 CHAPTER 7 CUSIN HELLAN'S VISIT A little knot of the schoolgirls were walking home together one afternoon in July. As they neared Dr. Carr's gate, Maria Fisk exclaimed at the sight of a pretty bunch of flowers lying in the middle of the sidewalk, Oh, my! she cried. See what somebody's dropped! I'm going to have it. She stooped to pick it up, but just as her fingers touched the stems, the nose-gay, as if bewitched, began to move. Maria made a bewildered clutch. The nose-gay moved faster, and at last vanished under the gate, while a giggle sounded from the other side of the hedge. Did you see that? shrieked Maria. Those flowers ran away by themselves. Nonsense, said Katie. It's those absurd children. Then, opening the gate, she called, John, Dory, come out and show yourselves. But nobody replied, and no one could be seen. The nose-gay lay on the path, however, and, picking it up, Katie exhibited to the girls a long end of black thread tied to the stems. That's a very favourite trick of Johnny's, she said. She and Dory are always tying up flowers and putting them on the walk to tease people. Here, Maria, take them if you like. Though I don't think John's taste in bouquets is very good. Isn't it splendid to have vacation come? said one of the bigger girls. What are you all going to do? We're going to the seaside. Pa says he'll take Susie and me to Niagara, said Maria. I'm going to make my aunt a visit, said Alice Blair. She lives in a real lovely place in the country. There's a pond there. And Tom—that's my cousin—says he'll teach me to row. What are you going to do, Katie? Oh, I don't know. Play around and have splendid times, replied Katie, throwing her bag of books into the air and catching it again. But the other girls looked as if they didn't think this good fun at all, and as if they were sorry for her. And Katie felt suddenly that her vacation wasn't going to be so pleasant as that of the rest. I wish Papa would take us somewhere, she said to Clover as they walked up the gravel path. All the other girls' Papas do. He's too busy, replied Clover. Besides, I don't think any of the rest of the girls have half such good times as we. Ellen Robin says she'd give a million dollars for such nice brothers and sisters as ours to play with. And you know, Maria and Susie have awful times at home, though they do go to places. Mrs. Fisk is so particular. She always says don't, and they haven't got any yard to their house or anything. I wouldn't change. Nor I, said Katie, cheering up at these words of wisdom. Oh, isn't it lovely to think there won't be any school tomorrow? Vacations are just splendid. And she gave her bag another toss. It fell to the ground with a crash. There, you've cracked your slate, said Clover. No matter, I shan't want it again for eight weeks, replied Katie comfortably, as they ran up the steps. They burst open the front door and raced upstairs, crying, Hurrah! Hurrah! Vacations begun! Aunt Izzy, vacations begun! Then they stopped short, for low the upper hall was all in confusion. Sounds of beating and dusting came from the spare room. Tables and chairs were standing about, and a cot bed, which seemed to be taking a walk all by itself, had stopped short at the head of the stairs and barred the way. Why, how queer, said Katie, trying to get by. What can be going to happen? Oh, there's Aunt Izzy. Aunt Izzy, who's coming? What are you moving the things out of the blue room for? Oh, gracious, is that you? replied Aunt Izzy, who looked very hot and flurried. Now, children, it's no use for you to stand there asking questions. I haven't got time to answer them. Let the bedstead alone, Katie. You'll push it into the wall. There, I told you so. As Katie gave an impatient shove, you've made a bad mark on the paper. What a troublesome child you are. Go right downstairs, both of you, and don't come up this way again until after tea. I've just as much as I can possibly attend to till then. Just tell us what's going to happen and we will! cried the children. Your cousin Helen is coming to visit us, said Mrs. Izzy curtly, and disappeared into the blue room. This was news indeed. Katie and Clover ran downstairs in great excitement, and after consulting a little, retired to the loft to talk it over in peace and quiet. Cousin Helen coming. It seemed as strange as if Queen Victoria, gold, crown, and all had invited herself to tea, or as if some character out of a book, Robinson Crusoe, say, or Amy Herbert, had driven up with a trunk and announced the intention of spending a week. For to the imaginations of the children, Cousin Helen was as interesting and unreal as anybody in the fairy-tales, Cinderella or Bluebeard, or dear Red Riding Hood herself. Only there was a sort of mixture of Sunday school-book in their idea of her, for Cousin Helen was very, very good. None of them had ever seen her. Philly said he was sure she hadn't any legs, because she never went away from home and lay on a sofa all the time. But the rest knew that this was because Cousin Helen was ill. Papa always went to visit her twice a year, and he liked to talk to the children about her, and tell how sweet and patient she was, and what a pretty room she lived in. Katie and Clover had played Cousin Helen so long that now they were frightened as well as glad at the idea of seeing the real one. Do you suppose she will want us to say hymns to her all the time? asked Clover. Not all the time, replied Katie, because you'll know she'll get tired and have to take naps in the afternoons, and then of course she reads the Bible a great deal. Oh, dear, how quiet we shall have to be! I wonder how long she's going to stay. What do you suppose she looks like? went on Clover. Something like Lucy and Mrs. Sherwood, I guess, with blue eyes and curls and a long straight nose, and she'll keep her hands clasped so all the time and wear frilled wrappers and lie on the sofa perfectly still and never smile and just look patient. We'll have to take off our boots in the hall, Clover, and go upstairs and stalking feet so as not to make a noise all the time she stays. Won't it be funny? giggled Clover, her sober little face growing bright at the idea of this variation on the hymns. The time seemed very long till the next afternoon when Cousin Helen was expected. Aunt Izzy, who was in a great excitement, gave the children many orders about their behaviour. They were to do this and that, and not to do the other. Dory at last announced that he wished Cousin Helen would just stay at home. Clover and Elsie, who had been thinking pretty much the same thing in private, were glad to hear that she was on her way to a water cure and would only stay four days. Five o'clock came. They all sat on the steps waiting for the carriage. At last it drove up. Papa was on the box. He motioned the children to stand back. Then he helped out a nice-looking young woman, who, Aunt Izzy told them, was Cousin Helen's nurse, and then, very carefully, lifted Cousin Helen in his arms and brought her in. Oh! there are the chicks! were the first words the children heard in such a gay, pleasant voice. Do set me down somewhere, Uncle, I want to see them so much. So Papa put Cousin Helen on the hall sofa. The nurse fetched a pillow, and when she was made comfortable, Dr. Carr called to the little ones. Cousin Helen wants to see you, he said. Indeed I do, said the bright voice. So this is Katie. Why, what a splendid, tall Katie it is. And this is Clover, kissing her, and this dear little Elsie. You all look as natural as possible, just as if I had seen you before. And she hugged them all round, not as if it was polite to like them because they were relations, but as if she had loved them and wanted them all her life. There was something in Cousin Helen's face and manner which made the children at home with her at once. Even Philly, who had backed away with his hands behind him after staring hard for a minute or two, came up with a sort of rush to get his share of kissing. Still, Katie's first feeling was one of disappointment. Cousin Helen was not at all like Lucy and Mrs. Sherwood's story. Her nose turned up the least bit in the world. She had brown hair, which didn't curl, a brown skin and bright eyes, which danced when she laughed or spoke. Her face was thin, but except for that you wouldn't have guessed that she was sick. She didn't fold her hands and she didn't look patient, but absolutely glad and merry. Her dress wasn't a frilled wrapper, but a sort of loose travelling thing of pretty grey stuff, with a rose-coloured bow and bracelets and a round hat trimmed with a grey feather. All Katie's dreams about the saintly invalid seemed to take wings and fly away. But the more she watched Cousin Helen, the more she seemed to like her and to feel as if she were nicer than the imaginary person which she and Clover had invented. She looks just like other people, don't she? whispered Cece, who had come over to have a peep at the new arrival. Yes, replied Katie doubtfully, only a great, great deal prettier. By and by, Papa carried Cousin Helen upstairs. All the children wanted to go, too, but he told them she was tired and must rest, so they went outdoors to play till tea-time. Oh, do let me take up the tray, cried Katie at the tea-table as she watched Aunt Izzy getting ready Cousin Helen's supper. Such a nice supper! Cold chicken and raspberries and cream and tea in a pretty pink and white china cup, and such a snow-white napkin as Aunt Izzy spread over the tray. No indeed, said Aunt Izzy, you'll drop it the first thing. But Katie's eyes begged so hard that Dr. Carr said, yes, let her, Izzy, I like to see the girls useful. So Katie, proud of the commission, took the tray and carried it carefully across the hall. There was a bowl of flowers on the table. As she passed, she was struck with a bright idea. She set down the tray and, picking out a rose, laid it on the napkin besides the saucer of crimson raspberries. It looked very pretty, and Katie smiled to herself with pleasure. What are you stopping for, called Aunt Izzy from the dining-room? Do be careful, Katie. I really think Bridget had better take it. Oh, no, no! protested Katie. I'm most up already. And she sped upstairs as fast as she could go. Luckless speed. She had just reached the door of the blue room when she tripped upon her bootlace, which, as usual, was dangling, made a misstep and stumbled. She caught at the door to save herself. The door flew open and Katie, with the tray, cream, raspberries, rose, and all, descended in a confused heap upon the carpet. I told you so! exclaimed Aunt Izzy from the bottom of the stairs. Katie never forgot how kind Cousin Helen was on this occasion. She was in bed, and was, of course, a good deal startled at the sudden crash and tumble on her floor. But after one little jump, nothing could have been sweeter than the way in which she comforted poor crestfallen Katie and made so merry over the accident that even Aunt Izzy almost forgot to scold. The broken dishes were piled up and the carpet made clean again, while Aunt Izzy prepared another tray just as nice as the first. Please let Katie bring it up, pleaded Cousin Helen in her pleasant voice. I'm sure she will be careful this time. And Katie, I want just such another rose on the napkin. I guess that was your doing, wasn't it? Katie was careful. This time all went well. The tray was placed safely on a little table beside the bed, and Katie sat watching Cousin Helen eat her supper with a warm, loving feeling at her heart. I think we are scarcely ever so grateful to people as when they help us to get back our own self-esteem. Cousin Helen hadn't much appetite, though she declared everything was delicious. Katie could see that she was very tired. Now, she said when she had finished, if you'll shake up this pillow so, and move this other pillow a little, I think I will settle myself to sleep. Thanks, that's just right. Why, Katie dear, you were a born nurse. Now kiss me. Good night. Tomorrow we will have a nice talk. Katie went downstairs very happy. Cousin Helen's perfectly lovely, she told Clover, and she's got on the most beautiful nightgown, all lace and ruffles. It's just like a nightgown in a book. Isn't it wicked to care about clothes when you're sick? Question Cece. I don't believe Cousin Helen could do anything wicked, said Katie. I told Ma that she had on bracelets, and Ma said she feared your cousin was a worldly person, retorted Cece, priming up her lips. Katie and Clover were quite distressed at this opinion. They talked about it while they were undressing. I mean to ask Cousin Helen to-morrow, said Katie. Next morning the children got up very early. They were so glad that it was vacation. If it hadn't been, they would have been forced to go to school without seeing Cousin Helen, for she didn't wake up till late. They grew so impatient of the delay, and went upstairs so often to listen at the door and see if she were moving, that Aunt Izzy finally had to order them off. Katie rebelled against this order a good deal, but she consult herself by going into the garden and picking the prettiest flowers she could find, to give to Cousin Helen the moment she should see her. When Aunt Izzy let her go up, Cousin Helen was lying on the sofa, all dressed for the day in a fresh blue muslin with blue ribbons, and cunning bronze slippers with rosettes on the toes. The sofa had been wheeled round with its back to the light. There was a cushion with a pretty fluted cover that Katie had never seen before, and several other things were scattered about, which gave the room quite a different air. All the house was neat, but somehow Aunt Izzy's rooms were never pretty. Children's eyes are quick to perceive such things, and Katie saw at once that the blue room had never looked like this. Cousin Helen was white and tired, but her eyes and smile were as bright as ever. She was delighted with the flowers, which Katie presented rather shyly. Oh, how lovely, she said! I must put them in water right away. Katie, dear, don't you want to bring that little vase on the bureau and set it on this chair beside me, and please pour a little water into it first? What a beauty! cried Katie, as she lifted the graceful white cup swung on a guilt stand. Is it yours, Cousin Helen? Yes, it is my pet vase. It stands on a little table beside me at home, and I fancy that the water-cure would seem more home-like if I had it with me there, so I brought it along. But why do you look so puzzled, Katie? Does it seem queer that a vase should travel about in a trunk? No, said Katie slowly. I was only thinking... Cousin Helen, is it worldly to have pretty things when you're sick? Cousin Helen laughed heartily. What put that idea into your head, she asked. Cici said so when I told her about your beautiful nightgown. Cousin Helen laughed again. Well, she said, I'll tell you what I think, Katie. Pretty things are no more worldly than ugly ones, except when they spoil us by making us vain or careless of the comfort of other people. And sickness is such a disagreeable thing in itself that unless sick people take great pains, they soon grow to be eyesores to themselves and everybody about them. I don't think it is possible for an invalid to be too particular. And when one has the backache and the headache and the all-overache, she added smiling, there isn't much danger of growing vain because of a ruffle more or less on one's nightgown or a bit of bright ribbon. Then she began to arrange the flowers, touching each separate one gently as if she loved it. What a queer noise! she exclaimed, suddenly stopping. It was queer. A sort of snuffling and snorting sound, as if a walrus or a seahorse were promenading up and down in the hall. Katie opened the door. Behold, there were John and Dory, very red in the face from flattening their noses against the keyhole in a vain attempt to see if Cousin Helen were up and ready to receive company. Oh, let them come in! cried Cousin Helen from her sofa. So they came in, followed before long by Clover and Elsie. Such a merry morning as they had. Cousin Helen proved to possess a perfect genius for storytelling and for suggesting games which could be played about her sofa and did not make more noise than she could bear. Aunt Izzy, dropping in about eleven o'clock, found them having such a good time that almost before she knew it she was drawn into the game, too. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing before. There sat Aunt Izzy on the floor with three long lamp-lighters stuck in her hair, playing, I am a gentile lady, always gentile, in the jolliest manner possible. The children were so enchanted at the spectacle that they could hardly attend to the game, and were always forgetting how many horns they had. Clover privately thought that Cousin Helen must be a witch, and Papa, when he came home at noon, said almost the same thing. What have you been doing to them, Helen? he inquired as he opened the door and saw the merry circle on the carpet. Aunt Izzy's hair was half pulled down, and Philly was rolling over and over in convulsions of laughter. But Cousin Helen said she hadn't done anything, and pretty soon Papa was on the floor, too, playing away as fast as the rest. I must put a stop to this, he cried, when everybody was tired of laughing, and everybody's head was stuck as full of paper quills as a porcupine's back. Cousin Helen will be worn out. Run away, all of you, and don't come near this door again till the clock strikes four. Do you hear, chicks? Run! Run! Shoo! Shoo! The children scuttled away like a brood of fouls. All but Katie. Oh, Papa, I'll be so quiet, she pleaded. Might and I stay just till the dinner bell rings? Do let her," said Cousin Helen. So Papa said yes. Katie sat on the floor, holding Cousin Helen's hand, and listening to her talk with Papa. It interested her, though it was about things and people she did not know. How is Alex? asked Dr. Carr at length. Quite well now, replied Cousin Helen, with one of her brightest looks. He was run down and tired in the spring, and we were a little anxious about him, but Emma persuaded him to take a fortnight's vacation, and he came back all right. Do you see them often? Almost every day. And little Helen comes every day, you know, for her lessons. Is she as pretty as she used to be? Oh, yes, prettier, I think. She is a lovely little creature, having her so much with me is one of my greatest treats. Alex tries to think that she looks a little as I used to, but that is a compliment so great that I dare not appropriated. Dr. Carr stooped and kissed Cousin Helen as if he could not help it. My dear child, he said. That was all. But something in the tone made Katie curious. Papa, she said after dinner, who is Alex that you and Cousin Helen were talking about? Why, Katie, what makes you want to know? I can't exactly tell. Only Cousin Helen looked so— and you kissed her, and I thought perhaps it was something interesting. So it is, said Dr. Carr, drawing her onto his knee. I have a mind to tell you about it, Katie, because you're old enough to see how beautiful it is, and wise enough, I hope, not to chatter or ask questions. Alex is the name of somebody who, long ago, when Cousin Helen was well and strong, she loved and expected to marry. Oh, why didn't she, cried Katie? She met with a dreadful accident, continued Dr. Carr. For a long time they thought she would die. Then she grew slowly better, and the doctors told her that she might live a good many years, but that she would have to lie on her sofa always and be helpless and a cripple. Alex felt dreadfully when he heard this. He wanted to marry Cousin Helen just the same and be her nurse and take care of her always, but she would not consent. She broke the engagement, and told him that some day she hoped he would love somebody else well enough to marry her. So after a good many years he did. And now he and his wife live next door to Cousin Helen and are her dearest friends. Their little girl is named Helen. All their plans are talked over with her, and there is nobody in the world they think so much of. But doesn't it make Cousin Helen feel bad when she sees them walking about and enjoying themselves and she can't move? asked Katie. No, said Dr. Carr. It doesn't. Because Cousin Helen is half an angel already, and loves people better than herself. I'm very glad she could come here for once. She's an example to us all, Katie, and I couldn't ask anything better than to have my little girls take pattern after her. It must be awful to be sick, so little acquiesced Katie after Papa was gone. Why, if I had to stay in bed a whole week, I should die. I know I should. Poor Katie. It seemed to her, as it does to almost all young people, that there is nothing in the world so easy as to die the moment things go wrong. This conversation with Papa made Cousin Helen doubly interesting in Katie's eyes. It was just like something in a book, to be in the same house with the heroine of a love story so sad and sweet. The play that afternoon was much interrupted. For every few minutes somebody had to run in and see if it wasn't four o'clock. The instant the hour came all six children galloped up the stairs. I think we'll tell stories this time, said Cousin Helen. So they told stories. Cousin Helen's were the best of all. There was one of them about a robber which sent delightful chills creeping down all their backs. All but Philly. He was so excited that he grew warlike. I ain't afraid of robbers, he declared, strutting up and down. When they come I shall just cut them in two with my sword which Papa gave me. They did come once. I did cut them in two, three, five, eleven of them. You'll see. But that evening, after the younger children were gone to bed and Katie and Clover was sitting in the blue room, a lamentable howling was heard from the nursery. Clover ran to see what was the matter. Behold, there was Phil sitting up in bed and crying for help. There's robbers under the bed, he sobbed, ever so many robbers. Why, no, Philly, said Clover, peeping under the valence to satisfy him. There isn't anybody there. Yes, there is, I tell you, declared Phil, holding her tight. I heard one. They were chewing my India rubbers. Poor little fellow, said cousin Helen, when Clover, having pacified Phil, came back to report. It's a warning against robber stories. But this one ended so well that I didn't think of anybody's being frightened. It was no use after this for Aunt Izzy to make rules about going into the blue room. She might as well have ordered flies to keep away from a sugar-bowl. By hook or by crook the children would get upstairs. Whenever Aunt Izzy went in she was sure to find them there just as close to cousin Helen as they could get, and cousin Helen begged her not to interfere. We have only three or four days to be together, she said. Let them come as much as they like. It won't hurt me a bit. Little Elsie clung with a passionate love to this new friend. Cousin Helen had sharp eyes. She saw the wistful look in Elsie's face at once and took special pains to be sweet and tender to her. This preference made Katie jealous. She couldn't bear to share her cousin with anybody. When the last evening came and they went up after tea to the blue room, cousin Helen was opening a box which had just come by express. It is a good buy-box, she said. All of you must sit down in a row, and when I hide my hands beside me so, you must choose in turn which you will take. So they all chose in turn. Which hand will you have? The right or the left? And cousin Helen, with the air of a wise fairy, brought out from behind her pillow something pretty for each one. First came a vase exactly like her own, which Katie had admired so much. Katie screamed with delight as it was placed in her hands. Oh, how lovely! How lovely! she cried! I'll keep it as long as I live and breathe. If you do, it'll be the first time you ever kept anything for a week without breaking it, remarked Aunt Izzy. Next came a pretty purple pocket-book for Clover. It was just what she wanted, for she had lost her Port Monet. Then a cunning little locket on a bit of velvet ribbon which cousin Helen tied round Elsie's neck. There's a piece of my hair in it, she said. Why, Elsie, darling, what's the matter? Don't cry so. Oh, you're so beautiful and so sweet, sobbed Elsie, and you're going away! Dory had a box of dominoes and John a solitary board. For Phil there appeared a book, The History of the Robber Cat. That will remind you of the night when the thieves came and chewed your India rubbers, said cousin Helen with a mischievous smile. They all laughed, Phil loudest of all. Nobody was forgotten. There was a note-book for Papa and a set of ivory tablets for Aunt Izzy. Even Cece was remembered. Her present was The Book of Golden Deeds, with all sorts of stories about boys and girls who had done brave and good things. She was almost too pleased to speak. Oh, thank you, cousin Helen, she said at last. Cece wasn't a cousin, but she and the car-children were in the habit of sharing their aunts and uncles and relations generally, as they did other good things. Next day came the sad parting. All the little ones stood at the gate to wave their pocket handkerchiefs as the carriage drove away. When it was quite out of sight, Katie rushed off to weep a little weep, all by herself. Papa said he wished we were all like cousin Helen, she thought she wiped her eyes, and I mean to try, though I don't suppose if I tried a thousand years I should ever get to be half so good. I'll study, and keep my things in order, and be ever so kind to the little ones. Dear me, if only Aunt Izzy was cousin Helen, how easy it would be. Never mind. I'll think about her all the time, and I'll begin tomorrow. CHAPTER VIII. TOMORROW TOMORROW I will begin, thought Katie, as she dropped asleep that night. How often we all do so. And what a pity it is that when morning comes, and tomorrow is today, we so frequently wake up feeling quite differently, careless or impatient, and not a bit inclined to do the fine things we planned overnight. Sometimes it seems as if there must be wicked little imps in the world who are kept tied up so long as the sun shines, but who creep into our bedrooms when we are asleep to tease us and ruffle our tempers. Else why, when we go to rest, good-natured and pleasant, should we wake up so cross? Now there was Katie. Her last sleepy thought was an intention to be an angel from that time on, and as much like cousin Helen as she could, and when she opened her eyes she was all out of sorts and as fractious as a bear. Old Mary said that she got out of bed on the wrong side. I wonder, by the way, if anybody will ever be wise enough to tell us which side that is, so that we may always choose the other. How comfortable it would be if they could. You know how, if we begin the day in a cross mood, all sorts of unfortunate accidents seem to occur to add to our vexations. The very first thing Katie did this morning was to break her precious vase the one cousin Helen had given her. It was standing on the bureau with a little cluster of blush-roses in it. The bureau had a swing-glass. While Katie was brushing her hair, the glass tipped a little so that she could not see. At a good-humoured moment this accident wouldn't have troubled her much, but being out of temper to begin with, it made her angry. She gave the glass a violent push. The lower part swung forward, there was a smash, and the first thing Katie knew, the blush-roses lay scattered all over the floor and cousin Helen's pretty present was ruined. Katie just sat down on the carpet and cried as hard as if she had been Phil himself. And Izzy heard her lamenting and came in. I'm very sorry, she said, picking up the broken glass, but it's no more than I expected. You're so careless, Katie. Now don't sit there in that foolish way. Get up and dress yourself. You'll be late to breakfast. What's the matter? asked Papa, noticing Katie's red eyes as she took her seat at the table. I've broken my vase, said Katie dolefully. It was extremely careless of you to put it in such a dangerous place, said her aunt. You might have known that the glass would swing out and knock it off. Then seeing a big tear fall in the middle of Katie's plate, she added, really, Katie, you're too big to behave like a baby. Why, Dory would be ashamed to do so. Pray control yourself. This snub did not improve Katie's temper. She went on with her breakfast in sulk-y silence. What are you all going to do today? asked Dr. Carr, hoping to give things a more cheerful turn. Swing! cried John and Dory both together. Alexander's put us up a splendid one in the woodshed. No, you're not, said Aunt Izzy in a positive tone. The swing is not to be used till tomorrow. Remember that, children, not till tomorrow, and not then unless I give you leave. This was unwise of Aunt Izzy. She would better have explained farther. The truth was that Alexander, in putting up the swing, had cracked one of the staples which fastened it to the roof. He meant to get a new one in the course of the day, and meantime he had cautioned Miss Carr to let no one use the swing because it really was not safe. If she had told this to the children, all would have been right. But Aunt Izzy's theory was that young people must obey their elders without explanation. John and Elsie and Dory all pouted when they heard this order. Elsie recovered her good humour first. I don't care, she said, because I'm going to be very busy. I've got to write a letter to Cousin Helen about something." Elsie never could quite pronounce the T.H. What? asked Clover. Oh, something! answered Elsie, wagging her head mysteriously. None of the rest of you must know. Cousin Helen said so. It's a secret she and me has got. I don't believe Cousin Helen said so at all, said Katie Crossley. She wouldn't tell secrets to a silly little girl like you. Yes, she would too, retorted Elsie angrily. She said I was just as good to trust as if I was ever so big, and she said I was her pet. So there, Katie Carr. Stop disputing, said Aunt Izzy. Katie, your top drawer is all out of order. I never saw anything look so badly. Go upstairs at once and straighten it before you do anything else. Children, you must keep in the shade this morning. It's too hot for you to be running about in the sun. Elsie, go into the kitchen and tell Debbie I want to speak to her. Yes, said Elsie in an important tone. And afterwards I'm coming back to write my letter to Cousin Helen. Katie went slowly upstairs, dragging one foot after the other. It was a warm, languid day. Her head ached a little, and her eyes smarted and felt heavy from crying so much. Everything seemed dull and hateful. She said to herself that Aunt Izzy was very unkind to make her work in vacation, and she pulled the top drawer open with a disgusted groan. It must be confessed that Miss Izzy was right. A bureau drawer could hardly look worse than this one did. It reminded one of the White Knight's recipe for a pudding, which began with blotting paper and ended with sealing wax and gunpowder. All sorts of things were mixed together, as if somebody had put in a long stick and stirred them well up. There were books and paint boxes and bits of scribbled paper and lead pencils and brushes. Stalking legs had come unrolled and twisted themselves about pocket handkerchiefs and ends of ribbon and linen collars. Ruffles, all crushed out of shape, stuck up from under the heavier things, and sundry little paper boxes lay empty on top, the treasures they once held having sifted down to the bottom of the drawer, and disappeared beneath the general mass. It took much time and patience to bring order out of this confusion, but Katie knew that Aunt Izzy would be up by and by, and she dared not stop till all was done. By the time it was finished, she was very tired. Going downstairs, she met Elsie coming up with a slate in her hand, which, as soon as she saw Katie, she put behind her. You mustn't look, she said. It's my letter to cousin Helen. Nobody but me knows the secret. It's all written, and I'm going to send it to the office. See, there's a stamp on it. And she exhibited a corner of the slate. Sure enough, there was a stamp stuck on the frame. You little goose, said Katie impatiently. You can't send that to the post office. Here, give me the slate. I'll copy what you've written on paper, and Papa'll give you an envelope. No, no, cried Elsie struggling. You mustn't. You'll see what I've said, and cousin Helen said I wasn't to tell. It's a secret. Let go of my slate, I say. I'll tell cousin Helen what a mean girl you are, and then she won't love you a bit. There, then, take your old slate, said Katie, giving her a vindictive push. Elsie slipped, screamed, caught at the banisters, missed them, and rolling over and over, fell with a thump on the hall floor. It wasn't much of a fall, only half a dozen steps, but the bump was a hard one, and Elsie roared as if she had been half-killed. And Izzy and Mary came rushing to the spot. Katie pushed me, sobbed Elsie. She wanted me to tell her my secret, and I wouldn't. She's a bad, naughty girl. Well, Katie Carr, I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself, said Aunt Izzy, reeking your temper on your poor little sister. I think your cousin Helen will be surprised when she hears this. There, there, Elsie, don't cry any more, dear. Come upstairs with me, and I'll put on some arnica, and Katie shan't hurt you again. So they went upstairs. Katie, left below, felt very miserable, repentant, defiant, discontented, and sulky all at once. She knew in her heart that she had not meant to hurt Elsie, but was thoroughly ashamed of that push. But Aunt Izzy's hint about telling cousin Helen had made her too angry to allow of her confessing this to herself, or anybody else. I don't care, she murmured, choking back her tears. Elsie is a real crybaby anyway, and Aunt Izzy always takes her part, just because I told the little silly not to go and send a great heavy slate to the post office. She went out by the side door into the yard. As she passed the shed, the new swing caught her eye. How exactly like Aunt Izzy, she thought, ordering the children not to swing till she gives them leave. I suppose she thinks it's too hot or something. I shan't mind her anyhow. She seated herself in the swing. It was a first-rate one, with a broad, comfortable seat and thick new ropes. The seat hung just the right distance from the floor. Alexander was a capital hand at putting up swings, and the woodshed, the nicest possible spot in which to have one. It was a big place with a very high roof. There was not much wood left in it just now, and the little there was was piled neatly about the sides of the shed, so as to leave plenty of room. The place felt cool and dark, and the motion of the swings seemed to set the breeze blowing. It waved Katie's hair like a great fan, and made her dreamy and quiet. All sorts of sleepy ideas began to flip through her brain. Swinging to and fro like the pendulum of a great clock, she gradually rose higher and higher, driving herself along by the motion of her body, and striking the floor smartly with her foot at every sweep. Now she was at the top of the high arched door, then she could almost touch the cross-beam above it, and through the small square window could see pigeons sitting and pluming themselves on the eaves of the barn, and white clouds blowing over the blue sky. She had never swung so high before. It was like flying, she thought, and she bent and curved more strongly in the seat, trying to send herself yet higher, and grazed the roof with her toes. Suddenly, at the very highest point of the sweep, there was a sharp noise of cracking. The swing gave a violent twist, spun half-round, and tossed Katie into the air. She clutched the rope, felt it dragged from her grasp, then down, down, down she fell. All grew dark, and she knew no more. When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the sofa in the dining-room. Clover was kneeling beside her with a pale, scared face, and Aunt Izzy was dropping something cold and wet on her forehead. What's the matter? said Katie faintly. Oh, she's alive! She's alive! And Clover put her arms around Katie's neck and sobbed. Hush, dear! Aunt Izzy's voice sounded unusually gentle. You've had a bad tumble, Katie. Don't you recollect? A tumble? Oh, yes! Out of the swing, said Katie, as it all came slowly back to her. Did the rope break, Aunt Izzy? I can't remember about it. No, Katie, not the rope. The staple drew out of the roof. It was a cracked one, and not safe. Don't you recollect my telling you not to swing today? Did you forget? No, Aunt Izzy. I didn't forget. I— But here Katie broke down. She closed her eyes, and big tears rolled from under the lids. Don't cry, whispered Clover crying herself. Please don't. Aunt Izzy isn't going to scold you. But Katie was too weak and shaken not to cry. I think I'd like to go upstairs and lie on the bed, she said. But when she tried to get off the sofa, everything swam before her, and she fell back again on the pillow. Oh, I—I can't stand up, she gasped, looking very much frightened. I'm afraid you've given yourself a sprain somewhere, said Aunt Izzy, who looked rather frightened herself. You'd better lie still a while, dear, before you try to move. Ah, here's the doctor, while I am glad. And she went forward to meet him. It wasn't Papa, but Dr. Alsop, who lived quite near them. I'm so relieved that you could come, Aunt Izzy said. My brother has gone out of town not to return till tomorrow, and one of the little girls has had a bad fall. Dr. Alsop sat down beside the sofa and counted Katie's pulse. Then he began feeling all over her. Can you move this leg? he asked. Katie gave a feeble kick. And this? The kick was a good deal more feeble. Did that hurt you? asked Dr. Alsop, seeing a look of pain on her face. Yes—a little, replied Katie, trying hard not to cry. In your back, eh? Was the pain high up or low down? And the doctor punched Katie's spine for some minutes, making her squirm uneasily. I'm afraid she's done some mischief, he said at last. But it's impossible to tell yet exactly what. It may be only a twist or a slight sprain, he added, seeing the look of terror on Katie's face. You'd better get her upstairs and undress her as soon as you can, Miss Carr. I'll leave a prescription to rub her with. And Dr. Alsop took out a bit of paper and began to write. Oh, must I go to bed? said Katie. How long will I have to stay there, doctor? That depends on how fast you get well, replied the doctor. Not long, I hope. Perhaps only a few days. A few days? repeated Katie in a despairing tone. After the doctor was gone, Aunt Izzy and Debbie lifted Katie and carried her slowly upstairs. It was not easy, for every motion hurt her, and the sense of being helpless hurt most of all. She couldn't help crying after she was undressed and put into bed. It all seemed so dreadful and strange. If only Papa was here, she thought. But Dr. Carr had gone into the country to see somebody who was very sick and couldn't possibly be back till tomorrow. Such a long, long afternoon as that was. Aunt Izzy sent up some dinner, but Katie couldn't eat. Her lips were parched, and her head ached violently. The sun began to pour in, the room grew warm. Flies buzzed in the window and tormented her by lighting on her face. Little prickles of pain ran up and down her back. She lay with her eyes shut because it hurt to keep them open, and all sorts of uneasy thoughts went rushing through her mind. Perhaps, if my back is really sprained, I shall have to lie here as much as a week, she said to herself. Oh dear, dear, I can't. The vacation is only eight weeks, and I was going to do such lovely things. How can people be as patient as Cousin Helen when they have to lie still? Won't she be sorry when she hears? Was it really yesterday that she went away? It seems a year. If only I hadn't got into that nasty old swing. And then Katie began to imagine how it would have been if she hadn't, and how she and Clover had meant to go to paradise that afternoon. They might have been there under the cool trees now. As these thoughts ran through her mind, her head grew hotter, and her position in the bed more uncomfortable. Suddenly she became conscious that the glaring light from the window was shaded, and that the wind seemed to be blowing freshly over her. She opened her heavy eyes. The blinds were shut, and there beside the bed sat little Elsie, fanning her with a palm-leaf fan. Did I wake you up, Katie? she asked in a timid voice. Katie looked at her with startled, amazed eyes. Don't be frightened, said Elsie. I won't disturb you. Donnie and me are so sorry you're sick, and her little lips trembled. But we mean to keep real quiet and never bang the nursery door or make noises on the stairs till you're well again. And I've brought you something real nice. Some of it's from John, and some from me. It's because you got tumbled out of the swing. See? And Elsie pointed triumphantly to a chair which she had pulled up close to the bed, and on which were solemnly set forth, first a pewter t-set, second a box with a glass lid on which flowers were painted, third a jointed doll, fourth a transparent slate, and lastly two new lead pencils. They're all yours. Yours to keep, said generous little Elsie. You can have pickery too if you want. Only he's pretty big, and I'm afraid he'd be lonely without me. Don't you like the things, Katie? They're real pretty. It seemed to Katie as if the hottest sort of a coal of fire was burning into the top of her head, as she looked at the treasures on the chair, and then at Elsie's face all lighted up with affection at self-sacrifice. She tried to speak, but began to cry instead, which frightened Elsie very much. Does it hurt you so bad? she asked, crying too from sympathy. Oh, no, it isn't that, sobbed Katie, but I was so cross to you this morning, Elsie, and pushed you. Oh, please forgive me, please do. Why, it's got well, said Elsie surprised, and as he put a thing out of a bottle on it, and the bump all went away, shall I go and ask her to put some on you too? I will. And she ran toward the door. Oh, no, cried Katie, don't go away, Elsie. Come here and kiss me instead. Elsie turned as if doubtful whether this invitation could be meant for her. Katie held out her arms. Elsie ran right into them, and the big sister and the little exchanged an embrace which seemed to bring their hearts closer together than they had ever been before. You're the most precious little darling, murmured Katie, clasping Elsie tight. I've been real horrid to you, Elsie, but I'll never be again. You shall play with me and Clover and Cece just as much as you like, and write notes in all the post offices and everything else. Oh, goody-goody! cried Elsie, executing little skips of transport. How sweet you are, Katie! I mean to love you next best to cousin Helen and Papa, and racking her brains for some way of repaying this wonderful kindness. I'll tell you the secret, if you want me to very much. I guess cousin Helen would let me. No, said Katie, never mind about the secret. I don't want you to tell it to me. Sit down by the bed and fan me some more instead. No, persisted Elsie, who now that she had made up her mind to part with the treasured secret could not bear to be stopped. Cousin Helen gave me a half-dollar and told me to give it to Debbie, and tell her she was much obliged to her for making her such nice things to eat, and I did, and Debbie was real pleased. And I wrote cousin Helen a letter, and told her that Debbie liked the half-dollar. That's the secret. Isn't it a nice one? Only you mustn't tell anybody about it ever, just as long as you live. No, said Katie, smiling faintly. I won't. All the rest of the afternoon, Elsie sat beside the bed with her palm-leaf fan, keeping off the flies, and shooing away the other children when they peeped in at the door. Do you really like to have me here? She asked more than once, and smiled oh so triumphantly when Katie said yes. But though Katie said yes, I am afraid it was only half the truth, for the sight of the dear little forgiving girl whom she had treated unkindly gave her more pain than pleasure. I'll be so good to her when I get well, she thought to herself, tossing uneasily to and fro. Aunt Izzy slept in her room that night. Katie was feverish. When morning came and Dr. Carr returned, he found her in a good deal of pain, hot and restless, with wide open, anxious eyes. Papa, she cried the first thing, must I lie here as much as a week? My darling, I'm afraid you must, replied her father, who looked worried and very grave. Dear, dear, sobbed Katie, how can I bear it? End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Of What Katie Did By Susan Coolidge This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Karen Savage Chapter 9 Dismal Days If anybody had told Katie that first afternoon that at the end of a week she would still be in bed and in pain, and with no time fixed for getting up, I think it would have almost killed her. She was so restless and eager that to lie still seemed one of the hardest things in the world. But to lie still and have her back ache all the time was worse yet. Day after day she asked Papa with quivering lip, maynt I get up and go downstairs this morning? And when he shook his head, the lip would quiver more and tears would come. But if she tried to get up, it hurt her so much that in spite of herself she was glad to sink back again on the soft pillows and mattress, which felt so comfortable to her poor bones. Then there came a time when Katie didn't even ask to be allowed to get up. A time when sharp, dreadful pain such as she never imagined before took hold of her, when days and nights got all confused and tangled up together, and Aunt Izzy never seemed to go to bed. A time when Papa was constantly in her room, when other doctors came and stood over her and punched and felt her back and talked to each other in low whispers. It was all like a long, bad dream from which she couldn't wake up, though she tried ever so hard. Now and then she would rouse a little and catch the sound of voices, or be aware that Clover or Elsie stood at the door crying softly, or that Aunt Izzy, in creaking slippers, was going about the Rimon tiptoe. Then all these things would slip away again and she would drop off into a dark place, where there was nothing but pain, and sleep which made her forget pain, and so seemed the best thing in the world. We will hurry over this time, for it is hard to think of our bright Katie in such a sad plight. By and by the pain grew less, and the sleep quieter. Then, as the pain became easier still, Katie woke up, as it were, began to take notice of what was going on about her, to put questions. How long have I been sick, she asked one morning. It is four weeks yesterday, said Papa. Four weeks, said Katie. Why, I didn't know it was so long as that. Was I very sick, Papa? Very dear, but you are a great deal better now. How did I hurt me when I tumbled out of the swing, asked Katie, who was in an unusually wakeful mood? I don't believe I could make you understand, but try, Papa. Well, did you know that you had a long bone down your back called the spine? I thought that was a disease, said Katie. Clover said that Cousin Helen had the spine. No, the spine is a bone. It is made up of a row of smaller bones, or knobs, and in the middle of it is a sort of rope of nerves called the spinal cord. Nerves, you know, are the things we feel with. Well, this spinal cord is rolled up for safe keeping in a soft wrapping called membrane. When you fell out of the swing, you struck against one of these knobs and bruised the membrane inside, and the nerve inflamed and gave you a fever in the back. Do you see? A little, said Katie, not quite understanding, but too tired to question further. After she had rested a while, she said, Is the fever well now, Papa? Can I get up again and go downstairs right away? Not right away, I am afraid, said Dr. Carr, trying to speak cheerfully. Katie didn't ask any more questions then. Another week passed, and another. The pain was almost gone. It only came back now and then for a few minutes. She could sleep now, and eat, and be raised in bed without feeling giddy. But still the once active limbs hung heavy and lifeless, and she was not able to walk or even stand alone. My legs feel so queer, she said one morning. They're just like the prince's legs which were turned to black marble in the Arabian Nights. What do you suppose is the reason, Papa? Won't they feel natural soon? Not soon, answered Dr. Carr. Then he said to himself, Poor child, she had better know the truth. So he went on aloud. I am afraid, my darling, that you must make up your mind to stay in bed a long time. How long, said Katie, looking frightened? A month more? I can't tell exactly how long, answered her father. The doctors think, as I do, that the injury to your spine is one which you will outgrow by and by because you are so young and strong. But it may take a good while to do it. It may be that you will have to lie here for months, or it may be more. The only cure for such a hurt is time and patience. It is hard, darling, for Katie began to sob wildly. But you have hope to help you along. Think of poor cousin Helen bearing all these years without hope. Oh, Papa! gasped Katie between her sobs. Doesn't it seem dreadful that just getting into the swing for a few minutes should do so much harm? Such a little thing is that. Yes. Such a little thing, repeated Dr. Carr sadly. And it was only a little thing, too, forgetting Aunt Izzy's order about the swing. Just for the want of the small horseshoe nail of obedience, Katie. Years afterwards Katie told somebody that the longest six weeks of her life were those which followed this conversation with Papa. Now that she knew there was no chance of getting well at once, the days dragged dreadfully. Each seemed duller and dismaler than the day before. She lost heart about herself and took no interest in anything. Aunt Izzy brought her books, but she didn't want to read or to sew. Nothing amused her. Clover and Cece would come and sit with her, but hearing them tell about their plays and the things they had been doing made her cry so miserably that Aunt Izzy wouldn't let them come often. They were very sorry for Katie, but the room was so gloomy and Katie so cross that they didn't mind much not being allowed to see her. In those days Katie made Aunt Izzy keep the blinds shut tight and she lay in the dark, thinking how miserable she was and how wretched all the rest of her life was going to be. Everybody was very kind and patient with her, but she was too selfishly miserable to notice it. Aunt Izzy ran up and downstairs and was on her feet all day trying to get something which would please her, but Katie hardly said thank you and never saw how tired Aunt Izzy looked. So long as she was forced to stay in bed, Katie could not be grateful for anything that was done for her. But doleful as the days were they were not so bad as the nights. When after Aunt Izzy was asleep Katie would lie wide awake and have long hopeless fits of crying. At these times she would think of all the plans she had made for doing beautiful things when she was grown up. And now I shall never do any of them, she would say to herself, only just lie here. Papa says I may get well by and by, but I shant, I know I shant, and even if I do I shall have wasted all these years and the others will grow up and get ahead of me and I shan't be a comfort to them or to anybody else. Oh dear, oh dear, how dreadful it is! The first thing which broke in upon this sad state of affairs was a letter from cousin Helen, which Papa brought one morning and handed to Aunt Izzy. Helen tells me she's going home this week, said Aunt Izzy from the window, where she had gone to read the letter. Well, I'm sorry, but I think she's quite right not to stop. It's just as she says. One invalidated time is enough in a house. I'm sure I have my hands full with Katie. Oh, Aunt Izzy! cried Katie. Is cousin Helen coming this way when she goes home? Oh, do make her stop. If it's just for one day, do ask her. I want to see her so much. I can't tell you how much, won't you? Please, please, dear Papa. She was almost crying with eagerness. Why, yes, darling, if you wish it so much, said Dr. Carr, it will cost Aunt Izzy some trouble, but she's so kind that I'm sure she'll manage it, if it is to give you so much pleasure. Can't you, Izzy? And he looked eagerly at his sister. Of course I will, said Miss Izzy heartily. Katie was so glad that for the first time in her life she threw her arms of her own accord around Aunt Izzy's neck and kissed her. Thank you, dear Auntie, she said. Aunt Izzy looked as pleased as could be. She had a warm heart hidden under her fidgety ways. Only Katie had never been sick before to find it out. For the next week Katie was feverish with expectation. At last cousin Helen came. This time Katie was not on the steps to welcome her, but after a little while Papa brought cousin Helen in his arms and sat her in a big chair beside the bed. How dark it is, she said, after they had kissed each other and talked for a minute or two. I can't see your face at all. Would it hurt your eyes to have a little more light? Oh, no, answered Katie. It don't hurt my eyes. Only I hate to have the sun come in. It makes me feel worse somehow. Push the blind open a little bit, then Clover. And Clover did so. Now I can see, said cousin Helen. It was a forlorn-looking child enough which she saw lying before her. Katie's face had grown thin, and her eyes had red circles about them from continual crying. Her hair had been brushed twice that morning by Aunt Izzy, but Katie had run her fingers impatiently through it till it stood out above her head like a frowsy bush. She wore a calico dressing gown, which, though clean, was particularly ugly in pattern. And the room, for all its tidiness, had a dismal look, with the chairs set up against the wall and a row of medicine bottles on the chimney piece. Isn't it horrid? sighed Katie, as cousin Helen looked around. Everything's horrid. But I don't mind so much now that you've come. Oh, cousin Helen, I've had such a dreadful, dreadful time. I know, said her cousin pityingly. I've heard all about it, Katie, and I'm so very sorry for you. It is a hard trial, my poor darling. But how do you do it? cried Katie. How do you manage to be so sweet and beautiful and patient when you're feeling badly all the time and can't do anything or walk or stand? Her voice was lost in sobs. Cousin Helen didn't say anything for a little while. She just sat and stroked Katie's hand. Katie, she said at last, has Papa told you that he thinks you are going to get well by and by? Yes, replied Katie. He did say so. But perhaps it won't be for a long, long time, and I wanted to do so many things, and now I can't do anything at all. What sort of things? Study and help people and become famous, and I wanted to teach the children. Mama said I must take care of them and I meant to, and now I can't go to school or learn anything myself, and if I ever do get well, the children will be almost grown up and they won't need me. But why must you wait till you get well? asked Cousin Helen, smiling. Why, Cousin Helen, what can I do lying here in bed? A good deal. Shall I tell you, Katie, what it seems to me that I should say to myself, if I were in your place? Yes, please! replied Katie, wonderingly. I should say this. Now, Katie Carr, you wanted to go to school and learn to be wise and useful, and here's a chance for you. God is going to let you go to his school, where he teaches all sorts of beautiful things to people. Perhaps he will only keep you for one term, or perhaps it may be for three or four. But whichever it is, you must make the very most of the chance, because he gives it to you himself. But what is the school? asked Katie. I don't know what you mean. It is called the School of Pain, replied Cousin Helen with her sweetest smile, and the place where the lessons are to be learned is this room of yours. The rules of the school are pretty hard, but the good scholars who keep them best find out after a while how right and kind they are, and the lessons aren't easy either, but the more you study, the more interesting they become. What are the lessons? asked Katie, getting interested and beginning to feel as if Cousin Helen were telling her a story. Well, there's the lesson of patience. That's one of the hardest studies. You can't learn much of it at a time, but every bit you get by heart makes the next bit easier. And there's the lesson of cheerfulness, and the lesson of making the best of things. Sometimes there isn't anything to make the best of, remarked Katie dolefully. Yes, there is, always. Everything in the world has two handles. Didn't you know that? One is a smooth handle. If you take hold of it, the thing comes up lightly and easily. But if you seize the rough handle, it hurts your hand, and the thing is hard to lift. Some people always manage to get hold of the wrong handle. Is Aunt Izzy a thing? asked Katie. Cousin Helen was glad to hear her laugh. Yes, Aunt Izzy is a thing, and she has a nice pleasant handle, too, if you just try to find it. And the children are things also in one sense. All their handles are different. You know human beings aren't made just alike, like red flower pots. We have to feel and guess before we can make out just how other people go, and how we ought to take hold of them. It is very interesting. I advise you to try it. And while you are trying, you will learn all sorts of things which will help you to help others. If only I could, sighed Katie. Are there any other studies in the school, Cousin Helen? Yes. There's the lesson of hopefulness. That class has ever so many teachers. The son is one. He sits outside the window all day, waiting a chance to slip in and get at his pupil. He's a first-rate teacher, too. I wouldn't shut him out if I were you. Every morning the first thing when I woke up I would say to myself, I am going to get well. So Papa thinks. Perhaps it may be tomorrow. So in case this should be the last day of my sickness, let me spend it beautifully and make my sick room so pleasant that everybody will like to remember it. Then there is one more lesson, Katie. The lesson of needness. Schoolrooms must be kept in order, you know. A sick person ought to be as fresh and dainty as a rose. But it is such a fuss, pleaded Katie. I don't believe you have any idea what a bother it is to always be nice and in order. You never were careless like me, Cousin Helen. You were born neat. Oh, was I, said her cousin. Well, Katie, we won't dispute that point. But I'll tell you a story, if you like, about a girl I once knew who wasn't born neat. Oh, do! cried Katie, enchanted. Cousin Helen had done her good already. She looked brighter and less listless than for days. This girl was quite young, continued Cousin Helen. She was strong and active and liked to run and climb and ride and do all sorts of jolly things. One day something happened, an accident, and they told her that all the rest of her life she had got to lie on her back and suffer pain and never walk any more or do any of the things she enjoyed most. Just like you and me, whispered Katie, squeezing Cousin Helen's hand. Something like me. But not so much like you, because you know we hope you are going to get well one of these days. The girl didn't mind it so much when they first told her, for she was so ill that she felt sure she should die. But when she got better and began to think of the long life which lay before her, that was worse than ever the pain had been. She was so wretched that she didn't care what became of anything or how anything looked. She had no Aunt Izzy to look after things, so her room soon got into a dreadful state. It was full of dust and confusion and dirty spoons and files of physics. She kept the blinds shut and let her hair tangle every which way, and altogether was a dismal spectacle. This girl had a dear old father, went on Cousin Helen, who used to come every day and sit beside her bed. One morning he said to her, My daughter, I am afraid you've got to live in this room for a long time. Now there's one thing I want you to do for my sake. What's that? She asked, surprised to hear there was anything left which you could do for anybody. I want you to turn out all these physics bottles and make your room pleasant and pretty for me to come and sit in. You see, I shall spend a good deal of my time here. Now I don't like dust and darkness. I like to see flowers on the table and sunshine in at the window. Will you do this to please me? Yes, said the girl, but she gave a sigh, and I am afraid she felt as if it was going to be a dreadful trouble. Then another thing continued her father. I want you to look pretty. Can't nightgowns and wrappers be trimmed and made becoming just as much as dresses? A sick woman who isn't neat is a disagreeable object. Due to please me, send for something pretty, and let me see you looking nice again. I can't bear to have my Helen turned into a slattern. Helen! exclaimed Katie with wide open eyes. Was it you? Yes, said her cousin, smiling. It was I, though I didn't mean to let the name slip out so soon. So after my father was gone away I sent for a looking-glass. Such a sight, Katie! My hair was a perfect mouse's nest, and I had frowned so much that my forehead was all crisscrossed with lines of pain till it looked like an old woman's. Katie stared at cousin Helen's smooth, brow and glossy hair. I can't believe it, she said. Your hair never could be rough. Yes, it was. Worse, a great deal than yours looks now. But that peep in the glass did me good. I began to think how selfishly I was behaving, and to desire to do better. And after that, when the pain came on, I used to lie and keep my forehead smooth with my fingers, and try not to let my face show what I was enduring. So by and by the wrinkles wore away, and though I am a good deal older now, they have never come back. It was a great deal of trouble at first to have to think and plan to keep my room and myself looking nice. But after a while it grew to be a habit, and then it became easy. And the pleasure it gave my dear father repaid for all. He had been proud of his active, healthy girl, but I think she was never such a comfort to him as his sick one, lying there in her bed. My room was his favourite sitting place, and he spent so much time there, that now the room and everything in it makes me think of him. There were tears in cousin Helen's eyes as she ceased speaking. But Katie looked bright and eager. It seemed somehow to be a help, as well as a great surprise, that ever there should have been a time when cousin Helen was less perfect than she was now. Do you really think I could do so too? She asked. Do what? Comb your hair? Cousin Helen was smiling now. Oh, no! Be nice and sweet and patient and a comfort to people. You know what I mean. I am sure you can if you try. But what would you do first? asked Katie, who now that her mind had grasped a new idea was eager to begin. Well, first I would open the blinds, and make the room look a little less dismal. Are you taking all those medicines in the bottles now? No, only that big one with the blue label. Then you might ask Aunt Izzy to take away the others. And I'd get clover to pick a bunch of fresh flowers every day for your table. By the way, I don't see the little white face. No, it got broken the very day after you went away, the day I fell out of the swing, said Katie sorrowfully. Never mind, Pat, don't look so doleful. I know the tree those vases grow upon, and you shall have another. Then, after the room is made pleasant, I would have all my lesson books fetched up if I were you, and I would study a couple of hours every morning. Oh! cried Katie, making a rye face at the idea. Cousin Helen smiled. I know, said she, it sounds like dull work learning geography and doing sums up here all by yourself. But I think if you make the effort, you'll be glad by and by. You won't lose so much ground, you see. Won't slip back quite so far in your education. And then studying will be like working at a garden, where things don't grow easily. Every flower you raise will be a sort of triumph, and you will value it twice as much as a common flower which has caused no trouble. Well, said Katie rather forlornly. I'll try, but it won't be a bit nice studying without anybody to study with me. Is there anything else, Cousin Helen? Just then the door creaked, and Elsie timidly put her head into the room. Oh! Elsie, run away! cried Katie. Cousin Helen and I are talking. Don't come just now. Katie didn't speak unkindly, but Elsie's face fell, and she looked disappointed. She said nothing, however, but shut the door and stole away. Cousin Helen watched this little scene without speaking. For a few minutes after Elsie was gone, she seemed to be thinking. Katie, she said at last, you were saying just now that one of the things you were sorry about was that while you were ill you could be of no use to the children. Do you know? I don't think you have that reason for being sorry. Why not? said Katie astonished. Because you can be of use. It seems to me that you have more of a chance with the children now than you ever could have had when you were well, and flying about as you used. You might do almost anything you liked with them. I can't think what you mean, said Katie sadly. Why, Cousin Helen, half the time I don't even know where they are or what they are doing, and I can't get up and go after them, you know. But you can make your room such a delightful place that they will want to come to you. Don't you see, a sick person has one splendid chance. She is always on hand. Everybody who wants her knows just where to go. If people loves her, she gets naturally to be the heart of the house. Once make the little ones feel that your room is the place of all others to come to when they are tired or happy or grieved or sorry about anything, and that the Katie who lives there is sure to give them a loving reception, and the battle is won. For you know we never do people good by lecturing, only by living their lives with them and helping a little here and a little there to make them better. And when one's life is laid aside for a while, as yours is now, that is the very time to take up other people's lives, as we can't do when we are scurrying and bustling over our own affairs. But I didn't mean to preach a sermon. I'm afraid you're tired. No, I'm not a bit, said Katie, holding Cousin Helen's hand tied in hers. You can't think how much better I feel. Oh, Cousin Helen, I will try. It won't be easy, replied her cousin. There will be days when your head aches, and you feel cross and fretted, and don't want to think of any one but yourself. And there will be other days when clover and the rest will come in, as Elsie did just now, and you will be doing something else, and will feel as if their coming was a bother. But you must recollect that every time you forget, and are impatient or selfish, you chill them and drive them further away. They are loving little things, and are so sorry for you now that nothing you do makes them angry. But by and by they will get used to having you sick, and if you haven't won them as friends, they will grow away from you as they get older. Just then Dr. Carr came in. Oh, Papa, you haven't come to take Cousin Helen, have you? Cried Katie. Indeed I have, said her father. I think the big invalid and the little invalid have talked quite long enough. Cousin Helen looks tired. For a minute Katie felt just like crying, but she choked back the tears. My first lesson in patience, she said to herself, and managed to give a faint, watery smile as Papa looked at her. That's right, dear, whispered Cousin Helen, as she bent forward to kiss her. And one last word, Katie. In this school to which you and I belong, there is one great comfort, and that is that the teacher is always at hand. He never goes away. If things puzzle us, there he is, close by, ready to explain and make all easy. Try to think of this, darling, and don't be afraid to ask him for help if the lesson seems too hard. Katie had a strange dream that night. She thought she was trying to study a lesson out of a book which couldn't come quite open. She could just see a little bit of what was inside, but it was in a language which she did not understand. She tried in vain, not a word could she read, and yet for all that it looked so interesting that she longed to go on. Oh, if somebody would only help me, she cried impatiently. Suddenly a hand came over her shoulder and took hold of the book. It opened it once and showed the whole page, and then the forefinger of the hand began to point to line after line, and as it moved the words became plain and Katie could read them easily. She looked up. There, stooping over her, was a great beautiful face. The eyes met hers. The lips smiled. Why didn't you ask me before, little scholar? said a voice. Why, it is you! Just as cousin Helen told me! cried Katie. She must have spoken in her sleep, for Aunt Dizzy half woke up and said, What is it? Do you want anything? The dream broke, and Katie roused to find herself in bed with the first sunbeam struggling in at the window, and Aunt Izzy raised on her elbow, looking at her with a sort of sleepy wonder. CHAPTER X What are the children all doing today? said Katie, laying down Norway and the Norwegians, which she was reading for the fourth time. I haven't seen them since breakfast. Aunt Izzy, who was sewing on the other side of the room, looked up from her work. I don't know, she said. They're over at CC's or somewhere. They'll be back before long, I guess. Her voice sounded a little odd and mysterious, but Katie didn't notice it. I thought of such a nice plan yesterday, she went on. That was that all of them should hang their stockings up here to-morrow night instead of in the nursery. Then I could see them open their presents, you know. Maint they, Aunt Izzy? It would be real fun. I don't believe there will be any objection, replied her aunt. She looked as if she were trying not to laugh. Katie wondered what was the matter with her. It was more than two months now since cousin Helen went away, and winter had fairly come. Snow was falling outdoors. Katie could see the thick flakes go whirling past the window, but the sight did not chill her. It only made the room look warmer and more cosy. It was a pleasant room now. There was a bright fire in the grate. Everything was neat and orderly. The air was sweet with mignonnette, from a little glass of flowers which stood on the table, and the Katie who lay in bed was a very different-looking Katie from the forlorn girl of the last chapter. Cousin Helen's visit, though it lasted only one day, did great good. Not that Katie grew perfect all at once. None of us do that, even in books. But it is everything to be started in the right path. Katie's feet were on it now, and though she often stumbled and slipped, and often sat down discouraged, she kept on pretty steadily, in spite of bad days which made her say to herself that she was not getting forward at all. These bad days, when everything seemed hard, and she herself was cross and fretful and drove the children out of her room, cost Katie many bitter tears. But after them she would pick herself up and try again and harder. And I think that in spite of drawbacks the little scholar on the whole was learning her lesson pretty well. Cousin Helen was a great comfort all this time. She never forgot Katie. Nearly every week some little thing came from her. Sometimes it was a pencil note written from her sofa. Sometimes it was an interesting book, or a new magazine, or some pretty little thing for the room. The crimson wrapper which Katie wore was one of her presents. So were the bright cromos of autumn leaves which hung on the wall, the little stand for the books, all sorts of things. Katie loved to look about her as she lay. All the room seemed full of Cousin Helen and her kindness. I wish I had something pretty to put into everybody's stocking, she went on wistfully. But I've only got the muffetees for Papa, and these reins for Phil. She took them from under her pillow as she spoke. Gay worsted affairs with bells sewed on here and there. She had knit them herself, a very little bit at a time. There's my pink sash, she said suddenly. I might give that to Clover. I only wore it once, you know, and I don't think I got any spots on it. Would you please fetch it and let me see, Aunt Izzy? It's in the top drawer. Aunt Izzy brought the sash. It proved to be quite fresh, and they both decided that it would do nicely for Clover. You know I shan't want sashes for ever so long, said Katie in a rather sad tone, and this is a beauty. When she spoke next her voice was bright again. I wish I had something real nice for Elsie. Do you know, Aunt Izzy, I think Elsie is the dearest little girl that ever was. I'm glad you found it out, said Aunt Izzy, who had always been specially fond of Elsie. What she wants most of all is a writing desk, continued Katie, and Johnny wants a sled, but oh dear, these are such big things, and I've only got two dollars and a quarter. Aunt Izzy marched out of the room without saying anything. When she came back, she had something folded up in her hand. I didn't know what to give you for Christmas, Katie, she said, because Helen sends you such a lot of things that there don't seem to be anything you haven't already. So I thought I'd give you this, and let you choose for yourself. But if you've set your heart on getting presents for the children, perhaps you'd rather have it now. So saying, Aunt Izzy laid on the bed a crisp new five dollar bill. How good you are! cried Katie, flushed with pleasure, and indeed, Aunt Izzy did seem to have grown wonderfully good of late. Perhaps Katie had got hold of her smooth handle. Being now in possession of seven dollars and a quarter, Katie could afford to be gorgeously generous. She gave Aunt Izzy an exact description of the desk she wanted. It's no matter about its being very big, said Katie, but it must have a blue velvet lining and an ink stand with a silver top, and please buy some little sheets of paper and envelopes and a pen handle. The prettiest you can find. Oh, and there must be a lock and key. Don't forget that, Aunt Izzy. No, I won't. What else? I'd like the sled to be green, went on Katie, and to have a nice name. Skyscraper would be nice if there was one. Johnny saw a sled once called Skyscraper and she said it was splendid. And if there's money enough left, Auntie, won't you buy me a real nice book for Dory and another for CeCe and a silver thimble for Mary? Her old one is full of holes. Oh, and some candy. And something for Debbie and Bridget. Some little thing, you know. I think that's all. Was ever seven dollars and a quarter expected to do so much? Aunt Izzy must have been a witch indeed to make it hold out. But she did, and next day all the precious bundles came home. How Katie enjoyed untying the strings. Everything was exactly right. There wasn't any Skyscraper, said Aunt Izzy, so I got snow skimmer instead. It's beautiful, and I like it just as well, said Katie contentedly. Oh, hide them, hide them! She cried with sudden terror. Somebody's coming. But the somebody was only Papa, who put his head into the room as Aunt Izzy laid him with bundles, scuttled across the hall. Katie was glad to catch him alone. She had a little private secret to talk over with him. It was about Aunt Izzy, for whom she, as yet, had no present. I thought, perhaps, you'd get me a book, like that one of Cousin Helen's which Aunt Izzy liked so much, she said. I don't recollect the name exactly. It was something about a shadow, but I've spent all my money. Never mind about that, said Dr. Carr. We'll make that right. The shadow of the cross, was that it? I'll buy it this afternoon. Oh, thank you, Papa. And please get a brown cover if you can, because Cousin Helen's was brown. And you won't let Aunt Izzy know, will you? Be careful, Papa. I'll swallow the book first, brown cover and all, said Papa, making a funny face. He was pleased to see Katie so interested about anything again. These delightful secrets took up so much of her thoughts that Katie scarcely found time to wonder at the absence of the children, who generally haunted her room, but who for three days back had hardly been seen. However, after supper, they all came up in a body, looking very merry, as if they had been having a good time somewhere. You don't know what we've been doing, began Philly. Hush, Phil! said Clover in a warning voice. Then she divided the stockings which she held in her hand, and everybody proceeded to hang them up. Dory hung his on one side of the fireplace, and John Hur is exactly opposite. Clover and Phil suspended theirs side by side on two handles of the bureau. I'm going to put mine here close to Katie so that she can see it the first thing in the morning, said Elsie, pinning Hur's to the bed-post. Then they all sat down round the fire to write their wishes on bits of paper, and see whether they would burn or fly up the chimney. If they did the latter, it was a sign that Santa Claus had them safe, and would bring the things wished for. John wished for a sled and a doll's tea-set, and the continuation of the Swiss family Robinson. Dory's list ran thus. A plum cake, a new Bible, Harry and Lucy, a kaleidoscope, everything else Santa Claus likes. When they had written these lists, they threw them into the fire. The fire gave a flicker just then, and the papers vanished. Nobody saw exactly how. John thought they flew up the chimney, but Dory said they didn't. Phil dropped his piece in very solemnly. It flamed for a minute, then sank into ashes. There, you won't get it whatever it was, said Dory. What did you write, Phil? Nothing, said Phil, only just Philly Carr. The children shouted. I wrote, a writing-desk on mine, remarked Elsie sorrowfully, but it all burned up. Katie chuckled when she heard this. And now Clover produced her list. She read aloud, Strive and Thrive, a pair of kid-gloves, a muff, a good temper. Then she dropped it into the fireplace. Behold, it flew straight up chimney. How queer, said Katie. None of the rest of them did that. The truth was that Clover, who was a canny little mortal, had slipped across the room and opened the door just before putting her wishes in. This, of course, made a draft and sent the paper right upward. Pretty soon Aunt Izzy came in and swept them all off to bed. I know how it will be in the morning, she said. You'll all be up and racing about as soon as it is light, so you must get your sleep now, if ever. After they had gone, Katie recollected that nobody had offered to hang a stocking up for her. She felt a little hurt when she thought of it. But I suppose they forgot, she said to herself. A little later, Papa and Aunt Izzy came in and they filled the stockings. It was great fun. Each was brought to Katie as she lay in bed that she might arrange it as she liked. The toes were stuffed with candy and oranges, then came the parcels, all shapes and sizes, tied in white paper with ribbons and labeled. What's that? asked Dr. Carr as Aunt Izzy rammed the long, narrow package into Clover's stocking. A nail-brush, answered Aunt Izzy. Clover needed a new one. How Papa and Katie laughed. I don't believe Santa Claus ever had such a thing before, said Dr. Carr. He's a very dirty old gentleman then, observed Aunt Izzy grimly. The desk and sled were too big to go into any stocking, so they were wrapped in paper and hung beneath the other things. It was ten o'clock before all was done, and Papa and Aunt Izzy went away. Katie lay a long time watching the queer shapes of the stocking legs as they dangled in the firelight. Then she fell asleep. It seemed only a minute before something touched her and woke her up. Behold, it was daytime, and there was Philly in his nightgown climbing up on the bed to kiss her. The rest of the children half-dressed were dancing about with their stockings in their hands. Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! they cried. Oh, Katie such beautiful, beautiful things! Oh! shrieked Elsie, who at that moment spied her desk. Santa Claus did bring it after all. Why, it's got from Katie written on it. Oh, Katie, it's so sweet and I'm so happy. And Elsie hugged Katie and sobbed for pleasure. But what was that strange thing beside the bed? Katie stared and rubbed her eyes. It certainly had not been there when she went to sleep. How had it come? It was a little evergreen tree planted in a red flower pot. The pot had stripes of gilt paper stuck on it and gilt stars and crosses which made it look very gay. The boughs of the tree were hung with oranges and nuts and shiny red apples and popcorn balls and strings of bright berries. There were also a number of little packages tied with blue and crimson ribbon, and altogether the tree looked so pretty that Katie gave a cry of delighted surprise. It's a Christmas tree for you because you're sick, you know, said the children, all trying to hug her at once. We made it ourselves, said Dory, hopping about on one foot. I pasted the black stars on the pot. And I popped the corn, cried Philly. Do you like it? asked Elsie, cuddling close to Katie. That's my present, that one tied with a green ribbon. I wish it was nicer. Don't you want to open them right away? Of course, Katie wanted to. All sorts of things came out of the little bundles. The children had arranged every parcel themselves. No grown person had been allowed to help in the least. Elsie's present was a pen wiper with a grey flannel kitten on it. Johnny's a doll's tea-tray of scarlet tin. Isn't it BEAUTIFUL, she said admiringly? Dory's gift, I regret to say, was a huge red and yellow spider, which whirred wildly when waved at the end of its string. They didn't want me to buy it, said he, but I did. I thought it would amuse you. Does it amuse you, Katie? Yes, indeed, said Katie, laughing and blinking as Dory waved the spider to and fro before her eyes. You can play with it when we ain't here and you're all alone, remarked Dory, highly gratified. But you don't notice what the tree's standing upon, said Clover. It was a chair, a very large and curious one, with a long cushioned back which ended in a footstool. That's Papa's present, said Clover. See, it tips back so as to be just like a bed, and Papa says he thinks pretty soon you can lie on it in the window where you can see us play. Does he really? said Katie doubtfully. It still hurt her very much to be touched or moved. And see what's tied to the arm of the chair, said Elsie. It was a little silver bell with Katie engraved on the handle. Cousin Helen sent it. It's for you to ring when you want anybody to come, explained Elsie. More surprises. To the other arm of the chair was fastened a beautiful book. It was The Wide, Wide World, and there was Katie's name written on it, from her affectionate sissy. On it stood a great parcel of dried cherries for Mrs. Hall. Mrs. Hall had the most delicious dried cherries the children thought. How perfectly lovely everybody is, said Katie, with grateful tears in her eyes. That was a pleasant Christmas. The children declared it to be the nicest they had ever had, and though Katie couldn't quite say that, she enjoyed it too, and was very happy. It was several weeks before she was able to use the chair, but when once she became accustomed to it, it proved very comfortable. And as he would dress her in the morning, tip the chair back till it was on a level with the bed, and then, very gently and gradually, draw her over onto it. Wheeling across the room was always painful, but sitting in the window and looking out at the clouds, the people going by and the children playing in the snow, was delightful. How delightful nobody knows, excepting those who, like Katie, have lain for six months in bed without a peep at the outside world. Every day she grew brighter and more cheerful. How jolly Santa Claus was this year, she happened to say one day when she was talking with Cece. I wish another saint would come and pay us a visit, but I don't know any more, except cousin Helen, and she can't. There's St. Valentine, suggested Cece. Sure enough, what a bright thought, cried Katie, clapping her hands. Oh, Cece, let's do something funny on Valentine's Day. Such a good idea has just popped into my mind. So the two girls put their heads together and held a long, mysterious confabulation. What it was about, we shall see further on. Valentine's Day was the next Friday. When the children came home from school on Thursday afternoon, Aunt Izzy met them, and to their great surprise, told them that Cece was come to drink tea, and they must all go upstairs and be made nice. But Cece comes most every day, remarked Dory, who didn't see the connection between this fact and having his face washed. Yes, but tonight you are to take tea in Katie's room, said Aunt Izzy. Here are the invitations, one for each of you. Sure enough, there was a neat little note for each, requesting the pleasure of their company at Queen Catherine's Palace that afternoon at six o'clock. This put quite a different aspect on the affair. The children scampered upstairs, and pretty soon, all nicely brushed and washed, they were knocking formally at the door of the palace. How fine it sounded! The room looked bright and inviting. Katie, in her chair, sat close to the fire. Cece was beside her, and there was a round table, all set out with a white cloth and mugs of milk and biscuit, and strawberry jam and donuts. In the middle was a loaf of frosted cake. There was something on the icing which looked like pink letters, and clover, leaning forward, read aloud, St. Valentine. What's that for? asked Dory. Why, you know this is St. Valentine's Eve, replied Katie. Debbie remembered it, I guess, so she put that on. Nothing more was said about St. Valentine just then. But when the last pink letter of his name had been eaten, and the supper had been cleared away, suddenly, as the children sat by the fire, there was a loud rap at the door. Who can that be? said Katie. Please see clover. So clover opened the door. There stood Brigid, trying very hard not to laugh and holding a letter in her hand. It's a notice has come for you, Miss Clover, she said. For me, cried clover, much amazed. Then she shut the door and brought the note to the table. How very funny, she exclaimed as she looked at the envelope, which was a green and white one. There was something hard inside. Clover broke the seal. Outtumbled a small green velvet pin cushion made in the shape of a clover leaf, with a tiny stem of wire wound with green silk. Pin to the cushion was a paper with these verses. Some people love roses well, tulips gaily dressed. Some love violets blue and sweet, I love clover best. Though she has a modest air, though no grace she boast, though no gardener call her fair, I love clover most. Butterfly may pass her by, he is but a rover. I am a faithful loving bee, and I stick to clover. This was the first Valentine clover had ever had. She was perfectly enchanted. Oh, who do you suppose scented? she cried. But before anybody could answer, there came another loud knock at the door, which made them all jump. Behold, bridge it again with a second letter. It's for you, Miss Elsie, this time, she said with a grin. There was an instant rush from all the children, and the envelope was torn open in the twinkling of an eye. Inside was a little ivory seal with Elsie on it, in old English letters, and these rhymes. I know a little girl, she is very dear to me. She is just as sweet as honey when she chooses so to be, and her name begins with E, and ends with E. She has brown hair which curls, and black eyes for to see with, teeth like tiny pearls and dimples, one, two, three, and her name begins with E, and ends with E. Her little feet run faster than other feet can flee, as she brushes quickly past her voice hums like a B, and her name begins with E, and ends with E. Do you ask me why I love her? Then I shall answer thee, because I can't help loving. She is so sweet to me. This little girl whose name begins and ends with E. It's just like a fairy story, said Elsie, whose eyes had grown as big as saucers from surprise while these verses were being read aloud by Cece. Another knock. This time there was a perfect handful of letters. Everybody had one. Katie, to her great surprise, had two. Why, what can this be, she said? But when she peeped into the second one, she saw Cousin Helen's handwriting, and she put it into her pocket till the Valentine should be read. Dory's was opened first. It had the picture of a pie at the top. I ought to explain that Dory had lately been having a siege with the dentist. Little Jack Horner sat in his corner, eating his Christmas pie, when a sudden grimace spread over his face, and he began, loudly, to cry. His tender mama heard the sound from afar, and hastened to comfort her child. What alith might, John, she inquired in a tone which belied her question mild. Oh mother, he said, every tooth in my head, jumps and aches and is loose, oh my, and it hurts me to eat anything that is sweet, so what will become of my pie? It were vain to describe how he roared and he cried and howled like a miniature tempest. Suffice it to say that the very next day he had all his teeth pulled by a dentist. This Valentine made the children laugh for a long time. Johnny's envelope held a paper doll named Red Riding Hood. These were her verses. I send you my picture, dear Johnny, to show that I'm just as alive as you, and that you needn't cry over my fate any more as you used to do. The wolf didn't hurt me at all that day, for I kicked and fought and cried, till he dropped me out of his mouth and ran away in the woods to hide. And Grandma and I have lived ever since in the little brown house so small and churned fresh butter and made cream cheeses, nor seen the wolf at all. So cry no more for fear I am eaten, the naughty wolf is shot, and if you will come to tea some evening, you shall see for yourself I am not. Johnny was immensely pleased at this, for Red Riding Hood was a great favourite of hers. Philly had a bit of India rubber in his letter, which was written with very black ink on a big sheet of fool's cap. I was once a naughty man, and I hid beneath the bed to steal your India rubbers, but I chewed them up instead. Then you called out who is there, I was thrown most in a fit, and I let the India rubbers fall, all but this little bit. I'm sorry for my naughty ways, and now to make amends, I send the chewed piece back again, at beg we may be friends. Robber. Just listen to mine, said Cece, who had all along pretended to be as much surprised as anybody, and now behaved as if she could hardly wait till Philly's was finished. Then she read aloud to Cece. If I were a bird, and you were a bird, what would we do? Why you should be little, and I would be big, and side by side on a cherry tree twig, we'd kiss with our yellow bills and coo, that's what we'd do. If I were a fish, and you were a fish, what would we do? We'd frolic and whisk our little tails, and play all sorts of tricks with the whales, and call on the oysters and order a stew, that's what we'd do. If I were a bee, and you were a bee, what would we do? We'd find a home in a breezy wood, and store it with honey, sweet and good, and you should feed me, and I would feed you, that's what we'd do. Valentine. I think that's the prettiest of all, said Clover. I don't, said Elsie, I think mine is the prettiest. Cece didn't have any seal in hers either, and she fondled a little seal, which all this time she had held in her hand. Katie, you ought to have read yours first, because you're the oldest, said Clover. Mine isn't much, replied Katie, and she read, The rose is red, the violet blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you. What a mean Valentine! cried Elsie with flashing eyes. It's a real shame, Katie, you ought to have had the best of all. Katie could hardly keep from laughing. The fact was that the verses for the others had taken so long, that no time had been left for writing a Valentine to herself. So, thinking it would excite suspicion to have none, she had scribbled this old rhyme at the last moment. It isn't very nice, she said, trying to look as pensive as she could, but never mind. It's a shame, repeated Elsie, petting her very hard to make up for the injustice. Hasn't it been a funny evening, said John, and Dory replied, Yes, we never had such good times before Katie was sick, did we? Katie heard this with a mingled feeling of pleasure and pain. I think the children do love me a little more of late, she said to herself, but oh, why couldn't I be good to them when I was well and strong? She didn't open Cousin Helen's letter until the rest were all gone to bed. I think somebody must have written and told about the Valentine Party, for instead of a note, there were these verses in Cousin Helen's own clear, pretty hand. It wasn't a Valentine, because it was too solemn, as Katie explained to Clover next day. But, she added, it is a great deal beautifuler than any Valentine that ever was written, and Clover thought so too. These were the verses. In school. I used to go to a bright school where youth and frolic taught in turn, but idle scholar that I was, I liked to play, I would not learn. So the great teacher did ordain that I should try the School of Pain. One of the infant class I am, with little easy lessons, set in a great book. The higher class have harder ones than I, and yet I find mine hard, and can't restrain my tears while studying thus with pain. There are two teachers in the school. One has a gentle voice and low, and smiles upon her scholars, as she softly passes to and fro. Her name is Love. To his very plain she shuns the sharper teacher Pain. Or so I sometimes think, and then at other times they meet and kiss, and look so strangely like, that I am puzzled to tell how it is, or whence the change which makes it vain, to guess if it be Love or Pain. They tell me if I study well, and learn my lessons, I shall be moved upward to that higher class, where dear Love teaches constantly, and I work hard in hopes to gain reward and get away from Pain. Yet Pain is sometimes kind, and helps me on when I am very dull. I thank him often in my heart, but Love is far more beautiful. Under her tender, gentle reign I must learn faster than of Pain. So I will do my very best, nor chide the clock, nor call it slow, that when the teacher calls me up to see if I am fit to go, I may to Love's high class attain, and bid a sweet goodbye to Pain. CHAPTER 11 A NEW LESSON TO LEARN It was a long time before the children ceased to talk and laugh over that jolly evening. Dory declared he wished there could be a Valentine's Day every week. Don't you think St. Valentine's would be tired of writing verses? asked Katie. But she, too, had enjoyed the frolic, and the bright recollection helped her along through the rest of long, cold winter. Spring opened late that year, but the summer, when it came, was a warm one. Katie felt the heat very much. She could not change her seat and follow the breeze about from window to window as other people could. The long, burning days left her weak and parched. She hung her head and seemed to wilt like the flowers in the garden beds. Indeed, she was worse off than they. For every evening Alexander gave them a watering with a hose, while nobody was able to bring a watering pot and pour out what she needed—a shower of cold, fresh air. It wasn't easy to be good-humoured under these circumstances, and one could hardly have blamed Katie if she had sometimes forgotten her resolutions and been cross and fretful. But she didn't, not very often. Now and then bad days came when she was discouraged and forlorn. But Katie's long year of schooling had taught her self-control, and as a general thing, her discomforts were borne patiently. She could not help growing pale and thin, however, and Papa saw with concern that, as the summer went on, she became too languid to read or study or so, and just sat, hour after hour, with folded hands, gazing wistfully out of the window. He tried the experiment of taking her to drive, but the motion of the carriage and the being lifted in and out brought on so much pain that Katie begged that he would not ask her to go again. So there was nothing to be done but wait for cooler weather. The summer dragged on, and all who loved Katie rejoiced when it was over. When September came, with cool mornings and nights and fresh breezes smelling of pine woods and hilltops, all things seemed to revive and Katie with them. She began to crochet and to read. After a while she collected her books again and tried to study as Cousin Helen had advised. But so many idle weeks made it seem harder work than ever. One day she asked Papa to let her take French lessons. You see, I'm forgetting all I knew, she said, and Clover is going to begin this term, and I don't like that she should get so far ahead of me. Don't you think Mr. Berger would be willing to come here, Papa? He does go to houses sometimes. I think he would, if we asked him, said Dr. Carr, pleased to see Katie waking up with something like life again. So the arrangement was made. Mr. Berger came twice every week and sat beside the big chair, correcting Katie's exercises, and practicing her in the verbs and pronunciation. He was a lively little old Frenchman, and knew how to make lesson time pleasant. You take more pains than you used, mademoiselle, he said one day. If you go on so, you shall be my best scholar. And if you at the back make you study, it will be well that some other of my young ladies shall do the same. Katie laughed, but in spite of Mr. Berger and his lessons, and in spite of her endeavours to keep cheerful and busy, this second winter was harder than the first. It is often so with sick people. There is a sort of excitement in being ill, which helps along just at the beginning. But as months go on, and everything grows an old story, and one day follows another day, all just alike and all tiresome, courage is apt to flag, and spirits to grow dull. Spring seemed a long, long way off whenever Katie thought about it. I wish something would happen, she often said to herself, and something was about to happen, but she little guessed what it was going to be. Katie said Clover coming in one day in November. Do you know where the camphor is? Aunt Izzy has got such a headache. No, replied Katie, I don't. Or—wait, Clover, it seems to me that Debbie came for it the other day. Perhaps if you look in her room you'll find it. How very queer she's a little acquiesced when Clover was gone. I never knew Aunt Izzy to have a headache before. How is Aunt Izzy? she asked when Papa came in at noon. Well, I don't know. She has some fever and a bad pain in her head. I have told her that she had better lie still, and not try to get up this evening. Old Mary will come in to undress you, Katie. You won't mind, will you, dear? No, said Katie reluctantly. But she did mind. Aunt Izzy had grown used to her and her ways. Nobody else suited her so well. It seems so strange to have to explain just how every little thing is to be done, she remarked to Clover rather petulantly. It seemed stranger yet when the next day and the next and the next after that passed, and still no Aunt Izzy came near her. Blessings brighten as they take their flight. Katie began to appreciate for the first time how much she had learned to rely on her aunt. She missed her dreadfully. When is Aunt Izzy going to get well? she asked her father. I want her so much. We all want her, said Dr. Carr, who looked disturbed and anxious. Is she very sick? asked Katie, struck by the expression of his face. Pretty sick, I'm afraid, he replied. I'm going to get a regular nurse to take care of her. Aunt Izzy's attack proved to be typhoid fever. The doctors said that the house must be kept quiet, so John and Dory and Phil were sent over to Mrs. Hall's to stay. Elsie and Clover were to have gone too, but they begged so hard and made so many promises of good behaviour that finally Papa permitted them to remain. The dear little thing stole about the house on Tiptoe was quietly as mice whispering to each other and waiting on Katie, who would have been lonely enough without them, for everybody else was absorbed in Aunt Izzy. It was a confused melancholy time. The three girls didn't know much about sickness, but Papa's grave face and the hushed house weighed upon their spirits and they missed the children very much. Oh, dear, sighed Elsie. How I wish Aunt Izzy would hurry and get well. We'll be real good to her when she does, won't we? said Clover. I never mean to leave my rubbers in the hat stand any more because she don't like to have me, and I shall pick up the croquet balls and put them in the box every night. Yes, added Elsie, so will I when she gets well. It never occurred to either of them that, perhaps, Aunt Izzy might not get well. Little people are apt to feel as if grown folks are so strong and so big that nothing can possibly happen to them. Katie was more anxious. Still, she did not fairly realise the danger. So it came like a sudden and violent shock to her when, one morning on waking up, she found old Mary crying quietly beside the bed with her apron at her eyes. Aunt Izzy had died in the night. All their kind, penitent thoughts of her, their resolutions to please, their plans for obeying her wishes and saving her trouble, were too late. For the first time, the three girls, sobbing in each other's arms, realised what a good friend Aunt Izzy had been to them. Her worrying ways were all forgotten now. They could only remember the many kind things she had done for them since they were little children. How they wished that they had never teased her, never said sharp words about her to each other. But it was no use to wish. What shall we do without Aunt Izzy? thought Katie, as she cried herself to sleep that night. And the question came into her mind again and again after the funeral was over and the little ones had come back for Mrs. Hall's and things had begun to go on in their usual manner. For several days she saw almost nothing of her father. Clover reported that he looked very tired and scarcely said a word. Did Papa eat any dinner? asked Katie one afternoon. Not much. He said he wasn't hungry, and Mrs. Jackson's boy came for him before we were through. Oh, dear! sighed Katie. I do hope he isn't going to be sick. How it rains! Clovie, I wish you'd run down and get out his slippers and put them by the fire to warm. Oh, and ask Debbie to make some cream toast for tea. Papa likes cream toast. After tea Dr. Carr came upstairs to sit awhile in Katie's room. He often did so, but this was the first time since Aunt Izzy's death. Katie studied his face anxiously. It seemed to her that it had grown older of late, and there was a sad look upon it which made her heart ache. She longed to do something for him, but all she could do was to poke the fire bright and then to possess herself of his hand and stroke it gently with both hers. It wasn't much to be sure, but I think Papa liked it. What have you been about all day? he asked. Oh, nothing much, said Katie. I studied my French lesson this morning, and after school Elsie and John brought in their patchwork and we had a B. That's all. I've been thinking how we are to manage about the housekeeping, said Dr. Carr. Of course we shall have to get somebody to come and take charge, but it isn't easy to find just the right person. Mrs. Hall knows of a woman who might do, but she is out west just now, and it will be a week or two before we can hear from her. Do you think you can get on as you are for a few days? Oh, Papa! cried Katie in dismay. Must we have anybody? Why, how did you suppose we were going to arrange it? Clover is much too young for a housekeeper, and beside, she is at school all day. I don't know. I hadn't thought about it, said Katie in a perplexed tone, but she did think about it all that evening and the first thing when she woke in the morning. Papa, she said the next time she got into herself, I've been thinking over what you were saying last night about getting somebody to keep the house, you know, and I wish you wouldn't. I wish you would let me try, really and truly I think I could manage. But how? asked Dr. Carr much surprised. I really don't see, if you were well and strong, perhaps, but even then you would be pretty young for such a charge, Katie. I shall be fourteen in two weeks, said Katie, drawing herself up in her chair as straight as she could, and if I were well, Papa, I should be going to school, you know, and then, of course, I couldn't. No, I'll tell you my plan. I've been thinking about it all day. Debbie and Bridget have been with us so long that they know all aunties' ways, and they're such good women that all they want is just to be told little now and then. Now, why couldn't they come up to me when anything is wanted, just as well as to have me go down to them? Clover and old Mary will keep watch, you know, and see if anything is wrong, and you wouldn't mind if things were a little crooked just at first, would you, because, you know, I should be learning all the time. Do let me try. It will be real nice to have something to think about as I sit up here alone, so much better than having a stranger in the house who doesn't know the children or anything. I'm sure it will make me happier. Please say yes, Papa, please do." It's too much for you, a great deal too much, replied Dr. Carr. But it was not easy to resist, Katie's, please, please—and after a while it ended with— Well, darling, you may try, though I am doubtful as to the result of the experiment. I will tell Mrs. Hall to put off riding to Wisconsin for a month, and we will see. Poor child! Anything to take her thoughts off herself, he muttered, as he walked downstairs. She'll be glad enough to give the thing up by the end of the month. But Papa was mistaken. At the end of a month, Katie was eager to go on, so he said, Very well, she might try it till spring. It was not such hard work as it sounds. Katie had plenty of quiet thinking time, for one thing. The children were at school all day, and few visitors came to interrupt her, so she could plan out her hours and keep to the plans. That is a great help to a housekeeper. Then Aunt Izzy's regular, punctual ways were so well understood by the servants that the house seemed almost to keep itself. As Katie had said, all Debbie and Bridget needed was a little telling now and then. As soon as breakfast was over, and the dishes were washed and put away, Debbie would tie on a clean apron and come upstairs for orders. At first Katie thought this great fun. But after ordering dinner a good many times, it began to grow tiresome. She never saw the dishes after they were cooked, and being inexperienced it seemed impossible to think of things enough to make a variety. Let me see. There is roast beef, leg of mutton, boiled chicken, she would say, counting on her fingers. Roast beef, leg of mutton, boiled chicken. Debbie, you might roast the chickens. Dear, I wish somebody would invent a new animal. Where all the things to eat are gone to I can't imagine. Then Katie would send for every recipe book in the house, and pour over them by the hour, till her appetite was as completely gone as if she had swallowed twenty dinners. Poor Debbie learned to dread these books. She would stand by the door with her pleasant red face drawn up into a pucker, while Katie read aloud some impossible sounding rule. This looks as if it were delicious, Debbie. I wish you'd try it. Take a gallon of oysters, a pint of beef stock, sixteen soda crackers, the juice of two lemons, four cloves, a glass of white wine, a sprig of marjoram, a sprig of thyme, a sprig of bay, a sliced shallot. Please, Miss Katie, what's them? Oh, don't you know, Debbie, it must be something quite common for it's in almost all the recipes. No, Miss Katie, I never heard tell of it before. Miss Carr never gave me no shell-outs at all at all. Dear me, how provoking, Katie would cry, flapping over the leaves of her book. Then we must try something else. Poor Debbie, if she hadn't loved Katie so dearly, I think her patience must have given way. But she bore her trials meekly except for an occasional grumble when alone with Brigitte. Dr. Carr had to eat a great many queer things in those days. But he didn't mind, and as for the children they enjoyed it. Dinner time became quite exciting when nobody could tell exactly what any dish on the table was made of. Dory, who was a sort of Dr. Livingston, where strange articles of food were concerned, usually made the first experiment, and if he said it was good, the rest followed suit. After a while Katie grew wiser. She ceased teasing Debbie to try new things, and the Carr family went back to playing roast and boil, much to the advantage of all concerned. But then another series of experiments began. Katie got hold of a book upon the stomach, and was seized with a rage for wholesome food. She entreated clover and the other children to give up sugar and butter and gravy and pudding sauce and buckwheat cakes and pies and almost everything else that they particularly liked. Boiled rice seemed to her the most sensible dessert, and she kept the family on it until finally John and Dory started a rebellion, and Dr. Carr was forced to interfere. My dear, you are overdoing it sadly, he said, as Katie opened her book and prepared to explain her views. I am glad to have the children eat simple food. But really, boiled rice five times in a week is too much. Katie sighed, but submitted. Later, as the spring came on, she had a fit of over-anxiousness, and was always sending clover down to ask Debbie if her bread was not burning, or if she was sure that the pickles were not fermenting in their jars. She also fidgeted the children about wearing India rubbers, and keeping on their coats, and behaved altogether as if the cares of the world were on her shoulders. But all these were but the natural mistakes of a beginner. Katie was too much an earnest not to improve. Month by month she learned how to manage a little better, and a little better still. Matters went on more smoothly. Her cares ceased to fret her. Dr. Carr, watching the increasing brightness of her face and manner, felt that the experiment was a success. Nothing more was said about somebody else, and Katie, sitting upstairs in her big chair, held the threads of the house firmly in her hands. End of Chapter 11