You're listening to S.
D.
Hudson Magic What Katie Did by Susan Coolidge This story follows the adventures of a 12-year-old American girl,
Katie Carr,
And her family who live in the fictional lakeside Ohio town of Burnett in the 1860s.
Chapter 5 I declare,
Said Miss Pettengill,
Laying down her work,
If them children don't beat off,
What on earth are they going to do now?
Miss Pettengill was sitting in the little room in the back building,
Which she always had when she came to the cars for a week's mending and making over.
She was the dearest,
Funniest old woman who ever went out sewing by the day.
Her face was round and somehow made you think of a very nice baked apple.
It was so criss-crossed and lined by a thousand good-natured puckers.
She was small and wiry,
And wore caps and a false front,
Which was just the colour of a dusty Newfoundland dog's back.
Her eyes were dim and she used spectacles,
But for all that,
She was an excellent worker.
Everyone liked Miss Pettengill,
Though Aunt Izzy did once say her tongue was hung in the middle.
Aunt Izzy made this remark when she was in a temper,
And was by no means prepared to have Phil walk up at once and request Miss Pettengill to stick it out,
Which she obligingly did,
While the rest of the children crowded to look.
They couldn't see that it was different from any other tongue,
But Philly persisted in finding something curious about it.
There must be,
You know,
Since it was hung in that queer way.
Wherever Miss Pettengill went,
All sorts of treasures went with her.
The children liked to have her come,
For it was as good as a fairy story,
Or the circus,
To see her things unpacked.
Miss Pettengill was very much afraid of burglars.
She lay awake half the night listening for them,
And nothing on earth would have persuaded her to go anywhere,
Leaving behind what she called her plate.
This stately word meant six old teaspoons,
Very thin and bright and sharp,
And a butter knife,
Whose handle set forth that it was a testimonial of gratitude for saving the life of Ethereal Gobson,
Aged seven,
On the occasion of his being attacked with Quincy's sore throat.
Miss Pettengill was very proud of her knife.
It and the spoons travelled about in a little basket which hung on her arm,
And was never allowed to be out of her sight,
Even when the family she was summoned for were the honestest people in the world.
Then beside the plate basket,
Miss Pettengill never stood without Tom,
Her tortoiseshell cat.
Tom was a beauty and knew his power.
He ruled Miss Pettengill with a rod of iron,
And always sat in the rocking chair when there was one.
It was no matter where she sat,
Miss Pettengill told people,
But Tom was delicate and must be made comfortable.
A big family Bible always came too,
And a special red merino pincushion,
And some shade pictures of old Mr and Mrs Pettengill and Peter Pettengill,
Who was drowned at sea,
And photographs of Mrs Porter,
Who used to be Marcia Pettengill,
And Mrs Porter's husband,
And all the Porter children.
Many little boxes and jars came also,
And a long row of files and bottles,
Filled with homemade physic and herb teas.
Miss Pettengill could not have slept without having them beside her,
For,
As she said,
How did she know she might not be took sudden with something,
And die for want of a little ginger balsam or pennyroyal?
The car children always made so much noise,
That it required something unusual to make Miss Pettengill drop her work,
As she did now,
And fly to the window.
In fact,
There was a tremendous hubbub,
Her rays from Dory,
Stamping of feet,
And a great outcry of shrill,
Glad voices.
Looking down,
Miss Pettengill saw the whole six,
No seven,
For Ceci was there too,
Stream out of the woodhouse door,
Which wasn't a door,
But only a tall open arch,
And rush noisily across the yard.
Katie was at the head,
Bearing a large black bottle without any cork in it,
While the others carried in each hand what seemed to be a cookie.
Catherine Carr!
Catherine!
Screamed Miss Pettengill,
Tapping loudly on the glass.
Don't you see that it's raining?
You ought to be ashamed to let your little brothers and sisters go out and get wet in such a way.
But nobody heard her,
And the children vanished into the shed,
Where nothing could be seen but a distant flapping of pantalettes and frilled trousers,
Going up what seemed to be a ladder,
Further back in the shed.
So with a dissatisfied cluck,
Miss Pettengill drew back her head,
Perched the spectacles on her nose,
And went to work again on Katie's plaid alpacha,
Which had two immense zigzag rents across the middle of the front breadth.
Katie's frock,
Strange to say,
Always tore exactly in that place.
If Miss Pettengill's eyes could have reached a little further,
They would have seen it It wasn't a ladder up which the children were climbing,
But a tall wooden post,
With spikes driven into it about a foot apart.
It required quite a stride to get up from one spike to the other.
In fact,
The littler ones couldn't have managed it at all had it not been for Clover and Cessie boosting very hard from below,
While Katie,
Making a long arm,
Clawed from above.
At last they were all safely up and in the delightful retreat which I am about to describe.
Imagine a low dark loft without any windows,
And with only a very little light coming in through the square hole in the floor,
To which the spiky post led.
There was a strong smell of corn cobs,
Though the corn had been taken away.
A great deal of dust and spiderweb in the corners,
And some wet spots on the boards,
For the roof always leaked a little in rainy weather.
This was the place which for some reason I have never been able to find out.
The Carr children preferred to any other on rainy days,
When they could not play out of doors.
Aunt Izzy was as much puzzled at this fancy as I am.
When she was young,
A vague far-off time which none of her nieces and nephews believed in much,
She had never had any of these queer notions about getting off into holes and corners and poke-away places.
Aunt Izzy would gladly have forbidden them to go to the loft,
But Dr Carr had given his permission,
So all she could do was invent stories about children who had broken their bones in dreadful ways by climbing posts and ladders.
But these stories made no impression on any of the children except little Phil,
And the self-willed brood kept on their way,
And climbed their spiked post as often as they liked.
What's in the bottle?
Demanded Dory,
The minute he was fairly landed in the loft.
Don't be greedy,
Replied Katie severely,
You will know when the time comes,
It's something delicious I can assure you.
Now,
She went on,
Having thus quenched Dory,
All of you had better give me your cookies to put away.
If you don't,
They'll be sure to be eaten up before the feast,
And then you know there wouldn't be anything to make a feast of.
So all of them handed over their cookies.
Dory,
Who had begun on his as he came up the ladder,
Was a little unwilling,
But he was too much in the habit of minding Katie to dare to disobey.
The big bottle was set in a corner,
And a stack of cookies built up around it.
That's right,
Proceeded Katie,
Who,
As oldest and biggest,
Always took the lead in their plays.
Now if we're fixed and ready to begin,
The fate,
Katie pronounced it feat,
Can commence.
The opening exercise will be A Tragedy of the Alhambra by Miss Hoare.
No,
Cried Clover,
First the Blue Wizard,
Or Edwitha of the Hebrides,
You know,
Katie.
Didn't I tell you,
Said Katie,
A dreadful accidents happened to that.
Oh,
What,
Cried all the rest,
For Edwitha was rather a favourite with the family.
It was one of the many serial stories which Katie was forever writing.
It was about a lady,
A knight,
A blue wizard,
And a poodle named Bob.
It had been going on so many months now that everybody had forgotten the beginning,
And nobody had any particular hope of living to hear the end.
But still the news of its untimely fate was a shock.
I'll tell you,
Said Katie,
Old Judge Kirby called this morning to see Aunt Izzy.
I was studying in the little room,
But I saw him come in and pull out the big chair and sit down,
And I almost screamed out,
Don't.
Why,
Cried the children.
Don't you see,
I'd stuffed Edwitha down between the back and the seat.
It was a beautiful hiding place,
For that seat goes back ever so far.
But Edwitha was such a fat bundle,
And old Judge Kirby takes up so much room that I was afraid there would be more trouble.
And sure enough,
He'd hardly dropped down before there was a great crackling of paper,
And he jumped up again and called out,
Bless me,
What is that?
Then he began poking and poking,
And just as he poked out the whole bundle and was putting on his spectacles to see what it was,
Aunt Izzy came in.
What next,
Cried the children,
Immensely tickled.
Oh,
Continued Katie,
Aunt Izzy put on her glasses too,
And screwed up her eyes.
You know the way she does,
And she and the judge read a bit of it,
That part of it you remember when Bop steals the blue pills and the wizard tries to throw him into the sea.
You can't think how fun it was to hear Aunt Izzy reading Edwitha out loud.
Katie went into convulsions at the recollection.
When she got to,
Oh Bop,
My angel Bop,
I just rolled under the table and stuffed the table cover in my mouth to keep from screaming right out.
By and by,
I heard her call Debbie and give her the papers,
And say,
Here is a mash of trash which I wish you to put at once into the kitchen fire.
And she told me afterwards that she thought I would be in an insane asylum before I was twenty.
It was too bad,
Ended Katie,
Half laughing and half crying,
To burn up the new chapter and all.
But there's one good thing,
She didn't find the fairy of the dry goods box,
That was stuffed further back in the seat.
And now,
Continued the Mistress of Ceremonies,
We will begin.
Miss Hall will please rise.
Miss Hall,
Much flustered at her fine name,
Got up with very red cheeks.
It was once upon a time,
She read,
Moonlight lay on the halls of the Alehambra,
And the Knight,
Striding patiently down the passage,
Thought she would never come.
Who,
The Moon?
Asked Clover.
No,
Of course not,
Replied Ceci.
A lady he was in love with,
The next verse is going to tell all about her,
Only you interrupted.
She wore a turban of silver with a jeweled crescent,
As she stole down the corridor,
The beam struck it and it glittered like stars.
So are you come,
Zuleika?
Yes,
My Lord.
Just then a sound as of steel smote upon the ear,
And Zuleika's male-clad father rushed in.
He drew his sword,
So did the other.
A moment more and they both lay dead and stiff in the beams of the Moon.
Zuleika gave a loud streak and threw herself upon the bodies.
She was dead too,
And so ends the tragedy of the Alehambra.
That's lovely,
Said Katie,
Drawing a long breath,
Only very sad.
What beautiful stories you do write,
Ceci,
But I wish you wouldn't always kill the people.
Why couldn't the Knight have killed the father,
And no,
I suppose Zuleika wouldn't have married him then.
Well,
The father might have,
Oh bother,
Why must anybody be killed anyhow?
Why not have them fall on each other's necks and make up?
Why,
Katie,
Cried Ceci,
It wouldn't have been a tragedy then.
You must know their name was A Tragedy of the Alehambra.
Oh well,
Said Katie,
Horridly,
For Ceci's lips were beginning to pout,
And her fair pinkish face still reddened as if she were about to cry.
Perhaps it was prettier to have them all die.
Oh,
Your ladies and gentlemen always do die,
And I thought for a change,
You know.
What a lovely word that was,
Corridor,
What does it mean?
I don't know,
Replied Ceci,
Quite consoled.
It was in the conquest of Granada,
Something to walk over,
I believe.
The next,
Went on Katie,
Consulting her paper,
Is Yap,
A simple poem by Clover Carr.
All the children giggled,
But Clover got up composedly and recited the following verses.
Did you ever know Yap,
The best little dog,
Who e'er sat on a lap or barked at a frog?
His eyes were like beads,
His tail like a mop,
And it waggled as if it would never stop.
His hair was like silk of the glossy sheen,
He always ate milk and once the cold cream.
Off the nursery bureau,
That line is too long,
It made him quite ill,
So endeth my song.
For Yappy,
He died just two months ago,
And we oughtn't to sing at a funeral,
You know.
The poem met with immense applause,
All the children laughed and shouted and clapped till the loft rang again.
But Clover kept her face perfectly and sat down as demure as ever,
Except that the little dimples came and went at the corners of her mouth.
This was partly natural,
And partly,
I regret to say,
The result of a pointed slate pencil,
With which Clover was in the habit of deepening them every day while she studied her lessons.
Now,
Said Katie,
After the noise had subsided,
Now comes Scripture Verses by Miss Elsie and Joanna Carr.
Hold up your head,
Elsie,
And speak distinctly.
And Johnny,
You mustn't giggle in that way when it comes your turn.
But Johnny only giggled the harder at this appeal,
Keeping her hands very tight across her mouth and peeping out over her fingers.
Elsie,
However,
Was solemn as a little judge and with great dignity began.
An angel with a fiery sword came to send Adam and Eve abroad.
And as they journeyed through the skies,
They took one look at paradise.
They thought of all the happy hours among the birds and fragrant bowers.
And Eve,
She wept and Adam bawled and both together loudly scrawled.
Dory sniggered at this,
But sedate Clover hushed him.
You mustn't.
She said.
It's about the Bible,
You know.
Now,
John,
It's your turn.
But Johnny would persist in holding her hands over her mouth while her fat little shoulder shook with laughter.
At last,
With a great effort,
She pulled her face straight and speaking as fast as she possibly could,
Repeated in a sort of burst.
Balan's donkey saw the angel and stopped short in fear.
Adam didn't see the angel,
Which is very queer.
After which he took refuge again behind her fingers.
While Elsie went on,
Elijah by the creek,
He by ravens fed,
Took from their horny beak pieces of meat and bread.
Come,
Johnny,
Said Katie.
But the incorrigible Johnny was shaking again and all they could make out was.
The bears came down and ate and ate.
These verses were part of a grand project on which Clover and Elsie had been busy for more than a year.
It was a sort of rearrangement of scripture for infant minds.
And when it was finished,
They meant to have it published bound in red with daguerreotypes of the two authoresses on the front cover.
The youth's poetic Bible was to be the name of it.
Papa,
Much tickled with the scraps which he overheard,
Proposed instead the Trundle Bed Book as having been composed principally in that spot.
But Elsie and Clover were highly indignant and would not listen to the idea for a moment.
After the scripture verses came Dorrie's turn.
He had been allowed to choose for himself,
Which was unlucky as his taste was peculiar,
Not to say gloomy.
On this occasion,
He had selected that cheerful hymn which begins,
Hark from the tombs,
A doleful sound.
And he now began to recite it in a lugubrious voice and with great emphasis,
Smacking his lips as it were over such lines as,
Princes,
This clay shall be your bed in spite of all your towers.
The older children listened with a sort of fascinated horror,
Rather enjoying the cold chills which ran down their backs and huddling close together as Dorrie's hollow tones echoed from the dark corners of the loft.
It was too much for Philly,
However.
At the close of the piece,
He was found to be in tears.
I don't want to stay up here and be groaned at,
He sobbed.
There you bad boy,
Cried Katie,
All the more angry because she was conscious of having enjoyed it herself.
That's what you do with your horrid hymns,
Frightening us to death and making Phil cry.
And she gave Dorrie a little shake.
He began to whimper and as Phil was still sobbing and Johnny had begun to sob too,
Out of sympathy with the others,
The feat in the loft seemed likely to come to a sad end.
I'm going to tell Aunt Izzy I don't like you,
Declared Dorrie,
Putting one leg through the opening in the floor.
No you aren't,
Said Katie,
Seizing him.
You are going to stay because now we're going to have the feast.
Do stop Phil and Johnny,
Don't be a goose,
But come and pass around the cookies.
The word feast produced a speedy effect on the spirits of the party.
They all cheered at once and Dorrie changed his mind about going.
The black bottle was solemnly set in the midst and the cookies were handed out by Johnny,
Who was now all smiles.
The cookies had scalloped edges and caraway seeds inside and were very nice.
There were two apiece and as the last was finished,
Katie put her hand in her pocket and amid great applause produced the crowning addition to the repast,
Seven long brown sticks of cinnamon.
Isn't it fun,
She said,
Debbie was real good natured today and let me put my own hand into the box so I picked out the longest sticks there were.
Now Ceci,
As your company,
You shall have the first drink of the bottle.
The something delicious proved to be weak vinegar and water.
It was quite warm but somehow drank up there in the loft and out of a bottle.
It tasted very nice.
Besides,
They didn't call it vinegar and water,
Of course not.
Each child gave his or her swallow a different name as if the bottle were like signet blitz and could pour out a dozen things at once.
Clover called her share raspberry shrub.
Dory christened his ginger pop,
While Ceci,
Who was romantic,
Took her three sips under the name of Heidemel,
Which she explained was something nice made she believed of beeswax.
The last drop gone and the last bit of cinnamon crunched,
The company came to order again for the purpose of hearing Philly repeat his one piece,
Little Drops of Water,
Which exciting poem he had said every Saturday as far back as they could remember.
After that,
Katie declared the literary part of the feat over and they all fell to playing stagecoach,
Which in spite of close quarters and an occasional bump from the roof,
Was such good fun that a general,
Oh dear,
Welcomed the ringing of the tea bell.
I suppose cookies and vinegar had taken away their appetites,
For none of them were hungry.
And Dory astonished Aunt Izzy very much by eyeing the table in a disgusted way and saying,
Tch,
Only plump sweetmeats and sponge cake and hot biscuit.
I don't want any supper.
What ails the child?
He must be sick,
Said Dr Carr.
But Katie explained,
Oh no,
Papa,
It isn't that.
Only we've been having a feast in the loft.
Did you have a good time?
Asked Papa,
Whilst Aunt Izzy gave a dissatisfied groan,
And all the children answered at once,
Splendiferous.
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