With a kind of whimsical pathos, she repeated to herself Hood’s “Song of the Shirt,” and said, under her breath, “‘Stitch, stitch, stitch, till the cock is crowing aloof,’ or whatever it is!”
Then she saw by her watch that it was eleven o’clock.
“I’ll just finish this bow,” she thought, “and then, I’ll stop.”
But before the bow was finished, there was a tap at her door.
“Who’s there?” said Patty, in a voice which carried no invitation to enter.
“It’s us,” said Nan, firmly, if ungrammatically, “and we’re coming in!”
Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield entered, and Patty, trying to make the best of it, looked up and smiled.
“How do you do?” she said. “Take seats, won’t you? I’m just amusing myself, you see.”
But the tired voice had a quiver in it, for all at once Patty saw that she had failed. She had worked hard all the afternoon and evening, and had not finished one of her thirty-six pieces! It was this discovery that upset her, rather than the unexpected visit from her parents.
“Girlie, this won’t do,” began her father, in his kindest tones.