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Chapter VII.

       A Neighbour

       Table of Contents

      Two days later the Fairfields went down to Spring Beach.

      The intervening day was a busy one. Mr. Fairfield went with Patty to select her motor car, for some details of equipment and upholstery were left to her choice. As the car had been built especially for the Prize Contest, it was a beautiful specimen of the finisher’s art. It was a Stanhope, of graceful design and fine lines. The body was Royal Blue, with cushions of broadcloth of the same colour.

      Patty was informed she could have any other colour if she wished, but she said the blue suited her best.

      There was a top which could be put up or down at will, wide skirt-protecting mudguards, and a full equipment of all necessary paraphernalia, such as storm-apron, odometer, and a complete set of tools.

      Patty had carried with her her flower vase and clock, and the man in charge agreed to have them fastened in place. The flower vase, he said, was unusual on a Stanhope, but, when Patty said it must be attached somewhere, he promised to have it done.

      The steering gear was a bar, fitted with a hand grip, and both this and the controller were exceedingly simple and easily operated.

      The demonstrator offered to give Patty a driving lesson then and there, but Mr. Fairfield preferred that she should be taught by himself, or his experienced chauffeur, the trusty Miller.

      Of course, the men in charge of the salesroom where the car was on exhibition were greatly interested in seeing Patty, because she was the winner of the contest. One young man stepped forward with a camera, and asked the privilege of taking a picture of Patty seated in her own car.

      But this Mr. Fairfield would not allow, and, after making the necessary arrangements about shipping the motor to Spring Beach, he took Patty away.

      “Isn’t it fun, father?” she exclaimed, as she went off with him, her hands full of descriptive catalogues and circulars, telling of the marvellous superiority of the Rhodes and Geer cars over all competitors.

      “It’s lots more interesting than if you had just bought a car and given it to me.”

      “And lots less expensive, too,” said Mr. Fairfield, smiling. “Why, Patty, girl, that whole affair, as it stands, is worth nearly three thousand dollars.”

      “Goodness gracious! Is it really? I had no idea they were so expensive! Why, your big car didn’t cost much more than that, did it?”

      “But, you see, this Stanhope of yours is a special car, in every way, and all its fittings and accessories are of the most up-to-date and extravagant type. You must do all you can for the company, by praising it to your friends. I don’t think you can do any more than that to further their interests.”

      “Oh, I don’t feel under any obligation to the company. It was a business enterprise on their part. They offered a prize and I won it. Now we’re quits. Of course, I shall praise the car to my friends, but only because it’s such a beauty, and not because I feel that I owe anything to the company.”

      “You are rather a logical young woman, after all, Patty. Sometimes you seem a feather-headed butterfly, and then again you appear to have sound sense.”

      “A ‘feather-headed butterfly’ sounds pretty, I think. I guess I’ll be that, mostly.”

      “You won’t have to try very hard,” remarked her father.

      “But sometimes I have spells of being very serious: for instance, wasn’t I serious when I tried so hard to earn fifteen dollars in one week?”

      “Yes, serious enough; but it was largely your stubborn determination to succeed.”

      “Well, that’s a good trait to have, then. It’s what Mr. Hepworth calls steadfastness of purpose.”

      “Yes; they’re about the same thing. And I’m glad you have it; it’s what won the car for you.”

      “That, and my helpful friends.”

      “Oh, the helpful friends were incidental, like text-books or cyclopædias. I truly congratulate you, Patty, girl, on your real success in this instance. But I also ask of you not to go into anything of such a public nature again, without consulting me first.”

      “All right, Father Fairfield, I promise.”

      And then they were at home again, and the luncheon hour was enlivened by Patty’s descriptions to Nan of her wonderful new toy.

      “Are you going to give it a name, Patty?” Nan asked, after hearing of its glories.

      “Yes; but not until after I’ve used it. I can’t tell, you see, just what sort of a name it needs until I try it. And, Nan, let’s do a little shopping this afternoon. I want a new motor-coat, and a few other trifles, to live up to the appearance of that thing of beauty.”

      The shopping was done, some marvellous motor-apparel was purchased, and then, the next day, the departure from New York was made.

      They reached “The Pebbles” in mid-afternoon, and the ocean and sky were a glowing mass of blue and white and gold.

      Nan’s well-trained servants had the house open and ready for them, and Patty flew up the steps and into the great hall with a whoop of delight.

      “Isn’t it great, Nan! Isn’t it fine! More fun than travelling abroad or touristing through Sunny It.! For, you see, this is our own home and we own it!”

      “Patty, your enthusiasm will wear you out some day. Do take it more quietly.”

      “Can’t do it! I’m of a nervous temperament and exuberant disposition, and I have to express my thinks!”

      The big hall was in reality a living-room. It extended straight through the house, with wide doors at either end. It had alcoves with cushioned seats, a huge fireplace, deep-seated windows, and from one side a broad staircase curved upward, with a landing and balcony halfway.

      The wicker furniture was well-chosen and picturesque, besides being very comfortable and inviting.

      “Just as soon as I can get a few things flung around, it will be perfect,” announced Patty. “At present, it’s too everlastingly cleared-up-looking.”

      She tossed on a table the magazines she had bought on the train, and flung her long veil over a chair back.

      “There, you see!” she said. “Watch that veil flutter in the seabreeze,—our own seabreeze, coming in at our own front door, and then tell me if ‘The Pebbles’ is a success!”

      “Yes; and, unless you shut that door, you’ll have a most successful cold in your head,” observed her father. “It’s May, to be sure, but it doesn’t seem to be very thoroughly May, as yet.”

      So Patty shut the door, and then, opening the piano, she sang “Home, Sweet Home,” and then some gayer songs to express her enthusiasm.

      Her own rooms, Patty concluded, were the gem of the house. From her balcony, on which she proposed to sleep, she had not only a wide view of the sea, but an attractive panorama of the beautiful estates along the shore. A hammock was slung between two of the pillars, and, throwing herself into this, with an Indian blanket over her, Patty swayed gently back and forth, and indulged in daydreams of the coming summer. An hour later, Nan found her still there.

      “Come to tea, Patty,” she said; “we’re having it indoors, as the wind is rising.”

      “Yes, it’s breezing up quite some;” and Patty looked out at the waves, now so darkly blue as to be almost black.

      She followed Nan downstairs to the hall, and looked approvingly

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