Aunt Pen answered the bell instead of Maggie.
"Lazy girlies!" she cried cheerily. "I have been waiting an hour to eat breakfast with you! Melodia has a touch of her "rheumtics" and I've told Maggie that she may stay downstairs and help her. You and Renée can put away your things and make your beds." She was throwing back the bedclothes as she spoke and did not notice the surprise that flashed across Pat's face. Pat did not guess that this was one of Aunt Pen's "plans" because she did not know, yet, that Aunt Pen was "planning"; she had never made a bed in her life, nor had she ever had to hang away her clothes! But already Renée was neatly tucking into a corner of the wardrobe her warm, comfy slippers and was hanging her nightgown upon a hook, so, although Patricia had opened her lips to utter a protest, she closed them, suddenly ashamed.
Over their breakfast Aunt Pen and Pat made the plans for the day. It must be like a holiday to celebrate Renée's coming! She must be taken about the city and shown every spot of interest.
"It will seem stupid to you after Paris," declared Pat.
Renée smiled. "Oh, it couldn't! Paris is beautiful but--this is America! Always my mother told us stories of America. She loved it and she wanted us to love it, too! She used to say that America was like a splendid, growing boy! I think she meant that everything here is young and over there in France it is so old! But I love France!" The child's eyes grew dark with feeling. "Only I feel so sorry for France! She's like poor Susette and her flowers!"
"It's Susette's cheery, brave soul that you love, my dear--as we love the cheery, brave soul of France," finished Aunt Pen.
"Well, maybe France has a soul but does she have pancakes like these?" put in Pat, for she felt that Renée and Aunt Pen were growing far too serious for such a glorious morning.
The day was full of interest for them both; for Patricia, because she suddenly found a new pride in showing to her little guest the various things in her home city of which she was justly proud. Then Aunt Pen gave bits of historical information that added to everything they saw. Pat had not known that over the stretch of pretty park near her home the early settlers had once fought with the Indians; that the huge boulder in the park, shadowed by old elms, marked the grave where some unknown soldiers, who had given their lives in the war of 1812, were buried. Aunt Pen also pointed out the street, thronged now with trucks, wagons and street-cars, that had once been the trail through the forest over which, when the Indians had burned the village, Patricia's great-great grandmother had escaped, hidden under sacking and straw in the back of the old farm wagon, drawn by oxen.
"Oh, how thrilling!" cried Pat with a little shiver of delight. "What fun it would be to have to escape now! Only we'd just go in this car with Watkins driving about fifty miles an hour!"
Later in the day Patricia begged that she might take Renée again along the river road, past the old fort that had once leveled its wooden cannon toward the shore of Canada, past the huge factories with their countless chimneys belching forth flame and smoke. Aunt Pen had let them go alone and the ride had been one of endless interest. They were returning swiftly along the maple-shaded street that led toward home when the car swerved sideways, Watkins gave a quick laugh, and the air was pierced by the sharp cry of a dog in pain.