As she reappeared on the back piazza, Sarah asked sternly:  “What you been up to now, Miss P’tricia?  You’ve been doing a heap of talking at dat ere ’phone.”

“I had some very important business to transact,” Patricia answered loftily, the mantle of her aunt’s manner still enveloping her.  “I guess I’ll go put my apron on now.”

Sarah sniffed indignantly, “You needn’t tell me dere ain’t some foolishness afoot,” she declared.

“What time was you-un ‘spectin’ the comin’ cer’mony to commence?” she asked, when Patricia came in to her solitary dinner.  Neither Miss Kirby nor the doctor would be back before late afternoon.

“Aunt Julia said half-past three to seven; I suppose they’ll begin coming ’long about three.”

That note of hidden jubilation in her voice worried Sarah.  She had not known Patricia for all of her eleven years for nothing.  “Honey, what you cog’tating?” she coaxed; as she brought Patricia a generous slice of fresh cherry pie.

“I’m thinking about—­my party.  It’s going to be a—­a—­corker, Sarah!  You’ll see!”

Sarah groaned, both in spirit and outwardly.  “Honey,” she pleaded, leaning on the back of a chair and studying her charge anxiously; “Honey, dat Miss Susy’s a stranger in dis yere part—­why, she’s come clare from Phil’delphy.  I’m told the chillerns down in Phil’delphy has beau-ti-ful manners.”

“I dare say,” Patricia did not appear greatly interested.

“And Miss Julia, she done plan dis yere party jest for her.”

“I know—­I didn’t ask her to—­I—­”

“Honey, you wouldn’t—­you shore wouldn’t do anything to—­to disbobulate your aunt’s plans?”

“May I have another piece of pie, Sarah, please?”

Sarah cast a pair of imploring eyes ceilingwards.  “Of all the ignoringest young uns!  I isn’t discoursing ’bout pie, Miss P’tricia.”

“But it’s mighty good pie, Sarah!  Will there be cherry pie among the refreshments this afternoon?”

“Miss P’tricia!  And the cherry juice all a dripping down, like’s not, on you-uns clean white dresses,” Sarah protested.  However, she brought Patricia a second piece, which was the important thing at the moment; the future might very well be allowed to take care of itself.

Later, as she did up her dinner work, Sarah cast more than one anxious glance out of the window to where Patricia lay on the back lawn, under the shade of the big cherry tree.  Patricia’s very quietness was alarming.

Was it too much cherry pie?  Or was she plotting something.

“Honey,” Sarah came out on the piazza, “it’s getting time for you to get dressed for the festiv’ties.”

Patricia, tickling one of Custard’s long ears with a blade of grass, smiled serenely.  “But I am dressed, Sarah.”

Sarah sat down heavily on the piazza bench; “I knowed it!  I jest ’spicioned you-un was shore up to something!”

Patricia rolled over on her back, stretching her wiry little frame out lazily.