but I put over here on the chance.”
“Seems to me,” said Kenneth, “Hepworth is a good deal like that man in the story. A horse had strayed away and several people had tried to find it, without success. Presently, a stupid old countryman came up leading the horse. When asked how he found it he only drawled out, ‘Wal, I jest considered a spell. I thought ef I was a horse whar would I go? And I went there,—and he had!’ That’s a good deal the way Hepworth did.”
They all laughed at Kenneth’s funny story, but Patty said, “It was a sort of intuition, but all the same I object to having Mr. Hepworth compared to a stupid old countryman.”
“I don’t care what I’m compared to,” said Mr. Hepworth, gaily, “as long as we’ve found you two runaways, and if we can get you back in time for the opening of the fair.”
The time was very short indeed, and as soon as they landed at the dock, Patty and Bertha started for the house to don their costumes as quickly as possible.
The Fair, or “Bazaar of all Nations,” as it was called, was really arranged on an elaborate scale. It was held on the spacious grounds of Mr. Ashton, one of the wealthiest of the summer residents of Sandy Cove.
So many people had interested themselves in the charity, and so much enthusiasm had they put into their work, that when it was time to throw the gates open to the public, it was a festive and gorgeous scene indeed.
The idea of representing various nations had been picturesquely, if not always logically, carried out.
A Japanese tea-booth had been built with some regard to Japanese fashion, but with even more effort at comfort and attractive colour effects. The young ladies who attended it wore most becoming Japanese costumes, and with slanting pencilled eyebrows, and Japanese headdresses, they served tea in Oriental splendour.
In competition with them was an English dairy, where the rosy-cheeked maids in their neat cotton dresses and white aprons dispensed cheese cakes and Devonshire cream to admiring customers.
The representatives of other countries had even more elaborate results to show for their labours.
Italy’s booth was a beautiful pergola, which had been built for the occasion, but which Mr. Ashton intended to keep as a permanent decoration. Over the structure were beautiful vines and climbing plants, and inside was a gorgeous collection of blossoms of every sort. Italian girls in rich-coloured costumes and a profuse array of jewelry sold bouquets or growing plants, and were assisted in their enterprise by swarthy young men who wore the dress of Venetian gondoliers, or Italian nobles, with a fine disregard of rank or caste.
Spain boasted a vineyard. Mr. Hepworth had charge of this, and it truly did credit to his artistic ability. Built on the side of a hill, it was a clever imitation of a Spanish vineyard, and large grape vines had been uprooted and transplanted to complete the effect. To be sure, the bunches of grapes were of the hothouse variety, and were tied on the vines, but they sold well, as did also the other luscious fruits that were offered for sale in arbours at either end of the grapery. The young Spaniards of both sexes who attended to the wants of their customers were garbed exactly in accordance with Mr. Hepworth’s directions, and he himself had artistically heightened the colouring of their features and complexions.
Germany offered a restaurant where delicatessen foods and tempting savories were served by Fräuleins. Helen Barlow was one of the jolliest of these, and her plump prettiness and long flaxen braids of hair suited well the white kerchief and laced bodice of her adopted country.
The French girls, with true Parisian instinct, had a millinery booth. Here were sold lovely feminine bits of apparel, including collars, belts, laces and handkerchiefs, but principally hats. The hats were truly beautiful creations, and though made of simple materials, light straw, muslin, and even of paper, they were all dainty confections that any summer girl might be glad to wear. The little French ladies who exhibited these goods were voluble and dramatic, and in true French fashion, and with more or less true French language, they extolled the beauty of their wares.
In a Swiss châlet the peasants sold dolls and toys; in a Cuban construction, of which no one knew the exact title, some fierce-looking native men sold cigars, and in a strange kind of a hut which purported to be an Eskimo dwelling, ice cream could be bought.
The Stars and Stripes waved over a handsome up-to-date soda-water fountain, as the authorities had decided that ice-cream soda was the most typical American refreshment they could offer to their patrons. But an Indian encampment also claimed American protection, and a group of Western cowboys took pride in their ranch, and even more pride in their swaggering costumes.
Altogether the Bazaar was a great show, and as it was to last for three days, nobody expected to exhaust all its entertainments in one visit.
The Romany Rest was one of the prettiest conceits, and though an idealised gypsy encampment, it proved a very popular attraction.
Half a dozen girls and as many young men wore what they fondly hoped looked enough like gypsy costumes to justify the name, but at any rate, they were most becoming and beautiful to look upon.
Patty was the gypsy queen, and looked like that personage as represented in comic opera. Seated on a queerly constructed, and somewhat wobbly throne, she told fortunes to those who desired to know what the future held for them.
Apparently there was great curiosity in this respect, for Patty was kept steadily busy from the time she arrived at her place.
Other gypsies sold gaily coloured beads, amulets and charms, and others stirred a queer-looking brew in a gypsy kettle over a real fire, and sold cupfuls of it to those who wished in this way to tempt fate still further.
It was a perfect day, and the afternoon was progressing most satisfactorily.
Bertha was one of the Swiss peasants, and by dint of much hurrying, she and Patty had been able to get ready in time to join the parade of costumed attendants as they marched to their various stations.
Though had it not been for Mr. Phelps and his swift motor-car, they could scarcely have reached the fair grounds in time.
Elise was one of the Italian flower girls, and Kenneth also wore the garb of Italy.
Mr. Hepworth and Roger Farrington were ferocious-looking Indians, and brandished their tomahawks and tossed their feathered heads in fearsome fashion.
Dick Phelps was a cowboy, and his Herculean frame well suited the picturesque Western dress. And Charlie Roland flattered himself that arrayed as a Chinaman he was too funny for anything.
Although Patty had become better acquainted with young Mr. Roland, she had not learned to like him. His conceited ways and pompous manner seemed to her silly and artificial beside the frank comradeship of her other friends.
He came early to have his fortune told by the gypsy queen, and though, of course, Patty was in no way responsible for the way in which the cards fell, and though she told the fortunes strictly according to the instructions in a printed book, which she had learned by heart, she was not especially sorry when Mr. Roland’s fortune proved to be not altogether a desirable one.
But the young man was in nowise disconcerted.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, cheerfully, “I’ve had my fortune told lots of times, and things always happen just contrary to what is predicted. But I say, Miss Romany, can’t you
