Poor Katy! Her propensity to fall violently in love with new people was always getting her into scrapes. Ever since she began to walk and talk, “Katy’s intimate friends” had been one of the jokes of the household.
Papa once undertook to keep a list of them, but the number grew so great that he gave it up in despair. First on the list was a small Irish child, named Marianne O’Riley. Marianne lived in a street which Katy passed on her way to school. It was not Mrs. Knight’s, but an A B C school, to which Dorry and John now went. Marianne used to be always making sand-pies in front of her mother’s house, and Katy, who was about five years old, often stopped to help her. Over this mutual pastry they grew so intimate, that Katy resolved to adopt Marianne as her own little girl, and bring her up in a safe and hidden corner.
She told Clover of this plan, but nobody else. The two children, full of their delightful secret, began to save pieces of bread and cookies from their supper every evening. By degrees they collected a great heap of dry crusts, and other refreshments, which they put safely away in the garret. They also saved the apples which were given them for two weeks, and made a bed in a big empty box, with cotton quilts, and the doll’s pillows out of the baby-house. When all was ready, Katy broke her plan to her beloved Marianne, and easily persuaded her to run away and take possession of this new home.
“We won’t tell Papa and Mamma till she’s quite grown up,” Katy said to Clover; “then we’ll bring her down stairs, and won’t they be surprised! Don’t let’s call her Marianne any longer, either. It isn’t pretty. We’ll name her Susquehanna instead – Susquehanna Carr. Recollect, Marianne, you mustn’t answer if I call you Marianne – only when I say Susquehanna.”
“Yes’m,” replied Marianne, very meekly.
For a whole day all went on delightfully. Susquehanna lived in her wooden box, ate all the apples and the freshest cookies, and was happy. The two children took turns to steal away and play with the “Baby,” as they called Marianne, though she was a great deal bigger than Clover. But when night came on and nurse swooped on Katy and Clover and carried them off to bed, Miss O’Riley began to think that the garret was a dreadful place. Peeping out of her box she could see black things standing in corners, which she did not recollect seeing in the day-time. They were really trunks and brooms and warming-pans, but somehow in the darkness they looked different – big and awful. Poor little Marianne bore it as long as she could; but when at last a rat began to scratch in the wall close beside her, her courage gave way entirely, and she screamed at the top of her voice.
“What is that?” said Dr. Carr, who had just come in, and was on his way up stairs.
“It sounds as if it came from the attic,” said Mrs. Carr (for this was before Mamma died). “Can it be that one of the children has got out of bed and wandered up stairs in her sleep?”
No, Katy and Clover were safe in the nursery, so Dr. Carr took a candle and went as fast as he could to the attic, where the yells were growing terrific. When he reached the top of the stairs, the cries ceased. He looked about. Nothing was to be seen at first, then a little head appeared over the edge of a big wooden box, and a piteous voice sobbed out:
“Ah, Miss Katy, and indeed I can’t be stayin’ any longer. There’s rats in it!”
“Who on earth are you ?” asked the amazed Doctor.
“Sure, I’m Miss Katy’s and Miss Clover’s Baby. But I don’t want to be a baby any longer. I want to go home and see my mother.” And again the poor little midge lifted up her voice and wept.
I don’t think Dr. Carr ever laughed so hard in his life, as when he finally got to the bottom of the story, and found that Katy and Clover had been “adopting” a child. But he was very kind to poor Susquehanna, and carried her down stairs in his arms, to the nursery. There, in a bed close to the other children, she soon forgot her troubles and fell asleep.
The little sisters were much surprised when they waked up in the morning, and found their Baby asleep beside them. But their joy was speedily turned to tears. After breakfast, Dr. Carr carried Marianne home to her mother, who was in a great fright over her disappearance, and explained to the children that the garret plan must be given up. Great was the mourning in the nursery; but as Marianne was allowed to come and play with them now and then, they gradually got over their grief. A few months later Mr. O’Riley moved away from Burnet, and that was the end of Katy’s first friendship.
The next was even funnier. There was a queer old black woman who lived all alone by herself in a small house near the school. This old woman had a very bad temper. The neighbors told horrible stories about her, so that the children were afraid to pass the house. They used to turn always just before they reached it, and cross to the other side of the street. This they did so regularly that their feet had worn a path in the grass. But for some reason Katy found a great fascination in the little house. She liked to dodge about the door, always holding herself ready to turn and run in case the old woman rushed out upon her with a broomstick. One day she begged a large cabbage of Alexander, and rolled it in at the door of the house. The old woman seemed to like it, and after this Katy always stopped to speak when she went by. She even got so far as to sit on the step and watch the old woman at work. There was a sort of perilous pleasure in doing this. It was like sitting at the entrance of a lion’s cage, uncertain at what moment his Majesty might take it into his head to give a spring and eat you up.
After this, Katy took a fancy to a couple of twin sisters, daughters of a German jeweller. They were quite grown-up, and always wore dresses exactly alike. Hardly any one could tell them apart. They spoke very little English, and as Katy didn’t know a word of German, their intercourse was confined to smiles, and to the giving of bunches of flowers, which Katy used to tie up and present to them whenever they passed the gate. She was too shy to do more than just put the flowers in their hands and run away; but the twins were evidently pleased, for one day, when Clover happened to be looking out of the window, she saw them open the gate, fasten a little parcel to a bush, and walk rapidly off. Of course she called Katy at once, and the two children flew out to see what the parcel was. It held a bonnet – a beautiful doll’s bonnet of blue silk, trimmed with artificial flowers; upon it was pinned a slip of paper with these words, in an odd foreign hand:
“To the nice little girl who was so kindly to give us some flowers.”
You can judge whether Katy and Clover were pleased or not.
This was when Katy was six years old. I can’t begin to tell you how many different friends she had set up since then. There was an ash-man, and a steam-boat captain. There was Mrs. Sawyer’s cook, a nice old woman, who gave Katy lessons in cooking, and taught her to make soft custard and sponge-cake. There was a bonnet-maker, pretty and dressy, whom, to Aunt Izzie’s great indignation, Katy persisted in calling “Cousin Estelle!” There was a thief in the town-jail, under whose window Katy used to stand, saying, “I’m so sorry, poor man!” and “have you got any little girls like me?” in the most piteous way. The thief had a piece of string which he let down from the window. Katy would tie rose-buds and cherries to this string, and the thief would draw them up. It was so interesting to do this, that Katy felt dreadfully when they carried the man off to the State Prison. Then followed a short interval of Cornelia Perham, a nice, good-natured girl, whose father was a fruit-merchant. I am afraid Katy’s liking for prunes and white grapes played a part in this intimacy. It was splendid fun to go with Cornelia to her father’s big shop, and have whole boxes of raisins and drums of figs opened for their amusement, and be allowed to ride up and down in the elevator as much as they liked. But of all Katy’s queer acquaintances, Mrs. Spenser, to whom Aunt Izzie had alluded, was the queerest.
Mrs. Spenser was a mysterious lady whom nobody ever saw. Her husband was a handsome, rather bad-looking man, who had come from parts unknown, and rented a small house in Burnet. He didn’t seem to have any particular business, and was away from home a great deal. His wife was said to be an invalid, and people, when they spoke of him, shook their heads and wondered how the poor woman got on all alone in the house while, her husband was absent.
Of course Katy was too young to understand these whispers, or