“Wait a minute, Mona.  Let me think.  Yes, I do believe I’ll do it!  Mona, suppose I provide a chaperon.  Will it be all right to have the party then?”

“Why, yes, if it’s a proper kind of a lady,—­of course it will.”

Patty’s eyes twinkled.  “I don’t know whether you’ll think her a proper lady or not,” she said, “but I do.”

She rang a nearby bell, and when Jane answered, she asked her to send Susan, the cook, in.

Susan came, and stood respectfully awaiting Patty’s orders.

“Susan,” Patty began, “you’re married, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Patty; me name is Hastings.  Me husband is dead this four years, rist his sowl.”

“Well, Susan, I want you to do something for me, and you may think it’s very queer, but you’ll do it, won’t you?”

“Nothin’s quare, Miss Patty, if you bid me do it.  What is it, ma’am?”

Mona began to look a little scared, but Patty seemed now quite sure of her own mind, and she began, in a kind but firm voice: 

“Susan, Miss Mona and I expected to have a party at her house to-night, but her aunt, who was to chaperon us, hasn’t arrived.  So I want you, Susan, to let me fix you up, and dress you in a proper gown, and then I want you to act as a lady who is visiting at ’Red Chimneys.’  Can you do this?”

It was funny to see the varying expressions on Susan’s face.  Wonder, amusement, and docility followed each other in quick succession, and then she said: 

“Is it a masqueradin’, belike, you want, Miss Patty?”

“Yes; just that, Susan.  Could you do it?”

“Av coorse I cud do it, if you be wantin’ me to; but wud I look good enough, Miss?”

“You’d look all right, after I dressed you; but, Susan, could you talk with less,—­less accent?”

“Me brogue, is it, Miss?  Faith, an’ I fear I can’t be after conquerin’ that!  It’s born in me.”

“Patty,” said Mona, “I think your scheme is crazy,—­perfectly crazy!  But—­if you really mean it, I’ll tell you that I have an Irish aunt,—­at least, sort of Scotch-Irish,—­and if we pass Susan off for her, the—­the accent won’t matter.”

“Just the thing!” cried Patty, gleefully.  “I see my way clear now!  It is a crazy plan, Mona, I admit that,—­but do you know of any better?”

“No; but, Patty, think a minute.  Of course, the truth will leak out, and what will people say?”

“No, it won’t leak out,—­and, if it did, what harm?  Susan is a nice, respectable woman, and as a member of my family is capable of chaperoning me in her own personality.  But I choose this other game because it’s more fun.  I shall dress her up in,—­in,—­Susan, you couldn’t wear a gown of Mrs. Fairfield’s, could you?”

“The saints presarve us, Miss Patty, it wuddent go halfway round me!”

“No; so it wouldn’t.  Well, I’ll find something.  Oh, there’s a gown in the attic that Mrs. Allen left here—­she’s Nan’s mother, Mona,—­that will be just right.  It’s grey satin and silver lace.  Oh, Susan, you’ll look great!”