“Now, wouldn’t that be annoying!” said Miss Daggett. “I declare that would be just my luck. I always do have bad luck.”
“Perhaps it’s the way you look at it,” said Patty. “Now, I have some things that seem like bad luck, at least, other people think they do; but if I look at them right—happy and cheerful, you know—why, they just seem like good luck.”
“Really,” said Miss Daggett, with a curious smile; “well now, you are a queer child, and I’m not at all sure but I’d like to have you come again. Do you want to see around my house?”
“I’d like to very much, but it’s so dark a bat couldn’t see things in this room.”
“But I can’t open the shades, the sun would fade all the furniture coverings.”
“Well, then, you could buy new ones,” said Patty; “that would be better than living in the dark.”
“Dark can’t hurt anybody,” said Miss Daggett gloomily.
“Oh, indeed it can,” said Patty earnestly. “Why, darkness—I mean darkness in the daytime—makes you all stewed up and fidgety and horrid; and sunshine makes you all gay and cheerful and glad.”
“Like you,” said Miss Daggett.
“Yes, like me,” said Patty; “I am cheerful and glad always. I like to be.”
“I would like to be, too,” said Miss Daggett.
“Do you suppose if I opened the shutters I would be?”
“Let’s try it and see,” said Patty, and running to the windows, she flung open the inside blinds and flooded the room with sunshine.
“Oh, what a beautiful room!” she exclaimed, as she turned around. “Why, Miss Daggett, to think of keeping all these lovely things shut up in the dark. I believe they cry about it when you aren’t looking.”
Already the old lady’s face seemed to show a gentler and sunnier expression, and she said:
“Yes, I have some beautiful things, child. Would you like to look through this cabinet of East Indian curiosities?”
“I would very much,” said Patty, “but I fear I can’t take the time this morning; I have to study my part in a play we’re going to give. It’s a play your nephew told us about,” she added quickly, feeling sure that this would rouse the old lady’s interest in it.
“One of Kenneth’s college plays?” she said eagerly.
“Yes, that’s just what it is. A chum of his wrote it, and oh, Miss Daggett, we’re going to invite Mr. Harper to come to Vernondale the night of the play, and take the same part that he took at college last year; you see, he’ll know it, and he can just step right in.”
“Good for you! I hope he’ll come. I’ll write at once and tell him how much I want him. He can stay here, of course, and perhaps he can come sooner, so as to be here for one or two rehearsals.”
“That would be a good help. I hope he will do that; he could coach the rest of us.”
“I don’t know just what coach means, but I’m sure Kenneth can do it, he’s a very clever boy; he says he can run an automobile, but I don’t believe it. Run away home now, child, I’m tired of having company; and besides I want to compose my mind so I can write a letter to Kenneth.”