So Patty gaily set about her preparations of the pretty guest chamber.
She hoped Azalea liked yellow,--most girls did,--but if not, she could
easily be moved to the pink guest room.

This yellow room, however, was so well adapted for a young girl. There
was a long French window that opened on the dearest little balcony, where
the wistaria clambered and made a delightful shade. There was an alcove,
where stood a Chippendale writing desk, and a revolving book rack. There
was a sewing corner, with a fully furnished work-stand; and there was a
soft puffy couch, with a pile of down pillows and a fluffy yellow afghan.
And yet there was ample room for the bed, with its dimity draperies, and
the fascinating toilet table, with its bewildering array of ivory
fittings.

Uncertain of her guest's tastes, Patty put out few books, only a story or
two of general interest and a couple of new magazines. All such matters
could be attended to after she had sized up the newcomer.

On the day she was expected, Patty arranged the flowers in the yellow
room herself.

Naturally, she chose azaleas, and some of a lovely soft tint of buff
harmonised with pale pink ones. White ones too, with a bit of green
foliage, until the room was a bower of beauty. Not overdone, though.
Patty never made the mistake of too many flowers,--fond as she was
of them.

A last affectionate survey of the room convinced her that all was exactly
as it should be, and with a happy little sigh of contentment she went
down to the porch to await the arrival of the guest, for Farnsworth had