What Katy Did Part 5: Bedtime Story

Hello,

Dear ones,

And welcome to today's reading,

What Katie Did.

Chapter 5 I declare,

Said Miss Pettingill,

Laying down her work,

If them children don't beat all,

What on earth are they going to do now?

Miss Pettingill 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 crisscrossed and lined by a thousand good-natured puckers.

She was small and wiry,

Her eyes were dim,

And she used spectacles.

But for all that,

She was an excellent worker.

Everyone liked Miss Pettingill.

The car children always made so much noise that it required something unusual to make Miss Pettingill drop her work,

As she did now,

And fly to the window.

In fact,

There was a tremendous hubbub,

Hurrahs from Dory,

Stamping of feet,

And a great outcry of shrill,

Glad voices.

Looking down,

Miss Pettingill saw the whole six,

No seven,

For Cece 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!

Shouted Miss Pettingill,

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 pantalets and filled trousers,

Going up what seemed to be a ladder,

Farther back in the shed.

So,

With a dissatisfied cluck,

Miss Pettingill drew back her head,

Perched the spectacles on her nose,

And went to work again on Katie's clothes.

If Miss Pettingill's eyes could have reached a little farther,

They would have seen that 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 from one spike to the other.

In fact,

The little ones couldn't have managed it at all,

If it had not been for Clover and Cece boosting them 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 Saturdays,

When they could not play outdoors.

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 very much.

She had never had any of these strange 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 various 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 posts 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 is 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 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 can commence.

The opening exercise will be A Tragedy of the Albram,

By Miss Horne.

No,

Cried Clover,

First the Blue Wizard,

Or Edwitha of the Hebrides.

Didn't I tell you,

Said Katie,

A dreadful accident has 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,

And was about a lady,

A knight,

A blue wizard,

And a poodle named Bop.

It had been going on for many months now,

But 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 had stuffed Edwitha down between the back and the seat.

It was a beautiful hiding place,

For the 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 trouble.

And,

Sure enough,

He had hardly dropped down before there was a great crackling of paper,

And he jumped up again and called out,

Bless me,

What is that?

And then he began poking and poking,

And just as he had poked out the whole bundle and was putting on his spectacles to see what it was,

Aunt Izzy came in.

Well,

What next?

Cried the children.

Oh,

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 little bit of it.

That part at the first,

You remember,

Where Bop steals the blue pills and the wizard tries to throw him into the sea.

You can't think how funny it was to hear Aunt Izzy reading Edwitha out loud,

And Katie went into convulsions at the recollection.

When she got to the,

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 mass of trash which I wish you to put out once into the kitchen fire.

And she told me afterward 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 farther 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.

It was once upon a time,

She read.

Moonlight lay on the halls of the Alhambra,

And the knight,

Striding impatiently down the passage,

Thought she would never come.

Who,

The moon?

Asked Clover.

No,

Of course not,

Replied Cece,

A lady he was in love with.

The next verse is going to tell about her,

Only you interrupted.

She wore a turban of silver,

With a jewelled crescent.

As she strolled down the corridor,

The beams struck it,

And it glittered like stars.

So you are come,

Zuleika?

Yes,

My lord.

Just then a sound as of steel smote upon the air,

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 shriek,

And threw herself upon their bodies.

She was dead too.

And so ends the tragedy of the Alhambra.

That's lovely,

Said Katie,

Drawing a long breath,

Only very sad.

What beautiful stories you do write,

Cece,

But I wish you wouldn't always kill the people.

Why couldn't the knight have killed the father?

Well,

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 Cece,

It wouldn't have been a tragedy then.

You know the name was A Tragedy of the Alhambra.

Oh well,

Said Katie,

Hurriedly,

For Cece's lips were beginning to pout,

And her fair pinkish face to redden,

As if she was about to cry.

Perhaps it was prettier to have them all die.

Only your ladies and gentlemen always do die,

And I thought,

For a change,

You know.

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 ever sat on lap or barked at a frog?

His eyes were like beads,

His tail like a mop,

And it waggled as if it never would stop.

His hair was like silk,

Off 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.

Dimples,

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 Verse,

By Miss Elsie and Joanna Carr.

Hold up your head,

Elsie,

And speak distinctly,

And oh Joni,

You mustn't giggle in that way when it comes to your turn.

But Joni 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 flowers.

And Eve,

She wept,

And Adam bawled,

And both together loudly squalled.

Dory snickered at this,

But Clover hushed him.

You mustn't,

She said,

It's about the Bible,

You know.

Now,

Jon,

It's your turn.

But Joni would persist in holding her hands over her mouth,

While her fat little shoulders 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.

Balaam's donkey saw the angel,

And stopped short in fear Balaam didn't see the angel,

Which is very queer.

After which she took refuge 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 Joni,

Said Katie,

But the incorrigible Joni 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.

The youth's poetical bible was to be the name of it.

Papa,

Much tickled with the scraps which he overheard,

Proposed instead,

The trundled 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 Dory'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.

Princess,

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 Dory'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 Dory a little shake.

He began to whimper,

And as Phil was still sobbing,

And Johnny had begun to sob too,

Out of sympathy for the others,

The fate in the loft seemed likely to come to a sad end.

I'm going to tell Aunt Izzy that I don't like you,

Declared Dory,

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 are going to have the feast.

Do stop,

Phil,

And Johnny,

Don't be a goose,

But come and pass round the cookies.

The word feast produced a speedy effect on the spirits of the party.

Phil cheered at once,

And Dory 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.

They 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,

Cece,

As your company,

You shall have the first drink out of the bottle.

The Something Delicious proved to be weak vinegar and water.

It was quite warm,

But somehow,

Drunk 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 bottles were like signal blitzes,

And could pour out a dozen things at once.

Clover called her share raspberry shrub.

Dory christened his ginger pop,

While Cece,

Who was romantic,

Took her three sips under the name 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 Fate 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 tea bell.

I suppose cookies and vinegar had taken away their appetite,

For none of them were hungry,

And Dory astonished Aunt Izzy very much by eyeing the table in a disgusted way and saying,

Huh,

Only plum sweetmeats and sponge cake and hot biscuit.

I don't want any supper.

What ails the child?

He must be sick,

Said Mr 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 the Parr,

While Aunt Izzy gave a dissatisfied groan.

And all the children answered at once,

Splendiferous!