ruffles. It’s just like a night-gown in a book.”
“Isn’t it wicked to care about clothes when you’re sick?” questioned Cecy.
“I don’t believe Cousin Helen could do anything wicked,” said Katy.
“I told Ma that she had on bracelets, and Ma said she feared your cousin was a worldly person,” retorted Cecy, primming up her lips.
Katy and Clover were quite distressed at this opinion. They talked about it while they were undressing.
“I mean to ask Cousin Helen to-morrow,” said Katy.
Next morning the children got up very early. They were so glad that it was vacation! If it hadn’t been, they would have been forced to go to school without seeing Cousin Helen, for she didn’t wake till late. They grew so impatient of the delay, and went up stairs so often to listen at the door, and see if she were moving, that Aunt Izzie finally had to order them off. Katy rebelled against this order a good deal, but she consoled herself by going into the garden and picking the prettiest flowers she could find, to give to Cousin Helen the moment she should see her.
When Aunt Izzie let her go up, Cousin Helen was lying on the sofa all dressed for the day in a fresh blue muslin, with blue ribbons, and cunning bronze slippers with rosettes on the toes. The sofa had been wheeled round with its back to the light. There was a cushion with a pretty fluted cover that Katy had never seen before, and several other things were scattered about, which gave the room quite a different air. All the house was neat, but somehow Aunt Izzie’s rooms never were pretty. Children’s eyes are quick to perceive such things, and Katy saw at once that the Blue-room had never looked like this.
Cousin Helen was white and tired, but her eyes and smile were as bright as ever. She was delighted with the flowers which Katy presented rather shyly.
“Oh, how lovely!” she said; “I must put them in water right away. Katy dear, don’t you want to bring that little vase on the bureau and set it on this chair beside me? And please pour a little water into it first.”
“What a beauty!” cried Katy, as she lifted the graceful white cup swung on a gilt stand. “Is it yours, Cousin Helen?”
“Yes, it is my pet vase. It stands on a little table beside me at home, and I fancied that the Water Cure would seem more home-like if I had it with me there, so I brought it along. But why do you look so puzzled, Katy? Does it seem queer that a vase should travel about in a trunk?”
“No,” said Katy, slowly, “I was only thinking – Cousin Helen, is it worldly to have pretty things when you’re sick?”
Cousin Helen laughed heartily.
“What put that idea into your head?” she asked.
“Cecy said so when I told her about your beautiful night-gown.”
Cousin Helen smiled again.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll tell you what I think, Katy. Pretty things are no more ‘worldly’ than ugly ones, except when they spoil us by making us vain, or careless of the comfort of other people. And sickness is such a disagreeable thing in itself, that unless sick people take great pains, they soon grow to be eyesores to themselves and everybody about them. I don’t think it is possible for an invalid to be too particular. And when one has the back-ache and the head-ache and the all-over ache,” she added, smiling, “there isn’t much danger of growing vain because of a ruffle more or less on one’s night-gown, or a bit of bright ribbon.”
Then she began to arrange the flowers, touching each separate one gently, as if she loved it.
“What a queer noise!” she exclaimed, suddenly stopping.
It was queer – a sort of snuffling and snorting sound, as if a walrus or a sea-horse were promenading up and down in the hail. Katy opened the door. Behold! there were John and Dorry, very red in the face from flattening their noses against the key-hole, in a vain attempt to see if Cousin Helen were up and ready to receive company.
“Oh, let them come in!” cried Cousin Helen from her sofa.
So they came in, followed, before long, by Clover and Elsie. Such a merry morning as they had! Cousin Helen proved to possess a perfect genius for story-telling, and for suggesting games which could be played about her sofa, and did not make more noise than she could bear. Aunt Izzie, dropping in about eleven o’clock, found them having such a good time that, almost before she knew it, she was drawn into the game too. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing before! There sat Aunt Izzie on the floor, with three long lamp-lighters stuck in her hair, playing “I’m a genteel Lady, always genteel,” in the jolliest manner possible. The children were so enchanted at the spectacle that they could hardly attend to the game, and were always forgetting how many “horns” they had. Clover privately thought that Cousin Helen must be a witch; and Papa, when he came home at noon, said almost the same thing.
“What have you been doing to them, Helen?” he inquired, as he opened the door and saw the merry circle on the carpet. Aunt Izzie’s hair was half pulled down, and Philly was rolling over and over in convulsions of laughter. But Cousin Helen said she hadn’t done anything, and pretty soon Papa was on the floor too, playing away as fast as the rest.
“I must put a stop to this,” he cried, when everybody was tired of laughing, and everybody’s head was stuck as full of paper quills as a porcupine’s back. “Cousin Helen will be worn out. Run away, all of you, and don’t come near this door again till the clock strikes four. Do you hear, chicks? Run – run! Shoo! shoo!”
The children scuttled away like a brood of fowls – all but Katy. “Oh, Papa, I’ll be so quiet!” she pleaded. “Mightn’t I stay just till the dinner-bell rings?”
“Do let her!” said Cousin Helen, so Papa said, “Yes.”
Katy sat on the floor holding Cousin Helen’s hand, and listening to her talk with Papa. It interested her, though it was about things and people she did not know.
“How is Alex?” asked Dr. Carr, at length.
“Quite well, now,” replied Cousin Helen, with one of her brightest looks. “He was run down and tired in the Spring, and we were a little anxious about him; but Emma persuaded him to take a fortnight’s vacation, and he came back all right.”
“Do you see them often?”
“Almost every day. And little Helen comes every day, you know, for her lessons.”
“Is she as pretty as she used to be?”
“Oh yes – prettier, I think. She is a lovely little creature: having her so much with me is one of my greatest treats. Alex tries to think that she looks a little as I used to. But that is a compliment so great I dare not appropriate it.”
Dr. Carr stooped and kissed Cousin Helen as if he could not help it. “My dear child,” he said. That was all; but something in the tone made Katy curious.
“Papa,” she said, after dinner, “who is Alex, that you and Cousin Helen were talking about?”
“Why,
