if you showed me,” urged Nan, patiently. “If you did two or three, perhaps I could copy them exactly; at any rate, let me try.”
“Very well,” said Patty, dully, “I wish you could do them, I’m sure.”
The flowers were delayed, as is not unusual in such cases, and it was nearly ten when they arrived.
Patty was almost frantic by that time, and Nan, as she afterward told her husband, had to “handle her with gloves on.”
But by dint of tact and patience, Nan succeeded in persuading Patty, after making two or three garlands, to leave the rest for her to do. Although they were of complicated design, Nan was clever at such things, and could easily copy Patty’s work. And had she been herself, Patty would have known this. But so upset was she that even her common sense seemed warped.
When she reached the schoolroom there were a thousand and one things to see to, and nearly all of them were going wrong.
Patty flew from one thing to another, straightening them out and bringing order from confusion, and though she held herself well in hand, the tension was growing tighter, and there was danger of her losing control of herself at any minute.
Hilda Henderson was the only one who realised this, and, taking Patty aside, she said to her, quietly, “Look here, girl, I’ll attend to everything else; there’s not much left that needs special attention. And I want you to go right straight home, take a hot bath, and then lie down and rest until time to dress for the afternoon programme. Will you?”
Patty looked at Hilda with a queer, uncomprehending gaze. She seemed scarcely to understand what was being said to her.
“Yes,” she said, but as she turned she half stumbled, and would have fallen to the floor if Hilda had not caught her strongly by the arm.
“Brace up,” she said, and her voice was stern because she was thoroughly frightened. “Patty Fairfield, don’t you dare to collapse now! If you do, I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do to you! Come on, now, I’ll go home with you.”
Hilda was really afraid to let Patty go alone, so hastily donning her hat and coat she went with her to her very door.
“Take this girl,” she said to Nan, “and put her to bed, and don’t let her see anybody or say anything until the programme begins this afternoon. I’ll look after everything that isn’t finished, if you’ll just keep her quiet.”
Nan was thoroughly alarmed, but she only said, “All right, Hilda, I’ll take care of her, and thank you very much for bringing her home.”
Patty sank down on a couch in a limp heap, but her eyes were big and bright as she looked at Hilda, saying, “See that the stars are put on the gilt wands, and the green bay leaves on the white ones. Lorraine’s spangled skirt is in Miss Oliphant’s room, and please be sure,—” Patty didn’t finish this sentence, but lay back among the cushions, exhausted.
“Run along, Hilda,” said Nan; “do the best you can with the stars and things, and I’ll see to it that Patty’s all right by afternoon.”
Chapter VIII.
Commencement Day
Nan was a born nurse, and, moreover, she had sufficient common sense and tact to know how to deal with nervous exhaustion. Instead of discussing the situation she said, cheerily, “Now everything will be all right. Hilda will look after the stars and wands, and you can have quite a little time to rest before you go back to the schoolroom. Don’t try to go up to your room now, just stay right where you are, and I’ll bring you a cup of hot milk, which is just what you need.”
Patty nestled among the cushions which Nan patted and tucked around her, and after taking the hot milk felt much better.
“I must get up now, Nan,” she pleaded, from the couch where she lay, “I have so many things to attend to.”
“Patty,” said Nan, looking at her steadily, “do you want to go through with the commencement exercises this afternoon and the play to-night successfully, or do you want to collapse on the stage and faint right before all the audience?”
“I won’t do any such foolish thing,” said Patty, indignantly.
“You will,” said Nan, “unless you obey me implicitly, and do exactly as I tell you.”
Nan’s manner more than her words compelled Patty’s obedience, and with a sigh, the tired girl closed her eyes, saying, “All right, Nan, have your own way, I’ll be good.”
“That’s a good child,” said Nan, soothingly, “and now first we’ll go right up to your own room.”
Then Nan helped Patty into a soft dressing gown, made her lie down upon her bed, and threw a light afghan over her.
Then sitting beside her, Nan talked a little on unimportant matters and then began to sing softly. In less than half an hour Patty was sound asleep, and Nan breathed a sigh of relief at finding her efforts had been successful.
But there was not much time to spare, for the commencement exercises began at three o’clock.
So at two o’clock Patty found herself gently awakened, to see Nan at her bedside, arranging a dainty tray of luncheon which a maid had brought in.
“Here you are, girlie,” said the cheery voice, “sit up now, and see what we have for you here.”
Patty awoke a little bewildered, but soon gathered her scattered senses, and viewed with pleasure the broiled chicken and crisp salad before her.
Exhaustion had made her hungry, and while she ate, Nan busied herself in getting out the pretty costume that Patty was to wear at commencement.
But the sight of the white organdie frock with its fluffy ruffles and soft laces brought back Patty’s apprehensions.
“Oh, Nan,” she cried in dismay, “I’m not nearly ready for commencement! I haven’t copied my poem yet, and I haven’t had a minute to practice reading it for the last two weeks. What shall I do?”
“That’s all attended to,” said Nan,—“the copying, I mean. You’ve been so busy doing other people’s work, that of course you haven’t had time to attend to your own, so I gave your poem to your father, and he had it typewritten for you, and here it is all ready. Now, while you dress, I’ll read it to you, and that will bring it back to your memory.”
“Nan, you are a dear,” cried Patty, jumping up and flying across the room to give her stepmother a hearty caress. “Whatever would I do without you? I’m all right now, and if you’ll just elocute that thing, while I array myself in purple and fine linen, I’m sure it will all come back to me.”
So Nan read Patty’s jolly little class poem line by line, and Patty repeated it after her as she proceeded with her toilette.
She was ready before the appointed time, and the carriage was at the door, but Nan would not let her go.
“No, my lady,” she said, “you don’t stir out of this house until the very last minute. If you get over there ahead of time, you’ll begin to make somebody a new costume, or build a throne for the fairy queen, or some foolish trick like that. Now you sit right straight down in that chair and read your poem over slowly, while I whip into my own clothes, and then we’ll go along together. Fred can’t come until a little later anyway. Sit still now, and don’t wriggle around and spoil that pretty frock.”
Patty obeyed like a docile child, and Nan flew away to don her own pretty gown for the occasion.
When she returned in a soft grey crêpe de chine, with a big grey hat and feathers, she was such a pretty picture that Patty involuntarily exclaimed in admiration.