P.C.A. leaflets, and
begging her fellow-Olympians not to shoot, seemed to Patty very humourous
and attractive.
This Saturday, then, she had settled down in the library to study her
lines all through the long cosey morning, when, to her annoyance, the
doorbell rang.
"I hope it's none of the girls," she thought. "I did want this morning
to myself."
It wasn't any of the girls, but Pansy announced that a messenger had come
from Miss Daggett's, and that Miss Daggett wished Miss Fairfield to
return her call at once.
Patty smiled at the unusual message, but groaned at the thought of her
interrupted holiday.
However, Miss Daggett was not one to be ignored or lightly set aside, so
Patty put on her things and started.
Although Miss Daggett's house was next door to Boxley Hall, yet it was
set in the middle of such a large lot, and was so far back from the
street, and so surrounded by tall, thick trees, that Patty had never had
a really good view of it.
She was surprised, therefore, to find it a very large, old-fashioned
stone house, with broad veranda and steps guarded by two stone lions.
Patty rang the bell, and the door was opened very slightly. A small,
quaint-looking old coloured man peeped out.
"Go 'way," he said, "go 'way at once! We don't want no tickets."
"I'm not selling tickets," said Patty, half angry and half amused.
"Well, we don't want no shoelacers, nor lead pencils, nor nuffin! You
_must_ be selling something.
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