The black bottle was solemnly set in the midst, and the cookies were handed about by Johnnie, who was now all smiles. The cookies had scalloped edges and caraway seeds inside, and were very nice. There were two apiece; and as the last was finished, Katy put her hand in her pocket, and, amid great applause, produced the crowning addition to the repast – seven long, brown sticks of cinnamon.

‘Isn’t it fun?’ she said. ‘Debby was very good-natured to-day, and let me put my own hand into the box, so I picked out the longest sticks there were. Now, Cecy, as you’re company, you shall have the first drink out of the bottle.’

The ‘something delicious’ proved to be weak vinegar-and-water. It was quite warm, but somehow, drunk up there in the loft, and out of a bottle, it tasted very nice. Besides, they didn’t call it vinegar-and-water – of course not! Each child gave his or her swallow a different name, as if the bottle were like Signor Blitz’s and could pour out a dozen things at once. Clover called her share ‘Raspberry Shrub’, Dorry christened his ‘Ginger Pop’, while Cecy, who was romantic, took her three sips under the name of ‘Hydomel’, which she explained was something nice, made, she believed, of bees’-wax. The last drop gone, and the last bit of cinnamon crunched, the company came to order again, for the purpose of hearing Philly repeat his one piece:

‘Little drops of water’,

which exciting poem he had said every Saturday as far back as they could remember. After that Katy declared the literary part of the ‘Feet’ over, and they all fell to playing ‘Stage-coach’, which, in spite of close quarters and an occasional bump from the roof, was such good fun that a general ‘Oh, dear!’ welcomed the ringing of the tea-bell. I suppose cookies and vinegar had taken away their appetites, for none of them were hungry, and Dorry astonished Aunt Izzie very much by eyeing the table in a disgusted way, and saying: ‘Pshaw! only plum sweetmeats and sponge cake and hot biscuit! I don’t want any supper.’

‘What ails the child? he must be sick,’ said Dr Carr; but Katy explained:

‘Oh, no, Papa, it isn’t that – only we’ve been having a feast in the loft.’

‘Did you have a good time?’ asked papa, while Aunt Izzie gave a dissatisfied groan. And all the children answered at once: ‘Splendiferous!’

6

Intimate Friends

‘Aunt Izzie, may I ask Imogen Clark to spend the day here on Saturday?’ cried Katy, bursting in one afternoon.

‘Who on earth is Imogen Clark? I never heard the name before,’ replied her aunt.

‘Oh, the loveliest girl! She has been going to Mrs Knight’s school only a little while, but we’re the greatest friends. And she’s perfectly beautiful, Aunt Izzie. Her hands are just as white as snow, and no bigger than that. She’s got the littlest waist of any girl in school, and she’s so sweet, and so self-denying and unselfish! I don’t believe she has a bit good times at home, either. Do let me ask her!’

‘How do you know she’s so sweet and self-denying, if you’ve known her such a short time?’ asked Aunt Izzie, in an unpromising tone.

‘Oh, she tells me everything! We always walk together at recess now. I know all about her, and she’s just lovely! Her father used to be very rich, but they’re poor now, and Imogen had to have her boots patched twice last winter. I think she’s the flower of her family. You can’t think how I love her!’ concluded Katy, sentimentally.

‘No, I can’t,’ said Aunt Izzie. ‘I never could see into these sudden friendships of yours, Katy, and I’d rather you wouldn’t invite this Imogen, or whatever her name is, till I’ve had a chance to ask somebody about her.’

Katy clasped her hands in despair. ‘Oh, Aunt Izzie!’ she cried, ‘Imogen knows that I came in to ask you, and she’s standing at the gate at this moment, waiting to hear what you say. Please let me, just this once! I shall be so dreadfully ashamed not to.’

‘Well,’ said Miss Izzie, moved by the wretchedness of Katy’s face, ‘if you’ve asked her already, it’s no use my saying no, I suppose. But recollect, Katy, this is not to happen again. I can’t have you inviting girls, and then coming for my leave. Your father won’t be at all pleased. He’s very particular about whom you make friends with. Remember how Mrs Spenser turned out.’

Poor Katy! Her propensity to fall violently in love with new people was always getting her into scrapes. Ever since she began to walk and talk, ‘Katy’s intimate friends’ had been one of the jokes of the household.

Papa once undertook to keep a list of them, but the number grew so great that he gave it up in despair. First on the list was a small Irish child, named Marianne O’Riley. Marianne lived in a street which Katy passed on her way to school.