 CHAPTER 12 WAITING FOR SPRING Fool was a much happier place after this. Mrs. Nipson never alluded to the matter, but her manner altered. Katie felt that she was no longer watched or distrusted, and her heart grew light. In another week Miss Jane was so much better as to be hearing her classes again. Illness had not changed her materially. It is only in novels that rheumatic fever sweetens tempers and makes disagreeable people over into agreeable ones. Most of the girls disliked her as much as ever. Her tongue was just as sharp and her manner is grim. But for Katie, from that time forward, there was a difference. Miss Jane was not affectionate to her. It was not in her nature to be that. But she was civil and considerate, and in a dry way, friendly, and gradually Katie grew to have a nod sort of liking for her. Do any of you know how incredibly long winter seems and climates where, for weeks together the thermometer stands at zero? There is something hopeless in such cold. You think of summer as if a thing read about somewhere in a book, but which has no actual existence. Winter seems the only reality in the world. Katie and Clover felt this hopelessness growing upon them as the days went on, and the weather became more and more severe. Ten, twenty, even thirty degrees below zero was no unusual register for the hills over thermometers. Such cold half frightened them, but nobody else was frightened or surprised. It was dry, brilliant cold. The December snows lay unmelted on the ground in March, and the paths cut then were crisp and hard still. Only the white walls on either side had risen higher and higher till only a moving line of hoods and tippets was visible above them when the school went out for its daily walk. Morning after morning the girls woke to find thick crusts of frost on their window panes, and every drop of water in the wash bowl or pitcher turned to solid ice. Night after night Clover, who was a chilly little creature, lay shivering and unable to sleep, notwithstanding the hot bricks at her feet and the many wraps which Katie piled upon her. To Katie herself the cold was more bracing than depressing. There was something in her blood which responded to the sharp tingle of frost, and she gained in strength in a remarkable way during this winter. But the long storms told upon her spirits. She pined for spring and home more than she liked to tell, and felt the need of variety in their monotonous life where the creeping days appeared like weeks, and the weeks stretched themselves out and seemed as long as months do in other places. The girls resorted to all sorts of devices to keep themselves alive during this dreary season. They had little epidemics of occupation. At one time it was spattering, when all faces and fingers had a tendency to smudges of India ink, and there was hardly a fine comb or toothbrush fit for use in the establishment. Then a rage for tatting set in, followed by a fever of fancy work, everyone falling in love with the same pattern at the same time, and copying and recopying till nobody could bear the sight of it. At one time Clover counted eighteen girls all at work on the same bead and canvas pincushion. Later there was a short period of decalcomanie, and then came the grand album craze, when thirty-three girls out of the thirty-nine sent for blank books bound in red Morocco and began to collect signatures and sentiments. Here also there was a tendency toward repetition. Sally Austin added to her autograph these lines of her own composition. When on this page your beauty as eyes you bend, let it remind you of your absent friend, Sally J. Austin, Galveston, Texas. The girls found this sentiment charming, at least a dozen borrowed it, and in half the albums in the school you might read, when on this page your beauty as eyes, etc. Esther Dearborn wrote in Clover's book, the better part of Valor is discretion. Why she wrote it, nobody knew, or why it was more applicable to Clover than to anyone else, but the sentiment proved popular and was repeated over and over again, above various neatly written signatures. There was a strife as to who should display the largest collection. Some of the girls sent home for autographs of distinguished persons which they pasted in their books. Rose Red, however, outdid them all. Did I ever show you mine? She asked one day when most of the girls were together in the school room. No, never! cried a number of voices. Have you got one? Oh, do let us see it! Certainly I'll get it right away if you like," said Rose obligingly. She went to her room and returned with a shabby old blank book in her hand. Some of the girls looked disappointed. The cover of mine isn't very nice, explained Rose. I'm going to have it rebound one of these days. You see, it's not a new album at all, nor a school album, but it's very valuable to me. Here she heaved a sentimental sigh. All my friends have written in it," she said. The girls were quite impressed by the man-room which Rose said this. But when they turned over the pages of the album they were even more impressed. Rose had evidently been on intimate terms with a circle of most distinguished persons. Half the autographs in the book were from gentlemen, and they were dated all over the world. Just listen to this! cried Louisa, and she read, Thou mayst forget me, but never, never shall I forget thee, Alfonso of Castile, the Escurial, April 1st. Who's he? asked a circle of awestruck girls. Didn't you ever hear of him? Youngest brother of the King of Spain replied Rose carelessly. Oh, my! and just hear this! exclaimed Annie Sillsby. If you ever deign to cast a thought in my direction, Miss Rose, remember me always as thy devoted servitor, Potemkin Montmorency, St. Petersburg, July 10th. And this! shrieked Alice White. They say love is a thorn, I say it is a dart, and yet I cannot tear thee from my heart. Antonio, count de Valembrosa. Do you really and truly know a count? asked Bella, backing away from Rose with eyes big as saucers. No, Antonio de Valembrosa, I should think I did, replied Rose. Nobody in this country knows him so well, I fancy. And he wrote that for you? How else could it get into my book, goosey? This was unanswerable, and Rose was installed from that time forward in the minds of Bella and the rest as a heroine of the first water. Katie, however, knew better, and the first time she caught Rose alone she attacked her on the subject. Now Rosie Posey confesses, who wrote all those absurd autographs in your book? Absurd autographs? What can you mean? All those counts and things. No, it's no use. You shan't wriggle away until you tell me. Oh, Antonio and dear Potemkin, do you mean them? Yes, of course I do. And you really want to know? Yes. And we'll swear not to tell. Yes. Well then, bursting into a laugh, I wrote every one of them myself. Did you really? When? Day before yesterday. I thought Lily needed taking down. She was so set up with her autographs of Wendell Phillips and Mr. Seward, so I just sat down and wrote a bookful. It only took me half an hour. I meant to write some more. In fact, I had one already. I am dead or pretty near. David's done for me, I fear. Goliath of gaffe. But I was afraid even Bella wouldn't swallow that, so I tore out the page. I'm sorry I did now, for I really think the geese would have believed it. Written in his last moments, you know, to oblige an ancestor of my own, added Rose in a tone of explanation. You monkey! cried Katie, highly diverted. But she kept Rose's counsel, and I daresay some of the Hillsover girls believe in that wonderful album to this day. It was not long after that a sad piece of news came for Bella. Her father was dead. Their home was in Iowa, too far to allow of her returning for the funeral, so the poor little girl stayed at school to bear her trouble as best she might. Katie, who was always kind to children and had somewhat affected Bella from the first on account of her resemblance to Elsie in height and figure, was especially tender to her now, which Bella repaid with the gift of her whole queer little heart. Her affectionate demonstrations were rather of the monkey order, and not unfrequently troublesome. But Katie was never otherwise than patient and gentle with her, though Rose, and even Clover, remonstrated on what they called the singular intimacy. Poor little soul! It's so hard for her, and she's only eleven years old, she told them. She has such a funny way of looking at you sometimes, said Rose, who was very observant. It is just the air of a squirrel who is hidden a nut, and doesn't want you to find out where, and yet can hardly keep indicating it with his paw. She's got something on her mind, I'm sure. Half a dozen things very likely, added Clover. She's such a mischief. But none of them guessed what this something was. Early in January Mrs. Nipson announced that in four weeks she proposed to give a soiree, to which all young ladies whose records were entirely free for Marx during the intervening period would be allowed to come. This announcement created great excitement, and the school set itself to be good. But Marx were easy to get, and gradually one girl after another lost her chance, till by the appointed day only a limited party descended to join the festivities, and nearly half the school was left up stairs to sigh over past sins. Katie and Rose were among the unlucky ones. Rose had incurred a mark by writing a note in study-hour, and Katie by being five minutes late to dinner. They consoled themselves by dressing Clover's hair and making her look as pretty as possible, and then stationed themselves in the upper hall at the head of the stairs to watch her career, and get as much fun out of the occasion as they could. Pretty soon they saw Clover below on Professor Seacum's arm. He was a kingly, pleasant man with a bald head, and it was a fashion among the girls to admire him. "'Doesn't she look pretty?' said Rose. "'Just notice Mrs. Searls, Katie. She's grinning at Clover like the Cheshire Cat. What a wonderful cat that is of hers. She had it when Sylvia was here at school eight years ago. Hush! She'll hear you.' "'No, she won't. There's Ellen beginning her piece. I know she's frightened by the way she plays. Hark how she hurries the time.' "'There. They are going to have refreshments after all,' cried Esther Dearborn as trays of lemonade and cake baskets appeared below on their way to the parlor. Isn't it a shame to have to stay up here?' "'Professor Seacum! Professor!' called Rose in a daring whisper, "'Take pity upon us. We are starving for a piece of cake.' The professor gave a jump, then retreated and looked upward. When he saw the circle of hungry faces peering down he doubled up with laughter. "'Wait a moment,' he whispered back and vanished into the parlor. Pretty soon the girl saw him making his way through the crowd with an immense slice of pound cake in each hand. "'Here, Miss Rose,' he said, "'Catch it!' But Rose ran half-way downstairs, received the cake, dimpled her thanks, and retreated to the darkness above, went sounds preceded, which sent the amused professor into the parlor convulsed with suppressed laughter. Pretty soon Clover stole up the back stairs to report. "'Are you having a nice time? Is the lemonade good? Who have you been talking with?' inquired a chorus of voices. "'Pretty nice. Everybody is old. I haven't been talking to anybody in particular, and the lemonade is only cream of tartar water. I guess it's jolly rub here with you,' replied Clover. "'I must go now. My turn to play comes next.'" Down she ran. "'Except for the glory of the thing, I think we're having more fun than she,' answered Rose. Next week came St. Valentine's Day. Several of the girls received Valentines from home, and they wrote them to each other. Katie and Clover both had one from Phil, exactly alike, with the same purple bird in the middle of the page, and I Love You, printed underneath, and they joined in fabricating a gorgeous one for Rose, which was supposed to come from Potentkin de Montmorency, the hero of the album. But the most surprising Valentine was received by Miss Jane. It came with the others while all the household were at dinner. The girl saw her redden and look angry, but she put the letter in her pocket and said nothing. In the afternoon it came out through Bella that Miss Jane's letter was in poetry, and that she was just as mad as fire about it. Just before tea, Louisa came running down the row to number five where Katie was sitting with Rose. "'Girls, what do you think? That letter which Miss Jane got this morning was a Valentine, the most dreadful thing, but so funny!' She stopped to laugh. "'How do you know?' cried the other two. "'Miss Marsh told Alice Gibbons. She's a sort of cousin, you know, and Miss Marsh often tells her things. She says Miss Jane and Mrs. Nipson are furious and are determined to find out who sent it. It was for Mr. Hardhack, Miss Jane's missionary. Or, no, not for Mr. Hardhack, but from a cannibal who had just eaten Mr. Hardhack up, and he sent Miss Jane a lock of his hair and the recipe the tribe cooked him by. They found him very nice, he said, and he turned out quite tender. That was one of the lines in the poem. Did you ever hear of anything like it? Who do you suppose could have sent it?' "'Who could it have been?' cried the others. Katie had one moment's awful misgiving, but at glance it rose his face, calm and innocent as a baby's, reassured her. It was impossible that she could have done this mischievous thing. Katie, you see, was not privy to that entry in Rose's journal, pay Miss Jane off, nor aware that Rose had just written underneath. Did it. February 14, 1869. Nobody ever found out the author of this audacious Valentine. Rose kept her own counsel, and Miss Jane probably concluded that the better part of Valor was discretion, for the threatened inquiries were never made. And now it lacked but six weeks to the end of the term. The girls counted the days and practiced various devices to make them pass more quickly. Esther Dearborn, who had a turn for arithmetic, set herself to a careful calculation of how many hours, minutes and seconds must pass before the happy time should come. Annie Sillsby strung forty-two tiny squares of cardboard on a thread, and each night slipped one off and burned it up in the candle. Others made diagrams of the time with a division for each day, and every night blotted one out with a sense of triumph. None of these devices made the time hasten. It never moved more slowly than now, when life seemed to consist of a universal waiting. But though Katie's heart bounded at the thought of home till she could hardly bear the gladness she owned to clover, do you know, much as I long to get away, I am half sorry to go. It is parting with something which we shall never have any more. Home is lovely, and I would rather be there than anywhere else. But if you and I live to be a hundred, we shall never be girls at boarding school again. CHAPTER XIII. PARADISE REGAINED Only seven days more to cross off, said Clover, drawing her pencil through one of the squares on the diagram pinned beside her looking glass. Seven more, and then, oh, joy! Papa will be here, and we shall start for home. She was interrupted by the entrance of Katie, holding a letter and looking pale and aggrieved. Oh, Clover! she cried. Just listen to this. Papa can't come for us. Isn't it too bad? And she read, Burnett, March My dear girls, I find that it will not be possible for me to come for you next week as I intended. Several people are severely ill, and old Mrs. Barlow struck down suddenly with paralysis, so I cannot leave. I am sorry, and so will you be, but there is no help for it. Fortunately Mrs. Hall has just heard that some friends of hers are coming westward with their family, and she has written to ask them to take charge of you. The drawback to this plan is that you will have to travel alone as far as Albany, where Mr. Peters, Mrs. Hall's friend, will meet you. I have written to ask Mr. Page to put you on the train and under the care of the conductor on Tuesday morning. I hope you will get through without embarrassment. Mr. Peters will be at the station in Albany to receive you, or if anything should hinder him you ought to drive at once to the Delavan house where they are staying. I enclose a check for your journey. If Dory were five years older I should send him after you. The children are most impatient to have you back. Miss Finch has been suddenly called away by the illness of her sister-in-law, so Elsie is keeping house till you return. God bless you, my dear daughters, and send you safe. Yours affectionately, P. Carr. Oh, dear, said Clover, with her lip trembling. Now Papa won't see Rosie. No, said Katie, and Rosie and Louisa and the rest won't see him. That is the worst of all. I wanted them to so much. And just think how dismal it will be to travel with people we don't know. It's too, too bad, I declare. I do think old Mrs. Barlow might have put off being ill just one week longer, grumbled Clover. It takes away half the pleasure of going home. The girls might be excused for being cross, for this was a great disappointment. There was no help for it, however, as Papa said. They could only sigh and submit. But the journey to which they had looked forward so much was no longer thought of as a pleasure, only a disagreeable necessity, something which must be endured in order that they might reach home. Five. Four. Three days. The last little square was crossed off. The last dinner was eaten. The last breakfast. There was much mourning over Katie and Clover among the girls who were to return for another year. Louisa and Ellen Gray were inconsolable, and Bella, with a very small pocket handkerchief held tightly in her hand, clung to Katie every moment, crying, and declaring that she would not let her go. The last evening she followed her into number two, where she was dreadfully in the way of the packing, and after various odd contortions and mysterious half-spoken sentences said, Say, won't you tell if I tell you something? What is it? asked Katie absently as she folded and smoothed her best gown. Something, repeated Bella, wagging her head mysteriously and looking more like a thievish squirrel than ever. Well, what is it? Tell me. To Katie's surprise, Bella burst into a violent fit of crying. I'm real sorry I did it! she sobbed. Real sorry! And now you'll never love me any more. Yes, I will. What is it? Do stop crying, Bella, dear, and tell me, said Katie, alarmed at the violence of the sobs. It was for fun! Really and truly it was! But I wanted some cake, too! protested Bella, sniffing very hard. What? And I didn't think anybody would know. Barry Searls doesn't care a bit for us little girls, only for big ones, and I knew if I said Bella, he'd never give me the cake, so I said Miss Carr instead. Bella, did you write that note? inquired Katie almost too much to speak. Yes, and I tied a string to your blind because I knew I could go in and dry it up when you were practicing. But I didn't mean to do any harm, and when Mrs. Florence was so mad and changed your room, I was real sorry! moaned Bella, digging her knuckles into her eyes. Won't you ever love me any more? she demanded. Katie lifted her into her lap and talked so tenderly and seriously that her contrition, which was only half genuine, became real, and she cried in good earnest when Katie kissed her in token of forgiveness. Of course you'll go at once to Mrs. Nipson, said Clover and Rose when Katie imparted the surprising discovery. No, I think not. Why should I? It would only get poor little Bella into a dreadful scrape and she's coming back again, you know. Mrs. Nipson does not believe that story now. Nobody does. We had lived it down, just as I hoped we should. That is much better than having it contradicted. I don't think so, and I should enjoy seeing that little retch of a Bella well whipped, versus did Rose. But Katie was not to be shaken. To please me, promise that not a word shall be said about it, she urged. And to please her, the girls consented. I think Katie was right in saying that Mrs. Nipson no longer believed her guilty in the affair of the note. She had been very friendly to both the sisters of late, and when Clover carried in her album and asked for an autograph she waxed quite sentimental and wrote, I would not exchange the modest Clover for the most beautiful parterre, so bring it back I pray thee to your affectionate teacher Mary Ann Nipson, which a fusion quite overwhelmed the modest Clover, and called out the remark from Rose, Don't she wish she may get you? Miss Jane said twice, I shall miss you, Katie. A speech which, to quote Rose again, made Katie look as surprised as Balaam. Rose herself was not coming back to school. She and the girls were half broken-hearted at parting. They lavished tears, kisses, promises of letters, and vows of eternal friendship. Neither of them, it was agreed, was ever to love anybody else so well. The final moment would have been almost too tragical, had it not been for a last bit of mischief on the part of Rose. It was after the stage was actually at the door, and she had her foot on the step, that, struck by a happy thought, she rushed upstairs again, collected the girls, and each taking a window, they tore down the cotton, flung open the sashes, and startled Mrs. Nipson, who stood below, by the simultaneous waving therefrom of many white flags. Katie, who was already in the stage, had the full benefit of this performance. Always after that, when she thought of the nunnery, her memory recalled this scene. Mrs. Nipson in the doorway, Bella blubbering behind, and overhead, the windows crowded with saucy girls, laughing and triumphantly flapping the long cotton strips which had for so many months obscured the daylight for them all. At Springfield next morning, she and Clover said goodbye to Mr. Page and Lily. The ride to Albany was easy and safe. With every mile their spirits rose. At last they were actually on the way home. At Albany they looked anxiously about the crowded depot for Mr. Peters. Nobody appeared at first, and they had time to grow nervous before they saw a gentle, care-worn little man coming toward them in company with the conductor. I believe you are the young ladies I have come to meet, he said. You must excuse my being late. I was detained by business. There was a great deal to do to move a family out west. He wiped his forehead in a dispirited way. Then he put the girls into a carriage and gave the driver a direction. We'd better leave your baggage at the office as we pass, he said, because we have to get off so early in the morning. How early? The boat goes at six, but we ought to be on board by half past five so as to be well settled before she starts. The boat? said Katie, opening her eyes. Oh, yes, eerie canal, you know. Our furniture goes that way, so we judged it best to do the same and keep an eye on it ourselves. Never be separated from your property if you can help it. That's my maxim. It's the Prairie Bell, one of the finest boats on the canal. When do we get to Buffalo? asked Katie with an uneasy recollection of having heard that canal boats travel slowly. Buffalo, let me see. This is Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. Well, if we're lucky we ought to be there Friday evening, so if we're not too late to catch the nightboat on the lake, you'll reach home Saturday afternoon. Four days. The girls looked at each other with dismay too deep for words. Elsie was expecting them by Thursday at latest. What should they do? Telegraph was the only answer that suggested itself. So Katie scribbled a despatch, coming by canal, don't expect us till Saturday, which she begged Mr. Peters to send, and she and Clover agreed and whispers that it was dreadful, but they must bear it as patiently as they could. Oh, the patience which is needed on a canal. The motion which is not so much motion is standing still. The crazy impulse to jump out and help the crawling boat along by pushing it from behind. How one grows to hate the slow monotonous glide, the dull banks, and to envy every swift moving thing in sight, each man on horseback, each bird flying through the air. Mrs. Peters was a thin, anxious woman who spent her life anticipating disasters of all sorts. She had her children with her, three little boys and a teething baby, and such a load of bundles and baskets and brown paper parcels that Katie and Clover privately wondered how she could possibly have got through the journey without their help. Willie, the eldest boy, was always begging leave to go ashore and ride the towing horses. Sammy, the second, could only be kept quiet by means of crooked pins and fish lines of blue yarn, while Paul, the youngest, was possessed with a curiosity as to the underside of the boat, which resulted in his dropping his new hat overboard five times in three days, Mr. Peters and the cabin boy rowing back in a small boat each time to recover it. Mrs. Peters sat on deck with her baby in her lap, and was in a perpetual agony lest the lock should work wrongly, or the boys be drowned, or someone fail to notice the warning cry bridge and have their heads carried off from their shoulders. Nobody did, but the poor lady suffered the anguish of ten accidents in dreading the one which never took place. The births at night were small and cramped, restless children woke and cried, the cabins were close, the decks cold and windy. There was nothing to see and nothing to do. Katie and Clover agreed that they never wanted to see a canalboat again. They were helpful to Mrs. Peters, amused the boys, and kept them out of mischief. And she told her husband that she really thought she shouldn't have lived through the journey if it hadn't been for the Miss Cars. They were such kind girls and so fond of children. But the three days were terribly long. At last they ended. Buffalo was reached in time for the lakeboat, and once established on board, feeling the rapid motion and knowing that each stroke of the paddles took them near a home, the girls were rewarded for their long trial of patience. At four o'clock the next afternoon Burnett was in sight. Long before they touched the wharf, Clover discovered old Whitey and the Carriol and Alexander, waiting for them among the crowd of carriages. Standing on the edge of the dock appeared a well-known figure. Papa! Papa! she shrieked. It seemed as if the girls could not wait for the boat to stop and the plank to be lowered. How delightful it was to feel Papa again, such a sense of home and comfort and shelter as came with his touch. I'll never go away from you again, never, never, repeated Clover, keeping tight hold of his hand as they drove up the hill. Dr. Carr, as he gazed at his girls, was equally happy. They were so bright, affectionate and loving. No. He could never spare them again for the boarding school or anything else, he thought. You must be very tired, he said. Not a bit. I'm hardly ever tired now, replied Katie. Oh, dear! I forgot to thank Mr. Peters for taking care of us, said Clover. Never mind, I did it for you, answered her father. Oh, that baby, she continued. How glad I am it has gone to Toledo, and I didn't hear it cry any more. Katie! Katie, there's home! We're at the gate! The girls looked eagerly out, but no children were visible. They hurried up the gravel path under the locust boughs just beginning to bud. There, over the front door, was an arch of evergreens with Katie and Clover upon it in scarlet letters, and as they reached the porch the door flew open and out poured the children in a tumultuous little crowd. They had been on the roof, looking through a spy glass after the boat. We never knew you had come until we heard the gate, explained John and Dory, while Elsie hugged Clover and Phil, locking his arms around Katie's neck, took his feet off the floor and swung them in an ecstasy of affection until she begged for mercy. How you are grown! Dory, you're as tall as I am! Elsie, darling, how well you look! Oh, isn't it delicious, delicious, delicious to be at home again? There was such a hubbub of endearments and explanations that Dr. Carr could hardly make himself heard. Clover, your waist is grown as small as a pin. You look just like the beautiful princess in Elsie's story, said Johnny. Take the girls into the parlor. Repeat to Dr. Carr, it is cold out here with the door open. Take them upstairs. You don't know what is upstairs! shouted Phil, whereupon Elsie frowned and shook her head at him. The parlor was gay with daffodils and hyacinths and vases of blue violets which smelt delightfully. C.C. had helped arrange them, Elsie said, and just at that moment C.C. herself came in. Her hair was arranged in a sort of pin cushion of puffs with a row of curls on top, where no curls used to grow, and her appearance generally was very fine and fashionable. But she was the same affectionate C.C. as ever, and hugged the girls and danced round them as she used to do at twelve. She had waited until they had had time to kiss once all round, she said, and then she really couldn't wait any longer. Now come upstairs, suggested Elsie when Clover had warmed her feet and the flowers had been admired, and everybody had said ten times over how nice it was to have the girls back, and the girls had replied that it was just as nice to come back. So they all went upstairs, Elsie leading the way. Where are you going? cried C.C.—that's the blue room. But Elsie did not pause. You see, she explained with the doorknob in her hand, Papa and I thought you ought to have a bigger room now, because you are grown-up young ladies. So we have fixed this for you, and your old one is going to be the spare room instead. Then she threw the door open and led the girls in. See, C.C. she said, this is your bureau and this is Clover's, and look what nice drawers Papa has had put in the closet. Two for you and two for her. Aren't they convenient? Don't you like it? And isn't it a great deal pleasanter than the old room? Oh, a great deal! cried the girls. It is delightful—everything about it. All Katie's old treasures had been transferred from her old quarters to this. There was her cushion chair, her table, her bookshelf, the pictures from the walls. There were some new things, too—a blue carpet, blue paper on the walls, window curtains of fresh chins, and Elsie had made a tasteful pin-cushion for each bureau and Johnny crocheted mats for the wash stand. All together it was as pretty a bower as two sisters just grown into ladies could desire. What are those lovely things hanging on either side of the bed? asked Clover. They were two illuminated texts, sent as a welcome home by Cousin Helen. One was a morning text and the other an evening text, Elsie explained. The evening text, which bore the words, I will lay me down to sleep and take my rest, for it is thou, Lord only, who makes me dwell in safety, was painted in soft purples and greys, and among the poppies and silver lilies, which wreathed it, appeared a cunning little downy bird fast asleep with his head under his wing. The morning text, when I awake I am still with thee, was in bright colors, scarlet and blue and gold, and had a frame of rose garlands and wide awake looking butterflies and hummingbirds. The girls thought they had never seen anything so pretty. Such a gay supper as they had that night. Katie would not take her old place at the tea-tree. She wanted to know how Elsie looked as housekeeper, she said. So she sat on one side of Papa and Clover on the other, and Elsie poured the tea with a mixture of delight and dignity which was worth seeing. I'll begin to-morrow, said Katie. And with that morrow, when she came out of her pretty room and took her place once more as manager of the household, her grown-up life may be said to have begun. So it is time that I should cease to write about her. Grown-up lives may be very interesting, but they have no rightful place in a child's book. If little girls will forget to be little and take it upon them to become young ladies, they must bear the consequences, one of which is that we can follow their fortunes no longer. I wrote these last words sitting in the same green meadow where the first words of what Katie did were written. A year had passed, but a cardinal flower which seemed the same stood looking at itself in the brook, and from the bulrush bed sounded tiny voices. My little goggle-eyed friends were discussing Katie and her conduct as they did then, but with less spirit. For one voice came seldom and faintly, while the other, bold and defiant as ever, repeated over and over again. Katie didn't! Katie didn't! She didn't! Didn't! Didn't! Katie did! sounded faintly from the farther rush. She didn't! She didn't! chirped the undaunted partisan. Silence followed. His opponent was either convinced or tired of the discussion. Katie didn't. The words repeated themselves in my mind as I walked homeward. How much room for didn'ts there is in the world, I thought. What an important part they play. And how glad I am that, with all her own and other people's doings, so many of these didn'ts were included among the things which my Katie did at school.