Some of the children wore such nondescript costumes that it was difficult to guess whom they intended to represent.
After all had arrived the programme of entertainment was begun.
The motley crowd was seated in the library and soon the curtains in front of the platform were drawn apart revealing a table on which was a large gramophone.
Cousin Tom manipulated the instrument and the children heard orchestral music, plantation songs, comic speeches, and finally the exhibition-day exercises of a district school, which made them all laugh. After this, several of the guests were called on to recite or to sing, and as they had been notified beforehand, they were prepared for the occasion, and exerted their best elocutionary and vocal efforts.
As her contribution to the entertainment, Patty sang several of Robert Louis Stevenson's child-songs, which are set to such beautiful music, and Ruth recited a portion of "The Courtship of Miles Standish."
Then the curtains were drawn, and soon after the lights in the room were all turned out. Then the curtains flew open again disclosing a white sheet brightly illuminated from behind.
Somebody read aloud the poem by Richard Barham about "The Knight and the Lady," while a shadow pantomime representing the action of the ballad was shown on the sheet.
It was very funny.
Cousin Elizabeth was the Lady Jane, who was "tall and slim," while the part of Sir Thomas was wonderfully well acted by Cousin Tom, and when that portly old gentleman, who it seems was a naturalist, went around "unearthing his worms and his grubs," he looked very funny indeed.
And then when "Close by the side Of the bank he espied An uncommon fine tadpole, remarkably fat; He stooped, and he thought her his own, he had caught her, Got hold of her tail, and to land almost brought her, When, he plumped head and heels into fifteen feet water," and the shadow Sir Thomas ducked suddenly into the pond, and a very real splashing was heard, the delighted audience fairly shouted with laughter.
And then when the funny old gardener appeared, bringing to the august Lady Jane the news of Sir Thomas' fate, and when the jocund Captain McBride tried to console the weeping lady,--but, no, I can't tell it all to you; to see how funny it all was you will have to read the ballad in the "Ingoldsby Legends" for yourself.
When that was over, sandwiches, ices and cakes were served and they seemed to be as thoroughly enjoyed by the young people as were Aunt Isabel's elaborate feasts, though by contrast it seemed to Patty a very slight repast.
Next came the "Quotation Salad" which was Ruth's pride and delight.
Cousin Elizabeth passed around a great bowl, which seemed to be full of leaves of crisp, green lettuce.
They were, however, made of tissue paper, and each leaf had attached to it a strip of writing paper on which was written a quotation.
These were from well-known poems or historic speeches, or even from Mother Goose's Melodies and other juvenile classics.
Each child drew out three leaves, and endeavored to remember or guess the source of the quotations written thereon.
Then the roll was called, and all who could give their three answers correctly were marked one hundred.
After this, the unguessed ones were read aloud, and whoever could answer them received ten more on his or her score for each perfect answer.
To the child attaining the highest score, a prize of a Dictionary of Quotations was to be awarded.
Patty's three questions were easy enough. One was "His cause is marching on."
Another was "Twinkle, twinkle little bat," and the third was "Don't give up the ship."
She could place all three, but when the more difficult ones were announced, she found that she knew very little about general literature.
Ruth, however, could tell the author of nearly every one, and no one was surprised when her score was declared the highest.
However, as she was the hostess, she declined to accept the prize, and it was given to the guest whose score stood the next highest.
Other intellectual or literary games were played, and at eleven o'clock the children were sent home, and Aunt Hester bade Ruth and Patty go to bed at once, lest they should not feel like getting up at the usual hour the next morning.
Patty heartily thanked Cousin Elizabeth for taking so much pains to make the party a pleasant one, and ran away to bed, wondering if many little girls had such clever relatives.
The spring flew by, and Patty could scarcely realize that she had been in Boston nearly three months, when a letter came from Mrs. Barlow her mother's sister, at whose house she was to visit next.
"My dear Patty," her Aunt Grace wrote, "we are going to our country home on Long Island about the first of June, and we want you to come to us as soon as we get settled there. No,--not settled, we're never that, but as soon as we get enough things straightened out to live with. Our country-place is called 'The Hurly-Burly,' so you may prepare yourself to see a family that lives up to that name. But there is plenty of amusement, if you are fond of boating and bathing, and we will all welcome you with open arms and glad hearts; and the sooner you come, the better we shall like it. Your cousins, Bob and Bumble are very anxious to see you, and are making wonderful plans for your entertainment. So come as soon as you can, and if you will let us know at what hour to expect you, Uncle Theodore will meet you at the Grand Central Station in New York, and bring you over to us at Long Island.
"Your loving Aunt,
"GRACE BARLOW."
"But I don't want you to go," said Ruth, when she heard the letter read; "I'd like to have you stay here always."
Patty was surprised at this, for Ruth had always seemed so cold and unresponsive, that it didn't seem as if she had any affection in her nature.
The other members of the Fleming family echoed Ruth's sentiments, and though Patty felt sure their expressions were honestly meant, yet she thought, too, that as soon as she had gone, she would be forgotten in the rush of their busy life.
One morning in early June as they sat at the breakfast-table, Patty received a telegram, which said:
"Come at once before all are drowned. Grand Central five.
"HELEN BARLOW."
Although Patty didn't know it, Helen was the real name of her cousin who was always called Bumble, and Patty, horror-stricken at the import of this message, read it aloud, asking what it could mean.
The Fleming family were entirely unacquainted with the Barlows, and could give no clue, but one and all were filled with consternation at the peremptory summons.
Cousin Tom took the yellow paper and perused it carefully, then said:
"One thing is clear, at any rate, Patty, they expect you to be at the Grand Central Station in New York to-day at five o'clock, and you shall be there, for I'll take you myself."
So they all helped with the packing, and succeeded in getting one trunk ready for Patty to take with her, promising to send her other belongings after her a few days later.
With hurried good-byes and a promise of another visit to Boston at some future time, Patty went away with Cousin Tom, and they took the train for New York.
Chapter XII.
The Hurly-Burly
Patty and Cousin Tom reached the Grand Central station in New York about six o'clock, and leaving the train, went in search of any member of the Barlow family who might be there to meet them.
They hadn't walked a dozen steps before they were confronted by three broadly