Patty laughed and promised, and ran away to the schoolroom.
The moment she entered, half a dozen girls ran to her with questions about various details, and Nan’s warning was entirely forgotten. Indeed had it not been for Hilda’s intervention, Patty would have gone to work at a piece of unfinished scenery.
“Drop that hammer!” cried Hilda, as Patty was about to nail some branches of paper roses on to a wobbly green arbour. “Patty Fairfield, are you crazy? The idea of attempting carpenter work with that delicate frock on! Do for pity’s sake keep yourself decent until after you’ve read your poem at least!”
Patty looked at Hilda with that same peculiar vacantness in her glance which she had shown in the morning, and though Hilda said nothing, she was exceedingly anxious and kept a sharp watch on Patty’s movements.
But it was then time for the girls to march onto the platform, and as Patty seemed almost like herself, though unusually quiet, Hilda hoped it was all right.
The exercises were such as are found on most commencement programmes, and included class history, class prophecy, class song and all of the usual contributions to a commencement programme.
Patty’s class poem was near the end of the list, and Nan was glad, for she felt it would give the girl more time to regain her poise. Mr. Fairfield had arrived, and both he and Nan waited anxiously for Patty’s turn to come.
When it did come, Patty proved herself quite equal to the occasion.
Her poem was merry and clever, and she read it with an entire absence of self-consciousness, and an apparent enjoyment of its fun. She looked very sweet and pretty in her dainty white dress, and she stood so gracefully and seemed so calm and composed, that only those who knew her best noticed the feverish brightness of her eyes and a certain tenseness of the muscles of her hands.
But this was not unobserved by one in the audience. Mr. Hepworth, though seated far back, noted every symptom of Patty’s nervousness, however little it might be apparent to others.