I sat up nights to do it.

The way candles were consumed caused father to wonder where his best box of spermacetis had gone to.

I knew I could do the poetry, and I firmly resolved that I would read it through, from beginning to end, in a clear, well-modulated voice, that could be heard by all, including the minister and Belle Marigold.

I would not blush, or stammer, or get a frog in my throat.

I swore solemnly to myself that I would not.