They had tea on the glass-paned veranda, and it was not until they were all comfortably seated, with their teacups in hand, that Cameron said, casually:  “Oh, by the way, Patty, I have a note for you from Mrs. Fairfield, and a parcel.”

He took from his pocket a letter and a little box.

“Oh, thank you,” said Patty, taking them “May I?” she added, as she opened the note.

As Patty read, her face grew longer and her eyes grew bigger.  As she finished, she looked at Cameron, who was gazing at her with his eyes full of laughter.

“You Kit!” she exclaimed; “oh, you Kit Cameron!  Can nobody ever get ahead of you?  Girls, listen to this!  It’s a note from Nan, and she says:  ’Dear Patty:  Mr. Cameron says he’s going to see you to-morrow.  Has Adele invited him to Fern Falls?  How nice for you all.  He won’t tell me how she happened to do so, but I suppose it was through you.  I’m sending you by him your pearl pin, which you forgot.  Oceans of love, from Nan.’  Now, how in the name of common sense, did you happen to tell Nan that you were coming to see me?”

“Why, I was there last night, and I knew I was coming up here to-day; so I told her, and she asked me to bring your pin.  And I said I would.  That’s all.”

“But how did you know you were coming here?” persisted Patty.

“I didn’t know I was coming here, and I didn’t tell Mrs. Fairfield I was.  I only told her I should see you.  I can’t help what she assumed,—­and I have delivered the pin in safety.”

“But how did you know you were going to see me?”

“My dear child, do you suppose for one minute that I fell for that Belle Harcourt business?  Didn’t you know that I would know that that very first letter was written by your fairy fingers?”

“Why, Mr. Cameron!” exclaimed Adele, “weren’t you really fooled?”

“You were!” exclaimed Daisy.  “You were at first, anyway.”

“Not for a minute, Miss Dow,” and Kit smiled lazily at her.  “I’m not over-modest about my wonderful musical genius, but somehow I couldn’t believe that a stranger appreciated me so highly.  I just couldn’t believe it, and something told me that it wasn’t quite all it sounded.  Then, says I to myself, if it isn’t a real Belle Harcourt it’s most probably Patty Fairfield.  I had no idea you were away, but I telephoned the house, and some of your menials told me you were at Fern Falls.  I had never heard of Fern Falls, but it was me for the atlas, and after much study, I unearthed Fern Falls and found it to be very decidedly adjacent to Maple Bank.  So I put away my atlas, got down my arithmetic, and by its artful aid I managed to put two and two together.  If I had found any one else but Patty Fairfield under that pink parasol, I should have been the most surprised man under the Stars and Stripes!”

“I think you’re perfectly horrid!” cried Patty; “just per-fect-ly hor-rid!”