I’ll be more beautiful than the most beautiful,” persisted poor little Elsie; “and I’ll be big, too, and know everybody’s secrets. And everybody’ll be kind then, and never run away and hide; and there won’t be any post-offices, or anything disagreeable.”
“What’ll you be, Johnnie?” asked Clover, anxious to change the subject, for Elsie’s voice was growing plaintive.
But Johnnie had no clear ideas as to her future. She laughed a great deal, and squeezed Dorry’s arm very tight, but that was all. Dorry was more explicit.
“I mean to have turkey every day,” he declared, “and batter-puddings; not boiled ones, you know, but little baked ones, with brown shiny tops, and a great deal of pudding-sauce to eat on them. And I shall be so big then that nobody will say, ‘Three helps is quite enough for a little boy.’”
“Oh, Dorry, you pig!” cried Katy, while the others screamed with laughter. Dorry was much affronted.
“I shall just go and tell Aunt Izzie what you called me,” he said, getting up in a great pet.
But Clover, who was a born peacemaker, caught hold of his arm, and her coaxing and entreaties consoled him so much that he finally said he would stay; especially as the others were quite grave now, and promised that they wouldn’t laugh any more.
“And now, Katy, it’s your turn,” said Cecy; “tell us what you’re going to be when you grow up.”
“I’m not sure about what I’ll be,” replied Katy, from overhead; “beautiful, of course, and good if I can, only not so good as you, Cecy, because it would be nice to go and ride with the young gentlemen, sometimes. And I’d like to have a large house and a splendiferous garden, and then you could all come and live with me, and we would play in the garden, and Dorry should have turkey five times a day if he liked. And we’d have a machine to darn the stockings, and another machine to put the bureau drawers in order, and we’d never sew or knit garters, or do anything we didn’t want to. That’s what I’d like to be. But now I’ll tell you what I mean to do.”
“Isn’t it the same thing?” asked Cecy.
“Oh, no!” replied Katy, “quite different; for you see I mean to do something grand. I don’t know what yet; but when I’m grown up I shall find out.” (Poor Katy always said “when I’m grown up”, forgetting how very much she had grown already.) “Perhaps,” she went on, “it will be rowing out in boats, and saving people’s lives, like that girl in the book. Or perhaps I shall go and nurse in the hospital, like Miss Nightingale. Or else I’ll head a crusade and ride on a white horse, with armour and a helmet on my head, and carry a sacred flag. Or if I don’t do that, I’ll paint pictures, or sing, or scalp—sculp—what is it? you know—make figures in marble. Anyhow it shall be something. And when Aunt Izzie sees it, and reads about me in the newspapers, she will say, ‘The dear child! I always knew she would turn out an ornament to the family.’ People very often say afterward that they ‘always knew’,” concluded Katy sagaciously.
“Oh, Katy! how beautiful it will be!” said Clover, clasping her hands. Clover believed in Katy as she did in the Bible.
“I don’t believe the newspapers would be so silly as to print things about you, Katy Carr,” put in Elsie, vindictively.
“Yes, they will!” said Clover, and gave Elsie a push.
By-and-by John and Dorry trotted away on mysterious errands of their own.
“Wasn’t Dorry funny with his turkey?” remarked Cecy; and they all laughed again.
“If you won’t tell,” said Katy, “I’ll let you see Dorry’s journal. He kept it once for almost two weeks, and then gave it up. I found the book this morning in the nursery closet.”
All of them promised, and Katy produced it from her pocket. It began thus:— “March 12.—Have resolved to keep a jurnal.
“March 13.—Had rost befe for dinner, and cabage, and potato and appel sawse, and rice-puding. I do not like rice-puding when it is like ours. Charley Slack’s kind is rele good. Mush and sirup for tea.
“March 19.—Forgit what did. John and me saved our pie to take to schule.
“March 21.—Forgit what did. Gridel cakes for brekfast. Debby didn’t fry enuff.
“March 24.—This is Sunday. Corn-befe for dinnir. Studdied my Bibel leson. Aunt Issy said I was gredy. Have resolved not to think so much about things to ete. Wish I was a beter boy. Nothing pertikeler for tea.
“March 25.—Forgit what did.
“March 27.—Forgit what did.
“March 29.—Played.
“March 31.—Forgit what did.
“April 1.—Have dissided not to kepe a jurnal enny more.”
Here ended the extracts; and it seemed as if only a minute had passed since they stopped laughing over them, before the long shadows began to fall, and Mary came to say that all of them must come in to get ready for tea. It was dreadful to have to pick up the empty baskets and go home, feeling that the long, delightful Saturday was over, and that there wouldn’t be another for a week. But it was comforting to remember that Paradise was always there; and that at any moment when Fate and Aunt Izzie were willing they had only to climb a pair of bars—very easy ones, and without any fear of an angel with flaming sword to stop the way—enter in, and take possession of their Eden.
Mrs. Knight’s school, to which Katy and Clover and Cecy went, stood quite at the other end of the town from Dr. Carr’s. It was a low, one-story building and had a yard behind it, in which the girls played at recess. Unfortunately, next door to it was Miss Miller’s school, equally large and popular, and with a yard behind it also. Only a high board fence separated the two playgrounds.
Mrs. Knight was a stout, gentle woman, who moved slowly, and had a face which made you think of an amiable and well-disposed cow. Miss Miller, on the contrary, had black eyes, with black corkscrew curls waving about them, and was generally brisk and snappy. A constant feud raged between the two schools as to the respective merits of the teachers and the instruction. The Knight girls, for some unknown reason, considered themselves genteel and the Miller girls vulgar, and took no pains to conceal this opinion; while the Miller girls, on the other hand, retaliated by being as aggravating as they knew how. They spent their recesses and intermissions mostly in making faces through the knot-holes in the fence, and over the top of it, when they could get there, which wasn’t an easy thing to do, as the fence was pretty high. The Knight girls could make faces too, for all their gentility. Their yard had one great advantage over the other: it possessed a wood-shed, with a climbable roof, which commanded Miss Miller’s premises, and upon this the girls used to sit in rows, turning up their noses at the next yard, and irritating the foe by jeering remarks. “Knights” and “Millerites” the two schools called each other; and the feud raged so high that sometimes it was hardly safe for a Knight to meet a Millerite in the street; all of which,
