"But you've torn your apron, Pat!" Nell exclaimed.

Patricia glanced up at the bit of blue gingham hanging from a nail in
the beam.

"Look's like this was my busy day," she observed; "I'll go put another
on."

"I put it on over the first," she explained, on her return. "You see,
Aunt Julia said--I mean, I thought it would be--fun; and, anyhow, it
saved time, it takes a lot of time to unbutton these aprons. Let's go
down to the brook and wade." She glanced at Susy, who was looking rather
doubtful. "Aren't you allowed to wade in brooks?"

"I--don't know," Susy began, then her mild little face took on a look of
sudden resolution, "but I'm going to."

Patricia smiled in prompt friendliness. "Mostly, when I'm not sure
I just take the chance," she encouraged.

Sitting on the edge of the brook, the seven took off shoes and
stockings. "It's the queerest, nicest party," Bessy Martin declared.

It was a gay little brook, running between a broad, sunny meadow and the
old Kirby apple orchard, broad enough in places to make the crossing of
it on stepping stones delightfully uncertain, and again narrowing to a
mere thread. To Patricia, it was like some live thing, one of the
dearest and most intimate of playmates.

"Let's play Follow my Leader," Nell suggested, and they drew lots to see