What Katy Did Part 4: Bedtime Story

Hello beloveds.

This is my reading of part four of What Katy Did, by Susan Coolidge.

I loved reading this so I hope you enjoy listening dear ones.

This is a delightful story following the adventures of a twelve-year-old girl, Katy Carr, and her family who live in the fictional lakeside Ohio town of Burnet in the 1860s. Katy is a tall, untidy tomboy, forever getting into scrapes but wishing to be beautiful and beloved. Our story follows the adventures of Katy as she learns some very important life lessons.

Have a beautiful day.

Transcript

Hello dear ones,

And welcome to today's reading.

What Katie Did Chapter 4 But I am sorry to say that my poor thoughtless Katie did forget,

And did get into another scrape,

And that no later than the very next Monday.

Monday was apt to be a rather stormy day at the cars.

There was a big wash to be done,

And Aunt Izzy always seemed a little harder to please,

And the servants a good deal crosser than on common days.

But I think it was also,

In part,

The fault of the children,

Who,

After the quiet of Sunday,

Were especially frisky and uproarious,

And readier than usual for all sorts of mischief.

To Clover and Elsie,

Sunday seemed to begin at Saturday's bedtime,

When their hair was wet and screwed up in papers that it might curl next day.

Elsie's waved naturally,

So Aunt Izzy didn't think it necessary to pin her papers very tight.

But Clover's thick,

Straight locks required to be pinched hard before they would give even the least twill,

And to her,

Saturday night was one of misery.

She would lie tossing and turning,

And trying first one side of her head,

And then the other.

But whichever way she placed herself,

The hard knobs and the pins stuck out and hurt her,

So when at last she fell asleep,

It was face down,

With her small nose buried in the pillow,

Which was not comfortable and gave her bad dreams.

In consequence of these sufferings,

Clover hated curls,

And when she made up stories for the younger children,

They always commenced.

The hair of the beautiful princess was as straight as a yardstick,

And she never did it up in papers.

Never.

Sunday always began with a Bible story,

Followed by a breakfast at Baked Beans,

Which two things were much tangled up together in Philly's mind.

After breakfast the children studied their Sunday school lessons,

And then the big carry-all came around,

And they drove to church,

Which was a good mile off.

It was a large,

Old-fashioned church,

With galleries and long pews with high,

Red-cushioned seats.

The choir sat at the end,

Behind a low,

Green curtain,

Which slid from side to side on rods.

When the sermon began,

They would draw the curtain aside and show themselves,

All ready to listen,

But the rest of the time,

They kept it shut.

Katie always guessed that they must be having good times behind the green curtain,

Eating orange peel perhaps,

Or reading the Sunday school books,

And she often wished she might sit up there among them.

The seat in Dr.

Carr's pew was so high that none of the children,

Except Katie,

Could touch the floor,

Even with the point of a toe.

This made their feet go to sleep,

And when they felt the strange little pinpricks which drowsy feet use to rouse themselves with,

They would overslide off the seat,

And sit on the benches,

To get over it.

Once there and well hidden from view,

It was almost impossible not to whisper.

Aunt Izzy would frown and shake her head,

But it did little good,

Especially as Phil and Dory were sleeping with their heads on her lap,

And it took both her hands to keep them from rolling off into the bottom of the pew.

When good old Dr.

Stone said,

Finally,

My brethren,

She would begin waking them up.

It was hard work sometimes,

But generally,

She succeeded,

So that during the last hymn,

The two stood together on the seat,

Quite brisk and refreshed,

Sharing a hymn book,

And making believe to sing like the older people.

After church came Sunday school,

Which the children liked very much,

And then they went home to dinner,

Which was always the same on Sunday,

Cold corned beef,

Baked potatoes and rice pudding.

They did not go to church in the afternoon unless they wished,

But they were pounced upon by Katie instead,

And forced to listen to the reading of The Sunday Visitor,

A religious paper of which she was the editor.

This paper was partly written,

Partly printed,

On a large sheet of full scalp,

And had at the top an ornamental device in lead pencil,

With Sunday Visitor in the middle of it.

The reading part began with a dull little piece of the kind which grown-up people call an editorial,

About neatness or obedience or punctuality.

The children always fidgeted while listening to this,

Partly,

I think,

Because it aggravated them to have Katie recommend on paper,

As very easy,

The virtues which she herself found it so hard to practise in real life.

Next came anecdotes about dogs and elephants and snakes,

Taken from the natural history book,

And not very interesting,

Because the audience knew them by heart already.

A hymn or two followed,

Or a string of original verses.

And,

Last of all,

A chapter of little Maria and her sisters.

A dreadful tale,

In which Katie drew so much morale,

And made such personal allusions to the faults of the rest,

That it was almost more than they could bear.

In fact,

There had just been a nursery rebellion on the subject.

The evenings of Sunday were always spent in repeating hymns to Papa and Aunt Izzy.

This was fun,

For they all took turns,

And there was quite a scramble as to who should secure the favourites,

Such as,

The West have shut off its gate of gold,

And go when the morning shineth.

On the whole,

Sunday was a sweet and pleasant day,

And the children thought so.

But,

From it being so much quieter than other days,

They always got up on Monday,

Full of life and mischief,

And ready to fizz over at any minute,

Like champagne bottles with the wires just cut.

This particular Monday was rainy,

So there couldn't be any outdoor play,

Which was the usual vent for over-high spirits.

The little ones,

Cooped up in the nursery all the afternoon,

Had grown perfectly righteous.

Philly was not quite well,

And had been taking medicine.

The medicine was called Alexia Pro.

It was a great favourite with Aunt Izzy,

Who kept a bottle of it always on hand.

The bottle was large and black,

With a paper label tied round its neck,

And the children shuddered at the sight of it.

After Phil had stopped roaring and spluttering,

And play had begun again,

The dolls,

As was only natural,

Were taken ill also.

And so was Pickery,

John's little yellow chair,

Which she always pretended was a doll too.

She kept an old apron tied on his back,

And generally took him to bed with her,

Though not into bed,

That would have been troublesome,

But close by,

Tied to the bedpost.

Now,

As she told the others,

Pickery was very sick indeed.

He must have some medicine,

Just like Philly.

Give him some water,

Suggested Dory.

No,

Said John decidedly.

It must be black and out of a bottle,

Or it won't do any good.

After thinking a moment,

She trotted quietly across the passage into Aunt Izzy's room.

Nobody was there,

But John knew where the Alexia Pro was kept,

In the closet on the third shelf.

She pulled one of the drawers out a little,

Climbed up,

And reached it down.

The children were enchanted when she marched back,

The bottle in one hand,

The cork in the other,

And proceeded to pour a liberal dose onto Pickery's wooden seat,

Which John called his lap.

There,

There,

My poor boy,

She said,

Patting his shoulder.

Swallow it down,

It'll do you good.

Just then,

Aunt Izzy came in,

And to her dismay,

Saw a long trickle of something dark and sticky running down onto the carpet.

It was Pickery's medicine,

Which he had refused to swallow.

What is that?

She asked sharply.

My baby is sick,

Said John,

Displaying the guilty bottle.

Aunt Izzy wrapped her over the head with a thimble,

And told her that she was a very naughty child.

Whereupon,

Johnny pouted and cried a little.

Aunt Izzy wiped up the slop,

And taken away the Alexia,

Retired with it to her closet,

Saying that she never knew anything like it,

And it was always so on Mondays.

What further pranks were played in the nursery that day,

I cannot pretend to tell.

But late in the afternoon,

A dreadful screaming was heard,

And when people rushed from all parts of the house to see what was the matter,

Behold,

The nursery door was locked,

And nobody could get in.

Aunt Izzy called through the keyhole to have it opened,

But the roars were so loud that it was long before she could get an answer.

At last,

Elsie,

Sobbing violently,

Explained that Dory had locked the door,

And now the key wouldn't turn,

And they couldn't open it.

Would they have to stay there always,

And starve?

Of course you won't,

You foolish child,

Exclaimed Aunt Izzy.

Dear,

Dear,

What on earth will come next?

Stop crying,

Elsie,

Do you hear me?

You shall all be got out in a few minutes.

And sure enough,

The next thing came,

A rattling at the blinds,

And there was Alexander,

The hired man,

Standing outside on a tall ladder,

And nodding his head at the children.

The little ones forgot their fright,

They flew to open the window,

And frisked and jumped about,

As he climbed in and unlocked the door.

It struck them as being such a fine thing to be let out in this way,

And Dory began to rather plume himself for fastening them in.

But Aunt Izzy didn't take this view of the case.

She scolded them well,

And declared they were troublesome children,

Who couldn't be trusted one moment out of sight,

And that she was more than half sorry she had promised to go to the lecture that evening.

How do I know,

She concluded,

That before I come home,

You won't have set the house on fire,

Or killed somebody?

Oh no we won't,

We won't,

Whined the children,

Quite moved by this frightful picture.

But bless you,

Ten minutes afterward,

They had forgotten all about it.

All this time Katie had been sitting on the ledge of the bookcase in the library,

Poring over a book.

It was called Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered.

The man who wrote it was an Italian,

But somebody had done the story over into English.

It was rather a strange book for a little girl to take a fancy to,

But somehow Katie liked it very much.

It told about knights,

And ladies,

And giants,

And battles,

And made her feel hot and cold by turns as she read,

And as if she must rush at something,

And shout,

And strike blows.

Katie was naturally fond of reading,

And Papa encouraged it.

He kept a few books locked up,

And then turned her loose in the library.

She read all sorts of things,

Travels,

And sermons,

And old magazines.

Nothing was so dumb that she couldn't get through with it.

Anything really interesting absorbed her so that she never knew what was going on about her.

The little girls to whose houses she went visiting had found this out,

And always hid away their storybooks when she was expected to tea.

This afternoon,

She read the Jerusalem until it was too dark to see anymore.

On her way upstairs,

She met Aunt Izzy with bonnet and shawl on.

Where have you been?

She said.

I have been calling you for the last half hour.

I didn't hear you,

Mum.

But where were you?

Persisted Miss Izzy.

I was in the library reading,

Replied Katie.

Her aunt gave a sort of sniff,

But she knew Katie's ways and said no more.

I'm going out to drink tea with Mrs Hall and attend the evening lecture,

She went on.

Be sure that Clover gets her lessons.

And if Cece comes over,

As usual,

You must send her home early,

Said Aunt Izzy.

All of you must be in bed by nine.

Yes,

Ma'am,

Said Katie.

But I fear she was not attending much.

But thinking,

In her secret soul,

How jolly it was to have Aunt Izzy go out for one.

Miss Carr was very faithful to her duties.

She seldom left the children,

Even for an evening.

So whenever she did,

They felt a certain sense of novelty and freedom,

Which was dangerous as well as pleasant.

Still,

I am sure that on this occasion,

Katie meant no mischief.

Like all excitable people,

She seldom did mean to do wrong.

She just did it when it came into her head.

Supper passed off successfully,

And all might have gone well.

Had it not been that after the lessons were learned,

And Cece had come in,

They fell to talking about Kikeri.

Kikeri was a game which had been very popular with them a year before.

They had invented it themselves,

And chosen for it this strange name out of an old fairy story.

It was a sort of mixture of blind man's buff and tag,

Only instead of anyone's eyes being bandaged,

They all played in the dark.

One of the children would stay out in the hall,

Which was dimly lighted from the stairs,

While the others hid themselves in the nursery.

When they were all hidden,

They would call out Kikeri as a signal for the one in the hall to come in and find them.

Of course,

Coming in from the light,

He could see nothing,

While the others could only see dimly.

It was very exciting to stand crouching up in a corner and watch the dark figure stumbling about,

And feeling to right and left,

While every now and then somebody,

Just escaping his clutches,

Would slip past and gain the hall,

Which was Freedom Castle,

With a joyful shout of Kikeri.

Whoever was caught had to take the role of the catcher.

For a long time,

This game was the delight of the car children,

But so many scratches and black and blue spots came of it,

And so many of the nursery things were thrown down and broken,

That at last Aunt Izzy issued an order that it should not be played anymore.

This was almost a year since,

But talking of it now put it into their heads to want to try it again.

After all,

We didn't promise,

Said Cece.

No,

And Papa never said a word about our not playing it,

Added Katie,

To whom Papa was authority and must always be minded,

While Aunt Izzy might now and then be defied.

So,

They all went upstairs.

Dory and John,

Though half undressed,

Were allowed to join the game.

Philly was fast asleep in another room.

It was certainly splendid fun.

Once Clover climbed up onto the mantelpiece and sat there,

And when Katie,

Who was Finder,

Groped about a little more wildly than usual,

She caught hold of Clover's foot and couldn't imagine where it came from.

Dory got a hard knock and cried,

And at another time Katie's dress caught on the bureau handle and was frightfully torn.

But these were too much affairs of every day to interfere in the least with the pleasures of Kikeri.

The fun and frolic seemed to grow greater the longer they played.

In the excitement,

Time went on much faster than any of them dreamed.

Suddenly,

In the midst of the noise,

Came a sound.

A sharp distinct slam of the carry-all door at the side entrance.

Aunt Izzy had returned from her lecture.

The dismay and confusion at that moment.

Cece slipped downstairs like an eel and fled on the wings of fear along the path which led to her home.

Mrs.

Hall,

As she bade Aunt Izzy goodnight and shut Dr.

Carr's front door behind her with a bang,

Might have been struck with the singular fact that a distinct bang came from her own front door like a sort of echo.

But she was not a suspicious woman,

And when she went upstairs,

There were Cece's clothes neatly folded on a chair and Cece herself in bed,

Fast asleep,

Only with a little more colour than usual in her cheeks.

Meanwhile,

Aunt Izzy was on her way upstairs,

And such a panic as prevailed in the nursery.

Katie felt it and basely scuttled off to her own room,

Where she went to bed with all possible speed.

But the others found it much harder to go to bed.

There were so many of them,

All getting in each other's way,

And with no lamp to see by.

Dory and John jumped under the covers,

Half-dressed.

Elsie disappeared,

And Clover,

Too late for either,

And hearing Aunt Izzy's step in the hall,

Did this horrible thing.

She fell on her knees,

With her face buried in a chair,

And began to say her prayers very hard indeed.

Aunt Izzy,

Coming in with a candle in her hand,

Stood in the doorway,

Astonished at the spectacle.

She sat down and waited for Clover to get through,

While Clover,

On her part,

Didn't dare to get through,

But went on repeating,

Now I lay me,

Over and over again,

In a sort of despair.

At last Aunt Izzy said,

Very brimly,

That will do,

Clover,

You can get up.

And Clover rose,

Feeling like a culprit,

Which she was,

For it was much naughtier to pretend to be praying than to disobey Aunt Izzy and be out of bed after ten o'clock,

Though I think Clover hardly understood this then.

Aunt Izzy at once began to undress her,

And while doing so asked so many questions,

That before long she had got the truth of the whole matter.

She gave Clover a sharp scolding,

And leaving her to wash her tearful face,

She went to the bed where John and Dory lay,

Fast asleep.

Something strange in the appearance of the bed made her look more closely.

She lifted the covers,

And there,

Sure enough,

They were,

Half-dressed and with their school boots on.

Such a shake as Aunt Izzy gave the little scamps at this discovery would have roused a couple of dormice.

Much against their will,

John and Dory were forced to wake up,

And be scolded and made ready for bed,

Aunt Izzy standing over them all the while like a dragon.

She had just tucked them warmly in,

When for the first time she missed Elsie.

Where is my poor little Elsie?

She exclaimed.

In bed?

Said Clover,

Meekly.

In bed?

Repeated Aunt Izzy,

Much amazed.

Then stooping down,

She gave a vigorous pull.

The trundled bed came into view,

And sure enough,

There was Elsie,

In full dress,

Shoes and all,

But so fast asleep that not all Aunt Izzy's shakes and pinches and calls were able to rouse her.

Her clothes were taken off,

Her boots unlaced,

And nightgown put on,

But through it all,

Elsie slept,

And she was the only one of the children who did not get the scolding she deserved that dreadful night.

Katie did not even pretend to be asleep when Aunt Izzy went into her room.

Her tardy conscience had waked up,

And she was lying in bed,

Very miserable at having drawn the others into a scrape,

As well as herself,

And at the failure of her last set of resolutions about setting an example to the younger ones.

So unhappy was she that Aunt Izzy's severe words were almost a relief,

And though she cried herself to sleep,

It was rather from the burden of her own thoughts than because she had been scolded.

She cried even harder the next day,

For Dr.

Carr talked to her more seriously than she had ever done before.

He reminded her of the time when her mama died,

And of how she said Katie must be a mama to the little ones when she grows up.

And he asked her if she didn't think the time had come for beginning to take this dear place towards the children.

Poor Katie.

She sobbed as if her heart would break at this,

And though she made no promises,

I think she was never quite so thoughtless again after that day.

As for the rest,

Papa called them together and made them distinctly understand that Kaikiri was never to be played any more.

It was so seldom that Papa forbade any games,

However boisterous,

That this order really made an impression on the unruly brood,

And they never have played Kaikiri again from that day to this.

Reviews

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