CHAPTER V STORYBOOK INGLAND Oh, is it raining? was Katie's first question next morning when the maid came to call her. The pretty room with its gaily flowered chints and china and its brass bed-stead did not look half so bright as when lit with gas the night before, and a dim grey light struggled in at the window, which in America would certainly have meant bad weather coming or already come. Oh, no, indeed, ma'am, it's a very fine day, not bright, ma'am, but very dry, was the answer. Katie couldn't imagine what the maid meant when she peeped between the curtains and saw a thick dull mist lying over everything and the pavements opposite her window shining with wet. Afterwards, when she better understood the peculiarities of the English climate, she too learned to call days not absolutely rainy, fine, and to be grateful for them, but on that first morning her sensations were of bewildered surprise, almost vexation. Mrs. Ash and Amy were waiting in the coffee-room when she went in search of them. What shall we have for breakfast? asked Mrs. Ash. Our first meal in England. Katie, you order it. Let's have all the things we have read about in books and don't have at home, said Katie eagerly. But when she came to look over the Bill of Fair there didn't seem to be many such things. Souls and muffins she finally decided upon and, as an afterthought, gooseberry jam. Muffins sound so very good in dickens, you know, she explained to Mrs. Ash, and I never saw a soul. The souls, when they came, proved to be nice little pan fish, not unlike what in New England are called scup. All the party took kindly to them, but the muffins were a great disappointment, tough and tasteless, with a flavour about them as of scorched flannel.  I feel as if I were eating rounds cut from an old ironing blanket and buttered. Dear me, what did dickens mean by making such a fuss about them? I wonder. And I don't care for gooseberry jam, either. It isn't half as good as the jams we have at home. Books are very deceptive. I am afraid they are. We must make up our minds to find a great many things not quite so nice as they sound when we read about them, replied Mrs. Ash. Mabel was breakfasting with them, of course, and was heard to remark at this juncture that she didn't like muffins either, and would a great deal rather have waffles, whereupon Amy reproved her, and explained that nobody in England knew what waffles were, they were such a stupid nation, and that Mabel must learn to eat whatever was given her and not to find fault with it. After this moral lesson it was found to be dangerously near train-time, and they all hurried to the railroad station which, fortunately, was close by. There was rather a scramble and confusion for a few moments, for Katie, who had undertaken to buy the tickets, was puzzled by the unaccustomed coinage, and Mrs. Ash, whose part was to see after the luggage, found herself perplexed and worried by the absence of checks, and by no means disposed to accept the porter's statement that if she'd only bear in mind that the trunks were in a second van from the engine, and get out to see that they were safe once or twice during the journey, and call for them as soon as they reached London, she'd have no trouble. Please remember the porter, ma'am. However, all was happily settled at last, and without any serious inconveniences they found themselves established in a first-class carriage, and presently after, running smoothly at full speed across the rich English midlands toward London and the eastern coast. The extreme greenness of the October landscape was what struck them first, and the wonderfully orderly and trim aspect of the country, with no ragged, stump-dotted fields or reaches of wild untended woods. Late in October as it was, the hedgerows and meadows were still almost summer-like in colour, though the trees were leafless. The delightful-looking old manor-houses and farmhouses, of which they had glimpses now and again, were a constant pleasure to Katie, with their mullioned windows, twisted chimney-stacks, porches of quaint build, and thick growing ivy. She contrasted them with the uncompromising ugliness of farmhouses which she remembered at home, and wondered whether it could be that at the end of another thousand years or so, America would have picturesque buildings like these to show in addition to her picturesque scenery. Suddenly, into the midst of these reflections, there glanced a picture so vivid that it almost took away her breath, as the train steamed past a pack of hounds in full cry, followed by a galloping throng of scarlet-coated huntsmen. One horse and rider were in the air, going over a wall, another was just rising to the leap. A string of others, headed by a lady, were tearing across a meadow bounded by a little brook, and beyond that streamed the hounds following the invisible fox. It was like one of Moibridge's instantaneous photographs of the horse in motion, for the moment that it lasted, and Katie put it away in her memory, distinct and brilliant, as she might a real picture. Their destination in London was Batts Hotel in Dover Street. The old gentleman on the Spartacus, who had crossed so many times, had furnished Mrs. Ash with a number of addresses of hotels and lodging-houses, from among which Katie had chosen Batts for the reason that it was mentioned in Mrs. Edgeworth's patronage. It was the place, she explained, where Godfrey Percy didn't stay when Lord Oldborough sent him the letter. It seemed an odd enough reason for going anywhere that a person in a novel didn't stay there. But Mrs. Ash knew nothing of London, and had no preference of her own, so she was perfectly willing to give Katie hers, and Batts was decided upon. It is just like a dream or a story, said Katie, as they drove away from the London station in a four-wheeler. It is really ourselves, and this is really London. Can you imagine it? She looked out. Nothing met her eyes but dingy weather, muddy streets, long rows of ordinary brick or stone houses. It might very well have been New York or Boston on a foggy day, yet to her eyes all things had a subtle difference which made them unlike similar objects at home. Wimpoll Street, she cried suddenly, as she caught sight of the name on the corner. That is the street where Mariah Crawford in Mansfield Park, you know, opened one of the best houses after she married Mr. Rushworth. Think of seeing Wimpoll Street. What fun! She looked eagerly out after the best houses, but the whole street looked uninteresting and old-fashioned. The best house to be seen was not of a kind, Katie thought, to reconcile an ambitious young woman to a dull husband. Katie had to remind herself that Miss Austin wrote her novels nearly a century ago, that London was a growing place, and that things were probably much changed since that day. More fun awaited them when they arrived at Batts, and exactly such a landlady sailed forth to welcome them, as they had often met within books. An old landlady, smiling and ribbockened, with a towering lace cap on her head, a flowered silk gown, a gold chain, and a pair of fat-mittened hands, demurely crossed over a black brocade apron. She alone would have been worth crossing the ocean to see, they all declared. Their telegram had been received, and rooms were ready, with a bright, smoky fire of soft coals, the dinner-table was set, and a nice, formal, white-gravatted old waiter, who seemed to have stepped out of the same book with a landlady, was waiting to serve it. Everything was dingy and old-fashioned, but very clean and comfortable, and Katie concluded that on the whole Godfrey Percy would have done wisely to go to Batts, and could have fared no better at the other hotel where he did stay. The first of Katie's London sights came to her next morning before she was out of her bedroom.  Then came a laugh and a shout, as if several boys were amused at something or other, and altogether her curiosity was roused, so that she finished dressing as fast as she could, and ran to the drawing-room window which commanded a view of the street. Later little crowd was collected under the window, and in their midst was a queer box raised high on poles, with little red curtains tied back on either side to form a miniature stage, on which puppets were moving and vociferating. Katie knew in a moment that she was seeing her first punch and duty. The box and the crowd began to move away. Katie in despair ran to Wilkins the old waiter, who was setting the breakfast-table. Oh, please stop that man, she said. I want to see him. What man is it, miss? said Wilkins. When he reached the window and realized what Katie meant, his sense of propriety seemed to receive a severe shock. He even ventured on remonstrance. I wouldn't miss, if I were you, then punches are a low lot, miss. They haunt to be put down, really they haunt. Gentle folks, as a general saying, pays no attention to them. But Katie didn't care what gentle folks did or didn't do, and insisted upon having punch called back.  Amy came rushing out with her hair flying and mable in her arms, and she and Katie had a real treat of punch and duty with all the well-known scenes and perhaps a few new ones thrown in for their especial behoof, for the showmen seemed to be inspired by the rapturous enjoyment of his little audience of three at the first-floor windows.  Then, when Punch had gone away, the question arose as to what they should choose out of the many delightful things in London for their first morning. Like ninety-nine Americans out of a hundred, they decided on Westminster Abbey, and indeed there is nothing in England better worth seeing, or more impressive, in its dim, rich antiquity, to eyes fresh from the world which still calls itself new. So to the Abbey they went, and lingered there till Mrs. Ash declared herself to be absolutely dropping with fatigue. If you don't take me home and give me something to eat, she said, I shall drop down on one of those pedestals and stay there, and be exhibited for ever after as an hephagey of somebody belonging to ancient English history. So Katie tore herself away from Henry VII and the poet's corner, and tore Amy away from a quaint little tomb shaped like a cradle, with the marble image of a baby in it, which had greatly taken her fancy. She could only be consoled by the promise that she should come again, and stay as long as she liked. She reminded Katie of this promise the very next morning. Mama has waked up with rather a bad headache, and she thinks she will lie still and not come to breakfast. She reported. And she sends her love, and says, will you please have a cab, and go where you like, and if I won't be a trouble, she would be glad if you would take me with you, and I won't be a trouble, Miss Katie, and I know where I wish you would go. Where is that? To see that cunning little baby again that we saw yesterday, I want to show her to Mabel. She didn't go with us, you know, and I don't like to have her mind not improved. And, darling Miss Katie, lay in tie by some flowers and put them on the baby. She's so dusty and old, that I don't believe anybody has put flowers for her for ever so long. Katie found this idea rather pretty, and willingly stopped at Covent Garden, where they bought a bunch of late roses for eighteen pence, which entirely satisfied Amy. With them in her hand, and Mabel in her arms, she led the way through the dim aisles of the abbey, through greats and doors and up and down steps, the guide following, but not at all needed, for Amy seemed to have a perfectly clear recollection of every turn and winding. When the chapel was reached, she laid the roses on the tomb with gentle fingers, and a pitiful, reverent look in her grey eyes. Then she lived Mabel up to kiss the odd little baby effigy above the marble quilt, whereupon the guide seemed altogether surprised out of his composure, and remarked to Katie, Miss is an American, as is plain to see. No English child would be likely to think of doing such a thing. Do not English children take any interest in the tombs of the abbey? asked Katie. Oh, yes, Mum, interest, but they don't take no special notice of one tomb above another. Katie could scarcely keep from laughing, especially if she heard Amy, who had been listening to the conversation, give an audible sniff, and inform Mabel that she was glad she was not an English child who didn't notice things, unlike grown-up graves as much as she did dear little cunning ones like this. Later in the day, when Mrs. Ash was better, they all drove together to the quaint old keep, which has been the scene of so many tragedies, and is known as the Tower of London. Here they were shown various rooms and chapels and prisons, and among the rest the apartments where Queen Elizabeth, when a friend as young Princess, was shut up for many months by her sister, Queen Mary. Katie had read somewhere, and now told Amy the pretty legend of the four little children who lived with their parents in a tower, and used to play with the royal captive, and how one little boy brought her a key which he had picked up on the ground, and said, Now you can go out when you will, lady! and how the Lords of the Council, getting wind of it, sent for the children to question them, and frightened them and their friends almost to death, and forbade them to go near the Princess again. A story about children always brings the past much nearer to a child, and Amy's imagination was so excited by this tale, that when they got to the Darksum Closet, which is said to have been the prison of Sir Walter Raleigh, she marched out of it with a pale and wrathful face. If this is English history, I mean never to learn any more of it, and neither shall Mabel, she declared. But it is not possible for Amy, or anyone else, not to learn a great deal of history, simply by going about London. So many places are associated with people or events, and seeing the places makes one care so much more for the people or the events, the one insensibly questions and wonders. Katie, who had browsed all through her childhood in a good old-fashioned library, had her memory stuffed with all manner of little scraps of information and literary allusions, which now came into use. It was like owning the disjointed bits of a puzzle, and suddenly discovering that to properly put together they make a pattern. Mrs. Ash, who had never been much of a reader, considered her young friend a prodigy of intelligence, but Katie herself realized how inadequate and inexact her knowledge was, and how many bits were missing from the pattern of her puzzle. She wished with all her heart, as everyone wishes under such circumstances, that she had studied harder and more wisely while the chance was in her power. On a journey you cannot read to advantage. Remember that, dear girls, who were looking forward to travelling some day, and be industrious in time. October is not a favorable month in which to see England. Water, water is everywhere.  Mrs. Ash's friends advised her not to think of Scotland at that time of year. One by one their little intended excursions were given up. A single day and night in Oxford and Stratford on Avon, a short visit to the Isle of Wight, where, in a country place which seemed provokingly pretty as far as they could see it for the rain, lived that friend of Mrs. Ash, who had married an Englishman, and in so doing had, as Katie privately thought, renounced the sun. A peep at Stonehenge from under the shelter and umbrella, and an hour or two in Salisbury Cathedral, was all that they accomplished, except a brief halt at Winchester, that Katie might have the privilege of seeing the grave of her beloved Miss Austin. Katie had come abroad with a terribly long list of graves to visit, Mrs. Ash declared. They laid a few rain-washed flowers upon the tomb, and listened with edification to the verger who inquired. Whatever was it, ma'am, that lady did which brings so many Americans to ask about her? Our English people don't seem to take the same interest. "'She wrote such delightful stories,' explained Katie, but the old verger shook his head. "'I think it must have been some other party, Miss. You've confused with this here. It stands to reason, Miss, that we'd have heard of them over here in England, sooner than you would over there in America, if the books had been anything so extraordinary.' The night after their return to London, they were dining for the second time, with the cousins of whom Mrs. Ash had spoken to Dr. Carr, and as it happened, Katie sat next to a quaint elderly American, who had lived for twenty years in London, and knew it much better than most Londoners do. This gentleman, Mr. Allen Beach, had a hobby for antiquities, old books especially, and passed half his time at the British Museum, and the other half in sales-rooms and the old shops in Wardour Street. Katie was lamenting over the bad weather which stood in the way of their plans. "'It is so vexatious,' she said. "'Mrs. Ash meant to go to York and Lincoln and all the cathedral towns and the Scotland, and we've had to give it up all because of the rains. We shall go away having seen hardly anything.' "'You can see London?' "'We have. That is, we have seen the things that everybody sees.' "'But there are so many things that people in general do not see. How much longer are you to stay, Miss Carr?' "'A week, I believe.' "'Why don't you make out a list of old buildings which are connected with famous people in history, and visit them in turn? "'With that the second year after I came. I gave up three months to it, and it was most interesting. I unearthed all manner of curious stories and traditions.' "'Or,' cried Katie, struck with a sudden bright thought, "'why mightn't I put into the list some of the places I know about in books, novels as well as history, and the places where the people who wrote the books lived?' "'You might do that, and it wouldn't be a bad idea, either,' said Mr. Beach, pleased with her enthusiasm. "'I will get a pencil after dinner, and help you with your list if you will allow me.'" Mr. Beach was better than his word. He not only suggested places and traced a plan of sightseeing, but on two different mornings he went with them himself, and his intelligent knowledge of London added very much to the interest of the excursions. Under his guidance the little party of four, for Mabel was never left out. It was such a chance for her to improve her mind, Amy declared. Visited the charter-house where Thackeray went to school, and the home of the poor brothers connected with it, in which Colonel Newcombe answered, "'Adsum,' to the roll-call of the angels. They took a look at the small house in Curson Street, which is supposed to have been in Thackeray's mind when he described the residence of Becky Sharp, and the other house in Russell Square, which is unmistakably that where George Osbourne courted Amelia Sedley. They went to service in the delightful old church of St. Mary and the Temple, and thought of Ivanhoe, and Brian de Bruyre-Gilbert, and Rebecca the Jewish. From there Mr. Beach took them to Lamb's Court, where Penn Dennis and George Warrington dwelt in chambers together, and to Brick Court, where Oliver Goldsmith passed so much of his life, and the little rooms in which Charles and Mary Lamb spent so many, sadly, happy years. On another day they drove to Whitefriars for the sake of Lord Glenn Varlock, and the old privilege of sanctuary in the fortunes of Nigel, and took a peep at Bethnal Green, where the blind beggar and his pretty Bessie lived, and at the old prison of the Marshallsea, made interesting by its associations with the little Dorot. They also went to see Milton's house and St. Giles's church, in which he is buried, and stood a long time before St. James's palace, trying to make out which could have been Miss Bernie's windows when she was dresser to Queen Charlotte of bitter memory. And they saw Paternoster Row, a number five chain walk, sacred forevermore to the memory of Thomas Carlisle, and Whitehall, where Queen Elizabeth lay in state, and King Charles was beheaded, and the state rooms of Holland House, and by great good luck had a glimpse of George Elliott getting out of a cab. She stood for a moment while she gave her fair to the cab man, and Katie looked, as one who might not look again, and carried away a distinct picture of the unbeautiful, interesting, remarkable face. With all this to see and to do, the last week sped all too swiftly, and the last day came before they were at all ready to leave what Katie called Storybook England. Mrs. Ash had decided to cross by New Haven and Dieppe, as someone had told her of the beautiful Old Town of Rouen, and it seemed easy and convenient to take it on the way to Paris. Just landed from the long voyage across the Atlantic, the little passage of the channel seemed nothing to our travellers, and they made ready for their night on the Dieppe steamer, with the philosophy which is born of ignorance. They were speedily underceived. The English Channel has a character of its own, which distinguishes it from other seas and straits. It seems made fractious and difficult by nature, and set as on purpose to be barrier between two nations who were too unlike to easily understand each other, and are the safer neighbours for this wholesome difficulty of communication between them. The chop was worse than usual on the night when our travellers crossed. The steamer had to fight her way inch by inch, and oh! such a little steamer! And oh! such a long night! CHAPTER VI across the Channel Dawn had given place to day, and day was well advanced toward noon, before the stout little steamer gained her port. It was hours after the usual time for arrival. The train for Paris must long since have started, and Katie felt ejected and forlorn as, making her way out of the terrible ladies' cabin, she crept on deck for her first glimpse of France. The sun was struggling through the fog with a watery smile, and his faint beams shone on a confusion of stone piers higher than the vessel's deck, intersected with canal-like waterways, through his intricate windings the steamer was slowly threading her course to the landing-place. Looking up, Katie could see crowds of people assembled to watch the boat come in—workmen, peasants, women, children, soldiers, customs-house officers, moving to and fro, and all this crowd were talking all at once, and all were talking French! I don't know why they should have startled her as it did. She knew, of course, that people of different countries were liable to be fan-speaking their own languages. But somehow the spectacle of the chattering multitude all seeming so perfectly at ease with the pretorites and subjunctives, and never once having to refer to Ollendorf for a dictionary filled with a sense of dismayed surprise. Good gracious! she said to herself, even the babies understand it. She racked her brains to recall what she had once known of French, but very little seemed to have survived the horrors of the night. Oh, dear! what is the word for trunkey? she asked herself. They will all begin to ask questions, and I shall not have a word to say, and Mrs. Ash will be even worse off, I know! She saw the red-trouser-to-customs-house officers pounce upon the passengers as they landed one by one, and she felt her heart sink within her. But after all, when the time came it did not prove so very bad. Katie's pleasant looks and courteous manner stood her in good stead. She did not trust herself to say much, but officials seemed to understand what I was saying. They bowed and gestured, whisked the keys in and out, and in a surprisingly short time all was pronounced right. The baggage had passed, and it and its owners were free to proceed to the railway station, which fortunately was close at hand. Inquiry revealed the fact that no train for Paris left till four in the afternoon. I am rather glad," declared poor Mrs. Ash, for I feel too used up to move. I will lie here on the sofa, and, Katie dear, please see if there's an eating-place, and get some breakfast for yourself and Amy, and send me a cup of tea. I don't like to leave you alone," Katie was beginning, but at that moment a nice old woman who seemed to be in charge of the waiting-room appeared, and with a flood of French, which none of them could follow, but which was evidently sympathetic in its nature, flew at Mrs. Ash and began to make her comfortable. From a cupboard in the wall she produced a pillow, from another cupboard a blanket. In a trice she had one under Mrs. Ash's head, and the other wrapped her under feet. Pauvre madame," she said, si bale, si souffrant, il faut avoir quelque chose à boire et à manger tout de suite. She trotted across the room and into the restaurant which opened out of it. While Mrs. Ash smiled at Katie and said, you see you can leave me quite safely. I am to be taken care of." And Katie and Amy passed through the same door into the buffet, and sat down at a little table. It was a particularly pleasant-looking place to breakfast in. There were many windows with bright polished panes and very clean short muslin curtains, and on the windowsills stood rows of thrifty potted plants and full bloom, marigolds, balsams, nasturtiums, and many-coloured geraniums. Two birds and cages were singing loudly. The floor was waxed to a glass-like polish. Nothing could have been whiter than the marble of the tables except the napkins laid over them. And such a good breakfast as was presently brought to them! Delicious coffee in bowl-like cups, crisp rolls and rusks! An omelet with a delicate flavour of fine herbs, stewed chicken, little pats of freshly churned butter-butter-but-out salt, shaped like shells and tasting like solidified cream, and a pot of some sort of nice preserve. Amy made great delighted eyes at Casey and remarking, Having Francis Heaps nicer than that old England! began to eat with a will, and Casey herself felt that if this railroad-meal was a specimen of what they had to expect in the future, they had indeed come to a land of plenty. Fortified with a satisfactory breakfast, she felt equal to a walk, and after they had made sure that Mrs. Ash had all she needed, see in Amy and Mabel, set off by themselves, to see the sights of Dieppe. I don't know that travellers generally have considered Dieppe an interesting place, but Casey found it so. There was a really old church and some quaint buildings of the style of two centuries back, and even the more modern streets had a novel look to her on accustomed eyes. At first they only ventured to timid turner-to, marking each corner and going back now and then to reassure themselves by a look at the station. But after a while, growing bolder, Casey ventured to ask a questioner-to in French, and was surprised and charmed to find herself understood. After that she grew adventurous, and no longer fearful of being lost, led Amy straight down a long street lined with shops, almost all of which were for the sale of articles in Ivory. She wears one of the chief industries of Dieppe. There were cases full, windows full, counters full, of the most exquisite combs and brushes, some with elaborate monograms and silvering colours, others plain. There were boxes and caskets of every size and shape, ornaments, fans, parasol handles, looking-glasses, frames for pictures large and small, napkin-rings. Amy was particularly smitten with a paper-knife in the form of an angel with long, slender wings raised over its head and meeting to form a point. Its price was twenty francs, and she was strongly tempted to buy it for clover or rose-red. But she said to herself sensibly, This is the first shop I have been into, and the first thing I really wanted to buy, and very likely to go on I shall see things I like better and want more. So it would be foolish to do it. No, I won't. And she resolutely turned her back on the Ivory angel and walked away. The next turn brought him to a gay-looking little market place, where old women and white caps were sitting on the ground beside baskets and panniers full of apples, pears, and various queer and curly vegetables, none of which Katie recognised as familiar. Each of all shapes and colours were flapping in shallow tubs of sea water. There were piles of stockings, muffeteers, and comforters in vivid blue and red worsted, and coarse pottery glazed in bright patterns. The faces of the women were brown and wrinkled. There were no pretty ones among them, but their black eyes were full of life and quickness, and their fingers one and all clipped with knitting needles, as their tongues flew equally fast in the chatter and the chaffer, which went on without stop or stay, though customers did not seem to be many, and sales were a few. Returning to the station they found that Mrs. Ash had been asleep during their absence, and seemed so much better that it was with greatly amended spirits that they took their places in the late afternoon train, which was to set them down at Rouen. Katie said there were like the wise men of the east, following a star. In their choice of a hotel, for, having no better advice, they had decided upon one of those thus distinguished in Baderker's guidebook. The star did not betray their confidence, for the hotel de la cloche, to which it led them, proved to be quaint and old and very pleasant of aspect. The lofty chambers where their dimly frescoed ceilings and beds curtained with faded patch might to all appearances have been furnished about the time when Columbus crossed the ocean blue, but everything was clean and had an air of old-time respectability. The dining-room, which is evidently of more modern build, opened into a square core-chart where oleanders and lemon-trees and boxes stood round the basin of a little fountain, whose tinkle and plash blended agreeably with the rattle of the knives and forks. In one corner of the room was a raised and railed platform, where behind the desk sat the mistress of the house, busy with her account-books, but keeping an eye on all that went forward. Mrs. Ash walked past this personage without taking any notice of her, as Americans are wont to do under such circumstances, but presently the observant Katie noticed that everyone else, as they went in or out of the room, addressed a bow or a civil remark to this lady. She quite blushed at the recollection afterward, and she made ready for bed. How rude we must have seemed, she thought. I am afraid the people here think that Americans have awful manners. Everybody is so polite. They said, Ponceoir and Mercien, voulez-vous en avoir la bante? To the waiter is even. Well, there is one thing. I am going to reform. Tomorrow I'll be as polite as anybody. They will think that I am miraculously improved by one night on French soil, but never mind. I am going to do it. She kept her resolution, an astonish Mrs. Ash next morning, by bowing to the dame on the platform in the most winning manner, and saying, Bonjour madame, as they went by. But Katie, who is that person, why do you speak to her? Don't you see that they all do? She's a landlady, I think, at all events everybody bows to her, and just notice how prettily these ladies at the next table speak to the waiter. They do not order them to do things as we do at home. I noticed it last night, and I liked it so much that I made a resolution to get up and be as polite as the French themselves this morning. So all the time they went about the sumptuous old city, rich in carvings and sculptures and traditions, while they were looking at the cathedral and the wonderful church of Saint-O-An, and the Palace of Justice, and the place of the maid, where poor Jean Dark was burned and her ashes scattered to the winds. Katie remembered her manners, and smiled and bowed, and used Courtier's prefixes in a soft, pleasant voice, and as Mrs. Ash and Amy fell in with her example more or less, I think the guides and coachmen and the old women who show them over the buildings felt that the air of France was very civilizing indeed, and that these strangers from savage countries over the sea were in a fair way to be as well-bred as if they had been born in a more favored part of the world. Paris looked very modern after the peculiar quaint richness and air of the Middle Ages which distinguished Rouen. Rooms had been engaged for Mrs. Ash's party in a poncion near the Arc de Toile, and there they drove immediately on arriving. The rooms are not at the poncion itself, but in a house close by.  A maid called Omondine had been detailed to take charge of these rooms and serve their meals. Tampness, as Katie afterwards wrote to Clover, was the first impression they received of gay Paris. The tiny fire and the tiny grate had only just been lighted, and the walls and the sheets and even the blankets felt chilly and moist to the touch. They spent their first evening and hanging the bed-clothes round the grate and piling on fuel. They even set the mattresses up an edge to warm and dry. It was not very enlivening, it must be confessed. Amy had taken a cold. Mrs. Ash looked worried, and Katie thought of Bernard and the safety and comfort of home at a throb of longing. The days that ensued were not brilliant enough to remove this impression. The November fog seemed to have followed them across the channel, and Paris remained enveloped in a wet blanket which dimmed and hid its usually brilliant features. Going about in cabs with the windows drawn up, and now and then making a rush through the drip into shops, was not exactly delightful, but it seemed pretty much all that they could do. It was worse for Amy, whose cold kept her indoors and denied her even the relaxation of the cab. Mrs. Ash had engaged a well-recommended elderly Englishmaid to come every morning and take care of Amy while they were out, and with this respectable functionary, whose ideas were of a rigidly British type, and who did not speak a word of any language but her own, poor Amy was compelled to spend most of her time. Her only consolation was in persuading this serene attendant to take part in the French lessons which she made a daily point of giving to Mabel out of her own little phrase-book. "'Wilkins is getting on, I think,' she told Katie one night. "'She says Biscuit glace quite nicely now. But I never will let her look at the book, though she always wants to. For if once she saw how the words are spelled, she would never in the world pronounce them right again. They look so very different, you know.'  Her rapture when at the end of the long, dull afternoons her mother returned to her was touching. Paris was very teased to poor Amy, but all her happy facility for amusing herself, and Katie felt that the sooner they got away from it the better it would be. So in spite of the delight which her brief glimpses at the Louvre gave her, and the fun it was to go about with Mrs. Ash and Sear by Pretty Things, and the real satisfaction she took in the one perfectly made walking suit to which she had treated herself, she was glad when the final day came, when the belated dressmakers and artisans and jackets and wraps had sent home their last wares, and the trunks were packed. It had been rather the fault of circumstances than of Paris. But Katie had not learned to love the beautiful capital as most Americans do, and did not feel at all as if she wanted that her reward of virtue should be to go there when she died. There must be more interesting places for live people, and ghosts too, to be found on the map of Europe, she was sure. Next morning as they drove slowly down the Champs Elysees and looked back for a last glimpse of the famous arch, a bright object met their eyes, moving vaguely against the mist. It was the gay red wagon of the Bon Marche, carrying bundles home to the dwellers of some Uptown Street. Katie burst out laughing. It's an emblem of Paris, she said. Of our Paris, I mean. It has been all Bon Marche and Fogg. Miss Katie, interrupted Amy, do you like Europe?  Poor little bird, her views of Europe are rather dark just now and no wonder, said a mother. Never mind, darling. You shall have something pleasanter by and by if I can find it for you. Burn it is a great deal pleasanter than Paris, pronounced Amy decidedly. It doesn't keep always raining there, and I can take walks, and I understand everything that people say. All that day they sped southward, and at every hour came a change in the aspect of their surroundings. Now they made brief stops in large busy towns which seemed humming with industry. Now they whirled to grape-countries with miles of vineyards, where the brown leaves still hung on the vines. Then again came glimpses of old Roman runes, amphitheaters, viaducts, of wall or arch, or a sudden chill betokened their approach to mountains, where snowy peaks could be seen on the far horizon. And when the long night ended and day roused them from broken slumbers, behold, the world was made over! Autumn had vanished in the summer, which they thought fled for good, had taken his place. Green woods waved about them, fresh leaves were blowing in the wind, roses and hollyhocks beckoned from white-walled gardens, and before they had done but exclaiming and rejoicing, the Mediterranean shot into view, intensely blue, with white fringes of foam, white sails blowing across, white gulls flying above it, and overall a sky of the same exquisite blue, whose clouds were white as the drifting sails in the water below, and they were at Marseille. It was like a glimpse of paradise to eyes fresh from autumnal grays and glooms, as they sped along the lovely coast, every curve and turn showing new combinations of sea and shore, olive-crowned cliff and shining mountain peak. With every mile the blue became bluer, the wind softer, the feathery verdure more dense and summer-like. The air and can and anteep were passed, and then, as they rounded along-point, came the view of a sun-shiny city lying on a sunlit shore. The train slackened at speed, and they knew that their journey's end was come, and they were in Nice. The place seemed to laugh at gayities they drove down the promenade des Anglais, and passed the English garden, where the band was playing beneath the acacia and palm trees. On one side was a line of bright-windowed hotels and pensions, with balconies and striped awnings, and the other the long reach of yellow sand-beach, where ladies were grouped on shoals and rugs, and children ran up and down in the sun, while beyond stretched the waveless sea. The December sun felt as warm as on a late June day at home, and had the same soft caressing touch. The pavements were thronged with groups of leisurely-looking people, all wearing an unmistakable holiday aspect. Pretty girls in correct Parisian costumes walked demurely beside their mothers, with cavaliers in attendance, and among these young men appeared now and again the well-known uniform of the United States Navy. "'I wonder,' said Mrs. Ash, struck by sudden thought. "'If by any chance our squadron is here.' She asked the question the moment they entered the hotel, and the porter, who prided himself on understanding those English, replied, "'Mais oui, madame, the American fleet it is here. That is not here, but at Ville-Franche, just a little four mile away. It is the same thing exactly.' "'Katey, do you hear that?' cried Mrs. Ash. "'The frigates are here!' And the natchitoches among them, of course, and we shall have Ned to go about to it as everywhere. It is a real piece of good luck for us. Ladies are at such a loss in a place like this, with nobody to escort them. I am perfectly delighted.' "'So am I,' said Katie. I never saw a frigate, and I always wanted to see one.  Then to the porter. Give me a sheet of paper and an envelope, please. I must let Ned know that I am here at once.' Mrs. Ash wrote her note and dispatched it before they went upstairs to take off their bonnets. She seemed to have a half-hope that some bird of the air might carry the news of her arrival to her brother, for she kept running to the window as if in expectation of seeing him. She was too restless to lie down or sleep, and after she and Katie had lunched, proposed that they should go out on the beach for a while. "'Perhaps we may come across Ned,' she remarked.' They did not come across Ned, but there was no lack of other delightful objects to engage their attention. The sands were smooth and hard as a floor. Soft pink lights were beginning to tinge the western sky. To the north shone the peaks of the Maritime Alps, and the same rosy glow caught them here and there, and warmed their grays and whites into colour. "'I wonder what that can be,' said Katie, indicating the rocky point which bounded the beach to the east, where stood a picturesque building of stone, with massive towers and steep pitches of roof. It looks half like a house, and half like a castle, but it's quite fascinating, I think. Do you suppose that people live there?' "'We mad ask,' suggested Mrs. Ash. Just then they came to a shallow river spanned by a bridge, besides whose pebbly bed stood a number of women who seemed to be washing clothes by the simple and primitive process of laying them in the water on top of the stones, and pounding them with a flat wooden paddle till they were white. Katie privately thought that the clothes stood a poor chance of lasting through these cleansing operations. But she did not say so, and made the inquiry which Mrs. Ash had suggested in her best French. "'C'est-là?' answered the old woman whom she had addressed. "'Mais c'est la pension suisse?' "'A pension? What that means a boarding-house?' cried Katie. "'What fun it must be to board there!' "'Well, why shouldn't we board there?' said her friend. "'You know we meant to look for rooms as soon as we were rested, and had found out a little about the place. "'Let us walk on and see what the pension suisse is like. "'If the inside is as pleasant as the outside, we could not do better, I should think. "'Oh, I do hope all the rooms are not already taken,' said Katie, who had fallen in love at first sight with the pension suisse. She felt quite oppressed with anxieties that rang the bell. The pension suisse proved to be quite as charming inside as out. The thick stone walls made deep sills and embrasures for the casement windows, which were furnished with red cushions to serve as seats and lounging places. Every window seemed to command a view, for those which did not look toward the sea looked toward the mountains. The house was by no means full, either. Several sets of rooms were to be had, and Katie felt as if she had walked straight into the pages of a romance when Mrs. Ash engaged for a month a delightful suite of three, a sitting room and two sleeping chambers, in a round tower with a balcony overhanging the water, and a side window from which a flight of steps led down into a little walled garden nestled in among the masonry, where tall lorestinus and lemon trees grew, and orange and brown wall-flowers made the air sweet. Her contentment knew no bounds. "'I'm so glad that I came,' she told Mrs. Ash. "'I never confessed to you before, but sometimes, when we were sick at sea, you know, and when it would rain all the time, and after Amy caught that cold in Paris, I've almost wished, just for a minute or two at a time, that we hadn't. But now I would not have come for the world. This is perfectly delicious. I'm glad, glad, glad we are here, and we are going to have a lovely time, I know.' They were passing out of the rooms into the hall, as she said these words, and two ladies who were walking up across passage turned their heads with the sound of her voice. To her great surprise, Katie recognised Mrs. Page and Lily. "'My cousin Olivia! Is it you?' she cried, springing forward with a cordiality when naturally feels and sings a familiar face in a foreign land. Mrs. Page seemed rather puzzled than cordial. She put up her eyeglass, and did not seem to quite make out who Katie was. "'It's Katie Carmama,' explained Lily. "'Well, Katie, this is a surprise. Who would have thought of meeting you in Nice?' There was a decided absence of rapture in Lily's manner. She was prettier than ever, as Katie saw in a moment, and beautifully dressed in soft brown velvet, which exactly suited her complexion and her pale-coloured wavy hair. "'Katy Carmama? Why, so it is,' admitted Mrs. Page. "'It is a surprise, indeed. We had no idea that you were abroad.' "'What has brought you so far from Tunkert?' "'Burn it, I mean. Who are you with?' "'With my friend Mrs. Ash,' explained Katie, rather chilled by this cool reception. "'Let me to choose you. Mrs. Ash! These are my cousins, Mrs. Page and Miss Page. "'Amy!' "'Wow, where is Amy?' Amy had walked back to the door of the garden staircase, and was standing there looking down upon the flowers. Cousin Olivia bowed rather distantly. Her quick eye took in the details of Mrs. Ash's travelling dress and Katie's dark blue ulster. "'Some contraffat friend from that dreadful western town where they live,' she said to herself. "'How foolish of Philip Carr to try and send his girls to Europe! He can't afford it, I know!' Her voice was rather rigid, as she inquired. "'And what brings you here?' "'To this house, I mean.' "'Oh, we're coming to-morrow to stay. We've taken rooms for a month,' explained Katie. "'What a delicious old place it is!' "'Have you?' said Lily, in a voice which did not express any particular pleasure. "'Why, oh, you're staying here, too!' End of chapter 6, across the channel. Recording by Porick. Chapter 7 Part 1 of What Katie Did Next This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. What Katie Did Next? By Susan Coolidge. Chapter 7 The Pension, Suisse What do you suppose can have brought Katie Carr to Europe? inquired Lily, as she stood in the window, watching the three figures walk slowly down the sands. She is the last person I expected to turn up here. I suppose she was stuck in that horrid place, what is the name of it, where they live, for the rest of her life. I confess I am surprised at meeting her myself, rejoined Mrs. Page. I had no idea that her father could afford so expensive a journey. And who is that woman that she has got along with her? I have no idea—some Western friend, I suppose. "'Dear me, I wish they were going to some other house than this,' said Lily, discontentedly. If they were at the Rivevoir, for instance, or one of those places at the far end of the beach, we shouldn't need to see anything of them, or even know that they were in town.  Katie will be hanging on us all the time, I'm afraid." Oh, my dear, there is no fear of that. A little repression on our part will prevent her from being any trouble. I'm quite certain, but we must treat her politely, you know, Lily, her father is my cousin. That's the saddest part of it. Well, there's one thing. I shall not take her with me every time we go to the frigates," said Lily, decisively. I am not going to inflict a country cousin on Lieutenant Worthington, and spoil all my own fun besides, so I give you fair warning, Le Mans, and you must manage it somehow. Certainly, dear, I will. It would be a great pity to have your visit to Nice spoiled in any way, with the squadron here too, and that pleasant Mr. Worthington, so very attentive. Unconscious of these plans for her suppression, Katie walked back to the hotel in a mood of pensive pleasure. Europe at last promised to be as delightful as it had seemed when she only knew it from maps and books, and Nice so far appeared to her the most charming place in the world. Somebody was waiting for them at the Hotel des Anglées, a tall, bronzed, good-looking somebody in uniform, with pleasant brown eyes beaming from beneath the gold-banded cap, at the side of whom Amy rushed forward with her long locks flying, and Mrs. Ash uttered an exclamation of pleasure. It was Ned Worthington, Mrs. Ash's only brother, whom she had not met for two years and a half, and you can easily imagine how glad she was to see him. "'You got my note, then,' she said, after the first eager greetings were over, and she had introduced him to Katie. "'Note? No. Did you write me a note?' "'Yes, to Ville-les-Franches.' To the ship, I shan't get that till to-morrow. "'No, finding out that you were here is just a bit of good fortune. I came to call on some friends who are staying down the beach a little way, and dropping in to look over the list of arrivals, as I generally do. I saw your names, and the porter not being able to say which way you had gone, I waited for you to come in. "'We have been looking at such a delightful old place, the Pension Suisse, and have taken rooms.' "'The Pension Suisse, eh? Well, that's where I was going to call. I know some people who are staying there. It seems a pleasant house. I'm glad you are going there, Polly. It's first-rate luck that the ships happen to be here just now. I can see you every day.' "'But Ned, surely you are not leaving me so soon. Surely you will stay and dine with us,' urged his sister as he took up his cap. "'I wish I could, but I can't tonight, Polly. You see, I had engaged to take some ladies out to drive, and they will expect me. I had no idea that you would be here, or I should have kept myself free, apologetically. Tomorrow I will come over early, and be at your service for whatever you like to do. "'That's right, dear boy, we shall expect you.' Then the moment he was gone, now, Katie, isn't he nice?' "'Very nice, I should think,' said Katie, who had watched the brief interview with interest. I like his face so much, and how fond he is of you.' "'Dear fellow, so he is. I am seven years older than he, but we have always been intimate. Brothers and sisters are not always intimate, you know, or perhaps you don't know, for all of yours are.' "'Yes, indeed,' said Katie, with a happy smile, there is nobody like Clover and Elsie, except perhaps Johnny and Dory and Phil,' she added with a laugh. The remove to the pensions-suisse was made early the next morning. This page and Lily did not appear to welcome them. Katie rather rejoiced in their absence, for she wanted the chance to get into order without interruptions. There was something comfortable in the thought that they were to stay a whole month in these new quarters, for so long a time it seemed worthwhile to make them pretty and home-like. So, while Mrs. Ash unpacked her own belongings and Amy's, Katie, who had a natural turn for arranging rooms, took possession of the little parlor, pulled the furniture into new positions, laid out portfolios and work cases and their few books, pinned various photographs which they had bought in Oxford and London on the walls, and tied back the curtains to admit the sunshine.  The maid, by her orders, laid a fire of wood and pine-cones ready for lighting, and when all was done she called Mrs. Ash to pronounce upon the effect. "'It is lovely,' she said, sinking into a great velvet arm-chair which Katie had drawn close to the seaward window. "'I haven't seen anything so pleasant since we left home.  I am so glad I brought you. Now pray go and unpack your own things, and make yourself look nice for the second breakfast. We have been a shabby set enough since we arrived. I saw those cousins of yours looking as scants at our old travelling dresses yesterday. Let us try to make a more respectable impression to-day.' So they went down to breakfast, Mrs. Ash in one of her new Paris gowns, Katie in a pretty dress of olive surge, and Amy all smiles and ruffled pinafore, walking hand-in-hand with her uncle Ned, who had just arrived and whose great ally she was, and Mrs. Page and Lily, who were already seated at table, had much adieu to conceal their somewhat unflattering surprise at the conjunction. For one moment Lily's eyes opened into a wide stare of incredulous astonishment. Then she remembered herself, nodded as pleasantly as she could to Mrs. Ash and Katie, and favoured Lieutenant Worthington with a pretty blushing smile as he went by while she murmured, ''Mama, do you see that? What does it mean?' ''Why Ned, do you know those people?'' asked Mrs. Ash at the same moment. ''Do you know them?' ''Yes, we met yesterday. They are connections of my friend Miss Carr.' ''Really? There is not the least family likeness between them. And Mr. Worthington's eyes travelled deliberately from Lily's delicate, golden prettiness to Katie, who, truth to say, did not shine by the contrast. She has a nice sensible sort of face, he thought, and she looks like a lady, but for beauty there is no comparison between the two. Then he turned to listen to his sister as she replied, ''No indeed, not the least, no two girls could be less like!'' Mrs. Ash had made the same comparison, but with quite a different result. Katie's face was grown dear to her, and she had not taken the smallest fancy to Lily Page. Her relationship to the young naval officer, however, made a wonderful difference in the attitude of Mrs. Page and Lily toward the party. Katie became a person to be cultivated rather than repressed, and henceforward there was no lack of cordiality on their part. ''I want to come and have a good talk,'' said Lily, slipping her arm through Katie's as they left the dining-room. ''May and I come now, while Mama is calling on Mrs. Ash?'' This arrangement brought her to the side of Lieutenant Worthington, and she walked between him and Katie down the hall and into the little drawing-room. ''Oh, how perfectly charming! You have been fixing up ever since you came, haven't you? It looks like home. I wish we had a salon, but Mama thought it wasn't worth while, as we were only to be here such a little time.  May I go out on it? Oh, Mr. Worthington, do see this!'' She pushed open the half-closed window and stepped out as she spoke. Mr. Worthington, after hesitating a moment, followed. Katie paused uncertain. There was hardly room for three in the balcony, yet she did not quite like to leave them. But Lily had turned her back, and was talking in a low tone. It was nothing more in reality than the lightest chit-chat, but it had the air of being something confidential. So Katie, after waiting a little while, retreated to the sofa, and took up her work, joining now and then in the conversation which Mrs. Ash was keeping up with Cousin Olivia. She did not mind Lily's ill-breeding, nor was she surprised at it. Mrs. Ash was less tolerant. Isn't it rather damp out there, Ned? She called to her brother. You had better throw my shawl around Miss Page's shoulders. Oh, it isn't a bit damp, said Lily, recalled to herself by this broad hint. Thank you so much for thinking of it, Mrs. Ash, but I am just coming in. She seated herself beside Katie, and began to question her rather languidly. When did you leave home, and how were they all when you came away? No, well, thank you. We sailed from Boston on the 14th of October, and before that I spent two days with Rose Red. You remember her? She is married now, and has the dearest little home, and such a darling baby. Yes, I heard of her marriage. It didn't seem much of a match for Mr. Redding's daughter to make, did it? I never supposed she would be satisfied with anything less than a member of Congress, or a secretary of legation. Rose isn't particularly ambitious, I think, and she seems perfectly happy," replied Katie, flushing.  You and Clover always did adore Rose Red, I know, but I never could see what there was about her that was so wonderfully fastened. She never had the least style, and she was always just as rude to me as she could be. You were not intimate at school, but I am sure Rose was never rude, said Katie, with spirit. Well, we won't fight about her at this late day. Tell me where you have been and where you are going, and how long you are to stay in Europe." Katie, glad to change the subject, complied, and the conversation diverged into comparison of plans and experiences. Lily had been in Europe nearly a year, and had seen almost everything, as she phrased it. She and her mother had spent the previous winter in Italy, had taken a run into Russia, Dunn, Switzerland, and the Tyrol thoroughly, and France and Germany, and were soon going into Spain, from there to Paris, to shop, in preparation for their return home in the spring. Of course we shall want quantities of things, she said. No one will believe that we have been abroad unless we bring home a lot of clothes. The lingerie and all that is ordered already, but the dresses must be made at the last moment, and we shall have a horrid time of it, I suppose. Moth has promised to make me two walking-suits and two ball-dresses, but he's very bad about keeping his word. Did you do much when you were in Paris, Katie? We went to the Louvre three times, and to their sigh in St. Cloud," said Katie, willfully misunderstanding her. Oh!  I meant gowns. What did you buy? One tailor-maid suit of dark blue cloth. My! What moderation! Everything played a large part in Lily's reminiscences. She recollected places, not from their situation, or beauty, or historical associations, or because of the works of art which they contained, but as the places where she bought this or that. Oh! That dear Piazza di Spagna, she would say, that was where I found my rococo necklace, the loveliest thing you ever saw, Katie. Or, Prague, oh yes, mother got the most enchanting old silver chateleon there, with all kinds of things hanging to it, needle cases and watches and scent bottles, all solid and so beautifully chased. Or again, Berlin was horrid, we thought, but the amber is better and cheaper than anywhere else, great strings of beads of the largest size and that beautiful pale yellow for a hundred francs. You must get yourself one, Katie. Poor Lily! Europe to her was all things. She had collected trunks full of objects to carry home, but of the other collections which do not go into trunks, she had little or none. Her mind was as empty, her heart as untouched as ever. The beauty and the glory and the pathos of art and history and nature had been poured out in vain before her closed and indifferent eyes. Life soon dropped into a peaceful routine at the Pension Suisse, which was at the same time restful and stimulating. Katie's first act in the morning, as soon as she opened her eyes, was to hurry to the window in hopes of getting a glimpse of Corsica. She had discovered that this elusive island could almost always be seen from Nice at the dawning, but that as soon as the sun was fairly up, it vanished to appear no more for the rest of the day. There was something fascinating to her imagination in the hovering mountain outline between sea and sky. She felt as if she were under an engagement to be there to meet it, and she rarely missed the appointment. Then after Corsica had pulled the bright mists over its face and melted from view, she would hurry with her dressing, and as soon as was practicable, set to work to make the salon look bright before the coffee and rolls should appear, a little after eight o'clock. Mrs. Ash always found the fire-lit, the little meal cosily set out beside it, and Katie's happy, untroubled face to welcome her when she emerged from her room, and the cheer of these morning repasts made a good beginning for the day. Then came walking and a French lesson, and a long sitting on the beach, while Katie worked at her home-letters, and Amy raced up and down in the sun, and then toward noon Lieutenant Ned generally appeared, and some scheme of pleasure was set on foot. Mrs. Ash ignored his evident penchant for Lily Page, and claimed his time and attention as hers by right. Young Worthington was a good deal taken with the pretty Lily. Still, he had an old-time devotion for his sister, and the habit of doing what she desired, and he yielded to her behests with no audible objections. He made a forth in the carriage when they drove over the lovely hills which encircle Nice toward the north, to Simier and the Valle Saint-Honoré, or down the coast toward Ventimiglia. He went with them to Monte Carlo and Mentone, and was their escort again and again when they visited the great warships as they lay at anchor in a bay which in its translucent blue was like an enormous sapphire. Mrs. Page and her daughter were included in these parties more than once, but there was something in Mrs. Ash's cool appropriation of her brother which was infinitely vexatious to Lily, who, before her arrival, had rather looked upon Lieutenant Worthington as her own a special property. I wish that Mrs. Ash had stayed at home, she told her mother, she quite spoils everything. Mr. Worthington isn't half so nice as he was before she came. I too believe she has a plan for making him fall in love with Katie. But there she makes amiss of it, for he doesn't seem to care anything about her. Katie is a nice girl enough, pronounced her mother, but not of the sort to attract a gay young man I shouldn't fancy. I don't believe she is thinking of any such thing. You needn't be afraid, Lily. I'm not afraid," said Lily, with a pout, only it's so provoking. Mrs. Page was quite right. Katie was not thinking of any such thing. She liked Ned Worthington's frank manners. She owned, quite honestly, that she thought him handsome, and she particularly admired the sort of deferential affection which he showed to Mrs. Ash, and his nice ways with Amy. For herself she was aware that he scarcely noticed her except as politeness demanded that he should be civil to his sister's friend, but the knowledge did not trouble her particularly. Her head was full of interesting things, plans, ideas. She was not accustomed to being made the object of admiration and experienced none of the vexations of a neglected bell. If Lieutenant Worthington happened to talk to her, she responded frankly and freely. If he did not, she occupied herself with something else. In either case she was quite unembarrassed both in feeling and manner, and had none of the awkwardness which comes from disappointed vanity and baffled expectations, and the need for concealing them. CHAPTER 7 PART II Toward the close of December the officers of the flagship gave a ball, which was the great event of the season to the gay world of Nice. Americans were naturally in the ascendant on an American frigate, and of all the American girls present, Lily Page was unquestionably the prettiest, exquisitely dressed in white lace, with bands of turquoise's on her neck and arms, and in her hair. She had more partners than she knew what to do with, more bouquets than she could well carry, and compliments enough to turn any girl's head. Thrown off her guard by her triumphs, she indulged a little vindictive feeling which had been growing in her mind of late, on account of what she chose to consider certain derelictions of duty on the part of Lieutenant Worthington, and treated him to a taste of neglect. She was engaged three deep when he asked her to dance. She did not hear when he invited her to walk. She turned a cold shoulder when he tried to talk, and seemed absorbed by the other Cavaliers, naval and otherwise, who crowded about her. Picked and surprised, Ned Worthington turned to Katie. She did not dance, saying frankly that she did not know how and was too tall, and she was rather simply dressed in the pearl-gray silk, which had been her best gown the winter before in Bernay, with a bunch of red roses in the white lace of the Tucker, and another in her hand, both the gifts of little Amy. But she looked pleasant and serene, and there was something about her which somehow soothed his disturbed mind as he offered her his arm for a walk on the decks. For a while they said little, and Katie was quite content to pace up and down in silence, enjoying the really beautiful scene, the moonlight on the bay, the deep wavering reflections of the dark holes and slender spars, the fairy effect of the colored lamps and lanterns, and the brilliant moving maze of the dancers. Do you care for this sort of thing? He suddenly asked. What sort of thing do you mean? Oh, all this digging and waltzing and amusement. I don't know how to dig, but it's delightful to look on, she answered merely. I never saw anything so pretty in my life. The happy tone of her voice and the unruffled face which she turned upon him quieted his irritation. I really believe you mean it, he said, and yet, if you won't think me rude to say so, most girls would consider the thing dull enough if they were only getting out of it what you are, if they were not dancing, I mean, and nobody in particular was trying to entertain them. But everything is being done to entertain me, cried Katie. I can't imagine what makes you think that it could seem dull. I am in it all, don't you see? I have my share.  I can't make you understand. Yes, you do. I understand perfectly, I think. Only, it is such a different point of view from what girls in general would take. My girls, he meant Lily. Please do not think me uncivil. You are not uncivil at all. But don't let us talk any more about me. Look at the lights between the shadows of the masts on the water. How they quiver. I never saw anything so beautiful, I think. And how warm it is. I can't believe that we are in December and that it is nearly Christmas. How is Polly going to celebrate her Christmas, have you decided? Amy is to have a Christmas tree for her dolls, and two other dolls are coming. We went out this morning to buy things for it. Tiny little toys and candles fit for Lily put. And that reminds me. Do you suppose one can get any Christmas greens here? Why not? The place seems full of green. That's just it. The summer look makes it unnatural. But I should like some to dress the parlor with if they could be had. I'll see what I can find and send you a load. I don't know why this very simple little talk should have made an impression on the attendant Worthington's mind. But somehow he did not forget it. Don't let us talk any more about me, he said to himself that night when alone in his cabin. I wonder how long it could be before the other one did anything to divert the talk from herself. Sometime I fancy. He smiled rather grimly as he unbuckled his sword belt. It is unlucky for a girl when she starts a train of reflection like this. Lily's little attempt to pick her admirer had somehow missed its mark. The next afternoon, Katie, in her favorite place on the beach, was at work on the long weekly letter which she never failed to send home to Bernay. She held her portfolio in her lap, and her pen ran rapidly over the paper, as rapidly almost as her tongue would have run could her correspondence have been brought nearer. Nice, December 22nd. Dear Papa and everybody, Amy and I are sitting on my old purple cloak which is spread over the sand just where it was spread the last time I wrote you. We are playing the following game. I am a fairy, and she is a little girl. Another fairy, not sitting on the cloak at present, has enchanted the little girl, and I am telling her various ways by which she can work out her deliverance. At present, the task is to find 24 dull red pebbles of the same color, failing to do which she is to be changed into an owl. When we began to play, I was the wicked fairy, but Amy objected to that, because I am so nice, so we changed the characters. I wish I could see the glee in her pretty gray eyes over this infantile game, into which she has thrown herself so thoroughly that she have believed in it. But I needn't really be changed into an owl, she says, with a good deal of anxiety in her voice. To think that you are shivering in the first snowstorm or sending the children out with their sleds and India rubbers to slide, how I wish instead that you are sharing the purple cloak with Amy and me and could sit all this warm balmy afternoon close to the surfline which fringes this bluest of blue seas. There is plenty of room for you all. Not many people come down to this end of the beach, and if you were very good, we would let you play. Our life here goes on as delightfully as ever. Nice is very full of people, and there seem to be some pleasant ones among them. Here, at the Pension Suisse, we do not see a great many Americans. The fellow-warders are principally Germans and Austrians with a sprinkling of French. Amy has found her 24 red pebbles, so she's let off from being an owl. She is now engaged in throwing them one by one into the sea. Each must hit the water under penalty of her being turned into a Muscovy duck. She doesn't know exactly what a Muscovy duck is, which makes her all the more particular about her shots. But, as I was saying, our little suite in the round tower is so on one side of the rest of the Pension that it is as good as having a house of our own. The salon is very bright and sunny. We have two sofas and a square table and a round table and a sort of what-not and two easy chairs and two uneasy chairs and a lamp of our own and a clock. There's also a sofa pillow. There's richness for you. We have pinned up all our photographs on the walls, including papas and clovis and that bad one of Phil and Johnny making faces at each other and three lovely red and yellow Japanese pictures on muslin, which rose red put in my trunk, the last thing, for a spot of color. There are some autumn leaves, too. And we always have flowers. And in the mornings and evenings, a fire. Amy's now finding 50 snow-white pebbles, which, when found, are to be interred in one common grave among the shingle. If she fails to do this, she has to be changed to an electrical eel. The chief difficulty is that she loses her heart to particular pebbles. I can't bury you, I hear her saying. To return, we have jolly little breakfast together in the salon. They consist of coffee and rolls, and are served by a droll, snappish little garçon, with no teeth, and an Italian French patois, which is very hard to understand when he sputters. He told me the other day that he had been a garçon for 46 years, which seemed rather long boyhood. The company, as we meet them at table, are rather entertaining. Cousin Olivia and Lily are on their best behavior to me, because I am traveling with Mrs. Ash, and Mrs. Ash is Lieutenant Worthington's sister, and Lieutenant Worthington is Lily's admirer, and they like him very much. In fact, Lily has intimated, confidentially, that she is all but engaged to him. But I'm not sure about it, or if that was what she meant, and I fear, if it proves true, that dear Polly will not like it at all. She is quite unmanageable, and snubs Lily continually in a polite way, which makes me fidgety for fear Lily will be offended, but she never seems to notice it. Cousin Olivia looks very handsome and gorgeous. She quite takes the color out of the little Russian Countess who sits next to her, and who is as dowdy and meek as if she came from Akron, or Binghamton, or any other place where Countesses are unknown. Then there are two charming, well-bred young Austrians. The one who sits nearest to me is a candidate for a doctorate of laws, and speaks eight languages well. He has only studied English for the past six weeks, but has made wonderful progress. I wish my French were half as good as his English is already. There is a very gossiping young woman on the story Beneath Ours, whom I meet sometimes in the garden, and from her I hear all manner of romantic tales about people in the house. One little French girl is dying of consumption and a broken heart because of a quarrel with her lover, who is a courier. And the patrona, who is young and pretty, and has only been married a few months to our elderly landlord, has a story also. I forget some of the details, but there was a stern parent, an admirer, and a cup of cold poison, and now she says she wishes she were dying of consumption like poor Alphanson. For all that she looks quite fat and rosy, and I often see her in her best gown with a great deal of Roman scarf and mosaic jewelry stationed in the doorway, making the pension look attractive to the pastor's buy. So she has a sense of duty, though she's unhappy. Amy has buried all her pebbles, and says she's tired of playing with her fury. She's now sitting with her head on my shoulder and professedly studying her French verb for tomorrow. But in reality, I'm sorry to say, she's conversing with me about beheadings, a subject which, since her visit to the tower, has exercised a horrible fascination over her mind. Two people die right away, she asks. Don't they feel one minute, and doesn't it feel awfully? It's a good deal of blood, she supposes, because there was so much straw laid about the block in the picture of Lady Jane Gray's execution, which enlivened our walls in Paris.  Speaking of Paris seems to renew the sense of fog which we had there. Oh, how enchanting sunshine is after weeks of gloom! I shall never forget how the Midsteranian looked when we saw it first, all blue and such a lovely color. They're odd, according to Morse's atlas, to have been a big red letter T on the water about where we were, but I didn't see any. Perhaps they latter it so far out from shore that only people in boats notice it. Now the dusk is fading, and the odd chill which hides under these warm afternoons begins to be felt. Amy has received a message written on a mysterious white pebble to the effect. Katie was interrupted at this point by a crunching step on the gravele behind her. Good afternoon, said a voice. Polly has sent me to fetch you and Amy in. She says it is growing cool. We were just coming, said Katie, beginning to put away her papers. Ned Worthington sat down on the cloak beside her. The distance was now steel gray against the sky. Then came a stripe of violet, and then a broad sheet of the vivid iridescent blue which one sees on the necks of peacocks, which again melted into the long line of flashing surf. See that go, he said, how it drops plumb into the sea, if bound to go through to China. Mrs. Hawthorne calls Skylark's little raptures, replied Katie. Seagull seemed to me like grown-up raptures. Are you going? Sadly attended Worthington in a tone of surprise as she rose. Didn't you say that Polly wanted us to come in? Well, yes, but it seems too good to leave, doesn't it? Oh, by the way, Miss Carr, I came across a man today and ordered your greens. They will be sent on Christmas Eve. Is that right? Quite right, and we are ever so much obliged to you. She turned for a last look at the sea, and, unseen by Ned Worthington, formed her lips into a good night. Katie had made great friends with the Mediterranean. The promised greens appeared on the afternoon before Christmas in the shape of an enormous faggot of laurel and loristinus and holly and box. Orange and lemon boughs with ripe fruit hanging from them, thick ivy tendrils whole yards long, herbudus, pepper tree, and great branches of acacia covered with feathery yellow bloom. The man apologized for bringing so little. The gentleman had ordered two Franks worth, he said, but this was all he could carry. He would fetch some more if the young lady wished. But Katie, exclaiming with delight over her wealth, wished no more. So the man departed, and the three friends proceeded to turn their little salon into a fairy-bower. Every photograph and picture was wrathed in ivy. Long garlands hung on either side the windows, and the chimney-piece and door frames became clustering banks of leaf and blossom. A great box of flowers had come with the greens, and bowls of fresh roses and heliotrope and carnations were set everywhere. Violets and prim roses, gold-hearted brown auriculas, spikes of eronica, all the zones and all the seasons, combining to make the Christmas tide sweet, and to turn winter topsy-turvy in the little parlor. Mabel and Mary Matilda, with their two doll visitors, sat gravely round the table in the laps of their little mistresses, and Katie, putting on an apron and an improvised cab, and speaking Irish very fast, served them with a repast of rolls and cocoa, raspberry jam, and delicious little almond cakes. The fun walked fast and furious, and Lieutenant Worthington, coming in with his hands full of parcels for the Christmas tree, was just in time to hear Katie remark in a strong, county-carry brogue. Ah, then indeed, Miss Amy, and it's no more cake you'll be getting out of me tonight.  Oh, Miss Katie, talk Irish some more! cried the delighted children. Is it Irish should be after having me talk when it's me own language, and sorrow a bit of another, do I know? demanded Katie. Then she got sight of the new arrival, and stopped short with a blush and a laugh. Come in, Mr. Worthington, she said. You're at supper, as you see, and I am acting as waitress. Oh, Uncle Ned, please go away, pleaded Amy. Or Katie will be polite and not talk Irish any more. And dade, and the less you say about politeness the better, when you're after ordering the gentleman out of the room in their fashion, said the waitress. Then she pulled off her cap and untied her apron. Now for the Christmas tree, she said. It was a very little tree, but it bore some remarkable fruits, for in addition to the tiny toys and candles fit for Lilliput, various parcels were found to have been hastily added at the last moment for various people. The Natchitoches had lately come from the Leavan, and the lightful Oriental confections now appeared for Amy and Mrs. Ash, Turkish slippers, all golden broidery, towels with richly decorated ends in silks and tinsel, all the pretty superfluities which the east holds out to charm gold from the pockets of her western visitors. A pretty little dagger in agate and silver fell to Katie's share, out of what Lieutenant Burthington called his loot, and beside a most beautiful specimen of the inlaid work for which Nice is famous, a looking glass with a stand and little doors to close it in, which was a present from Mrs. Ash. It was quite unlike a Christmas eve at home, but altogether delightful. And as Katie sat next morning on the sand, after the service in the English church, to finish her home letter, and felt the sun warm on her cheek, and the perfumed air blow past as softly as in June, she had to remind herself that Christmas is not necessarily synonymous with snow and winter, but means the great central heat and warmth, the advent of him who came to lighten the whole earth. A few days after this pleasant Christmas, they left Nice. All of them felt a reluctance to move, and Amy loudly bewailed the necessity. If I could stay here till it is time to go home, I shouldn't be homesick at all, she declared. But what a pity it would be not to see Italy, said her mother. Think of Naples and Rome and Venice. I don't want to think about them. It makes me feel as if I was studying a great long geography lesson, and it tires me so to learn it. Amy, dear, you're not well. Yes, I am, quite well. Only, I don't want to go away from Nice. You only have to learn a little bit at a time of your geography lesson, you know, suggested Katie, and it's a great deal nicer way to study than out of a book. But though she spoke cheerfully, she was conscious that she shared Amy's reluctance. It's all laziness, she told herself. Nice has been so pleasant that it has spoiled me. It was a consolation, and made going easier, that they were to drive over the famous Cornus Road, as far as San Remo, instead of going to Genoa by rail, as most travelers nowadays do. They departed from the Pension Suisse, early on an exquisite morning, fair and balmy as June, but with a little zest and sparkle of coolness in the air, which made it additionally delightful. The Mediterranean was of the deepest violet blue. A sort of bloom of color seemed to lie upon it. The sky was like an arch of turquoise. Every cape and headland shone jewel-like in the golden sunshine. The carriage, as it followed the windings of the road cut shelf-like on the cliffs, seemed poised between earth and heaven. The sea below, the mountain summits above, with a fairy world of verger between. The journey was like a dream of enchantment, and rapidly changing surprises. And when it ended in a quaint hostelory at San Remo, with palm trees feathering the Borde Gheira Point in Corsica, for one scene by day, lying in bold, clear outlines against the sunset, Katie had to admit to herself that niece, much as she loved it, was not the only, not even the most beautiful place in Europe. Already she felt her horizon growing, her convictions changing, and who should say what lay beyond. The next day brought them to Genoa, to a hotel, once the stately palace of an archbishop, where they were lodged, all three together, in an enormous room, so high and broad and long, that their three little curtain-beds sat behind a screen of carved wood, made no impression on the space. There were not less than four sofas, and double that number of armchairs in the room, besides a couple of monumental wardrobes. But, as Katie remarked, several grand pianos could still have been moved in without anybody's feeling crowded. On one side of them lay the port of Genoa, filled with craft from all parts of the world, and flying the flags of a dozen different nations. From the other they caught glimpses of the magnificent old city, rising entire over tire of churches and palaces and gardens, while nearer still were narrow streets, which glittered with gold filigree in the shops of jewel-workers. And while they went in and out, and gazed and wondered, Lily Page, at the Pension Suisse, was saying, I'm so glad that Katie and that Mrs. Ash are gone. Nothing has been so pleasant since they came.  But now that we have got rid of them, it will all come right again. I really don't think that Katie was to blame, said Mrs. Page. She never seemed to me to be making any effort to attract him. Oh, Katie is sly, responded Lily vindictively. She never seems to do anything. But somehow, she always gets her own way. I suppose she thought I didn't see her keeping him down there on the beach the other day, when he was coming in to call on us. But I did. It was just out of spite, and because she wanted to vex me, I know it was. Well, dear, she's gone now, and you won't be worried with her again, said her mother soothingly. Don't pout so, Lily, and wrinkle up your forehead. It's very unbecoming. Yes, she's gone, snapped Lily, and as she's bound for the east and we for the west, we are not likely to meet again, for which I am devoutly thankful.