If Patsy had been able to analyze the motives back of her career to date she would have found the dominating one to have been a determination to make Sabinsport--select, rich, satisfied Sabinsport--take her in. She had been, as a little girl, conscious that these handsome, well-dressed, citified people, whose origin was in no case better and often not so good as her own--Father McCullon took care that Patsy knew the worst of the forebears of those in town who held their heads so high--regarded her as a little country girl, something intangibly different and inferior to themselves. When they stopped at the farm, as they so often did in pleasant weather to eat strawberries in summer and apples in the fall, to drink buttermilk and gather "country posies," as they called them, she had been vaguely offended by their ways. When she insisted at ten upon going into town to school, it was with an unconscious resolve to find out what made them "different"--what secret had they for making her father and mother so proud of their visits, and why didn't her father and mother drop in as they did? She suggested it once when they were in town, and had been told, "No, you can't do that. We've not been asked." "But they come to visit you without being asked." "But that's different. We are country people. Visitors are always welcome in the country. City people don't expect you to come without invitation." This offended her. She would find out about it. But it continued to baffle her. She stood high in school. She quickly learned how to dress and do her hair as well as the best of them. She read books, she shone in every school exhibition, but she continued a girl from the country. Evidently she must do more than come to them; she must bring them something. She'd see what college would do. College did wonders for Patsy. She came to it full of health and zest, excellently prepared; good, oh very good, to look at; sufficiently supplied with money, and, greatest of all, determined to get everything going. "Nothing gets away from Patsy McCullon," the envious sometimes said. It didn't, nothing tried to: she was too useful, too agreeable, too resourceful. It didn't matter whether it was a Greek or a tennis score, Patsy went after it, and oftener than not carried it away. Probably if there had been annual voting for the most popular girl in her class, there would never have been a year she wouldn't have won. She had friends galore. All her short vacations she went on visits--the homes of distinguished people, it would have been noted, if anybody had been keeping tab on her. And Sabinsport always knew it.