Johnnie was immensely pleased at this, for Red Riding-Hood was a great favorite of hers.
Philly had a bit of india-rubber in his letter, which was written with very black ink on a big sheet of foolscap:
“Just listen to mine,” said Cecy, who had all along pretended to be as much surprised as anybody, and now behaved as if she could hardly wait till Philly’s was finished. Then she read aloud:
“I think that’s the prettiest of all,” said Clover.
“I don’t,” said Elsie. “I think mine is the prettiest. Cecy didn’t have any seal in hers, either.” And she fondled the little seal, which all this time she had held in her hand.
“Katy, you ought to have read yours first because you are the oldest,” said Clover.
“Mine isn’t much,” replied Katy, and she read:
“What a mean valentine!” cried Elsie, with flashing eyes. “It’s a real shame, Katy! You ought to have had the best of all.”
Katy could hardly keep from laughing. The fact was that the verses for the others had taken so long, that no time had been left for writing a valentine to herself. So, thinking it would excite suspicion to have none, she had scribbled this old rhyme at the last moment.
“It isn’t very nice,” she said, trying to look as pensive as she could, “but never mind.”
“It’s a shame!” repeated Elsie, petting her very hard to make up for the injustice.
“Hasn’t it been a funny evening?” said John; and Dorry replied, “Yes; we never had such good times before Katy was sick, did we?”
Katy heard this with a mingled feeling of pleasure and pain. “I think the children do love me a little more of late,” she said to herself. “But, oh, why couldn’t I be good to them when I was well and strong!”
She didn’t open Cousin Helen’s letter until the rest were all gone to bed. I think somebody must have written and told about the valentine party, for instead of a note there were these verses in Cousin Helen’s own clear, pretty hand. It wasn’t a valentine, because it was too solemn, as Katy explained to Clover, next day. “But,” she added, “it is a great deal beautifuller than any valentine that ever was written.” And Clover thought so too.
These were the verses:
CHAPTER XI
A NEW LESSON TO LEARN
It was a long time before the children ceased to talk and laugh over that jolly evening. Dorry declared he wished there could be a Valentine’s-Day every week.
“Don’t you think St. Valentine would be tired of writing verses?” asked Katy. But she, too, had enjoyed the frolic, and the bright recollection helped her along through the rest of the long, cold winter.
Spring opened late that year, but the Summer, when it came, was a warm one. Katy felt the heat very much. She could not change her seat and follow the breeze about from window to window as other people could. The long burning days left her weak and parched. She hung her head, and seemed to wilt like the flowers in the garden-beds. Indeed she was worse off than they, for every evening Alexander gave them a watering with the hose, while nobody was able to bring a watering-pot and pour out what she needed—a shower of cold, fresh air.
It wasn’t easy to be good-humored under these circumstances, and one could hardly have blamed Katy if she had sometimes forgotten her resolutions and been cross and fretful. But she didn’t—not very often. Now and then bad days came, when she was discouraged and forlorn. But Katy’s long year of schooling had taught her self-control, and, as a general thing, her discomforts were borne patiently. She could not help growing pale and thin however, and Papa saw with concern that, as the summer went on, she became too languid to read, or study, or sew, and just sat hour after hour, with folded hands, gazing wistfully out of the window.