself working yesterday, and now you’ve paid a dollar and a half for the privilege!”

“Pooh!” said Patty. “Nothing of the sort. I paid a dollar and a half for some valuable experience, and I think I got it cheap enough!”

“Yes, I suppose you did. Well, what are you going to do next? For I know you well enough to know you’re not going to give up your scheme entirely.”

“Indeed I’m not! But to-day I’m going to frivol. I worked hard enough yesterday to deserve a rest, and I’m going to take it. Come on, let’s go somewhere nice to luncheon, and then go to a matinée; it’s Wednesday.”

“Very well; I think you do need recreation. I’ll take you to Cherry’s for luncheon, and then we’ll go to see a comic opera, or some light comedy.”

“You’re a great comfort, Nan,” said Patty. “You always do just the right thing. But you needn’t think you can divert my mind to the extent of making me give up this plan of mine. For I won’t do that.”

“I know you won’t. But next time do try something easier.”

“I shall. I’ve already made up my mind what it’s to be; and truly, it’s dead easy.”

“I thought your red-headed friend cured you of using slang,” said Nan, smiling.

“I thought so, too,” said Patty, with an air of innocent surprise. “Isn’t it queer how one can be mistaken?”

True to her determination, Patty started out again the following morning to get an “occupation,” as they all termed it.

Again Miller was amazed at the address given him, but he said nothing, and proceeded to drive Patty to it.

It was even less attractive than the former shop, being nothing more or less than an establishment where “white work” was given out.

“How many?” asked the woman in charge, and, profiting by past experience, Patty said:

“One dozen.”

The woman took her name and address, in a quick, business-like way.

“One dollar a dozen,” she said. “Must be returned within the week. Deductions made for all imperfections.”

She handed Patty a large bundle done up in newspaper, and, with flaming cheeks, Patty walked out of the shop.

“Home, Miller,” she said, and though the man was too well trained to look surprised, he couldn’t keep an expression of astonishment out of his eyes when he saw Patty’s burden.

On the way home she opened the parcel.

There were in it twelve infants’ slips, of rather coarse muslin. They were cut out, but not basted.

Patty looked a little doubtful, then she thought:

“Oh, pshaw! It’s very different from that fine embroidery. I can swish these through the sewing-machine in no time at all.”

Reaching home, she threw the lap-robe over her bundle, and hurried into the house with it.

“Patty,” called Nan, as she whisked upstairs to her own room, “come here, won’t you?”

“Yes, in a minute,” Patty called back, flying on upstairs, and depositing the bundle in a wardrobe.

She locked the door, and hid the key, then went demurely downstairs.

“Occupation all right?” asked Nan, smiling.

“Yes,” said Patty, jauntily. “Good work this time; not so fine and fussy.”

“Well; I only wanted to tell you that Elise telephoned, and wants you to go to a concert with her this afternoon. I forget where it is; she said for you to call her up as soon as you came home.”

“All right, I will,” said Patty, and she went to the telephone at once.

“It’s a lovely concert, Nan,” she said, as she returned. “Jigamarigski is going to sing, and afterward I’m to go home with Elise to dinner, and they’ll bring me home. What shall I wear?”

“Wear your light green cloth suit, and your furs,” said Nan, after a moment’s consideration. “And your big white beaver hat. It’s too dressy an affair for your black hat.”

Apparently the “occupation” was forgotten, for during luncheon time, Patty chatted about the concert and other matters, and at two o’clock she went away.

“You look lovely,” said Nan, as, in her pretty cloth suit, and white hat and furs, Patty came to say good-by.

The concert proved most enjoyable. Dinner at the Farringtons’ was equally so, and when Patty reached home at about nine o’clock, she had much to tell Nan and her father, who were always glad to hear of her social pleasures.

“And the occupation?” asked Mr. Fairfield. “How is it progressing?”

“Nicely, thank you,” returned Patty. “I’ve picked an easy one this time. One has to learn, you know.”

Smiling, she went to her room that night, determined to attack the work next morning and hurry it through.

But next morning came a note from Clementine, asking Patty to go to the photographer’s with her at ten, and as Patty had promised to do this when called on, she didn’t like to refuse.

“And, anyway,” she thought, “a week is a week. Whatever day I begin this new work, I shall have a week from that day to earn the fifteen dollars in.”

Then, that afternoon was so fine, she went for a motor-ride with Nan.

And the next day, some guests came to luncheon, and naturally, Patty couldn’t absent herself without explanation.

And then came Sunday. And so it was Monday morning before Patty began her new work.

“Excuse me to any one who comes, Nan,” she said, as she left the breakfast table. “I have to work to-day, and I mustn’t be interrupted.”

“Very well,” said Nan. “I think, myself, it’s time you began, if you’re going to accomplish anything.”

Armed with her pile of work, and her basket of sewing materials, Patty went up to the fourth floor, where a small room was set apart as a sewing-room. It was rarely used, save by the maids, for Nan was not fond of sewing; but there was a good sewing-machine there, and ample light and space.

Full of enthusiasm, Patty seated herself at the sewing-machine, and picked up the cut-out work.

“I’ll be very systematic,” she thought. “I’ll do all the side seams first; then all the hems; then I’ll stitch up all the little sleeves at once.”

The plan worked well. The simple little garments had but two seams, and setting the machine stitch rather long, Patty whizzed the little white slips through, one after the other, singing in time to her treadle.

“Oh, it’s too easy!” she thought, as in a short time the twenty-four seams were neatly stitched.

“Now, for the hems.”

These were a little more troublesome, as they had to be folded and basted; but still, it was an easy task, and Patty worked away like a busy bee.

“Now for the babykins’ sleeves,” she said, but just then the luncheon gong sounded.

“Not really!” cried Patty, aloud, as she glanced at her watch.

But in very truth it was one o’clock, and it was a thoughtful Patty who walked slowly downstairs.

“Nan,” she exclaimed, “the trouble with an occupation is, that there’s not time enough in a day, or a half-day, to do anything.”

Nan nodded her head sagaciously.

“I’ve always noticed that,” she said. “It’s only when you’re playing, that there’s any time. If you try to work, there’s no time at all.”

“Not a bit!” echoed Patty, “and what there is, glides through your fingers before you know it.”

She hurried through her luncheon, and returned to the sewing-room. She was not tired, but there was a great deal yet to do.

The tiny sleeves she put through the machine, one after another, until she had twenty-four in a long chain, linked by a single stitch.

“Oh, method and system accomplish wonders,” she thought, as she snipped the sleeves apart, and rapidly folded hems round the little wrists.

But even with method and system, twenty-four is a large number, and as Patty turned the last hem, twilight fell, and she turned on the lights.

“Goodness, gracious!” she thought. “I’ve yet all these sleeves to set, and stitch in, and the fronts to finish off; and a buttonhole to work in each neckband.”

But it was only half-past four, and by half-past six they were all finished but the buttonholes.

And Patty was nearly finished, too!

She had not realised how physically tired she was. Running the sewing-machine all day was an unusual exertion, and when she reached her own room, with her arms full of the little white garments, she threw them on the bed, and threw herself on the couch, weary in every bone and muscle.

“Well, what luck?” said Nan, appearing at Patty’s doorway, herself all dressed for dinner.

“Oh, Nan,” cried Patty, laughing, “me legs is broke; and me arms is broke; and me back is broke. But I’m not nervous or worried, and I’m going to win out this time! But, Nan, I just can’t go down to dinner. Send Jane up with a tray,—there’s a dear. And tell father I’m all right, but I don’t care to mingle in society to-night.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re in good spirits,” said Nan, half annoyed, half laughing, as she saw the pile of white work on the bed.

“Run along, Nan, there’s a good lady,” said Patty, jumping up, and urging Nan out the door. “Skippy-skip, before father comes up to learn the latest news from the seat of war. Tell him everything is all right, and I’m earning my living with neatness and despatch, only working girls simply can’t get into chiffons and dine with the ‘quality.’”

Reassured by Patty’s gay air, Nan went downstairs, laughing, and told her husband that she believed Patty would yet accomplish her project.

“These experiences will do her no harm,” said Mr. Fairfield, after hearing Nan’s story. “So long as she doesn’t get nervous or mentally upset, we’ll let her go on with her experiment. She’s a peculiar nature, and has a wonderful amount of will-power for one so young.”

“I’ve always heard you were called stubborn,” said Nan, smiling, “though I’ve never seen it specially exemplified in your case.”

“One doesn’t need to be stubborn with such an angelic disposition as yours in the house,” he returned, and Nan smiled happily, for she knew the words were lovingly in earnest.

Meantime, Patty was sitting luxuriously in a big easy-chair, eating her dinner from the tray Jane had brought her.

“This is rather fun,” she thought; “and my, but running a sewing-machine does give one an appetite! I could eat two trays-full, I verily believe. Thank goodness, I’ve no more stitching to do.”

Having despatched her dinner, perhaps a trifle hastily, Patty reluctantly left her big easy-chair for a small rocker by the drop-light.

She wearily picked up a little gown, cut a buttonhole at the throat, and proceeded to work it. As she was so skilful at embroidery, of course this was easy work; but Patty was tired, and her fingers almost refused to push the needle through the cloth. About ten o’clock Nan came upstairs.

Patty was just sewing on the last button, the buttonholes being all done.

This fact made her jubilant.

“Nan!” she cried; “what do you think! I’ve made a whole dozen of these baby-slips to-day!”

“Patty! You don’t mean it! Why, my dear child, how could you?”

“On the machine. And they’re done neatly, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are, indeed. But Patty–”

“What?”

“I hate to tell you,—but–”

“Oh, what is it, Nan? Is the material wrong side out?”

“No, you goosie, there’s no right or wrong side to cotton cloth, but–”

“Well, tell me!”

“Every one of these little sleeves is made upside down!”

“Oh, Nan! It can’t be!”

“Yes, they are, dearie. See, this wider part should have been at the top.”

“Oh, Nan, what shall I do? I thought they were sort of flowing sleeves, you know. Kimono-shaped ones, I mean.”

“No; they’re set wrong. Oh, Patty, why didn’t you let me help you? But you told me to keep away.”

“Yes, I know I did. Now, I’ve spoiled the whole dozen! I like them just as well that way, myself, but I know they’ll ‘deduct’ for it.”

“Patty, I don’t think you ought to do ‘white work’ anyway. How much are they going to pay you?”

“A dollar a dozen.”

“And you’ve done a dozen in a day. That won’t bring you fifteen dollars in a week.”

“Well, I thought the second dozen would go faster, and it probably will. And, of course, I shan’t make that mistake with the sleeves again. Truly, Nan, it’s a heap easier than embroidery.”

“Well, don’t worry over it to-night,” said Nan, kissing her. “Take a hot bath and hop into bed. Perhaps you have found the right work after all.”

Nan didn’t really think she had, but Patty had begun to look worried, and Nan feared she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

But sleep she did, from sheer physical exhaustion.

And woke next morning, almost unable to move! Every muscle in her body was lame from her strenuous machine work. She couldn’t rise from her bed, and could scarcely raise her head from the pillow.

When Catherine, Nan’s maid, came to her room, Patty said, faintly:

“Ask Mrs. Fairfield to come up, please.”

Nan came, and Patty looked at her comically, as she said:

“Nan, I’m vanquished, but not subdued. I’m just one mass of lameness and ache, but if you think I’ve given up my plan, you’re greatly mistaken. However, I’m through with ‘white work,’ and I’ve sewed my last sew on a machine.”

“Why, Patty girl, you’re really ill,” said Nan, sympathetically.

“No, I’m not! I’m perfectly well. Just a trifle lame from over-exercise yesterday. I’ll stay in bed to-day, and Nan, dear, if you love me, take those slips back to the kind lady who let me have them to play with. Make her pay you a dollar for the dozen, and don’t let her deduct more than a dollar for the upside-downness of the sleeves. Tell her they’re prettier that way, anyway. And, Catharine, do please rub me with some healing lotion or something,—for I’m as lame as a jelly-fish!”

“Patty,” said Nan, solemnly, “the occasion requires strong language. So I will remark in all seriousness, that, you do beat all!”

CHAPTER X
THE CLEVER GOLDFISH

FINANCIALLY, Patty came out just even on her ‘white work,’ for though the woman paid Nan the dollar for the dozen finished garments, she deducted the same amount for the wrongly placed sleeves.

She also grumbled at the long machine stitch Patty had used, but Nan’s patience was exhausted, and giving the woman a calm stare, she walked out of the shop.

“It’s perfectly awful,” she said to Patty, when relating her adventure, “to think of the poor girls who are really trying to earn their living by white work. It’s all very well for you, who are only experimenting, but suppose a real worker gets all her pay deducted!”

“There’s hardly enough pay to pay for deducting it, anyway,” said Patty. “Oh, Nan, it is dreadful! I suppose lots of poor girls who feel as tired and lame as I do this morning, have to go straight back to their sewing-machine and run it all day.”

“Of course they do; and often they’re of delicate constitutions, and insufficiently nourished.”

“It makes me feel awful. Things are unevenly divided in this world, aren’t they, Nan?”

“They are, my dear; but as that problem has baffled wiser heads than yours, it’s useless for you to worry over it. You can’t reform the world.”

“No; and I don’t intend to try. But I can do something to help. I know I can. That’s where people show their lack of a sense of proportion. I know I can’t do anything for the world, as a world, but if I can help in a few individual cases, that will be my share. For instance, if I can help this Christine Farley to an art education, and so to a successful career, why that’s so much to the good. And though father has set me a hard task to bring it about, I’m going to do it yet.”

“Your father wouldn’t have set you such a task if you hadn’t declared it was no task at all! You said you could earn your living easily in a dozen different ways. Already you’ve discarded two.”

“That leaves me ten!” said Patty, airily. “Ten ways of earning a living is a fair show. I can discard nine more and still have a chance.”

“All right, Patsy. I’m glad you’re not disheartened. And I suppose you are learning something of the conditions of our social economy.”

“Gracious, Nan! How you do talk! Are you quite sure you know what you mean?”

“No, but I thought you would,” said Nan, and with that parting shot, she left the room.

It was late in the afternoon before Patty dawdled downstairs.

Her shoulders and the back of her neck still ached, but otherwise she felt all right again, and her spirits had risen proportionately.

About four o’clock Kenneth called, bringing a mysterious burden, which he carried with great care.

He knew of Patty’s scheme, and though he appreciated the nobility of her endeavour, he could not feel very sanguine hopes of her success.

“You’re not cut out for a wage-earner, Patty,” he had said to her; “it’s like a butterfly making bread.”

“But I don’t want to be a butterfly,” Patty had pouted.

“Oh, I don’t mean butterfly,—as so many people do,—to represent a frivolous, useless person. I have a great respect for butterflies, myself. And you radiate the same effect of joy, happiness, gladness, and beauty, as a butterfly does when hovering around in the golden sunshine of a summer day.”

“Why, Ken, I didn’t know you were a poet. But you haven’t proved your case.”

“Yes, I have. It’s your mission in life to be happy, and so to make others happy. This you can do without definite effort, so stick to your calling, and let the more prosaic people, the plodders,—earn wages.”

“Let me earn the wages of my country, and I care not who makes it smile,” Patty had rejoined, and there the subject had dropped.

To-day, when he arrived, carrying what was evidently something fragile, Patty greeted him gaily.

“I’m not working to-day,” she said; “so you can stay ’most an hour if you like.”

“Well, I will; and if you’ll wait till I set down this precious burden, I’ll shake hands with you. I come, like the Greeks, bearing gifts.”

“A gift? Oh, what is it? I’m crazy to see it.”

“Well, it’s a gift; but, incidentally, it’s a plan for wage-earning. If you really want to wage-earn, you may as well do it in an interesting way.”

“Yes,” said Patty, demurely, for she well knew he was up to some sort of foolery. “My attempts so far, though absorbing, were not really interesting.”

“Well, this is!” declared Kenneth, who was carefully taking the tissue papers from his gift, which proved to be a glass globe, containing two goldfish.

“They are Darby and Juliet,” he remarked, as he looked anxiously into the bowl. “I am so tired of hackneyed pairs of names, that I’ve varied these. But, won’t you send for some more water? I had to bring them with only a little, for fear I’d spill it, and they seem to have drunk it nearly all up.”

“Nonsense! they don’t drink the water; they only swim in it.”

“That’s the trouble. There isn’t enough for them to swim in. And yet there’s too much for them to drink.”

Patty rang for Jane, who then brought them a pitcher of ice water.

Kenneth poured it in, but at the sudden cold deluge, Darby and Juliet began to behave in an extraordinary manner. They flew madly round and round the bowl, hitting each other, and breathing in gasps.

“The water’s too cold,” cried Patty.

“Of course it is,” said Kenneth; “get some hot water, won’t you?”

Patty ran herself for the hot water, and returned with a pitcher full.

“Don’t you want a little mustard?” she said, giggling. “I know they’ve taken cold. A hot mustard foot-bath is fine for colds.”

“And that is very odd, because they haven’t any feet,” quoted Kenneth, as he poured the hot water in very slowly.

“Do you want a bath thermometer?” went on Patty.

“No; when they stop wriggling it’s warm enough. There, now they’re all right.”

Kenneth set down the hot water pitcher and looked with pride on the two fish, who had certainly stopped wriggling.

“They’re awful quiet,” said Patty. “Are you sure they’re all right? I think you’ve boiled them.”

“Nothing of the sort. They like warmth, only it makes them sort of–”

“Dormant,” suggested Patty.

“Yes, clever child, dormant. And now while they sleep, I’ll tell you my plan. You see, these are extra intelligent goldfish,—especially Juliet, the one with a black spot on her shoulder. Well, you’ve only to train them a bit, and then give exhibitions of your trained goldfish! You’ve no idea what a hit it will make.”

“Kenneth, you’re a genius!” cried Patty, meeting his fun halfway. “It’s lots easier than white work. Come on, help me train them, won’t you? How do we begin?”

“They’re still sleepy,” said Kenneth, looking at the inert fish. “They need stirring up.”

“I’ll get a spoon,” said Patty, promptly.

“No, just waggle the water with your finger. They’ll come up.”

Patty waggled the water with her finger, but Darby only blinked at her, while Juliet flounced petulantly.

“She’s high-strung,” observed Kenneth, “and a trifle bad-tempered. But she won’t stand scolding. Let’s take her out and pet her a little.”

“How do you get her out? With a hook and line?”

“No, silly! You must be kind to them. Here, puss, puss, puss! Come, Jooly-ooly-et! Come!”

But Juliet haughtily ignored the invitation and huddled in the bottom of the bowl.

“Try this,” said Patty, running to the dining-room, and returning with a silver fish server.

This worked beautifully, and Kenneth scooped up Juliet, who lay quietly on the broad silver blade, blinking at them reproachfully.

“She’s hungry, Ken; see how she opens and shuts her mouth.”

“No; she’s trying to talk. I told you she was clever. I daresay you can teach her to sing. She looks just as you do when you take a high note.”

“You horrid boy! But she does, really. Anyway, let’s feed them. What do they eat?”

“I brought their food with me; it’s some patent stuff, very well advertised. Here, Julie!”

Gently slipping Juliet back into the water, Ken scattered some food on the surface.

Both fish rose to the occasion and greedily ate the floating particles.

“That’s the trouble,” said Ken. “They have no judgment. They overeat, and then they die of apoplexy. And, too, if they eat too much, you can’t train them to stand on their tails and beg.”

“Oh, will they learn to do that? And what else can we teach them?”

“Oh, anything acrobatic; trapeze work and that. But they’re sleepy now; you fed them too much for just an afternoon tea. Let’s leave them to their nap, and train them after they wake up.”

“All right; let’s sit down and talk seriously.”

“Patty, you’re always ready to talk seriously of late. That’s why I brought you some Nonsense Fish, to lighten your mood a little.”

“Don’t you worry about my mood, Ken; it’s light enough. But I want you to help me earn my living for a week. Will you?”

“That I will not! I’ll be no party to your foolishness.”

“Now, Ken,” went on Patty, for she knew his “bark was worse than his bite,” “I don’t want you to do anything much. But, in your law office, where you’re studying, aren’t there some papers I can copy, or something like that?”

“Patty, you’re a back number. That ‘copying’ that you mean is all out of date. In these days of typewriters and manifold thigamajigs, we lawyers don’t have much copying done by hand. Except, perhaps, engrossing. Can you do that?”

“How prettily you say ‘we lawyers,’” teased Patty.

“Of course I do. I’m getting in practice against the time it’ll be true. But if you really want to copy, buy a nice Spencerian Copy-book, and fill up its pages. It’ll be about as valuable as any other work of the sort.”

“Ken, you’re horrid. So unsympathetic.”

“I’m crool only to be kind! You must know, Patty, that copying is out of the question.”

“Well, never mind then; let’s talk of something else.”

“‘Let’s sit upon the ground and tell strange stories of the death of kings.’”

“Oh, Ken, that reminds me. You know my crystal ball?”

“I do indeed; I selected it with utmost care.”

“Yes, it’s a gem. Perfectly flawless. Well, I’ll get it, and see if we can see things in it.”

Patty ran for her crystal, and returning to the library held it up to the fading sunlight, and tried to look into it.

“That isn’t the way, Patty; you have to lay it on black velvet, or something dark.”

“Oh, do you? Well, here’s a dark mat on this table. Try that.”

They gazed intently into the ball, and though they could see nothing, Patty felt a weird sense of uncanniness.

Ken laughed when she declared this, and said:

“Nothing in the world but suggestion. You think a Japanese crystal ought to make you feel supernatural, and so you imagine it does. But it doesn’t any such nonsense. Now, I’ll tell you why I like them. Only because they’re so flawlessly perfect. In shape, colour, texture,—if you can call it texture,—but I mean material or substance. There isn’t an attribute that they possess, except in perfection. That’s a great thing, Patty; and you can’t say it of anything else.”

“The stars,” said Patty, trying to look wise.

“Oh, pshaw! I mean things made by man.”

“Great pictures,” she suggested.

“Their perfection is a matter of opinion. One man deems a picture perfect, another man does not. But a crystal ball is indubitably perfect.”

“Indubitably is an awful big word,” said Patty. “I’m afraid of it.”

“Never mind,” said Kenneth, kindly, “I won’t let it hurt you.”

Then the doorbell rang, and in a moment in came Elise and Roger.

“Hello, Ken,” said Elise. “We came for Patty to go skating. Will you go, too?”

“I can’t go to-day,” said Patty, “I’m too tired. And it’s too late, anyway. You stay here, and we’ll have tea.”

“All right, I don’t care,” said Elise, taking off her furs.

The quartette gathered round the library fire, and Jane brought in the tea things.

Patty made tea very prettily, for she excelled in domestic accomplishments, and as she handed Kenneth his cup, she said, roguishly, “There’s a perfect cup of tea, I can assure you.”

“Perfect tea, all right,” returned Ken, sipping it, “but a cup of tea can’t be a perfect thing, as it hasn’t complete symmetry of form.”

“What are you two talking about?” demanded Elise, who didn’t want Ken and Patty to have secrets from which she was excluded.

“Speaking of crystal balls,” said Patty, “I’ll show you one, Elise; a big one, too! Get Darby and Juliet, won’t you please, Ken?”

Kenneth obligingly brought the glass globe in from the dining-room, where they had left the goldfish to be by themselves.

“How jolly!” cried Elise. “And what lovely goldfish! These are the real Japanese ones, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” said Patty, smiling at Ken. “Being Japanese, they’re perfect of their kind. Make them stand on their tails and beg, Kenneth.”

“Oh, will they do that?” said Elise.

“Only on Wednesdays and Saturdays,” said Kenneth, gravely. “And on Fridays they sing. To-day is their rest day.”

“They look morbid,” said Roger. “Shall I jolly them up a bit?”

“Let’s give them tea,” said Elise, tilting her spoon until a few drops fell into the water.

“You’ll make them nervous,” warned Patty, “and Juliet is high-strung, anyway.”

Then Nan came in from her afternoon’s round of calls, and then Mr. Fairfield arrived, and they too were called upon to make friends with Darby and Juliet.

“Goldfish always make me think of a story about Whistler,” said Mr. Fairfield. “It seems, Whistler once had a room in a house in Florence, directly over a person who had some pet goldfish in a bowl. Every pleasant day the bowl was set out on the balcony, which was exactly beneath Whistler’s balcony. For days he resisted the temptation to fish for them with a bent pin and a string; but at last he succumbed to his angling instincts, and caught them all. Then, remorseful at what he had done, he fried them to a fine golden brown, and returned them to their owner on a platter.”

“Ugh!” cried Nan, “what a horrid story! Why do they always tack unpleasant stories on poor old Whistler? Now, I know a lovely story about a goldfish, which I will relate. It is said to be the composition of a small Boston schoolchild.