Patricia scrambled to her feet, and came slowly over to the edge of the
lawn. Then, lifting her apron, she asked quietly: "Is my frock torn,
Sarah, or isn't it?"

"You knows it is, Miss P'tricia!"

Patricia stretched out one slender leg. "Is my stocking torn, or isn't
it?"

Sarah groaned.

Wheeling suddenly round, and still holding up her apron, Patricia
demanded: "Is my frock dirty, or isn't it?"

"Miss P'tricia, you's shore possessed to-day!"

"Aunt Julia said yesterday morning, that the very next time I got myself
torn or dirty, needlessly, I must put a clean gingham apron on and go
that way for the rest of the day."

"But, honey--you know Miss Julia never 'tended you to come to your own
party in any such fixings! A gingham apron at a party! You come 'long
upstairs with me, Miss P'tricia; I'll resume all the 'sponsibility."

"Aunt Julia said 'the very next time'; this is the very next time."

"She done lay out your dress 'fore she went, honey--so crisp and nice
and all the pretty pink ribbons," Sarah spoke coaxingly.

"Aunt Julia didn't know--I hadn't tumbled out of the apple tree then."