“I think we’ll tell stories this time,” said Cousin Helen.
So they told stories. Cousin Helen’s were the best of all. There was one of them about a robber, which sent delightful chills creeping down all their backs. All but Philly. He was so excited, that he grew warlike.
“I ain’t afraid of robbers,” he declared, strutting up and down. “When they come, I shall just cut them in two with my sword which Papa gave me. They did come once. I did cut them in two – three, five, eleven of ‘em. You’ll see!”
But that evening, after the younger children were gone to bed, and Katy and Clover were sitting in the Blue-room, a lamentable howling was heard from the nursery. Clover ran to see what was the matter. Behold – there was Phil, sitting up in bed, and crying for help.
“There’s robbers under the bed,” he sobbed; “ever so many robbers.”
“Why no, Philly!” said Clover, peeping under the valance to satisfy him; “there isn’t anybody there.”
“Yes, there is, I tell you,” declared Phil, holding her tight. “I heard one. They were chewing my india-rubbers.”
“Poor little fellow!” said Cousin Helen, when Clover, having pacified Phil, came back to report. “It’s a warning against robber stories. But this one ended so well that I didn’t think of anybody’s being frightened.”
It was no use, after this, for Aunt Izzie to make rules about going into the Blue-room. She might as well have ordered flies to keep away from a sugar-bowl. By hook or by crook, the children would get up stairs. Whenever Aunt Izzie went in she was sure to find them there, just as close to Cousin Helen as they could get. And Cousin Helen begged her not to interfere.
“We have only three or four days to be together,” she said. “Let them come as much as they like. It won’t hurt me a bit.”
Little Elsie clung with a passionate love to this new friend. Cousin Helen had sharp eyes. She saw the wistful look in Elsie’s face at once, and took special pains to be sweet and tender to her. This preference made Katy jealous. She couldn’t bear to share her cousin with anybody.
When the last evening came, and they went up after tea to the Blue-room, Cousin Helen was opening a box which had just come by Express.
“It is a Good-by Box,” she said. “All of you must sit down in a row, and when I hide my hands behind me, so, you must choose in turn which you will take.”
So they all chose in turn, “Which hand will you have, the right or the left?” and Cousin Helen, with the air of a wise fairy, brought out from behind her pillow something pretty for each one. First came a vase exactly like her own, which Katy had admired so much. Katy screamed with delight as it was placed in her hands:
“Oh, how lovely! how lovely!” she cried “I’ll keep it as long as I live and breathe.”
“If you do, it’ll be the first time you ever kept anything for a week without breaking it,” remarked Aunt Izzie.
Next came a pretty purple pocket-book for Clover. It was just what she wanted, for she had lost her porte-monnaie. Then a cunning little locket on a bit of velvet ribbon, which Cousin Helen tied round Elsie’s neck.
“There’s a piece of my hair in it,” she said. “Why, Elsie, darling, what’s the matter? Don’t cry so!”
“Oh, you’re s-o beautiful, and s-o sweet!” sobbed Elsie; “and you’re go-o-ing away.”
Dorry had a box of dominoes, and John a solitaire board. For Phil there appeared a book – “The History of the Robber Cat.”
“That will remind you of the night when the thieves came and chewed your india-rubbers,” said Cousin Helen, with a mischievous smile. They all laughed, Phil loudest of all.
Nobody was forgotten. There was a note-book for Papa, and a set of ivory tablets for Aunt Izzie. Even Cecy was remembered. Her present was “The Book of Golden Deeds,” with all sorts of stories about boys and girls who had done brave and good things. She was almost too pleased to speak.
“Oh, thank you, Cousin Helen!” she said at last. Cecy wasn’t a cousin, but she and the Carr children were in the habit of sharing their aunts and uncles and relations generally, as they did their other good things.
Next day came the sad parting. All the little ones stood at the gate, to wave their pocket-handkerchiefs as the carriage drove away. When it was quite out of sight, Katy rushed off to “weep a little weep,” all by herself.
“Papa said he wished we were all like Cousin Helen,” she thought, as she wiped her eyes, “and I mean to try, though I don’t suppose if I tried a thousand years I should ever get to be half so good. I’ll study, and keep my things in order, and be ever so kind to the little ones. Dear me – if only Aunt Izzie was Cousin Helen, how easy it would be! Never mind – I’ll think about her all the time, and I’ll begin to-morrow.”
Chapter VIII.
To-morrow
To-morrow I will begin,” thought Katy, as she dropped asleep that night. How often we all do so! And what a pity it is that when morning comes and to-morrow is to-day, we so frequently wake up feeling quite differently; careless or impatient, and not a bit inclined to do the fine things we planned overnight.
Sometimes it seems as if there must be wicked little imps in the world, who are kept tied up so long as the sun shines, but who creep into our bedrooms when we are asleep, to tease us and ruffle our tempers. Else, why, when we go to rest good-natured and pleasant, should we wake up so cross? Now there was Katy. Her last sleepy thought was an intention to be an angel from that time on, and as much like Cousin Helen as she could; and when she opened her eyes, she was all out of sorts and as fractious as a bear! Old Mary said that she got out of bed on the wrong side. I wonder, by the way, if anybody will ever be wise enough to tell us which side that is, so that we may always choose the other? How comfortable it would be if they could!
You know how, if we begin the day in a cross mood, all sorts of unfortunate accidents seem to occur to add to our vexations. The very first thing Katy did this morning was to break her precious vase – the one Cousin Helen had given her.
It was standing on the bureau with a little cluster of blush-roses in it. The bureau had a swing-glass. While Katy was brushing her hair, the glass tipped a little so that she could not see. At a good-humored moment, this accident wouldn’t have troubled her much. But being out of temper to begin with, it made her angry. She gave the glass a violent push. The lower part swung forward, there was a smash, and the first thing Katy knew, the blush-roses lay scattered all over the floor, and Cousin Helen’s pretty present was ruined.
Katy just sat down on the carpet and cried as hard as if she had been Phil himself. Aunt Izzie heard her lamenting, and came in.
“I’m very sorry,” she said, picking up the broken glass, “but it’s no more than I expected, you’re so careless, Katy. Now don’t sit there in that foolish way! Get up and dress yourself. You’ll be late to breakfast.”
“What’s the matter?” asked Papa, noticing Katy’s red eyes as she took her seat at the table.
“I’ve broken my vase,” said Katy, dolefully.
“It was extremely careless of you to put it in such a dangerous place,” said her aunt. “You might have known that the glass would swing and knock it off.” Then, seeing a big tear fall in the middle of Katy’s plate, she added: “Really, Katy, you’re too big to behave like a baby. Why Dorry would be ashamed to do so. Pray control yourself!”
This snub did not improve Katy’s temper. She went on