What Katy Did. Susan CoolidgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
for the one in the hall to come in and find them. Of course, coming from the light he could see nothing, while the others could see only dimly. It was very exciting to stand crouching up in a corner and watch the dark figure stumbling about and feeling to right and left, while every now and then somebody, just escaping his clutches, would slip past and gain the hall—which was “Freedom Castle”—with a joyful shout of “Kikeri, Kikeri, Kikeri, Ki!” Whoever was caught had to take the place of the catcher. For a long time this game was the delight of the Carr children; but so many scratches and black-and-blue spots came of it, and so many of the nursery things were thrown down and broken, that at last Aunt Izzie issued an order that it should not be played any more. This was almost a year since; but talking of it now put it into their heads to want to try it again.
“After all, we didn’t promise,” said Cecy.
“No, and Papa never said a word about our not playing it,” added Katy, to whom “Papa” was authority, and must always be minded, while Aunt Izzie might now and then be defied.
So they all went upstairs. Dorry and John, though half undressed, were allowed to join the game. Philly was fast asleep in another room.
It was certainly splendid fun. Once Clover climbed up on the mantel-piece and sat there, and when Katy, who was finder, groped about a little more wildly than usual, she caught hold of Clover’s foot, and couldn’t imagine where it came from. Dorry got a hard knock, and cried, and at another time Katy’s dress caught on the bureau handle and was frightfully torn; but these were too much affairs of every day to interfere in the least with the pleasures of Kikeri. The fun and frolic seemed to grow greater the longer they played. In the excitement time went on much faster than any of them dreamed. Suddenly, in the midst of the noise, came a sound—the sharp distinct slam of the carryall-door at the side entrance. Aunt Izzie had returned from her lecture!
The dismay and confusion of that moment! Cecy slipped downstairs like an eel, and fled on the wings of fear along the path which led to her home. Mrs. Hall, as she bade Aunt Izzie good-night, and shut Dr. Carr’s front door behind her with a bang, might have been struck with the singular fact that a distant bang came from her own front door like a sort of echo. But she was not a suspicious woman; and when she went upstairs there were Cecy’s clothes neatly folded on a chair, and Cecy herself in bed, fast asleep, only with a little more colour than usual in her cheeks.
Meantime, Aunt Izzie was on her way upstairs, and such a panic as prevailed in the nursery! Katy felt it, and basely scuttled off to her own room, where she went to bed with all possible speed. But the others found it much harder to go to bed; there were so many of them, all getting into each other’s way, and with no lamp to see by. Dorry and John popped under the clothes half undressed, Elsie disappeared, and Clover, too late for either, and hearing Aunt Izzie’s step in the hall, did this horrible thing—fell on her knees, with her face buried in a chair, and began to say her prayers very hard indeed.
Aunt Izzie, coming in with a candle in her hand, stood in the doorway, astonished at the spectacle. She sat down and waited for Clover to get through, while Clover, on her part, didn’t dare to get through, but went on repeating “Now I lay me” over and over again, in a sort of despair. At last Aunt Izzie said very grimly: “That will do, Clover, you can get up!” and Clover rose, feeling like a culprit, which she was, for it was much naughtier to pretend to be praying than to disobey Aunt Izzie and be out of bed after ten o’clock, though I think Clover hardly understood this then.
Aunt Izzie at once began to undress her, and while doing so asked so many questions, and before long she had got at the truth of the whole matter. She gave Clover a sharp scolding; and, leaving her to wash her tearful face, she went to the bed where John and Dorry lay fast asleep, and snoring as conspicuously as they knew how. Something strange in the appearance of the bed made her look more closely; she lifted the clothes, and there, sure enough, they were—half dressed, and with their school-boots on.
Such a shake as Aunt Izzie gave the little scalps at this discovery would have roused a couple of dormice. Much against their will, John and Dorry were forced to wake up, and be slapped and scolded, and make ready for bed, Aunt Izzie standing over them all the while, like a dragon. She had just tucked them warmly in, when for the first time she missed Elsie.
“Where is my poor little Elsie?” she exclaimed.
“In bed,” said Clover meekly.
“In bed!” repeated Aunt Izzie, much amazed. Then stooping down, she gave a vigorous pull. The trundle-bed came into view, and, sure enough, there was Elsie, in full dress, shoes and all, but so fast asleep that not all Aunt Izzie’s shakes and pinches and calls were able to rouse her. Her clothes were taken off, her boots unlaced, her night-gown put on; but through it all Elsie slept, and she was the only one of the children who did not get the scolding she deserved that dreadful night.
Katy did not even pretend to be asleep when Aunt Izzie went to her room. Her tardy conscience had waked up, and she was lying in bed, very miserable at having drawn the others into a scrape as well as herself, and at the failure of her last set of resolutions about “setting an example to the younger ones.” So unhappy was she, that Aunt Izzie’s severe words were almost a relief; and though she cried herself to sleep, it was rather from the burden of her own thoughts than because she had been scolded.
She cried even harder the next day, for Dr. Carr talked to her more seriously than he had ever done before. He reminded her of the time when her mamma died, and of how she said, “Katy must be a mamma to the little ones, when she grows up.” And he asked her if she didn’t think the time was come for beginning to take this dear place towards the children. Poor Katy! She sobbed as if her heart would break at this, and though she made no promises, I think she was never so thoughtless again after that day. As for the rest, Papa called them together and made them distinctly understand that “Kikeri” was never to be played any more. It was so seldom that Papa forbade any games, however boisterous, that this order really made an impression on the unruly brood, and they never have played Kikeri again from that day to this.
“I declare,” said Miss Petingill, laying down her work, “if them children don’t beat all! What on airth are they going to do now?”
Miss Petingill was sitting in the little room in the black building, which she always had when she came to the Carrs for a week’s mending and making over. She was the dearest, funniest old woman who ever went out sewing by the day. Her face was round, and somehow made you think of a very nice baked apple, it was so criss-crossed, and lined by a thousand good-natured puckers. She was small and wiry, and wore caps and a false front, which was just the colour of a dusty Newfoundland dog’s back. Her eyes were dim, and she used spectacles; but for all that, she was an excellent worker. Every one liked Miss Petingill, though Aunt Izzie did once say that her tongue “was hung in the middle”. Aunt Izzie made this remark when she was in a temper, and was by no means prepared to have Phil walk up at once and request Miss Petingill to “stick it out”, which she obligingly did; while the rest of the children crowded to look. They couldn’t see that it was different from other tongues, but Philly persisted in finding something curious about it; there must be, you know—since it was hung in that queer way!
Wherever Miss Petingill went all sorts of treasures went with her. The children liked to have her come, for it was as good as a fairy story or the circus, to see her things unpacked. Miss Petingill was very much afraid of burglars; she lay awake half the night listening for them, and nothing on earth would have persuaded her to go anywhere, leaving behind what she called her “Plate”. This stately word meant six old tea spoons, very thin and bright and sharp, and a butter-knife, whose handle set forth that it was “A testimonial of gratitude, for saving the life of Ithuriel Jobson, aged seven, on the occasion of his being attacked with quinsy sore throat.” Miss Petingill was very proud of her knife. It and the spoons travelled about in a little basket which hung on her arm, and was never