What Katy Did | Page 3

stiff white pantalette legs hung out to dry every Monday
morning, and say to each other what a sight of washing those children

made, and what a chore it must be for poor Miss Carr to keep them so
nice. But poor Miss Carr didn't think them at all nice; that was the
worst of it.
"Clover, go up stairs and wash your hands! Dorry, pick your hat off the
floor and hang it on the nail! Not that nail--the third nail from the
corner!" These were the kind of things Aunt Izzie was saying all day
long. The children minded her pretty well, but they didn't exactly love
her, I fear. They called her "Aunt Izzie" always, never "Aunty." Boys
and girls will know what that meant.
I want to show you the little Carrs, and I don't know that I could ever
have a better chance than one day when five out of the six were
perched on top of the ice-house, like chickens on a roost. This
ice-house was one of their favorite places. It was only a low roof set
over a hole in the ground, and, as it stood in the middle of the side-yard,
it always seemed to the children that the shortest road to every place
was up one of its slopes and down the other. They also liked to mount
to the ridge-pole, and then, still keeping the sitting position, to let go,
and scrape slowly down over the warm shingles to the ground. It was
bad for their shoes and trousers, of course, but what of that? Shoes and
trousers, and clothes generally, were Aunt Izzie's affair; theirs was to
slide and enjoy themselves.
Clover, next in age to Katy, sat in the middle. She was a fair, sweet
dumpling of a girl, with thick pig-tails of light brown hair, and
short-sighted blue eyes, which seemed to hold tears, just ready to fall
from under the blue. Really, Clover was the jolliest little thing in the
world; but these eyes, and her soft cooing voice, always made people
feel like petting her and taking her part. Once, when she was very small,
she ran away with Katy's doll, and when Katy pursued, and tried to take
it from her, Clover held fast and would not let go. Dr. Carr, who wasn't
attending particularly, heard nothing but the pathetic tone of Clover's
voice, as she said: "Me won't! Me want dolly!" and, without stopping to
inquire, he called out sharply: "For shame, Katy! give your sister her
doll at once!" which Katy, much surprised, did; while Clover purred in
triumph, like a satisfied kitten. Clover was sunny and sweet-tempered,

a little indolent, and very modest about herself, though, in fact, she was
particularly clever in all sorts of games, and extremely droll and funny
in a quiet way. Everybody loved her, and she loved everybody,
especially Katy, whom she looked up to as one of the wisest people in
the world.
Pretty little Phil sat next on the roof to Clover, and she held him tight
with her arm. Then came Elsie, a thin, brown child of eight, with
beautiful dark eyes, and crisp, short curls covering the whole of her
small head. Poor little Elsie was the "odd one" among the Carrs. She
didn't seem to belong exactly to either the older or the younger children.
The great desire and ambition of her heart was to be allowed to go
about with Katy and Clover and Cecy Hall, and to know their secrets,
and be permitted to put notes into the little post-offices they were
forever establishing in all sorts of hidden places. But they didn't want
Elsie, and used to tell her to "run away and play with the children,"
which hurt her feelings very much. When she wouldn't run away, I am
sorry to say they ran away from her, which, as their legs were longest,
it was easy to do. Poor Elsie, left behind, would cry bitter tears, and, as
she was too proud to play much with Dorry and John, her principal
comfort was tracking the older ones about and discovering their
mysteries, especially the post-offices, which were her greatest
grievance. Her eyes were bright and quick as a bird's. She would peep
and peer, and follow and watch, till at last, in some odd, unlikely place,
the crotch of a tree, the middle of the asparagus bed, or, perhaps, on the
very top step of the scuttle ladder, she spied the little paper box, with its
load of notes, all ending with: "Be sure and not let Elsie know." Then
she would seize the box, and, marching up to wherever the others were,
she would throw it down, saying, defiantly: "There's your old
post-office!" but feeling all the