‘A nail-brush,’ answered Aunt Izzie; ‘Clover needed a new one.’
How Papa and Katy 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 Izzie, 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 Izzie went away. Katy lay a long time watching the queer shapes of the stocking-legs as they dangled in the fire-light. Then she fell asleep.
It seemed only a minute before something touched her and woke her up. Behold, it was day-time, and there was Philly in his night-gown 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 Katy, 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 Katy” written on it! Oh, Katy, it’s so sweet, and I’m so happy!’ and Elsie hugged Katy, and sobbed for pleasure.
But what was that strange thing beside the bed? Katy 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 flowerpot. 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 pop-corn 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 Katy 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 Dorry, 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 Katy. ‘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 Katy 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. Johnnie’s, a doll tea-tray of scarlet tin.
‘Isn’t it beau-ti-ful?’ she said, admiringly.
Dorry’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 amoose you. Does it amoose you, Katy?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Katy, laughing and blinking as Dorry waved the spider to and fro before her eyes.
‘You can play with it when we ain’t here and you’re all alone, you know,’ remarked Dorry, 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 Katy, 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 ‘Katy’ 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 Katy’s name written on it, ‘from her affectionate Cecy’. On it stood a great parcel of dried cherries from Mrs Hall. Mrs Hall had the most delicious dried cherries, the children thought.
‘How perfectly lovely everybody is!’ said Katy, 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 Katy 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. Aunt Izzie 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 on to 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 Katy, 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 talking with Cecy. ‘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 Cecy.
‘Sure enough. What a bright thought!’ cried Katy clapping her hands. ‘Oh, Cecy, let’s do something funny on Valentine’s Day! Such a good idea 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 farther on.
Valentine’s Day was the next Friday. When the children came home from school on Thursday afternoon Aunt Izzie met them, and, to their great surprise, told them that Cecy was to come to drink tea, and they must all go upstairs and be made nice.
‘But Cecy comes most every day,’ remarked Dorry, who didn’t see the connection between this fact and having his face washed.
‘Yes – but tonight you are to take tea in Katy’s room,’ said Aunt Izzie; ‘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 Katherine’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. Katy in her chair, sat close to the fire, Cecy 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 doughnuts. 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 Dorry.
‘Why you know this is St Valentine’s Eve,’ replied Katy. ‘Debby 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?’ Katy said; ‘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 pin-cushion 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 gaily dressed,
Some love violets 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 with 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 paying a visit to 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 see 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 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 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 should 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 folded 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 her 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
What Katy Did (Puffin Classics Relaunch) Page 12