What Katy Did (Puffin Classics Relaunch)

by Susan Coolidge

  ‘Oh, no, Papa, it isn’t that – only we’ve been having a feast in the loft.’

  ‘Did you have a good time?’ asked Papa, while Aunt Izzie gave a dissatisfied groan. And all the children answered at once: ‘Splendiferous!’

  6

  Intimate Friends

  ‘Aunt Izzie, may I ask Imogen Clark to spend the day here on Saturday?’ cried Katy, bursting in one afternoon.

  ‘Who on earth is Imogen Clark? I never heard the name before,’ replied her aunt.

  ‘Oh, the loveliest girl! She hasn’t been going to Mrs Knight’s school but a little while, but we’re the greatest friends. And she’s perfectly beautiful, Aunt Izzie. Her hands are just as white as snow, and no bigger than that. She’s got the littlest waist of any girl in the school, and she’s real sweet, and so self-denying and unselfish! I don’t believe she has a bit good times at home, either. Do let me ask her!’

  ‘How do you know she’s so sweet and self-denying if you’ve known her such a short time?’ asked Aunt Izzie, in an unpromising tone.

  ‘Oh, she tells me everything! We always walk together at recess now. I know all about her, and she’s just lovely! Her father used to be real rich, but they’re poor now, and Imogen had to have her boots patched twice last winter. I guess she’s the flower of her family. You can’t think how I love her!’ concluded Katy, sentimentally.

  ‘No, I can’t,’ said Aunt Izzie. ‘I never could see into these sudden friendships of yours, Katy, and I’d rather you wouldn’t invite this Imogen, or whatever her name is, till I’ve had a chance to ask somebody about her.’

  Katy clasped her hands in despair. ‘Oh, Aunt Izzie!’ she cried, ‘Imogen knows that I came in to ask you, and she’s standing at the gate at this moment, waiting to hear what you say. Please let me just this once! I shall be so dreadfully ashamed not to.’

  ‘Well,’ said Miss Izzie, moved by the wretchedness of Katy’s face, ‘if you’ve asked her already it’s no use my saying no, I suppose. But recollect, Katy, this is not to happen again. I can’t have you inviting girls, and then coming for my leave. Your father won’t be at all pleased. He’s very particular about whom you make friends with. Remember how Mrs Spenser turned out.’

  Poor Katy! Her propensity to fall violently in love with new people was always getting her into scrapes. Ever since she began to walk and talk ‘Katy’s intimate friends’ had been one of the jokes of the household.

  Papa once undertook to keep a list of them, but the number grew so great that he gave it up in despair. First on the list was a small Irish child, named Marianne O’Riley. Marianne lived in a street which Katy passed on her way to school. It was not Mrs Knight, but an A B C school, to which Dorry and John now went. Marianne used to be always making sand-pies in front of her mother’s house, and Katy, who was about five years old, often stopped to help her. Over this mutual pastry they grew so intimate that Katy resolved to adopt Marianne as her own little girl, and bring her up in a safe and hidden corner.

  She told Clover of this plan, but nobody else. The two children, full of their delightful secret, began to save pieces of bread and cookies from their supper every evening. By degrees they collected a great heap of dry crusts, and other refreshments, which they put safely away in the garret. They also saved the apples which were given them for two weeks, and made a bed in a big empty box, with cotton quilts, and the doll’s pillows out of the baby house. When all was ready Katy broke her plan to her beloved Marianne, and easily persuaded her to run away and take possession of this new home.

  ‘We won’t tell Papa and Mamma till she’s quite grown up,’ Katy said to Clover; ‘then we’ll bring her downstairs, and won’t they be surprised! Don’t let’s call her Marianne any longer, either. It isn’t pretty. We’ll name her Susquehanna instead – Susquehanna Carr. Remember, Marianne, you mustn’t answer if I call you Marianne – only when I say Susquehanna.’

  ‘Yes’m,’ replied Marianne, very meekly.

  For a whole day all went on delightfully. Susquehanna lived in her wooden box, ate all the apples and the freshest cookies, and was happy. The two children took turns to steal away and play with the ‘Baby’, as they called Marianne, though she was a great deal bigger than Clover. But when night came on and nurse swooped on Katy and Clover and carried them off to bed, Miss O’Riley began to think that the garret was a dreadful place. Peeping out of her box she could see black things standing in corners, which she did not recollect seeing in the day-time. They were really trunks and brooms and warming-pans, but somehow in the darkness they looked different – big and awful. Poor little Marianne bore it as long as she could; but when at last a rat began to scratch in the wall close beside her courage gave way entirely, and she screamed at the top of her voice.

  ‘What is that?’ said Dr Carr, who had just come in, and was on his way upstairs.

  ‘It sounds as if it came from the attic,’ said Mrs Carr (for this was before Mamma died). ‘Can it be that one of the children has got out of bed and wandered upstairs in her sleep?’

  No, Katy and Clover were safe in the nursery, so Dr Carr took a candle and went as fast as he could to the attic, where the yells were growing terrific. When he reached the top of the stairs the cries ceased. He looked about. Nothing was to be seen at first, then a little head appeared over the edge of a big wooden box, and a piteous voice sobbed out:

  ‘Ah, Miss Katy, and indeed I can’t be staying any longer. There’s rats in it!’

  ‘Who on earth are you?’ asked the amazed Doctor.

  ‘Sure, I’m Miss Katy’s and Miss Clover’s Baby. But I don’t want to be a baby any longer. I want to go home and see my mother.’ And again the poor little midge lifted up her voice and wept.

  I don’t think Dr Carr ever laughed so hard in his life as when he finally got to the bottom of the story, and found that Katy and Clover had been ‘adopting’ a child. But he was very kind to poor Susquehanna, and carried her downstairs in his arms to the nursery. There, in a bed close to the other children, she soon forgot her troubles and fell asleep.

  The little sisters were much surprised when they waked up in the morning, and found their baby asleep beside them. But their joy was speedily turned to tears. After breakfast Dr Carr carried Marianne home to her mother, who was in a great fright over her disappearance, and explained to the children that the garret plan must be given up. Great was the mourning in the nursery; but as Marianne was allowed to come and play with them now and then, they gradually got over their grief. A few months later Mr O’Riley moved away from Burnet, and that was the end of Katy’s first friendship.

  The next was even funnier. There was a queer old black woman who lived all alone by herself in a small house near the school. This old woman had a very bad temper. The neighbours told horrible stories about her, so that the children were afraid to pass the house. They used to turn always just before they reached it, and cross to the other side of the street. This they did so regularly that their feet had worn a path in the grass. But for some reason Katy found a great fascination in the little house. She liked to dodge about the door, always holding herself ready to turn and run in case the old woman rushed out upon her with a broomstick. One day she begged a large cabbage off Alexander, and rolled it in at the door of the house. The old woman seemed to like it, and after this Katy always stopped to speak when she went by. She even got so far as to sit on the step and watch the old woman at work. There was a sort of perilous pleasure in doing this. It was like sitting at the entrance of a lion’s cage, uncertain at what moment his majesty might take it into his head to give a spring and eat you up.

  After this, Katy took a fancy to a couple of twin sisters, daughters of a German jeweller. They were quite grown up, and always wore dresses exactly alike. Hardly any one could tell them apart. They spoke very little English, and as Katy didn’t know a word of German, their intercourse was confined to smiles, and to the giving of bunches of flowers, which Katy used to tie up and present to them whenever they pas
sed the gate. She was too shy to do more than just put the flowers in their hands and run away; but the twins were evidently pleased, for one day, when Clover happened to be looking out of the window, she saw them open the gate, fasten a little parcel to a bush, and walk rapidly off.

  Of course she called Katy at once, and the two children flew out to see what the parcel was. It held a bonnet – a beautiful doll’s bonnet of blue silk, trimmed with artificial flowers; upon it was pinned a slip of paper, with these words, in an odd foreign hand:

  ‘To the nice little girl who was so kindly to give us some flowers.’ You can judge whether Katy and Clover were pleased or not.

  This was when Katy was six years old. I can’t begin to tell you how many different friends she had set up since then. There was an ash-man, and a steamboat captain. There was Mrs Sawyer’s cook, a nice old woman, who gave Katy lessons in cooking, and taught her to make soft custard and sponge cake. There was a bonnet-maker, pretty and dressy, whom, to Aunt Izzie’s great indignation, Katy persisted in calling ‘Cousin Estelle!’ There was a thief in the town jail, under whose window Katy used to stand, saying, ‘I’m so sorry, poor man!’ and ‘Have you got any little girls like me?’ in the most piteous way. The thief had a piece of string which he let down from the window. Katy would tie rose-buds and cherries to this string, and the thief would draw them up. It was so interesting to do this that Katy felt dreadfully when they carried the man off to the State prison. Then followed a short interval of Cornelia Perham, a nice, good-natured girl, whose father was a fruit-merchant. I am afraid Katy’s liking for prunes and white grapes played a part in this intimacy. It was splendid fun to go with Cornelia to her father’s big shop, and have whole boxes of raisins and drums of figs opened for their amusement, and be allowed to ride up and down in the elevator as much as they liked.

  But of all Katy’s queer acquaintances, Mrs Spenser, to whom Aunt Izzie had alluded, was the queerest.

  Mrs Spenser was a mysterious lady whom nobody ever saw. Her husband was a handsome, rather bad-looking man, who had come from parts unknown, and rented a small house in Burnet. He didn’t seem to have any particular business, and was away from home a great deal. His wife was said to be an invalid, and people, when they spoke of him, shook their heads and wondered how the poor woman got on all alone in the house while her husband was absent.

  Of course Katy was too young to understand these whispers, or the reasons why people were not disposed to think well of Mr Spenser. The romance of the closed door and the lady whom nobody saw interested her very much. She used to stop and stare at the windows, and wonder what was going on inside till at last it seemed as if she must know. So one day she took some flowers and Victoria, her favourite doll, and boldly marched into the Spensers’ yard.

  She tapped at the front door, but nobody answered. Then she tapped again. Still nobody answered. She tried the door. It was locked. So shouldering Victoria, she trudged round to the back of the house. As she passed the side-door she saw that it was open a little way. She knocked for the third time; and as no one came, she went in, and, passing through the little hall, began to tap at all the inside doors.

  There seemed to be no people in the house. Katy peered into the kitchen first. It was bare and forlorn. All sorts of dishes were standing about.

  There was no fire in the stove. The parlour was not much better. Mr Spenser’s boots lay in the middle of the floor. There were dirty glasses on the table. On the mantel-piece was a platter with bones of meat upon it. Dust lay thick over everything, and the whole house looked as if it hadn’t been lived in for at least a year.

  Katy tried several other doors, all of which were locked, and then she went upstairs. As she stood on the top step, grasping her flowers, and a little doubtful what to do next, a feeble voice from a bedroom called out:

  ‘Who is there?’

  This was Mrs Spenser. She was lying on her bed, which was very tossed and tumbled, as if it hadn’t been made up that morning. The room was as disorderly and dirty as all the rest of the house, and Mrs Spenser’s wrapper and night-cap were by no means clean, but her face was sweet, and she had beautiful curling hair, which fell over the pillow. She was evidently very sick, and altogether Katy felt sorrier for her than she had ever done for anybody in her life.

  ‘Who are you, child?’ asked Mrs Spenser.

  ‘I’m Dr Carr’s little girl,’ answered Katy, going straight up to the bed. ‘I came to bring you some flowers.’ And she laid the bouquet on the dirty sheet.

  Mrs Spenser seemed to like the flowers. She took them up and smelled them for a long time, without speaking.

  ‘But how did you get in?’ she said, at last.

  ‘The door was open,’ faltered Katy, who was beginning to feel scared at her own daring, ‘and they said you were sick, so I thought perhaps you would like me to come and see you.’

  ‘You are a kind little girl,’ said Mrs Spenser, and gave her a kiss.

  After this Katy used to go every day. Sometimes Mrs Spenser would be up and moving feebly about; but more often she was in bed, and Katy would sit beside her. The house never looked a bit better than it did that first day, but after a while Katy used to brush Mrs Spenser’s hair, and wash her face with the corner of a towel.

  I think her visits were a comfort to the poor lady, who was very ill and lonely. Sometimes when she felt pretty well, she would tell Katy stories about the time when she was a little girl and lived with her father and mother. But she never spoke of Mr Spenser, and Katy never saw him except once, when she was so frightened that for several days she dared not go near the house. At last Cecy reported that she had seen him go off in the stage with his carpet-bag, so Katy ventured in again. Mrs Spenser cried when she saw her.

  ‘I thought you were never coming any more,’ she said.

  Katy was touched and flattered at having been missed, and after that she never lost a day. She always carried the prettiest flowers she could find, and if any one gave her a specially nice peach or a bunch of grapes she saved it for Mrs Spenser.

  Aunt Izzie was much worried at all this. But Dr Carr would not interfere. He said it was a case where grown people could do nothing, and if Katy was a comfort to the poor lady he was glad. Katy was glad too, and the visits did her as much good as they did Mrs Spenser, for the intense pity she felt for the sick woman made her gentle and patient as she had never been before.

  One day she stopped, as usual, on her way home from school. She tried the side-door – it was locked; the back-door – it was locked too. All the blinds were shut tight. This was very puzzling.

  As she stood in the yard a woman put her head out of the window of the next house. ‘It’s no use knocking,’ she said; ‘all the folks have gone away.’

  ‘Gone away where?’ asked Katy.

  ‘Nobody knows,’ said the woman; ‘the gentleman came back in the middle of the night, and this morning, before light, he had a wagon at the door, and just put in the trunks and the sick lady, and drove off. There’s been more than one a-knocking besides you since then. But Mr Pudgett, he’s got the key, and nobody can get in without goin’ to him.’

  It was too true. Mrs Spenser was gone, and Katy never saw her again. In a few days it came out that Mr Spenser was a very bad man, and had been making false money – counterfeiting, as grown people call it. The police were searching for him, to put him in gaol; and that was the reason he had come back in such a hurry and carried off his poor sick wife. Aunt Izzie cried with mortification when she heard this. She said she thought it was a disgrace that Katy should have been visiting in a counterfeiter’s family. But Dr Carr only laughed. He told Aunt Izzie that he didn’t think that kind of crime was catching; and as for Mrs Spenser, she was much to be pitied. But Aunt Izzie could not get over her vexation, and every now and then, when she was vexed, she would refer to the affair, though this all happened so long ago that most people had forgotten all about it, and Philly and John had stopped playing at ‘Putting Mr Spenser in Gaol’, which
for a long time was one of their favourite games.

  Katy always felt badly when Aunt Izzie spoke unkindly of her poor sick friend. She had tears in her eyes now as she walked to the gate, and looked so very sober that Imogen Clark, who stood there waiting, clasped her hands and said:

  ‘Ah, I see! Your aristocratic aunt refuses.’

  Imogen’s real name was Elizabeth. She was rather a pretty girl, with a screwed-up, sentimental mouth, shiny brown hair, and a little round curl on each of her cheeks. These curls must have been fastened on with glue or tintacks, one would think, for they never moved, however much she laughed or shook her head. Imogen was a bright girl naturally, but she had read so many novels that her brain was completely turned. It was partly this which made her so attractive to Katy, who adored stories, and thought Imogen was a real heroine of romance.

  ‘Oh no, she doesn’t,’ she replied, hardly able to keep from laughing at the idea of Aunt Izzie’s being called an ‘aristocratic relative’ – ‘she says she shall be very hap–’. But here Katy’s conscience gave a prick, and the sentence ended in ‘um, um, um –’ ‘So you’ll come, won’t you, darling? I’m so glad!’

  ‘And I!’ said Imogen, turning up her eyes, theatrically.

  From this time on till the end of the week the children talked of nothing but Imogen’s visit, and the nice time they were going to have. Before breakfast on Saturday morning, Katy and Clover were at work building a beautiful bower of asparagus boughs under the trees. All the playthings were set out in order. Debby baked them some cinnamon cakes; the kitten had a pink ribbon tied round her neck; and the dolls, including ‘Pikery’, were arrayed in their best clothes.

  About half-past ten Imogen arrived. She was dressed in a light-blue barège, with low neck and short sleeves, and wore coral beads in her hair, white satin slippers, and a pair of yellow gloves. The gloves and slippers were quite dirty, and the barège was old and darned; but the general effect was so very gorgeous that the children, who were dressed for play, in gingham frocks and white aprons, were quite dazzled at the appearance of their guest.