Patricia’s commands seldom fell on deaf ears and Mabel promptly insisted on a game of tag; while Patricia herself, accompanied by Nell Hardy, started on a brisk run across the meadow.

At the garden gate, Patricia called a halt.  “Duck,” she ordered, dropping on the grass.  From half-way up the path, came Sarah’s voice:  “Oh, Miss P’tricia!  Miss P’tricia!”

“She’ll go back presently, if she doesn’t hear us,” Patricia whispered with elaborate caution; “then we must get to the house as quickly and as quietly as possible and secure the re—­the booty.  Oh, go away!” she added sternly, as Custard came sniffing about them.

But Custard only wriggled and danced about and over them, urging them as eloquently as he could to get up and continue their way indoors.  Wasn’t the pantry indoors?  Custard could have told his mistress long ago that it was quite supper time.

At half-past six, the doctor and Miss Kirby drove into the yard.  As the gig drew up before the side door, Sarah, voluble and indignant, appeared.  From the mass of information she hurled upon them, one fact only was quite clear—­Patricia was missing.

She was so often missing, that the announcement failed to excite any great apprehension in the mind of either her father or her aunt.

“But the party—­” Miss Kirby began.

“She done take the party with her!” Sarah wailed.

Miss Kirby looked more indignant than surprised; to have come home and found that nothing untowards had happened would have been the surprising thing.

“I ain’t laid my eyes on her since them six gingham aprons came gavorting up the walk!” Sarah proclaimed dramatically.  “That young-un’s a limb, for shore!”

Miss Kirby sat down on the piazza bench.  “Gingham aprons, Sarah,” she repeated.  “Patrick, what can she mean?”

The doctor shook his head, smiling, “That remains to be discovered.”

“For the love o’ goodness, Miss Julia!” Sarah implored; “the nexest time you sets out to give a party for that there young-un, I hopes and prays you stays home to sup’intend the obsequies youself!”

The doctor turned to send Sam on to the barn.

“Gingham aprons,” Miss Kirby murmured.

“Ain’t Miss P’tricia done ’tire herself in one for the ’casion!” Sarah exclaimed; “and ain’t she done tell all the others over that ’phone to do the very same—­I ain’t never held with thet there ’phone, nohow—­’tain’t nothin’ better’n devilment, anyhow.  My sakes, such doings, Marse Doctor!  You and Miss Julia just come cast your glance over this supper table!”

They followed her into the dining-room.

“It certainly looks very pretty,” the doctor said, glancing at the table.