get in one or two licks of her sunburnt, bewildered face; then she sat
up.

"My, Custard, that was a stunner! I reckon if Daddy was here he'd say,
'what a fall was there, my countrymen!'" Custard wagged agreeingly, and
sniffed inquiringly at the strip of pink leg showing through the long
jagged tear in one of his small mistress's tan stockings.

Patricia scrambled to her feet and began taking stock. There was another
tear in the short skirt of her blue gingham frock, and one in one of the
sleeves.

"Goodness! What will Aunt Julia say!" Patricia said ruefully; then
remembered suddenly what Aunt Julia had said, no longer ago than
yesterday morning, after a similar catastrophe.

"And if Aunt Julia isn't a 'Mede 'n' Persian,' she might almost as well
be one--when it comes to unsaying things," Patricia told herself, as she
started for the house.

Half-way up the back garden path, she came to an abrupt halt. "Custard,"
she gasped, "it's party day!"

As if Custard did not know that! He had never been to a party, but he
was mighty glad to have been invited to this one. The pantry, always an
enchanted spot to him, smelled even more delicious than usual. He had
quite lost count of the number of times that Sarah had run him out of it
this morning, with more haste than dignity.

Patricia sat down in an empty wheelbarrow to consider matters, not