The Collected Works of Susan Coolidge: 7 Novels, 35+ Short Stories, Essays & Poems (Illustrated)
know I shall always be teaching in Sunday-school, and visiting the poor. And some day, when I am bending over an old woman, and feeding her with currant jelly, a poet will come along and see me, and he’ll go home and write a poem about me,” concluded Cecy, triumphantly.
“Pooh!” said Clover. “I don’t think that would be nice at all. I’m going to be a beautiful lady –the most beautiful lady in the world! And I’m going to live in a yellow castle, with yellow pillars to the portico, and a square thing on top, like Mr. Sawyer’s. My children are going to have a play-house up there. There’s going to be a spy-glass in the window to look out of. I shall wear gold dresses and silver dresses every day, and diamond rings, and have white satin aprons to tie on when I’m dusting, or doing anything dirty. In the middle of my back-yard there will be a pond-full of Lubin’s Extracts, and whenever I want any I shall just go out and dip a bottle in. And I sha’n’t teach in Sunday-schools, like Cecy, because I don’t want to; but every Sunday I’ll go and stand by the gate, and when her scholars go by on their way home, I’ll put Lubin’s Extracts on their handkerchiefs.”
“I mean to have just the same,” cried Elsie, whose imagination was fired by this gorgeous vision, “only my pond will be the biggest. I shall be a great deal beautifuller, too,” she added.
“You can’t,” said Katy from overhead. “Clover is going to be the most beautiful lady in the world.”
“But 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 peoples’ 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 armor 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 diner, 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 resollved not to think so much about things to ete. Wish I was a better 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.
Chapter III.
The Day of Scrapes
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 play-grounds.
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