cherries. "Don't you worry, Sarah."

"You ain't 'xplained yet how you come to be in such a disrepec'ble
condition, Miss P'tricia. If the rag man was to see you, he'd just up
and toss you into his cart--he shore would."

"Have I got a clean gingham apron, Sarah?" Patricia was a past-mistress
in the art of ignoring what she considered inconvenient, or personal,
remarks.

"Looks to me like you's got more clean gingham aprons than you's got
manners," Sarah said severely.

Patricia went indoors to the telephone, shutting the door behind her
as she went. Sarah was too fat and too heavy on her feet to get out of
a chair, once comfortably settled in it, unless the call were really
urgent.

Patricia first called up Mrs. Hardy. Quite unconsciously--being on her
dignity and feeling, besides, very important--she spoke more slowly than
was usual, and with more than a trace of her aunt's formality.

Back over the line came a prompt: "Why, good morning, Miss Kirby!"

Patricia's eyes sparkled and the demon of mischief, always lurking in
her neighborhood, immediately put idea number two into her head. Her
imitation of her aunt's voice and manner this time was perfect. "Good
morning, Mrs. Hardy, I just called you up to let you know that the
little party we are giving this afternoon is to be a gingham apron
party."