I only could!” sighed Katy. “Are there any other studies in the School, Cousin Helen?”
“Yes, there’s the lesson of Hopefulness. That class has ever so many teachers. The Sun is one. He sits outside the window all day waiting for a chance to slip in and get at his pupil. He’s a first-rate teacher, too. I wouldn’t shut him out, if I were you.
“Every morning, the first thing when I woke up, I would say to myself: ‘I am going to get well, so Papa thinks. Perhaps it may be to-morrow. So, in case this should be the last day of my sickness, let me spend it beautifully, and make my sick-room so pleasant that everybody will like to remember it.’
“Then, there is one more lesson, Katy – the lesson of Neatness. School-rooms must be kept in order, you know. A sick person ought to be as fresh and dainty as a rose.”
“But it is such a fuss,” pleaded Katy. “I don’t believe you’ve any idea what a bother it is to always be nice and in order. You never were careless like me, Cousin Helen; you were born neat.”
“Oh, was I?” said her Cousin. “Well, Katy, we won’t dispute that point, but I’ll tell you a story, if you like, about a girl I once knew, who wasn’t born neat.”
“Oh, do!” cried Katy, enchanted. Cousin Helen had done her good, already. She looked brighter and less listless than for days.
“This girl was quite young,” continued Cousin Helen; “she was strong and active, and liked to run, and climb, and ride, and do all sorts of jolly things. One day something happened – an accident – and they told her that all the rest of her life she had got to lie on her back and suffer pain, and never walk any more, or do any of the things she enjoyed most.”
“Just like you and me!” whispered Katy, squeezing Cousin Helen’s hand.
“Something like me; but not so much like you, because, you know, we hope you are going to get well one of these days. The girl didn’t mind it so much when they first told her, for she was so ill that she felt sure she should die. But when she got better, and began to think of the long life which lay before her, that was worse than ever the pain had been. She was so wretched, that she didn’t care what became of anything, or how anything looked. She had no Aunt Izzie to look after things, so her room soon got into a dreadful state. It was full of dust and confusion, and dirty spoons and phials of physic. She kept the blinds shut, and let her hair tangle every which way, and altogether was a dismal spectacle.
“This girl had a dear old father,” went on Cousin Helen, “who used to come every day and sit beside her bed. One morning he said to her:
“‘My daughter, I’m afraid you’ve got to live in this room for a long time. Now there’s one thing I want you to do for my sake.’
“‘What is that?’ she asked, surprised to hear there was anything left which she could do for anybody.
“‘I want you to turn out all these physic bottles, and make your room pleasant and pretty for me to come and sit in. You see, I shall spend a good deal of my time here! Now I don’t like dust and darkness. I like to see flowers on the table, and sunshine in at the window. Will you do this to please me?’
“‘Yes,’ said the girl, but she gave a sigh, and I am afraid she felt as if it was going to be a dreadful trouble.
“‘Then, another thing,” continued her father. ‘I want you to look pretty. Can’t night-gowns and wrappers be trimmed and made becoming just as much as dresses? A sick woman who isn’t neat is a disagreeable object. Do, to please me, send for something pretty, and let me see you looking nice again. I can’t bear to have my Helen turn into a slattern.’”
“Helen!” exclaimed Katy, with wide-open eyes, “was it you? “
“Yes,” said her cousin, smiling. “It was I, though I didn’t mean to let the name slip out so soon. So, after my father was gone away, I sent for a looking-glass. Such a sight, Katy! My hair was a perfect mouse’s nest, and I had frowned so much that my forehead was all criss-crossed with lines of pain, till it looked like an old woman’s.”
Katy stared at Cousin Helen’s smooth brow and glossy hair. “I can’t believe it,” she said; “your hair never could be rough.”
“Yes it was – worse, a great deal, than yours looks now. But that peep in the glass did me good. I began to think how selfishly I was behaving, and to desire to do better. And after that, when the pain came on, I used to lie and keep my forehead smooth with my fingers, and try not to let my face show what I was enduring. So by and by the wrinkles wore away, and though I am a good deal older now, they have never come back.
“It was a great deal of trouble at first to have to think and plan to keep my room and myself looking nice. But after a while it grew to be a habit, and then it became easy. And the pleasure it gave my dear father repaid for all. He had been proud of his active, healthy girl, but I think she was never such a comfort to him as his sick one, lying there in her bed. My room was his favorite sitting-place, and he spent so much time there, that now the room, and everything in it, makes me think of him.”
There were tears in Cousin Helen’s eyes as she ceased speaking. But Katy looked bright and eager. It seemed somehow to be a help, as well as a great surprise, that ever there should have been a time when Cousin Helen was less perfect than she was now.
“Do you really think I could do so too?” she asked.
“Do what? Comb your hair?” Cousin Helen was smiling now.
“Oh no! Be nice and sweet and patient, and a comfort to people. You know what I mean.”
“I am sure you can, if you try.”
“But what would you do first?” asked Katy; who, now that her mind had grasped a new idea, was eager to begin.
“Well – first I would open the blinds, and make the room look a little less dismal. Are you taking all those medicines in the bottles now?”
“No – only that big one with the blue label.”
“Then you might ask Aunt Izzie to take away the others. And I’d get Clover to pick a bunch of fresh flowers every day for your table. By the way, I don’t see the little white vase.”
“No – it got broken the very day after you went away; the day I fell out of the swing,” said Katy, sorrowfully.
“Never mind, pet, don’t look so doleful. I know the tree those vases grow upon, and you shall have another. Then, after the room is made pleasant, I would have all my lesson-books fetched up, if I were you, and I would study a couple of hours every morning.”
“Oh!” cried Katy, making a wry face at the idea.
Cousin Helen smiled. “I know,” said she, “it sounds like dull work, learning geography and doing sums up here all by yourself. But I think if you make the effort you’ll be glad by and by. You won’t lose so much ground, you see – won’t slip back quite so far in your education. And then, studying will be like working at a garden, where things don’t grow easily. Every flower you raise will be a sort of triumph, and you will value it twice as much as a common flower which has cost no trouble.”
“Well,” said Katy, rather forlornly, “I’ll try.
