What Katy Did at School

by Susan Coolidge

  ‘I can't write any more, for I must study my Latin. Besides, this is the longest letter that ever was. I have been four days writing it. Please send me one just as long. Old Mary and the children send lots of love, and papa says, “Tell Katy, if a pudding diet sets her to growing again, she must come home at once, for he couldn't afford it.” Oh, dear, how I wish I could see you! Please give my love to Rose Red. She must be perfectly splendid.

  ‘Your affectionate,

  ‘ELSIE.’

  ‘Oh, the dear little duck! Isn't that just like her?’ said Clover. ‘I think Elsie has a real genius for writing, don't you? She tells all the little things, and is so droll and cunning. Nobody writes such nice letters. Who's that from, Katy?’

  ‘Cousin Helen, and it's been such along time coming. Just look at this date! September 22nd – a whole month ago!’ Then she began to read.

  ‘DEAR KATY,

  ‘It seems a long time since we have had a talk, but I've been less well lately, so that it has been difficult to write. Yesterday, I sat up for the first time in several weeks; and today I am dressed and beginning to feel like myself. I wish you could see my room this morning – I often wish this – but it is so particularly pretty, for little Helen has been in with a great basket full of leaves and flowers, and together we have dressed it to perfection. There are four vases of roses, a bowl full of chrysanthemums, and red leaves round all my pictures. The leaves are Virginia creeper. It doesn't last long, but is lovely while it lasts. Helen also brought a bird's nest which the gardener found in a hawthorn-tree on the lawn. It hangs on a branch, and she has tied it to one side of my bookshelves. On the opposite side is another nest quite different – a great, grey hornet's nest, as big as a band-box, which came from the mountains a year ago. I wondered if any such grow in the woods about Hillsover. In spite of the red leaves, the day is warm as summer, and the windows stand wide open. I suppose it is cooler with you, but I know it is delicious cold. Now that I think of it, you must be in Ashburn by this time. I hope you will enjoy every moment of your vacation.

  ‘Oct. 19th – I did not finish my letter the day it was begun, dear Katy, and next morning it proved that I was not so strong as I fancied, and I had to go to bed again. I am still there, and, as you see, writing with a pencil; but do not be worried about me, for the doctor says I am mending, and soon I hope to be up and in my chair. The red leaves are gone, but the roses are lovely as ever, for little Helen keeps bringing me fresh ones. She has just been in to read me her composition. The subject was “Stars”, and you can't think how much she found to say about them. She is a bright little creature, and it is a great pleasure to teach her. I am hardly ever so sick that she cannot come for her lessons, and she gets on fast. We have made an arrangement that when she knows more than I do, she is to give me lessons, and I am not sure that the time is so very far off.

  ‘I must tell you about my Ben. He is a new canary which was given me in the summer, and lately he has grown so delightfully tame that I feel as if it were not a bird at all, but a fairy prince come to live with me and amuse me. The cage door is left open always now, and he flies in and out as he likes. He is a restless, inquisitive fellow, and visits any part of the room, trying each fresh thing with his bill to see if it is good to eat, and then perching on it to see if it is good to sit upon. He mistakes his own reflection in the looking-glass for another canary, and sits on the pincushion twittering and making love to himself for half an hour at a time. To watch him is one of my greatest amusements, especially just now when I am in bed so much. Sometimes he hides and keeps so still that I have not the least idea where he is. But the moment I call, “Ben, Ben”, and hold out my finger, wings begin to rustle, and out he flies and perches on my finger. He isn't the least bit in the world afraid, but sits on my head or shoulder, eats out of my mouth, and kisses me with his beak. He is on the pillow at this moment making runs at my pencil, of which he is mortally jealous. It is just so with my combs and brushes, if I attempt to do my hair; he cannot bear to have me do anything but play with him. I do wish I could show him to you and Clover.

  ‘Little Helen, my other pet, has just come in with a sponge cake which she frosted herself. She sends her love, and says when you come to see me next summer she will frost you each one just like it. Good-bye, my Katy. I had nothing to write about, and have written it; but I never like to keep silent too long, or let you feel as if you were forgotten by your loving cousin,

  ‘HELEN

  ‘PS – Be sure to wear plenty of warm wraps for your winter walks. And, Katy dear, you must eat meat every day. Mrs Nipson will probably give up her favourite puddings now that the cold weather has begun; but, if not, write to papa.’

  ‘Isn't that letter Cousin Helen all over?’ said Katy. ‘So little about her illness, and so bright and merry, and yet she has really been sick. Papa says “a sharp attack”. Isn't she the dearest person in the world, next to papa, I mean?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. There's nobody like her. I do hope we can go to see her next summer. Now it's my turn. I can't think who this letter is from. Oh, Clarence! Katy, I can't let you see this. I promised Clare that I wouldn't show his letters to anybody, not even you.’

  ‘Oh very well. But you've got another. Dorry, isn't it? Read that first, and I'll go away and leave you in peace.’

  So Clover read:

  ‘DEAR CLOVER – Elsie says she is going to write to you today; but I won't stop, because next Saturday I'm going out fishing with the Slacks. There are a great many trout now in Blue Brook. Eugene caught six the other day – no, five, one was a minnow. Papa has given me a splendid rod; it lets out as tall as a house. I hope I shall catch with it. Alexander says the trout will admire it so much that they can't help biting; but he was only funning. Elsie and I play chess most every night. She plays a real good game for a girl. Sometimes pa helps, and then she beats. Miss Finch is well. She don't keep house quite like Katy did, and I don't like her so well as I do you; but she's pretty nice. The other day we had a nutting picnic, and she gave me and Phil a loaf of Election cake and six quince turnovers to carry. The boys gave three cheers for her when they saw them. Did Elsie tell you that I have invented a new machine? It is called “The Intellectual Peach Parer”. There is a place to hold a book while you pare the peaches. It is very convenient. I don't think of anything else to tell you. Cecy has got home, and is going to have a party next week. She's grown up now, she says, and she wears her hair quite different. It's a great deal thicker than it used to be. Elsie says it's because there are rats in it; but I don't believe her. Elsie has got a new friend. Her name is Helen Gibbs. She's quite pretty.

  ‘Your affectionate brother,

  ‘DORRY

  ‘PS – John wants to put in a note.’

  John's note was written in a round hand, as easy to read as print.

  ‘DEAR CLOVER – I am well, and hope you are the same. I wish you would write me a letter of my own. I go to school with Elsie now. We write compossizions. They are hard to write. We don't go up into the loft half so much as we used to when you ware at home. Mrs Worrett came to dinner last week. She says she ways two hundred and atey pounds. I should think it would be dredful to way that. I only way 76. My head comes up to the mark on the door where you ware mesured when you ware twelve – isn't that tal? Good-bye. I send a kiss to Katy.

  ‘Your loving,

  ‘JOHN’

  After they had finished this note, Katy went away, leaving Clover to open Clarence's letter by herself. It was not so well written or spelt as Dorry's by any means.

  ‘DEAR CLOVER – Don't forget what you promised. I mene about not showing this. And don't tell Lilly I rote. If you do, she'll be as mad as hops. I haven't been doing much since you went away. School begun yesterday, and I am glad; for it's awfully dull now that you girls have gone. Mother says Guest has got flees on him, so she won't let him come into the house any more. I stay out in the barn with him insted. He is well, and sends you a wag of his tail. Jim and me are maki
ng him a collar. It is black, with G. P. on it, for Guest Page, you know. A lot of boys had a camping out last week. I went. It was really jolly; but ma wouldn't let me stay all night, so I lost the best part. They rosted scullpins for supper, and had a bonfire. The camp was on Harstnet Hill. Next time you come I'll take you out there. Pa has gone to Mane on bizness. He said I must take care of the house, so I've borrowed Jim's gun, and if any robers come I mean to shoot them. I always go to sleep with a broom agenst the door, so as to wake up when they open it. This morning I thought they had come, for the broom was gone, and the gun, too; but it was only Briget. She opened the door, and it fell down; but I didn't wake up, so she took it away, and put the gun in the closset. I was mad, I can tell you.

  ‘This is only a short letter, but I hope you will answer it soon. Give my love to Katy, and tell Dorry that if he likes I'll send him my compas for his machen-ery, because I've got two.

  ‘Your affectionate Cousin,

  ‘CLARENCE PAGE’

  This was the last of the budget. As Clover folded it up, she was dismayed by the tinkle of the tea-bell.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ she cried, ‘there's tea, and I have not finished my letter to Elsie. Where has the afternoon gone? How splendid it has been! I wish I could have four letters every day as long as I live.’

  11

  CHRISTMAS BOXES

  October was a delightful month, clear and sparkling; but early in November the weather changed, and became very cold. Thick frosts fell, every leaf vanished from the woods, in the gardens only blackened stalks remained to show where once the summer flowers had been. In spite of the stove outside the door, No. 2 began to be chilly. More than once Katy found her tooth-brush stiff with ice in the morning. It was a foretaste of what winter was to be, and the girls shivered at the prospect.

  Toward the end of November Miss Jane caught a heavy cold. Unsparing of herself as of others, she went on hearing her classes as usual; and nobody paid much attention to her hoarseness and flushed cheeks, until she grew so much worse that she was forced to go to bed. There she stayed for nearly four weeks. It made a great change in the school, and the girls found it such a relief to have her sharp voice and eyes taken away, that I am afraid they were rather glad of her illness than otherwise.

  Katy shared in this feeling of relief. She did not like Miss Jane; it was pleasant not to have to see or hear of her. But as day after day passed, and still she continued ill, Katy's conscience began to prick. One night she lay awake a long time, and heard Miss Jane coughing violently. Katy feared she was very sick, and wondered who took care of her all night and all day. None of the girls went near her. The servants were always busy. And Mrs Nipson, who did not love Miss Jane, was busy too.

  In the morning, while studying and practising, Katy caught herself thinking over this question. At last she asked Miss Marsh –

  ‘How is Miss Jane today?’

  ‘About the same. She is not dangerously ill, the doctor says; but she coughs a great deal, and has some fever.’

  ‘Is anybody sitting with her?’

  ‘Oh, no! there is no need of anyone. Susan answers the bell, and she has her medicine on the table within reach.’

  It sounded forlorn enough. Katy had lived in a sick-room so long herself that she knew just how dreary it is for an invalid to be left alone with ‘medicine within reach’, and someone to answer a bell. She began to feel sorry for Miss Jane, and almost without intending it went down to the entry, and tapped at her door. The ‘Come in!’ sounded very faint; and Miss Jane as she lay in bed looked weak and dismal, and quite unlike the sharp, terrible person whom the girls feared so much. She was amazed at the sight of Katy, and made a feeble attempt to hold up her head and speak as usual.

  ‘What is it, Miss Carr?’

  ‘I only came to see how you are,’ said Katy, abashed at her own daring, ‘you coughed so much last night that I was afraid you were worse. Isn't there something I could do for you?’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Miss Jane, ‘you are very kind.’

  Think of Miss Jane's thanking anybody, and calling anybody kind!

  ‘I should be very glad. Isn't there anything?’ repeated Katy, encouraged.

  ‘Well, I don't know; you might put another stick of wood on the fire,’ said Miss Jane, in an ungracious tone.

  Katy did so; and seeing that the iron cup on top of the stove was empty, she poured some water into it. Then she took a look about the room. Books and papers were scattered over the table; clean clothes from the wash lay on the chairs; nothing was in its place; and Katy, who knew how particular Miss Jane was on the subject of order, guessed at the discomfort which this untidy state of affairs must have caused her.

  ‘Wouldn't you like to have me put these away?’ she asked, touching the pile of clothes.

  Miss Jane sighed impatiently, but she did not say no; so Katy, taking silence for consent, opened the drawers, and laid the clothes inside, guessing at the right places with a sort of instinct, and making as little noise and bustle as possible. Next she moved quietly to the table, where she sorted and arranged the papers, piled up the books, and put the pens and pencils in a small tray which stood there for the purpose. Lastly, she began to dust the table with her pocket-handkerchief, which proceeding roused Miss Jane at once.

  ‘Don't,’ she said, ‘there is a duster in the cupboard.’

  Katy could not help smiling; but she found the duster, and proceeded to put the rest of the room into nice order, laying a fresh towel over the bedside table, and arranging watch, medicine, and spoon within reach. Miss Jane lay and watched her. I think she was as much surprised at herself for permitting all this as Katy was at being permitted to do it. Sick people often consent because they feel too weak to object. After all, it was comfortable to have some one come in and straighten the things which for ten days past had vexed her neat eyes with their untidiness.

  Lastly, smoothing the quilt, Katy asked if Miss Jane wouldn't like to have her pillow shaken up?

  ‘I don't care,’ was the answer.

  It sounded discouraging; but Katy boldly seized the pillow, beat, smoothed, and put it again in place. Then she went out of the room as noiselessly as she could, Miss Jane never saying, ‘Thank you’, or seeming to observe whether she went or stayed.

  Rose Red and Clover could hardly believe their ears when told where she had been. They stared at her as people stare at Van Amburgh when he comes safely out of the lion's den.

  ‘My stars!’ exclaimed Rose, drawing a long breath. ‘You didn't really? And she hasn't bitten your head off!’

  ‘Not a bit,’ said Katy, laughing. ‘What's more, I'm going again.’

  She was as good as her word. After that she went to see Miss Jane very often. Almost always there was some little thing which she could do – the fire needed mending, or the pitcher to be filled with ice-water, or Miss Jane wanted the blinds opened or shut. Gradually she grew used to seeing Katy about the room. One morning she actually allowed her to brush her hair; and Katy's touch was so light and pleasant that afterwards Miss Jane begged her to do it every day.

  ‘What makes you such a good nurse?’ she asked one afternoon rather abruptly.

  ‘Being sick myself,’ replied Katy, gently.

  Then, in answer to further questioning, she told of her four years' illness, and her life upstairs, keeping house and studying lessons all alone by herself. Miss Jane did not say anything when she got through; but Katy fancied that she looked at her in a new and kinder way.

  So time went on till Christmas. It fell on a Friday that year, which shortened the holidays by a day, and disappointed many of the girls. Only a few went home, the rest were left to pass the time as best they might till Monday, when lessons were to begin again.

  ‘It isn't much like merry Christmas,’ sighed Clover to herself, as she looked up at the uncot-toned space at the top of the window, and saw great snowflakes wildly whirling by. No. 2 felt cold and dreary, and she was glad to exchange it for the schoolroom, round
whose warm stove a cluster of girls was huddling. Everybody was in bad spirits; there was a tendency to talk about home, and the nice time which people were having there, and the very bad time they themselves were having at the Nunnery.

  ‘Isn't it mis-e-ra-ble? I shall cry all night, I know I shall, I am so homesick,’ gulped Lilly, who had taken possession of her room-mate's shoulder and was weeping ostentatiously.

  ‘I declare, you're just Mrs Gummidge in “David Copperfield” over again,’ said Rose. ‘You recollect her, girls, don't you? When the porridge was burnt, you know – “All of us felt the disappointment, but Mrs Gummidge felt it the most.” Isn't Lilly a real Mrs Gummidge, girls?’

  This observation changed Lilly's tears into anger. ‘You're as hateful and as horrid as you can be, Rose Red!’ she exclaimed, angrily. Then she flew out of the room, and shut the door behind her with a bang.

  ‘There! she's gone upstairs cross,’ said Louisa Agnew.

  ‘I don't care if she has,’ replied Rose, who was in a perverse mood.

  ‘I wish you hadn't said that, Rosy,’ whispered Clover. ‘Lilly really felt badly.’

  ‘Well, what if she did? So do I feel badly, and you, and the rest of us. Lilly hasn't taken out a patent for bad feelings, which nobody must infringe. What business has she to make us feel badder by setting up to be so much worse off than the rest of the world?’

  Clover said nothing, but went on with a book she was reading. In less than ten minutes, Rose, whose sun seldom stayed long behind a cloud, was at her elbow, dimpling and coaxing.