"A penny."

Patty handed him back his own.

"She kept me from getting expelled--she did, really. I've never been able to hate her since. And you know, I miss it dreadfully. It's sort of fun having an enemy."

"I've had a good many," he nodded, "and I've always managed to enjoy them."

"And probably they're really quite nice?" she suggested.

"Oh, yes," he agreed, "the worst criminals are often very pleasant people when you see their right side."

"Yes, that's true," said Patty. "It's mainly chance that makes people bad--I know it is in my own case. This morning for instance, I got up with every intention of learning my geometry and going to the dentist's--and yet--here I am! And so," she pointed a moral, "you always ought to be kind to criminals and remember that under different circ.u.mstances you might have been in jail yourself."

"That thought," he acknowledged, "has often occurred to me. I--we--that is," he resumed after a moment of amused meditation, "Mr. Weatherby believes in giving a man a chance. If you have any convict friends, who are looking for a job, this is the place to send them. We used to have a cattle thief taking care of the cows, and a murderer in charge of the orchids."

"What fun!" cried Patty. "Have you got him now? I should love to see a murderer."

"He left some time ago. The place was too slow for him."

"How long have you been working for Mr. Weatherby?" she asked.

"A good many years--and I've worked hard!" he added, with a slight air of challenge.

"I hope he appreciates you?"

"Yes, I think on the whole that he does."

He knocked the ashes from his pipe and rose.

"And now," he suggested, "should you like me to show you the Italian garden?"

"Oh, yes," said Patty, "if you think Mr. Weatherby wouldn't mind."

"I'm head gardener. I do what I please."

"If you're head gardener, what makes you plant onions?"

"It's tiresome work--good for my character."

"Oh!" Patty laughed.

"And then you see, when I have a tendency to overwork the men under me, I stop and think how my own back ached."

"You're much too nice a man to work for him!" she p.r.o.nounced approvingly.

"Thank ye, Miss," he touched his hat with a grin.

The Italian garden was a fascinating spot, with marble steps and fountains and clipped yew trees.

"Oh, I wish Conny could see it!" Patty cried.

"And who is she?"

"Conny's my room-mate. She's awfully interested in gardens this year, because she's going to get the botany prize for a.n.a.lyzing the most plants--at least, I think she's going to get it. It's between her and Keren Hersey; all the rest of the cla.s.s have dropped out. Mae Van Arsdale is working against Conny, to spite me, because I wouldn't stay in an old secret society that she started. She gets orchids from the city and gives them to Keren."

"H'm," he frowned over this tangle of intrigue. "Is it entirely fair for the rest to help?"

"Oh, yes!" said Patty. "They have to do the a.n.a.lyzing, but their friends can collect and paste. Every time anybody goes for a walk, she comes back with her blouse stuffed full of specimens for either Conny or Keren. The nice girls are for Conny. Keren's an awful dig. She wears eye-gla.s.ses and thinks she knows everything."

"I'm for Miss Conny myself," he declared. "Is there any way in which I could help?"

Patty glanced about tentatively.

"You have quite a number of plants," she suggested, "that Conny hasn't got in her book."

"You shall take back as many as you can carry," he promised. "We'll pay a visit to the orchid house."

They left the garden behind, and turned toward the gla.s.s roofs of the conservatories. Patty was so entertained, that she had entirely forgotten the pa.s.sage of time, until she came face to face with a clock in the gable of the carriage house; then she suddenly realized that St.

Ursula's luncheon had been served three quarters of an hour before--and that she was in a starving condition.

"Oh, goodness gracious! I forgot all about luncheon!"

"Is it a very grave crime to forget about luncheon?"

"Well," said Patty, with a sigh, "I sort of miss it."

"I might furnish you with enough to sustain life for a short time," he suggested.

"Oh, could you?" she asked relievedly.

She was accustomed to having a table spread three times a day, and she cared little who furnished it.

"Just some milk," she said modestly, "and some bread and b.u.t.ter and--er--cookies. Then, you see, I won't have to go back till four o'clock when they come from the station, and maybe I can slip in without being missed."

"You just wait in the pavilion, and I'll see what the gardener's cottage can supply us."

He was back in fifteen minutes, chuckling as he lugged a big hamper.

"We'll have a picnic," he proposed.

"Oh, let's!" said Patty joyously. She did not mind eating with him in the least, for he had washed his hands, and appeared quite clean.

She helped him unpack the hamper and set the table in the little pavilion beside the fountain. He had lettuce sandwiches, a pat of cottage cheese, a jug of milk, orange marmalade, sugar cookies, and gingerbread hot from the oven.

"What a perfectly bully spread!" she cried.

He held out his hand.