The play went through beautifully. Every girl did her part wonderfully well, but Patty surpassed them all. Buoyed up by excitement, she played her part with a dash and sprightliness that surprised even the girls who had seen her at rehearsal. She was roguish, merry and tragic by turns, and she sang her solos with a dramatic effect that brought down the house. She looked unusually pretty, which was partly the effect of her intense excitement, and though Nan and Mr. Fairfield could not help admiring and applauding with the rest, they were very anxious and really alarmed, lest she might not be able to keep up to these emotional heights until the end of the play.

Without speaking his thoughts to anyone else, Mr. Hepworth, too, was very much concerned for Patty’s welfare. He realised the danger she was in, and noted every evidence of her artificial strength and merriment. Seeing Dr. Martin in a seat near the back of the room, he quietly rose and went and sat beside the old gentleman.

“Doctor,” he said, “I can’t help fearing that a collapse of some sort will follow Miss Fairfield’s performance.”

“I am sure of it,” said the Doctor, looking gravely at Mr. Hepworth.

“Then don’t you think perhaps it would be wise for you to go around behind the scenes, presently, and be there in case of emergency.”

“I will gladly do so,” said Dr. Martin, “if Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield authorise it.”

Mr. Hepworth looked at his programme, and then he looked at Patty. He knew the play pretty thoroughly, and he knew that she was making one of the final speeches. He saw too, that she had nearly reached the limit of her endurance, and he said, “Dr. Martin, I wish you would go on my authority. The Fairfields are sitting in the front part of the house, and it would be difficult to speak to them about it without creating a commotion. And besides, I think there is no time to be lost; this is almost the end of the play, and in my judgment, Miss Fairfield is pretty nearly at the end of her self-composure.”

Dr. Martin gave the younger man a searching glance, and then said, “You are right, Mr. Hepworth. It may be advisable that I should be there when Miss Fairfield comes off the stage. I will go at once. Will you come with me?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Hepworth, and the two men quietly left the room, and hastened around the building to the side entrance.

As Mr. Hepworth had assisted with the scenery for the play, and had been present at one or two rehearsals, he knew his way about, and guided Dr. Martin through the corridors to the room where the girls were gathered, waiting their cue to go on the stage for the final tableau and chorus.

Lorraine and Hilda looked at each other comprehendingly, as the two men appeared, but the other girls wondered at this apparent intrusion.

Then as the time came, they all went on the stage, and Dr. Martin and Mr. Hepworth, watching from the side, saw them form the pretty final tableau.

Patty in a spangled dress and tinsel crown, waving a gilt wand, stood on a high pedestal. Around her, on lower pedestals, and on the floor, were the rest of the fairy maidens in their glittering costumes.

The last notes of the chorus rang out, and amidst a burst of applause the curtain fell. The applause continued so strongly that the curtain was immediately raised again, and the delighted audience viewed once more the pretty scene.

Mr. Hepworth was nearer the stage than Dr. Martin, in fact, in his anxiety, he was almost edging on to it, and while the curtain was up, and the audience was applauding, and the orchestra was playing, and the calcium lights were flashing their vari-coloured rays, his intense watchfulness noticed a slight shudder pass over Patty’s form, then she swayed slightly, and her eyes closed.

In a flash Mr. Hepworth had himself rung the bell that meant the drop of the curtain, and as the curtain came down, he sprang forward among the bewildered girls, and reached the tall pedestal just in time to catch Patty as she tottered and fell.

“She has only fainted,” he said, as he carried her off the stage, “please don’t crowd around, she will be all right in a moment.”

He carried her to the dressing-room and gently laid her on a couch. Dr. Martin followed closely, and Mr. Hepworth left Patty in his charge.

“You, Miss Hamilton, go in there,” he said to Lorraine, at the door, “and see if you can help Dr. Martin. I will speak to the Fairfields and see that the carriage is ready. I don’t think the audience knows anything about it, and there need be no fuss or commotion.”

Quick-witted Hilda grasped the situation, and kept the crowd of anxious girls out of the dressing-room, while Dr. Martin administered restoratives to Patty.

But it was not so easy to overcome the faintness that had seized upon her. When at last she did open her eyes, it was only to close them again in another period of exhaustion.

However, this seemed to encourage Dr. Martin.

“It’s better than I feared,” he said. “She isn’t delirious. There is no threat of brain fever. She will soon revive now, and we can safely take her home.”

And so when the Doctor declared that she might now be moved, Mr. Fairfield supported her on one side, and Kenneth on the other as they took her to the carriage.

“Get in, Mrs. Fairfield,” said Kenneth, after Patty was safely seated by her father, “and you too, Dr. Martin. I’ll jump up on the box with the driver. Perhaps I can help you at the house.”

So away they went, without a word or a thought for poor Mr. Hepworth, to whose watchfulness was really due the fact of Dr. Martin’s opportune assistance. And too, if Mr. Hepworth had not seen the first signs of Patty’s loss of consciousness, her fall from the high pedestal might have proved a serious accident.

Although Dr. Martin told the family afterward of Mr. Hepworth’s kind thoughtfulness, it went unnoted at the time. But of this, Mr. Hepworth himself was rather glad than otherwise. His affection for Patty was such that he did not wish the girl to feel that she owed him gratitude, and he preferred to have no claim of the sort upon her.

When the party reached the Fairfield house, Patty had revived enough to talk rationally, but she was very weak, and seemed to have lost all enthusiasm and even interest in the occasion.

“It’s all over, isn’t it?” she asked of her father in a helpless, pathetic little voice.

“Yes, Puss,” said Mr. Fairfield, cheerily, “it’s all over, and it was a perfect success. Now don’t bother your head about it any more, but just get rested, and get a good sleep, and then we’ll talk it over.”

Patty was quite willing not to discuss the subject, and with Nan’s assistance she was soon in bed and sound asleep.

Dr. Martin stood watching her. “I don’t know,” he said to Nan, “whether this sleep will last or not. If it does all will be well, but she may wake up soon, and become nervous and hysterical. In that case give her these drops, which will have a speedy effect. I will be around again early to-morrow morning.”

But the doctor’s fears were not realised. Patty slept deeply all through the night, and had not waked when the doctor came in the morning.

“Don’t waken her,” he said, as he looked at the sleeping girl. “She’s all right. There’s no fear of nervous prostration now. The stress is over, and her good constitution and healthy nature are reasserting themselves and will conquer. She isn’t of a nervous temperament, and she is simply exhausted from overwork. Don’t waken her, let her sleep it out.”

And so Patty slept until afternoon, and then awoke, feeling more like her old self than she had for many days.

“Nan,” she called, and Nan came flying in from the next room.

“I’m awful hungry,” said Patty, “and I am pretty tired, but the play is over, isn’t it, Nan? I can’t seem to remember about last night.”

“Yes, it’s over, Patsy, and everything is all right, and you haven’t a thing to do but get rested. Will you have your breakfast now, or your luncheon?—because you’ve really skipped both.”

“Then I’ll have them both,” said Patty with decision. “I’m hungry enough to eat a house.”

Later, Patty insisted on dressing and going downstairs for dinner, declaring she felt perfectly well, but the exertion tired her more than she cared to admit, and when Dr. Martin came in the evening, she questioned him directly.

“I’m not really ill, am I, Dr. Martin? I’ll be all right in a day or two, won’t I? It’s so silly to get tired just walking downstairs.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the old doctor, “you will be all right in a day or two. By day after to-morrow you can walk downstairs, or run down, if you like, without feeling tired at all.”

“Then that’s all right,” said Patty. “I suppose I did do too much with my school work, and the play, and everything, but I couldn’t seem to help it, and if I get over it in a week I’ll be satisfied. In fact, I shan’t mind a bit, lounging around and resting for a few days.”

“That’s just the thing for you to do,” agreed Dr. Martin, “and I’ll give you another prescription. After a week or two of rest, you need recreation. You must get out of the city, and go somewhere in the country. Not seashore or the mountains just yet, but away into the country, where you’ll have plenty of fresh air and nothing to do. You mustn’t look at a book of any sort or description for a month or two at least. Will you promise me that?”

“With great pleasure,” said Patty, gaily, “I don’t think I shall care to see a book all summer long; not a schoolbook anyway. I suppose I may read storybooks.”

“Not at present,” said the doctor. “Let alone books of all sorts for a couple of months, and after that I’ll see about it. What you want is plenty of fresh air and outdoor exercise. Then you’ll get back the roses in your cheeks, and add a few pounds of flesh to your attenuated frame.”

“Your prescription sounds attractive,” said Patty, “but where shall I go?”

“We’ll arrange all that,” said Mr. Fairfield. “I think myself that all you need is recreation and rest, with a fair proportion of each.”

“So do I,” said Patty; “I don’t want to go to an old farmhouse, where there isn’t a thing to do but walk in the orchard; I want to go where I’ll have some fun.”

“Go ahead,” said the doctor, “fun won’t hurt you any as long as it’s outdoor sports or merry society. But don’t get up any plays, or any such foolishness, where fun is only a mistaken name for hard work.”

Patty promised this, and Dr. Martin went away without any doubts as to the speedy and entire recovery of his patient.

Mr. Fairfield and Nan quite agreed with the doctor’s opinion that Patty ought to go away for a rest and a pleasant vacation. The next thing was to decide where she should go. It was out of the question, of course, to consider any strange place for her to go alone, and as Mr. Fairfield could not begin his vacation until July, and Nan was not willing to leave him, there seemed to be no one to accompany Patty.

The only places, therefore, that Mr. Fairfield could think of, were for her to go to Vernondale and visit the Elliotts, or down to the Hurly-Burly where the Barlows had already gone for their summer season.

But neither of these plans suited Patty at all, for she said that Vernondale would be no rest and not much fun. She was fond of her Elliott cousins, but she felt sure that they would treat her as a semi-invalid and coddle her until she went frantic.

The Hurly-Burly, she said, would be just the opposite. They would have no consideration down there for the fact that she wanted a rest, but would make her jog about hither and thither, taking long tramps and going on tiresome picnics whether she wanted to or not.

So neither of these plans seemed just the thing, and Nan’s proposal that Patty go to Philadelphia and spend June with Mrs. Allen wasn’t quite what Patty wanted. Indeed, Patty did not know herself exactly what she wanted, which was pretty good proof that she was not so far from the borders of Nervous Land as they had believed.

And so when Elise came over one afternoon, and brought with her an invitation for Patty, that young woman showed no hesitation in announcing at once that it was exactly what she wanted. The invitation was nothing more nor less than to go on a long motor-car trip with the Farringtons.

“It will be perfectly splendid,” said Elise, “if you’ll only go, Patty.”

“Go!” said Patty, “I should think I would go! It’s perfectly splendid of you to invite me. Who are going?”

“Just father and mother, and Roger and myself,” said Elise, “and you will make five. Roger can run the car, or father can, either, for that matter, so we won’t take a man, and father has had a new top put on his big touring-car and we can pile any amount of luggage up on it, so you can take all the frocks you want to. We’ll stop at places here and there, you know, to visit, and of course, we’ll always stop for meals and to stay over night.”

“But perhaps they wouldn’t want me,” said Patty, “where you go to visit.”

“Nonsense, of course they will. Why, I wrote to Bertha Warner that I wanted to bring you, and she said she’d love to have you come.”

“How could she say so? she doesn’t know me.”

“Well, I told her all about you, and she’s fully prepared to love you as I do. Oh, do you suppose your people will let you go?”

“Of course they will. They’ll be perfectly delighted to have me go.”

Patty was right. When she told her father and Nan about the delightful invitation, they were almost as pleased as she was herself, and Mr. Fairfield gave ready permission.

The projected trip entirely fulfilled Dr. Martin’s requisites of fresh air, out-of-door exercise, and a good time, and when he was told of the plan he also expressed his entire approval.