The Collected Works of Susan Coolidge: 7 Novels, 35+ Short Stories, Essays & Poems (Illustrated)
had been. In spite of the stove outside the door, No. 2 began to be chilly; more than once Katy found her tooth-brush stiff with ice in the morning. It was a fore-taste of the what the winter was to be, and the girls shivered at the prospect.
Toward the end of November Miss Jane caught a heavy cold. Unsparing of herself as of others, she went on hearing her classes as usual; and nobody paid much attention to her hoarseness and flushed cheeks, until she grew so much worse that she was forced to go to bed. There she stayed for nearly four weeks. It made a great change in the school; and the girls found it such a relief to have her sharp voice and eyes taken away that I am afraid they were rather glad of her illness than otherwise.
Katy shared in this feeling of relief. She did not like Miss Jane; it was pleasant not to have to see her or hear of her. But as day after day passed, and still she continued ill, Katy’s conscience began to prick. One night she lay awake a long time, and heard Miss Jane coughing violently. Katy feared she was very sick, and wondered who took care of her all night and all day. None of the girls went near her. The servants were always busy. And Mrs. Nipson, who did not love Miss Jane, was busy too.
In the morning, while studying and practising, Katy caught herself thinking over this question. At last she asked Miss Marsh,—
“How is Miss Jane to-day?”
“About the same. She is not dangerously ill, the doctor says; but she coughs a great deal, and has some fever.”
“Is anybody sitting with her?”
“Oh, no! there’s no need of any one. Susan answers the bell, and she has her medicine on the table within reach.”
It sounded forlorn enough. Katy had lived in a sick-room so long herself that she knew just how dreary it is for an invalid to be left alone with “medicine within reach,” and some one to answer a bell. She began to feel sorry for Miss Jane, and almost without intending it went down the entry, and tapped at her door. The “Come in!” sounded very faint; and Miss Jane as she lay in bed looked weak and dismal, and quite unlike the sharp, terrible person whom the girls feared so much. She was amazed at the sight of Katy, and made a feeble attempt to hold up her head and speak as usual.
“What is it, Miss Carr?”
“I only came to see how you are,” said Katy, abashed at her own daring, “You coughed so much last night that I was afraid you were worse. Isn’t there something I could do for you?”
“Thank you,” said Miss Jane, “you are very kind.” Think of Miss Jane’s thanking anybody, and calling anybody kind!
“I should be very glad. Isn’t there any thing?” repeated Katy, encouraged.
“Well, I don’t know: you might put another stick of wood on the fire,” said Miss Jane, in an ungracious tone. Katy did so; and seeing that the iron cup on top of the stove was empty, she poured some water into it. Then she took a look about the room. Books and papers were scattered over the table; clean clothes from the wash lay on the chairs; nothing was in its place; and Katy, who knew how particular Miss Jane was on the subject of order, guessed at the discomfort which this untidy state of affairs must have caused her.
“Wouldn’t you like to have me put these away?” she asked, touching the pile of clothes.
Miss Jane sighed impatiently, but she did not say no; so Katy, taking silence for consent, opened the drawers, and laid the clothes inside, guessing at the right places with a sort of instinct, and making as little noise and bustle as possible. Next she moved quietly to the table, where she sorted and arranged the papers, piled up the books, and put the pens and pencils in a small tray which stood there for the purpose. Lastly she began to dust the table with her pocket handkerchief, which proceeding roused Miss Jane at once.
“Don’t,” she said, “there is a duster in the cupboard.”
Katy could not help smiling, but she found the duster, and proceeded to put the rest of the room into nice order, laying a fresh towel over the bedside table, and arranging watch, medicine, and spoon within reach. Miss Jane lay and watched her. I think she was as much surprised at herself for permitting all this, as Katy was at being permitted to do it. Sick people often consent because they feel too weak to object. After all, it was comfortable to have some one come in and straighten the things which for ten days past had vexed her neat eyes with their untidiness.
Lastly, smoothing the quilt, Katy asked if Miss Jane wouldn’t like to have her pillow shaken up?
“I don’t care,” was the answer. It sounded discouraging; but Katy boldly seized the pillow, beat, smoothed, and put it again in place. Then she went out of the room as noiselessly as she could, Miss Jane never saying, “Thank you,” or seeming to observe whether she went or stayed.
Rose Red and Clover could hardly believe their ears when told where she had been. They stared at her as people stare at Van Amburgh when he comes safely out of the lion’s den.
“My stars!” exclaimed Rose, drawing a long breath. “You didn’t really?
And she hasn’t bitten your head off!”
“Not a bit,” said Katy, laughing. “What’s more, I’m going again.”
She was as good as her word. After that she went to see Miss Jane very often. Almost always there was some little thing which she could do, the fire needed mending, or the pitcher to be filled with ice-water, or Miss Jane wanted the blinds opened or shut. Gradually she grew used to seeing Katy about the room. One morning she actually allowed her to brush her hair; and Katy’s touch was so light and pleasant that afterwards Miss Jane begged her to do it every day.
“What makes you such a good nurse?” she asked one afternoon, rather abruptly.
“Being sick myself,” replied Katy, gently. Then in answer to farther questioning, she told of her four years’ illness, and her life upstairs, keeping house and studying lessons all alone by herself. Miss Jane did not say any thing when she got through; but Katy fancied she looked at her in a new and kinder way.
So time went on till Christmas. It fell on a Friday that year, which shortened the holidays by a day, and disappointed many of the girls. Only a few went home, the rest were left to pass the time as best they might till Monday, when lessons were to begin again.
“It isn’t much like merry Christmas,” sighed Clover to herself, as she looked up at the uncottoned space at the top of the window, and saw great snow-flakes wildly whirling by. No. 2 felt cold and dreary, and she was glad to exchange it for the school-room, round whose warm stove a cluster of girls was huddling. Everybody was in bad spirits; there was a tendency to talk about home, and the nice time which people were having there, and the very bad time they themselves were having at the Nunnery.
“Isn’t it mis-e-ra-ble? I shall cry all night, I know I shall, I am so homesick,” gulped Lilly, who had taken possession of her room- mate’s shoulder and was weeping ostentatiously.
“I declare, you’re just Mrs. Gummidge in ‘David Copperfield’ over again,” said Rose. “You recollect her, girls, don’t you? When the porridge was burnt, you know,—‘All of us felt the disappointment, but Mrs. Gummidge felt it the most.’ Isn’t Lilly a real Mrs. Gummidge, girls?”
The observation changed Lilly’s tears into anger. “You’re as hateful and as horrid as you can be, Rose Red,” she exclaimed angrily. Then she flew out of the room, and shut the door behind her with a bang.
“There! she’s gone upstairs to be mad,” said Louisa Agnew.
“I don’t care if she has,” replied Rose, who was in a perverse mood.
“I wish you hadn’t said that, Rosy,” whispered Clover. “Lilly really felt badly.”
“Well, what if she did? So do I feel badly, and you, and the rest of us. Lilly hasn’t taken out a patent for bad feelings, which nobody must infringe. What business has she to make us feel badder, by setting up to be so much worse than the