Patty's Success. Wells Carolyn

Elise, which arrangement quite satisfied the dark-eyed beauty.

      “You look like Little Red Riding-hood,” said Kenneth, as they started off, with long, gliding strokes.

      “Don’t be a wolf, and eat me up,” laughed Elise, for Kenneth had fur on his cap and overcoat, and with his big fur gloves, seemed almost like some big, good-natured animal.

      “You skate beautifully, Elise,” said Kenneth, “and all you girls do. Look at Clementine; isn’t she graceful?”

      “Yes,” agreed Elise, “and so is Patty.”

      “Patty,” echoed Kenneth. “She is a poem on ice!”

      She was, and Elise knew it, but a naughty little jealousy burned in her heart at Ken’s words.

      She bravely tried to down it, however, and said: “Yes, she is. She’s a poem in every way.”

      “Well, I don’t know about that. In some ways she’s more of a jolly, merry jingle.”

      “A nonsense rhyme,” suggested Elise, falling in with his metaphor.

      “Yes; how quick you are to see what I mean. Now, Clementine is a lyric,—she glides so gracefully along.”

      “And I?” asked Elise, laughing at his witty characterisation.

      “You? Well, I can’t judge unless I see you. Skate off by yourself.”

      Elise did so, and Kenneth watched the scarlet-clad figure gracefully pirouetting and skilfully executing difficult steps.

      “Well?” she said, as she returned to him, and again they joined hands and glided along in unison.

      “Well, you’re delightful on ice. You’re a will o’ the wisp.”

      “But I want to be a poem of some sort. The other girls are.”

      Kenneth smiled at the pretty, anxious face.

      “You are a poem. You’re one of those little French forms. A virelay or a triolet.”

      Elise was a little uncertain as to what these were, exactly, but she resolved to look them up as soon as she reached home. At any rate, she knew Kenneth meant to be complimentary, and she smiled with pleasure.

      Then the others joined them and they all skated together for a time, and then the sun set, and Roger said they must go home.

      He was a most reliable boy, and always took charge of their little expeditions or outings. Elise never thought of questioning his authority, so again they all bundled into the car, and started homeward.

      “I ought to go right home,” said Clementine.

      “Oh, come round for a cup of Christmas tea,” said Roger, “and I’ll take you home in half an hour.”

      So the Morses consented, and the six merry young people had tea under the Christmas tree, and told stories by the firelight, and laughed and chatted until Clementine declared she must go, or she’d never get back in time for the dance.

      “What are you going to wear, Patsy?” asked Elise, as they went upstairs, arm in arm.

      “I’ve a new frock, of course. Did you think I’d come to your dance in one I’d worn before? Nay, I hold Miss Farrington in too high esteem for that!”

      “Well, scurry into it, for I’m crazy to see it. If it’s prettier than mine, I won’t let you go down to the ballroom!”

      “It won’t be,” returned Patty; “don’t worry about that!”