"And yet you usually appear to start in good season?"

"Yes, Daddy; it--it doesn't seem to be the _starting_ early.
It's--such a lot of things always do seem to happen on the way."

"What kind of things, Patricia?"

"Well, you see, Daddy, there are such a lot of babies all along, they
just expect to be noticed; and sometimes I go for some of the girls and
they've something to do and I wait to help; and sometimes I go an errand
for old Mrs. Daly--you know she hasn't any one to go at home. If you
were with me you'd understand, Daddy."

The doctor smiled. "Oh, I understand all right, Patricia; still, this
being late for school has got to stop. Suppose every one in the room
came just a little late?"

"They don't," Patricia said; "most of the girls hate it."

"And you must learn to hate it too; as a means to that end, if it
happens again this week it must be only the yard on Saturday, Patricia."

"Daddy!" Patricia made swift calculation on the tips of her fingers; it
was Monday night--twice four made eight--eight pitfalls to be avoided or
else--Not once since her coming had grandmother failed to take Patricia
somewhere on Saturday afternoon.

All of this was in Patricia's gray eyes, as she lifted them appealingly
to her father. "Daddy, if you _could_ make it something else?"