What Katy Did, Susan Coolidge [e book reading free .txt] 📗
- Author: Susan Coolidge
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“Who can that be?” said Katy; “please see, Clover!”
So Clover opened the door. There stood Bridget, trying very hard not to laugh, and holding a letter in her hand.
“It’s a note as 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. Out tumbled a small green velvet pincushion made in the shape of a clover-leaf, with a tiny stem of wire wound with green silk. Pinned to the cushion was a paper, with these verses:
“Some people love roses well, Tulips, gayly 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’m 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 sent it?” she cried.
But before anybody could answer, there came another loud knock at the door, which made them all jump. Behold, Bridget 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 bee, 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 Cecy.
Another knock. This time there was a perfect handful of letters. Everybody had one. Katy, 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 valentines should be read.
Dorry’s was opened first. It had the picture of a pie at the top—I ought to explain that Dorry 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 Mamma Heard the sound from afar, And hastened to comfort her child; ‘What aileth my 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, O 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. Johnnie’s envelope held a paper doll named “Red Riding-Hood.” These were the verses:
“I send you my picture, dear Johnnie, 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’m not.”
Johnnie was immensely pleased at this, for Red Riding-Hood was a great favorite of hers.
Philly had a bit of india-rubber in his letter, which was written with very black ink on a big sheet of foolscap:
“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, And beg we may be friends.
“ROBBER.”
“Just listen to mine,” said Cecy, 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 CECY.
“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. 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. Cecy didn’t have any seal in hers, either.” And she fondled the little seal, which all this time she had held in her hand.
“Katy, you ought to have read yours first because you are the oldest,” said Clover.
“Mine isn’t much,” replied Katy, 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, Katy! You ought to have had the best of all.”
Katy 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 Dorry replied, “Yes; we never had such good times before Katy was sick, did we?”
Katy 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 Katy explained to Clover, next day. “But,” she added, “it is a great deal beautifuller 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; ‘tis 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 good-by to Pain.”
It was a long time before the children ceased to talk and laugh over that jolly evening. Dorry declared he wished there could be a Valentine’s-Day every week.
“Don’t you think St. Valentine would be tired of writing verses?” asked Katy. But she, too, had enjoyed the frolic, and the bright recollection helped her along through the rest of the long, cold winter.
Spring opened late that year, but the Summer, when it came, was a warm one. Katy 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 the 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-humored under these circumstances, and one could hardly have blamed Katy 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 Katy’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 sew, and just sat hour after hour, with folded hands, gazing wistfully out of the window.
He tried the experiment of taking her to
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