Patricia

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “Where were you going?” the boy asked at last when they were moving along steadily down the middle of the stream. He was looking down at her as if she was something rare and precious, something that it was a privilege to restore to its native environment.

  “Why, I started out to skate. I was with some girls, and then some boys came along and were disagreeable. I don’t know which way they went. I don’t want to find them anyway. I didn’t like the way they acted.”

  He smiled down upon her as if he might have been somebody very much older than herself.

  “Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t go any farther up the creek today. Besides the ice being treacherous in some places, there are a lot of bums up that way. I don’t think you ought to go up there alone, anyway. I’d go with you if I could, but it’s time I went home. My time’s up and there’s some work I’m supposed to do now.”

  Patricia smiled up at him again.

  “Oh, that’s all right,” she said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t want to bother you. I think I’ll just go home now. I’ve had a lovely skate, and there’s some homework I must do for school tomorrow.”

  “I think perhaps your friends went around the island and down by the village. I thought I saw a bunch of kids going along that way, but I wasn’t near enough to identify them. I’d like to help you find them if I could before I leave,” said the boy, with a troubled look.

  “But I don’t want to find them,” said Patricia earnestly. “I only wanted to know where they were so I could keep away from them. That Thorny Bellingham took my skates and threw them down the hill. I don’t want to get anywhere near him again. And besides, I think I ought to go home now.”

  John’s face looked indignant, and he murmured stormily. “Say, someday I’ll get that guy. I’d like to give him what he deserves!”

  They glided over the bank near the path that led up to her home. And John Worth knelt down on the ice in front of her and unlaced her skates for her, then helped her on with her shoes and, smiling politely, was about to skate off. But Patricia looked up at him shyly.

  “Thank you for being so nice,” she said childishly. “It’s been a lot of fun.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” said John Worth, embarrassed, “I liked it a lot, too.”

  Their eyes met warmly for an instant, and then the boy put on his woolen cap and swung away up the creek.

  Patricia stood there for a minute or two watching him. Watching his straight young shoulders, his head held high, his graceful glide on the skates that seemed so much a part of him. What a nice boy he was! How kind he had been! Why couldn’t Thorny Bellingham have been like that? She sighed and, picking up her skates, trudged on up the hill.

  That was all. She didn’t see John Worth again except passing in the hall at school for many months, but the memory of that time she skated with him for ten or fifteen minutes, shyly, almost silently, stayed with her always and became one of the pleasant memories of her childhood.

  When her lagging feet had reached her own home, her mother met her at the door with a relieved look.

  “Oh, you’ve got home at last! Well, I’m glad! I’ve been so worried! Did dear little Thorny find you? He said he would look after you, but I was afraid he would miss you.”

  A look of swift anger passed over the little girl’s face.

  “He found us all right!” she said indignantly. “He threw hard snowballs down the hill and hit the back of my head so it hurt!”

  “Oh, now, Patricia, don’t be a baby!” said her mother impatiently. “You know perfectly well he didn’t mean to hit you. He was only trying to have a little fun and surprise you.”

  Big tears suddenly welled into Patricia’s eyes.

  “He was not joking!” she cried out indignantly. He meant to be horrid! He called me Pitty-Patty, and he knows I hate that. And then he tried to wash my face in the snow. I don’t mind when some of them do it, but he’s just mean. He never cares how it hurts.”

  “What had you been doing to him, Patricia? Answer me that! I’m quite sure you had done something first or Thorny Bellingham would never have been rude to you. Remember, his mother is my best friend and she is bringing him up to be a real little gentleman. Tell me what you had done to him! I’m sure you did something to him first. I can’t understand why you have taken a prejudice against a respectable boy!”

  “He is not respectable!” said Patricia, stamping her foot, the angry tears coursing hotly down her cheeks. “He is just as mean and sneaking as he can be, and if I hadn’t dodged him as he rolled down hill”—Patricia could giggle in triumph now at the memory—“he would have had me down and there’s no telling what he would have done.”

  “You made Thorny Bellingham roll down the hill? Patricia, you are a naughty girl! To be rude to the boy I sent after you to take care of you! That is terrible!”

  “I’m glad I did!” said Patricia. “He was awful! If you’d seen him, you would have known what he is! And then afterward when I started away, he ran behind me and snatched my skates away from me and threw them down the hill into the snow!” Patricia’s eyes were snapping angrily now.

  “It all sounds to me very babyish for a big girl of ten years old,” said her mother coldly. “And where are they all now, those children you went to the ice with? Where is Thorny?”

  “They ran away and left me!” said Patricia with a voice almost as cold as her mother’s. And she turned haughtily and stumped sorrowfully up the stairs.

  “Stop! Patricia! Stop right where you are!” commanded her mother harshly.

  Patricia stopped and looked sadly around.

  “You come right downstairs and go out and find those children and bring them back into the house with you. I’ve got some nice hot cocoa and little cakes and sandwiches ready for you all, and I certainly am going to find out all about this performance. I’m sick of having you act this way about those nice well-brought-up children! Go out there and find them. Go down the street after them if necessary! Only bring them back here! Tell them I have a nice little tea party all ready for them. And if I find that you are at fault, young lady, you certainly are going to apologize to Thorny Bellingham!”

  But Patricia stood firmly on the bottom step of the stairs.

  “I can’t go, Mother. They are gone! They ran off and left me. I followed up the creek after I got my skates on, but they weren’t anywhere. And anyway, I can’t ever apologize to that bad Thorny! He was awful, and I hate him! I never want to see him again!”

  The storm finally ended in Patricia being sent to bed weeping, and later Patricia’s mother called up Thorny’s mother to say that she was so sorry that the children had had some kind of a misunderstanding and she did hope that dear little Thorny hadn’t been hurt. Mrs. Bellingham took it all very sweetly, saying that it was quite all right. Poor Thorny had a few scratches, of course, but they would soon heal up, and she did hope her friend soon would be able to influence her husband to allow their dear little Patricia to go to a respectable school where she wouldn’t get such bad examples of sportsmanship and behavior as she was getting in that terrible public school!

  Patricia heard a little of the telephone talk, and her sad little heart grew more and more belligerent toward Thorny Bellingham. Why was it that her mother couldn’t understand what a bad boy Thorny was? Softly she cried herself to sleep.

  Late that evening after his wife had retired, Patricia’s father came in and sat by her bed and held her hand. She woke to find him sitting there and to feel the comforting warmth of his hand on hers.

  They didn’t talk much, for fear of waking Patricia’s mother, but Patricia’s father asked her all about what had happened and why she hadn’t been allowed down at dinner, and she told him brokenly in whispers the whole story, ending with a terse sentence or two of John Worth’s part in the tragedy. A well-worded question brought out the whole thing.

  Patricia’s father patted her and comforted her, and whispered, “Never mind, Father’s little Pat! It will all come out right i
n the end!”

  Then he wet a towel and washed her face, dabbed it dry, kissed her, and went downstairs to bring back a lot of nice little sandwiches and a glass of milk. Patricia went to sleep again all comforted and happy.

  After that Patricia didn’t attempt anymore to tell her mother anything that Thorny had done. It wasn’t any use. Her mother would only blame it all on the public school. But Patricia often thought about the wonderful time she had had skating with John Worth and wished that it could happen again sometime.

  Chapter 5

  The first year John Worth was in high school he began to be identified with the school teams. He was looked upon as one of the best pitchers they had, and all his athletic work was good. Now and then Patricia would hear the high school girls talking about how he had struck out this or that formidable player. When at the end of his second year they made him captain of the basketball team, enthusiasm ran high.

  By that time Patricia was in high school herself. Many a time she longed with all her heart to be able to stay to the baseball games or come out to the evening games in the gymnasium as the other girls did and watch all that went on. But Patricia’s mother drew the line at evening events connected with the public school. They were not for her child. The evening was the time for social affairs, parties, with well-selected children of her own class. So Patricia had no part nor lot in the school spirit that rejoiced over winnings and mourned over losses and cheered lustily for their school wherever they went.

  But secretly she was glad that John Worth had taken his place among the best, and she wished she might be a part of it all. Once or twice it is true, she lingered after school for a few minutes, especially when she was sure her mother was engaged with her club meetings or her bridge parties, and hovering near the edge of the ball grounds, she watched a play or two. She was always glad to spot John Worth among the team. But such stolen moments brought her no contact with the players and little of the thrill that came to the other girls, huddled joyously on the grandstand, cheering for their favorites, wearing their colors, and waving pennants with vigor.

  She was growing taller now and distinctly lovely in appearance, although of that she was hardly yet aware. She was not a vain child, merely eager to have her part with all the others in the interests of her beloved school. She was at all times more interested in the school than in anything else. The constant parties to which her mother subjected her meant little to her, because she was not fond of the company she met there. Little by little she was trying to withdraw herself from them.

  Her first open rebellion was occasioned by a party at Thornton Bellingham’s on his fifteenth birthday, and Patricia did not want to go. It was a long time since the occurrence on the hill above the creek, and the incident was only a childish happening, of course, but Patricia had never forgotten the look on that boy’s face as he came at her. It seemed indelibly stamped upon him, a look of deviltry, almost of hate, and she had avoided him as far as possible ever since.

  Of course, he was no longer in the little boy’s prep school where he used to be when they had their snow fight on the hillside. He had been away three years now, during school sessions, of course; and they had not been thrown together. But now he was home for his birthday and his mother was making a grand event out of it.

  “I shall not go!” announced Patricia decidedly when she received the invitation. “I don’t like him, and I don’t want to have anything to do with his old parties!”

  “Patricia!” exclaimed her mother, horrified. “Not going! Of course you’ll go! Thorny Bellingham’s mother is my dearest friend. You know that perfectly well. It would be insulting to my friend for you to do that. I can’t see how you can be so disagreeable as to say things like that.”

  “I’m not disagreeable, Mother,” said Patricia. “I don’t see how that’s insulting anybody either. I’ll write a very nice polite note and thank her for the invitation and tell her that I have another engagement. There’s nothing insulting about that. I have another engagement, anyway, that I wouldn’t miss for anything. It’s a meeting of our Sunday school class at the church, and I promised to help get ready for a rally that’s going to be held pretty soon.”

  “Your Sunday school class!” sneered the mother. “What’s that got to do with things? Nothing from that little old-fashioned Sunday school has any claim on you. Give them some money and tell them you can’t come, you have something more important on hand!”

  “But I haven’t, Mother! I want to go to that meeting. I like to help them. I don’t like Thorny, and I don’t want to go to his party.”

  “Patricia, I’m ashamed of you!” said her mother. “To think that you would carry your childish dislikes all through the years. That’s ridiculous! You’re both almost grown-up now, and you’ll find Thorny very much changed. I saw his picture the other day when I went over to call on his mother, and he’s stunning looking. He’s grown handsome, although I always thought he was one of the prettiest little boys I ever saw. He didn’t really need to get any better looking.”

  “I don’t like pretty boys!” said Patricia gravely. “I like boys that have some character in their faces. Thorny always looks as though he liked to eat better than anything else!”

  “Patricia, that’s coarse of you! Do you realize that you are no longer a child? You cannot afford to let your childish prejudices hold through the years that way. Thorny is your natural friend in every way. His family and yours are close friends. He is brought up under the same ideas; he is your equal in manners and education—that is, you should be his equal if your father hadn’t had such absurd ideas about making you go to that bourgeois school among the rubble. But of course we will have that remedied when you graduate from high school. Your father promised that you might do what you liked after that, and I intend to see that you have all the educational opportunities possible to make you Thorny’s equal. And then, my dear, there is another point which perhaps you are too young to appreciate. Thorny’s family are wealthy, as wealthy as your father, and you will both inherit good fortunes. There is nothing like money to make people akin. You will be invited to the same places, have the same traditions, the same tastes, and will in all probability be the closest of friends, so I advise you not to do anything which will make your future friendship embarrassing. You will go to his party, of course. You will write your acceptance at once, or I shall see that your father does something definite immediately about removing you from that ridiculous school.”

  “Mother! You couldn’t do that now, when I’ve only two years more before I graduate!” Patricia’s voice was all of a tremble.

  “I couldn’t? Oh, you think I couldn’t?” Mrs. Prentiss’s voice was cool and dominating, and very assured. “Watch me, and see what I can do, if there is any more demurring about that party.”

  So Patricia, sighing deeply, wrote her acceptance to the invitation, in cold little stilted phrases, and assented apathetically to all her mother’s plans for the dress to be worn on that occasion.

  She was very beautiful and always exquisitely attired, although she herself would have liked plainer, more youthful dresses than the ornate and sophisticated ones of her mother’s choosing. Her mother, of course, laid all her reluctance toward the party and the sophisticated garments to her being a product of the public school, though she might have been greatly surprised if she could have known how many of her daughter’s fellow students in that school wore just such trailing robes of glory and sophistication at their parties.

  When the hateful day arrived, Patricia went to the party. The committee at the church had to get along without Patricia’s wistful presence, while she was swept away to an undesired evening in the world. A mere meeting in a little old-fashioned chapel should never bind Mrs. Prentiss’s child to an engagement that would hinder a brilliant party. Patricia was attired in a long, full white tulle dress that touched the floor all around. It had an slim top strapped on with bands of tiny pink rosebuds sewed to narrow black velvet ribbons. The girdle was
an assorted collection of black velvet loops and long-stemmed tiny rosebuds. The same rosebuds garlanded her dark hair, fastened with a small knot of the velvet. It was a charming gown, and Thorny’s mother, in conference with Patricia’s mother beforehand, had seen to it that a charming bouquet of sweetheart rosebuds set about with a frill of quaint lace paper had gone to Patricia that afternoon, with Thorny’s card. Not that Thorny himself had anything to do with the sending. He was merely told it had been done. Thorny hadn’t seen his former enemy now for some time, and he only made an ugly face when his mother told him about the flowers, for he was not at that time any more enamored of Patricia than she was of him.

  Patricia herself, on receipt of the flowers, was most contemptuous of them, especially when her mother told her that she would have to wear them or carry them.

  “Well, I certainly will not!” said Patricia firmly. “What would I want to let him think I liked his flowers for? I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me, and why should we have to act as if we did?”

  “Patricia! Have you no politeness, no courtesy at all? When a young man sends you flowers to wear to his party, have you no sense of gratitude? It certainly shows that the young man has no such dislike as you are attributing to Thorny, since he sends you such charming flowers.”

  “Young man!” sneered Patricia. “He’s nothing but the same old spoiled Thorny he always was. And as for the flowers, his mother probably made him send them! He probably didn’t want to send them any more than I want to wear them!”

  “Patricia, you are simply unspeakable! The sooner you get out of that terrible school and that impossible church and Sunday school, the better. As it is, I’m afraid it’s already too late!”