"Um-uh. At first I was. But you'll get over it in a few minutes. The lights and the glory of the occasion dim the scary feeling when you sit up there in the seats of honor. You should be glad your oration is first."
"I am. Mary Warner is welcome to her Valedictory and the long wait to deliver it."
Phœbe stiffened a bit at the thought of the other girl. Since the days when the two girls attended the rural school on the hill and Mary Warner was the possessor of curls while Phœbe wore the despised braids the other girl seemed to have everything for which Phœbe longed.
"Ah, don't you care about the honor," said David. "Honors don't always tell who knows the most. Why, look at me; I was fifth in my class and I know as much any day as the little runt who was first."
"Conceit!" laughed Phœbe. "But I guess you do know more than he does. Bet he never saw an orioles' nest or found a wild pink moccasin. You're a wonder at such things, David."
"Um," came the sober answer, but there was a merry twinkle in his eyes, "I'm a wonder all right! Too bad only you and Mother Bab know it. But if I don't soon go you won't get to town in time to get the pink roses arranged just so for the grand march. The girls in our class primped about twenty minutes, patting their hair and fixing their ribbons and fussing with their flowers."
"David, you're horrid!"
"I know. But I brought you something more to primp with." He handed her a small flat box.
"For me?"
"From Mother Bab," he said.