Patricia slowly drew up her uppermost apron. "It's here--most of it;
Custard got the rest. I--I stumbled and fell--into it. You see, we were
playing pirate--and we were smuggling."

The doctor, much to his sister's indignation, sat down suddenly on one
of the garden benches. "Oh, Pat, Pat!" he gasped.

"Patricia Kirby, how many gingham aprons have you on?" Miss Kirby
demanded.

"Three, Aunt Julia; you said I must wear the first one all the
afternoon--and I tore it--and then the pie sort of stained the second;
I got kind of interested to see how many it would take to get me through
the afternoon. I had to make it a gingham apron party, Aunt Julia, on
account of what you said yesterday. You see, I got pretty well torn and
dirty this morning--and, of course, I needn't have climbed that tree."

"Casabianca," the doctor murmured; Miss Kirby was past murmuring
anything; all her efforts were directed towards at least a semblance
of self-control.

"I shore told you, that young-un was a limb," Sarah muttered.

"Sarah was very anxious to fix me all up properly, Aunt Julia," Patricia
went on, "but of course, after you had said--and I thought you'd feel
better if the rest wore gingham aprons too. Sarah was very kind about it
though," with a smile in her direction.

"You go 'long, Miss P'tricia," Sarah protested.