What Katy Did at School

by Susan Coolidge

  ‘I forgive you,’ she whispered, giving Clover's arm a little pinch.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being in the right. About Lilly, I mean. I was rather hateful to her, I confess. Never mind. When she comes downstairs, I'll make up for it. She's a crocodile, if ever there was one; but, as she's your cousin, I'll be good to her. Kiss me quick to prove that you're not vexed.’

  ‘Vexed, indeed!’ said Clover, kissing the middle of the pink cheek. ‘I wonder if anybody ever stayed vexed with you for ten minutes together, you Rosy-Posy you!’

  ‘Bless you, yes! Miss Jane, for example. She hates me like poison, and all the time. Well, what of it? I know she's sick, but I “can't tell a lie, pa”, on that account. Where's Katy?’

  ‘Gone in to see her, I believe.’

  ‘One of these days,’ prophesied Rose, solemnly, ‘she'll go into that room, and she'll never come out again! Miss Jane is getting back into biting condition. I advise Katy to be careful. What's that noise? Sleigh-bells, I declare! Girls' – mounting a desk, and peeping out of the window – ‘somebody's got a big box – a big one! Here's old Joyce at the door, with his sledge. Now whose do you suppose it is?’

  ‘It's for me! I'm sure it's for me! cried half a dozen voices.

  ‘Bella, my love, peep over the balusters, and see if you can't see the name,’ cried Louisa; and Bella, nothing loth, departed at once on this congenial errand.

  ‘No, I can't,’ she reported, coming back from the hall. ‘The name's tipped up against the wall. There's two boxes! One is big, and one is little!’

  ‘Oh, who can they be for?’ clamoured the girls. Half the school expected boxes, and had been watching the storm all day, with a dreadful fear that it would block the roads, and delay the expected treasures.

  At this moment Mrs Nipson came in.

  ‘There will be the usual study hour this evening,’ she announced. ‘All of you will prepare lessons for Monday morning. Miss Carr, come here for a moment, if you please.’

  Clover, wondering, followed her into the entry.

  ‘A parcel has arrived for you, and a box,’ said Mrs Nipson. ‘I presume that they contain articles for Christmas. I will have the nails removed, and both of them placed in your room this evening, but I expect you to refrain from examining them until tomorrow. The vacation does not open until after study-hour tonight, and it will then be too late for you to begin.’

  ‘Very well, ma'am,’ said Clover, demurely. But the minute Mrs Nipson's back was turned, she gave a jump, and rushed into the schoolroom.

  ‘Oh, girls,’ she cried, ‘what do you think? Both the boxes are for Katy and me.’

  ‘Both!’ cried a disappointed chorus.

  ‘Yes, both. Mrs Nipson said so. I'm so sorry for you. But isn't it nice for us? We never had a box from home before, you know; and I didn't think we should, it's so far off. It's too lovely! But I do hope yours will come tonight.’

  Clover's voice was so sympathizing, for all its glee, that nobody could help being glad with her.

  ‘You little darling!’ said Louisa, giving her a hug. ‘I'm rejoiced that the box is yours. The rest of us are always getting them, and you and Katy never had a thing before. I hope it's a nice one!’

  ‘Oh, it's sure to be nice! It's from home, you know,’ responded Clover, with a happy smile. Then she left the room to find Katy, and tell the wonderful news.

  Study hour seemed unusually long that night. The minute it was over, the sisters ran to No. 2. There stood the boxes, a big wooden one, with all the nails taken out of the lid, and a smaller paper one, carefully tied up and sealed. It was almost more than the girls could do to obey orders and not peep.

  ‘I feel something hard,’ announced Clover, inserting a finger-tip under the lid.

  ‘Oh, do you?’ cried Katy. Then, making an heroic effort, she jumped into bed.

  ‘It's the only way,’ she said, ‘you'd better come, too, Clovy. Blow the candle out, and let's get to sleep as fast as we can, so as to make morning come quicker.’

  Katy dreamed of home that night. Perhaps it was that which made her wake so early. It was not five o'clock, and the room was perfectly dark. She did not like to disturb Clover, so she lay perfectly still, for hours as it seemed, till a faint grey dawn crept in, and revealed the outlines of the big box standing by the window. Then she could wait no longer, but crept out of bed, crossed the floor on tiptoe, and raising the lid a little put in her hand. Something crumby and sugary met it, and when she drew it out, there, fitting on her finger like a ring, was a round cake with a hole in the middle of it.

  ‘Oh! it's one of Debby's jumbles!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Where? What are you doing? Give me one too!’ cried Clover, starting up. Katy rummaged till she found another, then, half frozen, she ran back to bed; and the two lay nibbling the jumbles, and talking about home, till dawn deepened into daylight, and morning was fairly come.

  Breakfast was half an hour later than usual, which was comfortable. As soon as it was over, the girls proceeded to unpack their box. The day was so cold that they wrapped themselves in shawls, and Clover put on a hood and thick gloves. Rose Red, passing the door, burst out laughing, and recommended that she should add india-rubber boots and an umbrella.

  ‘Oh, come in,’ cried the sisters, ‘come in, and help us open our box!’

  ‘Oh, by the way, you have a box, haven't you?’ said Rose, who was perfectly aware of the important fact, and had presented herself with the hope of being asked to look on. ‘Thank you, but perhaps I would better come some other time. I shall be in your way.’

  ‘You impostor!’ said Clover, while Katy seized Rose and pulled her into the room. ‘There, sit on the bed, you ridiculous goose, and put on my grey cloak. How can you be so absurd as to say you won't? You know we want you, and you know you came on purpose!’

  ‘Did I? Well perhaps I did,’ laughed Rose. Then Katy lifted off the lid, and set it against the door. It was an exciting moment.

  ‘Just look here!’ cried Katy.

  The top of the box was mostly taken up with four square paper boxes, round which parcels of all shapes and sizes were wedged and fitted. The whole was a miracle of packing. It had taken Miss Finch three mornings, with assistance from old Mary, and much advice from Elsie, to do it so beautifully.

  Each box held a different kind of cake. One was full of jumbles, another of ginger-snaps, a third of crullers, and the fourth contained a big square loaf of frosted plum-cake, with a circle of sugar almonds set in the frosting. How the trio exclaimed at this!

  ‘I never imagined anything so nice,’ declared Rose, with her mouth full of jumble. ‘As for those snaps, they're simply perfect. What can be in all those fascinating bundles? Do hurry and open one, Katy.’

  Dear little Elsie! The first two bundles opened were hers – a white hood for Katy, and a blue one for Clover, both of her own knitting, and so nicely done. The girls were enchanted.

  ‘How she has improved!’ said Katy. ‘She knits better than either of us, Clover.’

  ‘There never was such a clever little darling!’ responded Clover; and they patted the hoods, tried them on before the glass, and spent so much time in admiring them that Rose grew impatient.

  ‘I declare,’ she cried, ‘it isn't any of my funeral, I know, but if you don't open another parcel soon, I shall certainly fall to myself. It seems as if, what with cold and curiosity, I couldn't wait.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Katy, laying aside her hood, with one final glance. ‘Take out a bundle, Clover. It's your turn.’

  Clover's bundle was for herself, ‘Evangeline' in blue and gold, and pretty soon the ‘Golden Legend’, in the same binding, appeared for Katy. Both these were from Dorry. Next came a couple of round packages of exactly the same size. These proved to be inkstands, covered with Russian leather – one marked, ‘Katy, from Johnnie’, and the other ‘Clover, from Phil’. It was evident that the children had done their shopping together, for presently two long, narrow
parcels revealed carved pen-handles, precisely alike; and these were labelled, ‘Katy, from Phil’, and ‘Clover, from Johnnie’.

  What fun it was opening those bundles! The girls made a long business of it, taking out but one at a time, exclaiming, admiring, and exhibiting to Rose, before they began upon another. They laughed, they joked, but I do not think it would have taken much to make either of them cry. It was almost too tender a pleasure – these proofs of loving remembrance from the little ones; and each separate article seemed full of the very look and feel of home.

  ‘What can this be?’ said Katy, as she unrolled a paper and disclosed a pretty round box. She opened. Nothing was visible but pink cotton wool. Katy peeped beneath, and gave a cry.

  ‘Oh, Clovy! such a lovely thing! It's from papa – of course, it's from papa! How could he? It's a great deal too pretty.’

  The ‘lovely thing' was a long slender chain for Katy's watch, worked in fine yellow gold. Clover admired it extremely; and her joy knew no bounds when further search revealed another box with a precisely similar chain for herself. It was too much. The girls fairly cried with pleasure.

  ‘There never was such a papa in the world,’ they said.

  ‘Yes, there is; mine is just as good,’ declared Rose, twinkling away a little tear-drop from her own eyes. ‘Now, don't cry, honeys. Your papa's an angel, there's no doubt about it. I never saw such pretty chains in my life – never. As for the children, they're little ducks. You certainly are a wonderful family. Katy, I'm dying to know what is in that blue parcel.’

  The blue parcel was from Cecy, and contained a pretty blue ribbon for Clover. There was a pink one also, with a pink ribbon for Katy. Everybody had thought of the girls. Old Mary sent them each a yard measure; Miss Finch, a thread-case, stocked with differently coloured cottons. Alexander had cracked a bag full of hickory nuts.

  ‘Did you ever?’ said Rose, when this last was produced. ‘What a thing it is to be popular! Mrs Hall! Who's Mrs Hall?’ as Clover unwrapped a tiny carved easel.

  ‘She's Cecy's mother,’ explained Clover. ‘Wasn't she kind to send me this, Katy? And here's Cecy's photograph in a little frame for you.’

  Never was such a wonderful box. It appeared to have no bottom whatever. Under the presents were parcels of figs, prunes, almonds, raisins, candy; under those, apples and pears. There seemed no end to the surprises.

  At last all were out.

  ‘Now,’ said Katy, ‘let's throw back the apples and pears, and then I want you to help me divide the other things, and make up some packages for the girls. They are all so disappointed not to have their boxes. I should like to have them share ours. Wouldn't you, Clover?’

  ‘Yes, indeed; I was just going to propose it.’

  So Clover cut twenty-nine squares of white paper, Rose and Katy sorted and divided, and pretty soon ginger-snaps and almonds and sugarplums were walking down all the entries, and a gladsome crunching showed that the girls had found pleasant employment. None of the snowed-up boxes got through till Monday, so except for Katy and Clover the school would have had no Christmas treat at all.

  They carried Mrs Nipson a large slice of cake, and a basket full of the beautiful red apples. All the teachers were remembered, and the servants. The S.S.U.C. was convened and feasted; and as for Rose, Louisa, and other special cronies, dainties were heaped upon them with such unsparing hand that they finally remonstrated.

  ‘You're giving everything away. You'll have none left for yourselves.’

  ‘Yes, we shall – plenty,’ said Clover. ‘Oh, Rosy! here's such a splendid pear! You must have this.’

  ‘No, no!’ protested Rose; but Clover forced it into her pocket.

  ‘The Carrs' Box' was always quoted in the Nunnery afterwards, as an example of what papas and mammas could accomplish, when they were of the right sort, and really wanted to make school-girls happy. Distributing their treasures kept Katy and Clover so busy that it was not until after dinner that they found time to open the smaller box. When they did so, they were sorry for the delay. The box was full of flowers – roses, geranium-leaves, heliotrope, beautiful red and white carnations, all so bedded in cotton that the frost had not touched them. But they looked chilled, and Katy hastened to put them in warm water, which she had been told was the best way to revive drooping flowers.

  Cousin Helen had sent them; and underneath, sewed to the box, that they might not shake about and do mischief, were two flat parcels, wrapped in tissue paper, and tied with white ribbon, in Cousin Helen's dainty way. They were glove-cases, of quilted silk, delicately scented, one white, and one lilac; and to each was pinned a loving note, wishing the girls a Merry Christmas.

  ‘How awfully good people are!’ said Clover. ‘I do think we ought to be the best girls in the world.’

  Last of all, Katy made a choice little selection from her stores, a splendid apple, a couple of fine pears, a handful of raisins and figs, and, with a few of the freshest flowers in a wine-glass, she went down the Row and tapped at Miss Jane's door.

  Miss Jane was sitting up for the first time, wrapped in a shawl, and looking very thin and pale. Katy, who had almost ceased to be afraid of her, went in cheerily.

  ‘We've had a splendid box from home, Miss Jane, full of all sorts of things. It has been such fun unpacking it. I've brought an apple, and some pears, and this little bunch of flowers. Wasn't it a nice Christmas for us?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Jane, ‘very nice indeed. I heard some one saying in the entry that you had a box. Thank you,’ as Katy set the basket and glass on the table. ‘Those flowers are very sweet. I wish you a Merry Christmas, I'm sure.’

  This was much from Miss Jane, who could not help speaking shortly, even when she was pleased. Katy withdrew in high glee.

  But that night, just before bed-time, something happened so surprising that Katy, telling Clover about it afterward, said she half fancied that she must have dreamed it all. It was about eight o'clock in the evening: she was passing down Quaker Row, and Miss Jane called and asked her to come in. Miss Jane's cheeks were flushed, and she spoke fast, as if she had resolved to say something, and thought the sooner it was over the better.

  ‘Miss Carr,’ she began, ‘I wish to tell you that I made up my mind some time since that we did you an injustice last term. It is not your attentions to me during my illness which have changed my opinion – that was done before I fell ill. It is your general conduct, and the good influence which I have seen you exert over other girls, which convinced me that we must have been wrong about you. That is all. I thought you might like to hear me say this, and I shall say the same to Mrs Nipson.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Katy, ‘you don't know how glad I am!’ She half thought she would kiss Miss Jane, but somehow it didn't seem possible; so she shook hands very heartily instead, and flew to her room, feeling as if her feet were wings.

  ‘It seems too good to be true. I want to cry, I am so happy,’ she told Clover. ‘What a lovely day this has been!’

  And of all that she had received, I think Katy considered this explanation with Miss Jane as her very best Christmas box.

  12

  WAITING FOR SPRING

  School was a much happier place after this. Mrs Nipson never alluded to the matter, but her manner altered. Katy felt that she was no longer watched or distrusted, and her heart grew light.

  In another week Miss Jane was so much better as to be hearing her classes again. Illness had not changed her materially. It is only in novels that rheumatic fever sweetens tempers, and makes disagreeable people over into agreeable ones. Most of the girls disliked her as much as ever. Her tongue was just as sharp, and her manner as grim. But for Katy, from that time forward, there was a difference. Miss Jane was not affectionate to her – it was not in her nature to be that – but she was civil and considerate, and, in a dry way, friendly; and gradually Katy grew to have an odd sort of liking for her.

  Do any of you know how incredibly long winter seems in climates where for weeks to
gether the thermometer stands at zero? There is something hopeless in such cold. You think of summer as of a thing read about somewhere in a book, but which has no actual existence. Winter seems the only reality in the world.

  Katy and Clover felt this hopelessness growing upon them as the days went on, and the weather grew more and more severe. Ten, twenty, even thirty degrees below zero, was no unusual register for the Hillsover thermometers. Such cold half-frightened them, but nobody else was frightened or surprised. It was dry, brilliant cold. The December snows lay unmelted on the ground in March, and the paths cut then were crisp and hard still, only the white walls on either side had risen higher and higher, till only a moving line of hoods and tippets was visible above them, when the school went out for its daily walk. Morning after morning the girls woke to find thick crusts of frost on their window-panes, and every drop of water in washbowl or pitcher turned to solid ice. Night after night, Clover, who was a chilly little creature, lay shivering and unable to sleep, notwithstanding the hot bricks at her feet, and the many wraps which Katy piled upon her. To Katy herself the cold was more bracing than depressing. There was something in her blood which responded to the sharp tingle of frost, and she gained in strength in a remarkable way during this winter. But the long storms told upon her spirits. She pined for spring and home more than she liked to tell, and felt the need of variety in their monotonous life, where the creeping days appeared like weeks, and the weeks stretched themselves out, and seemed as long as months do in other places.

  The girls resorted to all sorts of devices to keep themselves alive during this dreary season. They had little epidemics of occupation. At one time it was ‘spattering’, when all faces and fingers had a tendency to smudges of India ink; and there was hardly a fine comb or tooth-brush fit for use in the establishment. Then a rage for tatting set in, followed by a fever of fancy-work, every one falling in love with the same pattern at the same time, and copying and re-copying, till nobody could bear the sight of it. At one time Clover counted eighteen girls all at work on the same bead and canvas pincushion. Later there was a short period of decalcomanie; and then came the grand album craze, when thirty-three girls out of the thirty-nine sent for blank books bound in red morocco, and began to collect signatures and sentiments. Here, also, there was a tendency toward repetition.