What Katy Did

  Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Suzanne L. Shell, CharlesFranks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

  WHAT KATY DID

  By

  SUSAN COOLIDGE

  With Frontispiece in Color by Ralph Pallen Coleman

  TO FIVE.

  Six of us once, my darlings, played together Beneath green boughs, which faded long ago, Made merry in the golden summer weather, Pelted each other with new-fallen snow.

  Did the sun always shine? I can't remember A single cloud that dimmed the happy blue,-- A single lightning-bolt or peal of thunder, To daunt our bright, unfearing lives: can you?

  We quarrelled often, but made peace as quickly, Shed many tears, but laughed the while they fell, Had our small woes, our childish bumps and bruises, But Mother always "kissed and made them well."

  Is it long since?--it seems a moment only: Yet here we are in bonnets and tail-coats, Grave men of business, members of committees, Our play-time ended: even Baby votes!

  And star-eyed children, in whose innocent faces Kindles the gladness which was once our own, Crowd round our knees, with sweet and coaxing voices, Asking for stories of that old-time home.

  "Were _you_ once little too?" they say, astonished; "Did you too play? How funny! tell us how." Almost we start, forgetful for a moment; Almost we answer, "We are little _now!_"

  Dear friend and lover, whom to-day we christen, Forgive such brief bewilderment,--thy true And kindly hand we hold; we own thee fairest. But ah! our yesterday was precious too.

  So, darlings, take this little childish story, In which some gleams of the old sunshine play, And, as with careless hands you turn the pages, Look back and smile, as here I smile to-day.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I THE LITTLE CARRS

  II PARADISE

  III THE DAY OF SCRAPES

  IV KIKERI

  V IN THE LOFT

  VI INTIMATE FRIENDS

  VII COUSIN HELEN'S VISIT

  VIII TO-MORROW

  IX DISMAL DAYS

  X ST. NICHOLAS AND ST. VALENTINE

  XI A NEW LESSON TO LEARN

  XII TWO YEARS AFTERWARD

  XIII AT LAST

  CHAPTER I

  THE LITTLE CARRS

  I was sitting in the meadows one day, not long ago, at a place wherethere was a small brook. It was a hot day. The sky was very blue, andwhite clouds, like great swans, went floating over it to and fro. Justopposite me was a clump of green rushes, with dark velvety spikes, andamong them one single tall, red cardinal flower, which was bending overthe brook as if to see its own beautiful face in the water. But thecardinal did not seem to be vain.

  The picture was so pretty that I sat a long time enjoying it. Suddenly,close to me, two small voices began to talk--or to sing, for I couldn'ttell exactly which it was. One voice was shrill; the other, which was alittle deeper, sounded very positive and cross. They were evidentlydisputing about something, for they said the same words over and overagain. These were the words--"Katy did." "Katy didn't." "She did." "Shedidn't." "She did." "She didn't." "Did." "Didn't." I think they musthave repeated them at least a hundred times.

  I got up from my seat to see if I could find the speakers; and sureenough, there on one of the cat-tail bulrushes, I spied two tinypale-green creatures. Their eyes seemed to be weak, for they both woreblack goggles. They had six legs apiece,--two short ones, two not soshort, and two very long. These last legs had joints like the springs tobuggy-tops; and as I watched, they began walking up the rush, and then Isaw that they moved exactly like an old-fashioned gig. In fact, if Ihadn't been too big, I _think_ I should have heard them creak as theywent along. They didn't say anything so long as I was there, but themoment my back was turned they began to quarrel again, and in the sameold words--"Katy did." "Katy didn't." "She did." "She didn't."

  As I walked home I fell to thinking about another Katy,--a Katy I onceknew, who planned to do a great many wonderful things, and in the enddid none of them, but something quite different,--something she didn'tlike at all at first, but which, on the whole, was a great deal betterthan any of the doings she had dreamed about. And as I thought, thislittle story grew in my head, and I resolved to write it down for you. Ihave done it; and, in memory of my two little friends on the bulrush, Igive it their name. Here it is--the story of What Katy Did.

  Katy's name was Katy Carr. She lived in the town of Burnet, which wasn'ta very big town, but was growing as fast as it knew how. The house shelived in stood on the edge of the town. It was a large square house,white, with green blinds, and had a porch in front, over which roses andclematis made a thick bower. Four tall locust trees shaded the gravelpath which led to the front gate. On one side of the house was anorchard; on the other side were wood piles and barns, and an ice-house.Behind was a kitchen garden sloping to the south; and behind that apasture with a brook in it, and butternut trees, and four cows--two redones, a yellow one with sharp horns tipped with tin, and a dear littlewhite one named Daisy.

  There were six of the Carr children--four girls and two boys. Katy, theoldest, was twelve years old; little Phil, the youngest, was four, andthe rest fitted in between.

  Dr. Carr, their Papa, was a dear, kind, busy man, who was away from homeall day, and sometimes all night, too, taking care of sick people. Thechildren hadn't any Mamma. She had died when Phil was a baby, four yearsbefore my story began. Katy could remember her pretty well; to the restshe was but a sad, sweet name, spoken on Sunday, and at prayer-times, orwhen Papa was especially gentle and solemn.

  In place of this Mamma, whom they recollected so dimly, there was AuntIzzie, Papa's sister, who came to take care of them when Mamma went awayon that long journey, from which, for so many months, the little oneskept hoping she might return. Aunt Izzie was a small woman, sharp-facedand thin, rather old-looking, and very neat and particular abouteverything. She meant to be kind to the children, but they puzzled hermuch, because they were not a bit like herself when she was a child.Aunt Izzie had been a gentle, tidy little thing, who loved to sit asCurly Locks did, sewing long seams in the parlor, and to have her headpatted by older people, and be told that she was a good girl; whereasKaty tore her dress every day, hated sewing, and didn't care a buttonabout being called "good," while Clover and Elsie shied off likerestless ponies when any one tried to pat their heads. It was veryperplexing to Aunt Izzie, and she found it hard to quite forgive thechildren for being so "unaccountable," and so little like the good boysand girls in Sunday-school memoirs, who were the young people she likedbest, and understood most about.

  Then Dr. Carr was another person who worried her. He wished to have thechildren hardy and bold, and encouraged climbing and rough plays, inspite of the bumps and ragged clothes which resulted. In fact, there wasjust one half-hour of the day when Aunt Izzie was really satisfied abouther charges, and that was the half-hour before breakfast, when she hadmade a law that they were all to sit in their little chairs and learnthe Bible verse for the day. At this time she looked at them withpleased eyes, they were all so spick and span, with such nicely-brushedjackets and such neatly-combed hair. But the moment the bell rang hercomfort was over. From that time on, they were what she called "not fitto be seen." The neighbors pitied her very much. They used to count thesixty stiff white pantalette legs hung out to dry every Monday morning,and say to each other what a sight of washing those children made, andwhat a chore it must be for poor Miss Carr to keep them so nice. Butpoor Miss Carr didn't think them at all nice; that was the worst of it.

  "Clover, go up stairs and wash your hands! Dorry, pick your hat off thefloor and hang it on the nail! Not that nail--the third nail from thecorner!" These were the kind of things Aunt Izzie was saying all
daylong. The children minded her pretty well, but they didn't exactly loveher, I fear. They called her "Aunt Izzie" always, never "Aunty." Boysand girls will know what _that_ meant.

  I want to show you the little Carrs, and I don't know that I could everhave a better chance than one day when five out of the six were perchedon top of the ice-house, like chickens on a roost. This ice-house wasone of their favorite places. It was only a low roof set over a hole inthe ground, and, as it stood in the middle of the side-yard, it alwaysseemed to the children that the shortest road to every place was up oneof its slopes and down the other. They also liked to mount to theridge-pole, and then, still keeping the sitting position, to let go, andscrape slowly down over the warm shingles to the ground. It was bad fortheir shoes and trousers, of course, but what of that? Shoes andtrousers, and clothes generally, were Aunt Izzie's affair; theirs was toslide and enjoy themselves.

  Clover, next in age to Katy, sat in the middle. She was a fair, sweetdumpling of a girl, with thick pig-tails of light brown hair, andshort-sighted blue eyes, which seemed to hold tears, just ready to fallfrom under the blue. Really, Clover was the jolliest little thing in theworld; but these eyes, and her soft cooing voice, always made peoplefeel like petting her and taking her part. Once, when she was verysmall, she ran away with Katy's doll, and when Katy pursued, and triedto take it from her, Clover held fast and would not let go. Dr. Carr,who wasn't attending particularly, heard nothing but the pathetic toneof Clover's voice, as she said: "Me won't! Me want dolly!" and, withoutstopping to inquire, he called out sharply: "For shame, Katy! give yoursister _her_ doll at once!" which Katy, much surprised, did; whileClover purred in triumph, like a satisfied kitten. Clover was sunny andsweet-tempered, a little indolent, and very modest about herself,though, in fact, she was particularly clever in all sorts of games, andextremely droll and funny in a quiet way. Everybody loved her, and sheloved everybody, especially Katy, whom she looked up to as one of thewisest people in the world.

  Pretty little Phil sat next on the roof to Clover, and she held himtight with her arm. Then came Elsie, a thin, brown child of eight, withbeautiful dark eyes, and crisp, short curls covering the whole of hersmall head. Poor little Elsie was the "odd one" among the Carrs. Shedidn't seem to belong exactly to either the older or the youngerchildren. The great desire and ambition of her heart was to be allowedto go about with Katy and Clover and Cecy Hall, and to know theirsecrets, and be permitted to put notes into the little post-offices theywere forever establishing in all sorts of hidden places. But they didn'twant Elsie, and used to tell her to "run away and play with thechildren," which hurt her feelings very much. When she wouldn't runaway, I am sorry to say they ran away from her, which, as their legswere longest, it was easy to do. Poor Elsie, left behind, would crybitter tears, and, as she was too proud to play much with Dorry andJohn, her principal comfort was tracking the older ones about anddiscovering their mysteries, especially the post-offices, which were hergreatest grievance. Her eyes were bright and quick as a bird's. Shewould peep and peer, and follow and watch, till at last, in some odd,unlikely place, the crotch of a tree, the middle of the asparagus bed,or, perhaps, on the very top step of the scuttle ladder, she spied thelittle paper box, with its load of notes, all ending with: "Be sure andnot let Elsie know." Then she would seize the box, and, marching up towherever the others were, she would throw it down, saying, defiantly:"There's your old post-office!" but feeling all the time just likecrying. Poor little Elsie! In almost every big family, there is one ofthese unmated, left-out children. Katy, who had the finest plans in theworld for being "heroic," and of use, never saw, as she drifted on herheedless way, that here, in this lonely little sister, was the verychance she wanted for being a comfort to somebody who needed comfortvery much. She never saw it, and Elsie's heavy heart went uncheered.

  Dorry and Joanna sat on the two ends of the ridge-pole. Dorry was sixyears old; a pale, pudgy boy, with rather a solemn face, and smears ofmolasses on the sleeve of his jacket. Joanna, whom the children called"John," and "Johnnie," was a square, splendid child, a year younger thanDorry; she had big brave eyes, and a wide rosy mouth, which alwayslooked ready to laugh. These two were great friends, though Dorry seemedlike a girl who had got into boy's clothes by mistake, and Johnnie likea boy who, in a fit of fun, had borrowed his sister's frock. And now, asthey all sat there chattering and giggling, the window above opened, aglad shriek was heard, and Katy's head appeared. In her hand she held aheap of stockings, which she waved triumphantly.

  "Hurray!" she cried, "all done, and Aunt Izzie says we may go. Are youtired out waiting? I couldn't help it, the holes were so big, and tookso long. Hurry up, Clover, and get the things! Cecy and I will be downin a minute."

  The children jumped up gladly, and slid down the roof. Clover fetched acouple of baskets from the wood-shed. Elsie ran for her kitten. Dorryand John loaded themselves with two great fagots of green boughs. Justas they were ready, the side-door banged, and Katy and Cecy Hall cameinto the yard.

  I must tell you about Cecy. She was a great friend of the children's,and lived in a house next door. The yards of the houses were onlyseparated by a green hedge, with no gate, so that Cecy spent two-thirdsof her time at Dr. Carr's, and was exactly like one of the family. Shewas a neat, dapper, pink-and-white-girl, modest and prim in manner, withlight shiny hair, which always kept smooth, and slim hands, which neverlooked dirty. How different from my poor Katy! Katy's hair was foreverin a snarl; her gowns were always catching on nails and tearing"themselves"; and, in spite of her age and size, she was as heedless andinnocent as a child of six. Katy was the _longest_ girl that was everseen. What she did to make herself grow so, nobody could tell; but thereshe was--up above Papa's ear, and half a head taller than poor AuntIzzie. Whenever she stopped to think about her height she became veryawkward, and felt as if she were all legs and elbows, and angles andjoints. Happily, her head was so full of other things, of plans andschemes, and fancies of all sorts, that she didn't often take time toremember how tall she was. She was a dear, loving child, for all hercareless habits, and made bushels of good resolutions every week of herlife, only unluckily she never kept any of them. She had fits ofresponsibility about the other children, and longed to set them a goodexample, but when the chance came, she generally forgot to do so. Katy'sdays flew like the wind; for when she wasn't studying lessons, or sewingand darning with Aunt Izzie, which she hated extremely, there werealways so many delightful schemes rioting in her brains, that all shewished for was ten pairs of hands to carry them out. These same activebrains got her into perpetual scrapes. She was fond of building castlesin the air, and dreaming of the time when something she had done wouldmake her famous, so that everybody would hear of her, and want to knowher. I don't think she had made up her mind what this wonderful thingwas to be; but while thinking about it she often forgot to learn alesson, or to lace her boots, and then she had a bad mark, or a scoldingfrom Aunt Izzie. At such times she consoled herself with planning how,by and by, she would be beautiful and beloved, and amiable as an angel.A great deal was to happen to Katy before that time came. Her eyes,which were black, were to turn blue; her nose was to lengthen andstraighten, and her mouth, quite too large at present to suit the partof a heroine, was to be made over into a sort of rosy button. Meantime,and until these charming changes should take place, Katy forgot herfeatures as much as she could, though still, I think, the person onearth whom she most envied was that lady on the outside of theTricopherous bottles with the wonderful hair which sweeps the ground.