think I'll wait
until the play is written, first. I don't believe it's customary to
engage a scene painter before a play is scarcely begun."

"Well, then, let's get at it," said Hilda, who was practical.

So to work they went, and really wrote the actual lines of a good part of
the first act.

"Now, that's something like," said Patty, as, when the clock struck noon,
she looked with satisfaction on a dozen or more pages, neatly written in
Hilda's pretty penmanship. "If we keep on like that, we can get this
thing done in five or six Saturday mornings, and then I'll ask Mr.
Hepworth about the scenery. Then we can begin to rehearse, and we'll just
about be ready for commencement day."

While Patty was with the girls, her interest and enthusiasm were so great
that the play seemed the only thing to be thought of. But when she
reached home and saw the pile of untouched schoolbooks and remembered
that she would be away all the afternoon, she felt many misgivings.

However, she had promised to go, so off she went to the matinee, and had
a thoroughly pleasant and enjoyable time. Mrs. Morse invited her to go
home to dinner with Clementine, saying that she would send her home
safely afterward.

Clementine added her plea that this invitation might be accepted, but
Patty said no. Although she wanted very much to go with the Morses, yet
she knew that duty called her home. So she regretfully declined, giving
her reason, and went home, determined to work hard at her themes and her
lessons. But after her merry day with her young friends, she was not only
tired physically, but found great difficulty in concentrating her
thoughts on more prosaic subjects. But Patty had pretty strong
will-power, and she forced herself to go at her work in earnest. Grandma
Elliott watched her, as she pored over one book after another, or hastily
scribbled her themes. A little pucker formed itself between her brows,
and a crimson flush appeared on her cheeks.

At ten o'clock Mrs. Elliott asserted her authority.

"Patty," she said, "you must go to bed. You'll make yourself ill if you
work so hard."

Patty pushed back her books. "I believe I'll have to, grandma," she said.
"My head's all in a whirl, and the letters are dancing jigs before my
eyes."

Exhausted, Patty crept into bed, and though she slept late next morning,
Grandma Elliott imagined that her face still bore traces of worry and
hard work.

"Nonsense, grandma," said Patty, laughing. "I