something interesting.”
“So it is,” said Dr. Carr, drawing her on to his knee. “I’ve a mind to tell you about it, Katy, because you’re old enough to see how beautiful it is, and wise enough (I hope) not to chatter or ask questions. Alex is the name of somebody who long ago, when Cousin Helen was well and strong, she loved, and expected to marry.
“Oh! why didn’t she?” cried Katy.
“She met with a dreadful accident,” continued Dr. Carr. “For a long time they thought she would die. Then she grew slowly better, and the doctors told her that she might live a good many years, but that she would have to lie on her sofa always, and be helpless, and a cripple.
“Alex felt dreadfully when he heard this. He wanted to marry Cousin Helen just the same, and be her nurse, and take care of her always; but she would not consent. She broke the engagement, and told him that some day she hoped he would love somebody else well enough to marry her. So after a good many years, he did, and now he and his wife live next door to Cousin Helen, and are her dearest friends. Their little girl is named ‘Helen.’ All their plans are talked over with her, and there is nobody in the world they think so much of.”
“But doesn’t it make Cousin Helen feel bad, when she sees them walking about and enjoying themselves, and she can’t move?” asked Katy.
“No,” said Dr. Carr, “it doesn’t, because Cousin Helen is half an angel already, and loves other people better than herself. I’m very glad she could come here for once. She’s an example to us all, Katy, and I couldn’t ask anything better than to have my little girls take pattern after her.”
“It must be awful to be sick,” soliloquized Katy, after Papa was gone. “Why, if I had to stay in bed a whole week – I should die, I know I should.”
Poor Katy! It seemed to her, as it does to almost all young people, that there is nothing in the world so easy as to die, the moment things go wrong!
This conversation with Papa made Cousin Helen doubly interesting in Katy’s eyes. “It was just like something in a book,” to be in the same house with the heroine of a love-story so sad and sweet.
The play that afternoon was much interrupted, for every few minutes somebody had to run in and see if it wasn’t four o’clock. The instant the hour came, all six children galloped up stairs.
“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
