“I don’t want to have on my other jacket,” observed Phil, putting his head in at the door. “Need I? This is nice.”
“Let me see,” said Katy, gently turning him round. “Well, it does pretty well; but I think I’d rather you should put on the other, if you don’t mind much. We want every thing as nice as possible, you know; because this is papa’s company, and he hardly ever has any.”
“Just one little sticky place isn’t much,” said Phil, rather gloomily, wetting his finger a rubbing at a shiny place on his sleeve. “Do you really thing I’d better? Well, then I will.”
“That’s a dear,”—kissing him. “Be quick, Philly, for it’s almost time they were here. And please tell Dorry to make haste. It’s ever so long since he went upstairs.”
“Dorry’s an awful prink,” remarked Phil, confidentially. “He looks in the glass, and makes faces if he can’t get his parting straight. I wouldn’t care so much about my clothes for a good deal. It’s like a girl. Jim Slack says a boy who shines his hair up like that, never’ll get to be president, not if he lives a thousand years.”
“Well,” said Katy, laughing: “it’s something to be clean, even if you can’t be president.” She was not at all alarmed by Dorry’s recent reaction in favor of personal adornment. He came down pretty soon, very spick and span in his best suit, and asked her to fasten the blue ribbon under his collar, which she did most obligingly; though he was very particular as to the size of the bows and length of the ends, and made her tie and retie more than once. She had just arranged it to suit him when a carriage stopped.
“There they are,” she cried. “Run and open the door, Dorry.”
Dorry did so; and Katy, following, found papa ushering in a tall gentleman, and a lady who was not tall, but whose Roman nose and long neck, and general air of style and fashion, made her look so. Katy bent quite over to be kissed; but for all that she felt small and young and unformed, as the eyes of mamma’s cousin looked her over and over, and through and through, and Mrs. Page said,—
“Why, Philip! is it possible that this tall girl is one of yours? Dear me! how time flies! I was thinking of the little creatures I saw when I was here last. And this other great creature can’t be Elsie? That mite of a baby! Impossible! I cannot realize it. I really cannot realize it in the least.”
“Won’t you come to the fire, Mrs. Page?” said Katy, rather timidly.
“Don’t call me Mrs. Page, my dear. Call me Cousin Olivia.” Then the new-comer rustled into the parlor, where Johnnie and Phil were waiting to be introduced; and again she remarked that she “couldn’t realize it.” I don’t know why Mrs. Page’s not realizing it should have made Katy uncomfortable; but it did.
Supper went off well. The guests ate and praised; and Dr. Carr looked pleased, and said: “We think Katy an excellent housekeeper for her age;” at which Katy blushed and was delighted, till she caught Mrs. Page’s eyes fixed upon her, with a look of scrutiny and amusement, whereupon she felt awkward and ill at ease. It was so all the evening. Mamma’s cousin was entertaining and bright, and told lively stories; but the children felt that she was watching them, and passing judgment on their ways. Children are very quick to suspect when older people hold within themselves these little private courts of inquiry, and they always resent it.
Next morning Mrs. Page sat by while Katy washed the breakfast things, fed the birds, and did various odd jobs about the room and house. “My dear,” she said at last, “what a solemn girl you are! I should think from your face that you were at least five and thirty. Don’t you ever laugh or frolic, like other girls your age? Why, my Lilly, who is four months older than you, is a perfect child still; impulsive as a baby, bubbling over with fun from morning till night.”
“I’ve been shut up a good deal,” said Katy, trying to defend herself; “but I didn’t know I was solemn.”
“My dear, that’s the very thing I complain of: you don’t know it! You are altogether ahead of your age. It’s very bad for you, in my opinion. All this housekeeping and care, for young girls like you and Clover, is wrong and unnatural. I don’t like it; indeed I don’t.”
“Oh! housekeeping doesn’t hurt me a bit,” protested Katy, trying to smile. “We have lovely times; indeed we do, Cousin Olivia.”
Cousin Olivia only pursed up her mouth, and repeated: “It’s wrong, my dear. It’s unnatural. It’s not the thing for you. Depend upon it, it’s not the thing.”
This was unpleasant; but what was worse had Katy known it, Mrs. Page attacked Dr. Carr upon the subject. He was quite troubled to learn that she considered Katy grave and careworn, and unlike what girls of her age should be. Katy caught him looking at her with a puzzled expression.
“What is it, dear papa? Do you want anything?”
“No, child, nothing. What are you doing there? Mending the parlor curtain, eh? Can’t old Mary attend to that, and give you a chance to frisk about with the other girls?”
“Papa! As if I wanted to frisk! I declare you’re as bad as Cousin Olivia. She’s always telling me that I ought to bubble over with mirth. I don’t wish to bubble. I don’t know how.”
“I’m afraid you don’t,” said Dr. Carr, with an odd sigh, which set Katy to wondering. What should papa sigh for? Had she done any thing wrong? She began to rack her brains and memory as to whether it could be this or that; or, if not, what could it be? Such needless self-examination does no good. Katy looked more “solemn” than ever after it.
Altogether, Mrs. Page was not a favorite in the family. She had every intention of being kind to her cousin’s children, “so dreadfully in want of a mother, poor things!” but she could not hide the fact that their ways puzzled and did not please her; and the children detected this, as children always will. She and Mr. Page were very polite. They praised the housekeeping, and the excellent order or every thing, and said there never were better children in the world than John and Dorry and Phil. But, through all, Katy perceived the hidden disapproval; and she couldn’t help feeling glad when the visit ended, and they went away.
With their departure, matters went back to their old train, and Katy forgot her disagreeable feelings. Papa seemed a little grave and preoccupied; but the doctors often are when they have bad cases to think of, and nobody noticed it particularly, or remarked that several letters came from Mrs. Page, and nothing was heard of their contents, except that “Cousin Olivia sent her love.” So it was a shock, when one day papa called Katy into the study to tell of a new plan. She knew at once that it was something important when she heard his voice: it sounded so grave. Beside, he said “My daughter,” he began, “I want to talk to you about something which I have been thinking of. How would you and Clover like going away to school together?”
“To school? To Mrs. Knight’s?”
“No, not to Mrs. Knight’s. To a boarding-school at the East, where Lilly Page has been for two years. Didn’t you hear Cousin Olivia speak of it when she was here?”
“I