# Patty Fairfield/Chapter 22

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CHAPTER XXII
A WELCOME GUEST
"Oh, Aunt Alice," cried Patty, flying into her aunt's room one morning in the latter part of November, "I've just had a letter from papa, and he'll be here for Thanksgiving-day! Isn't that grand?" and catching her aunt round the waist, Patty waltzed her up and down the room until the good lady was nearly breathless.
"I'm as glad as you are, Patty girl," she said, when her niece finally allowed her to come to a standstill, "for I haven't seen brother Fred for many long years. But I can tell you that his coming doesn't by any means bring your visit to an end; I'm going to keep you both here with me until after the holidays, and longer too, if I can."
"Well, I'll be only too glad to stay as long as papa is willing, and I do hope I can persuade him to settle in Vernondale. Do you believe he will, Aunt Alice?"
​"I don't know. I think he is inclined to make his home in New York city. But Vernondale is a pleasant place and so near New York, as to be a sort of suburb."
"Well, I'm going to coax him, anyhow,—and now Aunt Alice, I'm going to ask you a big, big favor, may I?"
"Yes, you may ask, but I won't make any rash promises to grant it, until I hear what it is."
"Well,—I'm afraid you'll think I won't make them good enough,—but—I do want to make the pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving-day. Papa would be so surprised and pleased."
"Why, of course you may, child; I'll be very glad to be relieved of that duty, and cook will have all she can attend to."
"When is Uncle Fred coming?" said Frank, as they all sat at dinner that evening.
"The night before Thanksgiving," said Patty; "he'll arrive at about nine o'clock."
"Well, we'll give him a rousing welcome," said Frank, "a sort of 'Harvest Home,' you know."
"All right," said his father, who was ever ready for a frolic, "what can we do out of the ordinary?"
​We could decorate the veranda with jack-o'-lanterns," said Marian, "and he'll see them as he drives up."
"Just the thing," said Frank, "and, oh,—I have a fine plan, but we won't tell Patty,—at least, not yet."
The day before Thanksgiving, the children were all allowed to stay home from school to make the final preparations for Uncle Fred's reception.
While Patty was in the kitchen making her pumpkin pies, (and surely, such beautiful pies never were made, before or since!) there was much rushing in and out of the parlor; and sounds of hammering and of moving furniture reached Patty's ears, but she was told that she would not be allowed even to peep into the room until evening.
So after the pies were made, Patty ran up to put the finishing touches to her father's bed-room.
She filled the vases with fresh flowers, laid out a new book which she had bought as a welcoming gift for him, and on his dressing-table she placed the cherished portrait of her mother; and ​talking to the picture as she often did, she said:
"I'm going to lend you to him, motherdy, for a few days; I shall miss you, of course, but we want to give him the very best welcome possible."
Patty was allowed to help with all the preparations except those in the parlor, and she was extremely curious to know what was going on in there. But she found plenty to occupy her time, for the whole house was to be decorated.
On the veranda railing were many "jack-o'-lanterns," which when their candles were lighted would flash a welcome from their wide, funny mouths and round eyes.
The hall was decorated with boughs of evergreen, among which were tiny yellow squashes and gourds, also cut like jack-o'-lanterns and holding small candles.
The sitting-room was decorated with bunches of grain, and red peppers, "for," said Frank, "it won't be a Harvest Home, unless we have grain and winter vegetables."
After all was ready, Patty went to don the pretty dress which Aunt Alice and she had bought for the great occasion.
​It was a dainty little blue and white striped silk, with ruffles edged with narrow black velvet. The yoke and sleeves were of fine white embroidered muslin, and very fair and sweet Patty looked as she clasped her "Victoria Cross" at her throat.
"Now can I go in the parlor, Frank?" she said, as she met her cousin on the stairs.
"Yes, Patsy, come along," and the boy threw open the parlor doors with a flourish. The room was elaborately trimmed with palms and chrysanthemums, and at one end was a raised platform, like a throne, on which stood a large armchair draped with a red velvet portière. Above this was a semicircular canopy cleverly made of cornstalks and bunches of grain and up on the very top was the biggest pumpkin you ever saw cut like a jack-o'-lantern.
More tall cornstalks formed a background to the throne and at each side stood a noble sheaf of wheat. Thickly scattered over the whole affair were gourds or mock-oranges, which had been hollowed out and held lighted tapers, while across the top was "welcome" in large letters made of gilt paper.
​"Oh," said Patty, quite awestruck at this bright and novel scene, "what is it all for?"
"Tell her, mother," said Frank to Aunt Alice, who had just come in, "I must go and listen for the carriage."
"It's for you, Patty," said her aunt; "you are to sit there and welcome your father when he comes, and you'd better jump into the chair now, for he may be here at any minute."
"Oh, how kind you all are," said Patty. "Did Frank do all this for me? Won't papa be pleased?"
Patty flew up the steps and settled herself in the great chair with delight.
"That's all right," said Marian, who had just come in and who gave a critical glance at the whole picture. "Now stay there, Patty; don't jump down when you hear us greet Uncle Fred in the hall."
"I won't," said Patty, "I'll stay," and in another minute the carriage drove up, and Patty heard her father's voice greeting Aunt Alice and her cousins, and then saying, "But where's Patty? Where's my girl?"
"Here, papa," cried Patty, mindful of her ​promise to sit still, but unable to resist calling to him, and then Mr. Fairfield hurried into the parlor and saw his pretty daughter enthroned to welcome him.
But at sight of his dear face, Patty couldn't sit still, and she flew out of her chair and was in her father's arms before he was half-way across the room.
Nobody minded, however, for there was such a chattering and laughing and frolicking as you never saw, and all the time Mr. Fairfield kept his arm around his little daughter as if he would never let her leave him again.
"But don't think your beautiful work isn't appreciated, my boy," he said to Frank, as Patty called his attention to the cleverly constructed throne, "indeed, I think now is the time to put it to use," and Mr. Fairfield seated himself in the big chair and drew Patty down upon his knee.
Then Frank led off in three hearty cheers for Uncle Fred and Patty, and the Elliott family joined in with a will.
And what a merry, happy Thanksgiving-day they had on the morrow!
​Patty's pies were praised until the little maid blushed at the compliments she received.
It was late in the afternoon before father and daughter found an opportunity for a little talk by themselves; and then Patty told of her love and admiration for Aunt Alice, and her great desire to spend the rest of her life in Vernondale.
"For you see, papa," she said, "Aunt Alice is the only one of my aunts who has a sense of proportion, and she certainly has. She is rich, but she doesn't talk about it like Aunt Isabel's people; she reads, and knows a lot about books, but she doesn't seem to think there's nothing else in the world but books, as Aunt Hester's family does; and as for the Hurly-Burly people, they're lovely in some ways,—but, after living with Aunt Alice, I couldn't stand their forgetfulness and carelessness. And then, Aunt Alice has everything in her life, and not too much of anything either. We children have lots of fun and good times, but we have to work some, too. And Aunt Alice teaches us to be kind and polite without making any fuss about it. And she does beautiful charity work, and she's so happy and sweet that everybody loves her. And papa, ​dear, I do want to continue to live near Aunt Alice, and let her keep on advising me and teaching me, and so,—don't you think it would be nice for you to buy a house in Vernondale and live here?"
"Well, my girl, you've made out a pretty strong case, haven't you?" said her father, "and as my principal object in life is to make you happy, I think, Patty, dear, that I'll let you decide where our home shall be, and how it shall be conducted."
THE END