The romance of the closed door and the lady whom nobody saw, interested her very much. She used to stop and stare at the windows, and wonder what was going on inside, till at last it seemed as if she must know. So one day she took some flowers and Victoria, her favourite doll, and boldly marched into Spenser’s yard.

She tapped at the front door, but nobody answered. Then she tapped again. Still nobody answered. She tried the door. It was locked. So shouldering Victoria, she trudged round to the back of the house. As she passed the side-door, she saw that it was open a little way. She knocked for the third time, and as no one came, she went in, and passing through the little hall, began to tap at all the inside doors.

There seemed to be no people in the house. Katy peeped into the kitchen first. It was bare and forlorn. All sorts of dishes were standing about. There was no fire in the stove. The parlour was not much better. Mr Spenser’s boots lay in the middle of the floor. There were dirty glasses on the table. On the mantel-piece was a platter with bones of meat upon it. Dust lay thick over everything, and the whole house looked as if it hadn’t been lived in for at least a year.

Katy tried several other doors, all of which were locked, and then she went upstairs. As she stood on the top step, grasping her flowers, and a little doubtful what to do next, a feeble voice from a bedroom called out:

‘Who is there?’

This was Mrs Spenser. She was lying on her bed, which was very tossed and tumbled, as if it hadn’t been made up that morning. The room was as disorderly and dirty as all the rest of the house, and Mrs Spenser’s wrapper and night-cap were by no means clean, but her face was sweet, and she had beautiful curling hair, which fell over the pillow. She was evidently very ill, and altogether Katy felt sorrier for her than she had ever done for anybody in her life.

‘Who are you, child?’ asked Mrs Spenser.

‘I’m Dr Carr’s little girl,’ answered Katy, going straight up to the bed. ‘I came to bring you some flowers.’ And she laid the bouquet on the dirty sheet.

Mrs Spenser seemed to like the flowers. She took them up and smelled them for a long time, without speaking.

‘But how did you get in?’ she said at last.

‘The door was open,’ faltered Katy, who was beginning to feel scared at her own daring, ‘and they said you were ill, so I thought perhaps you would like me to come and see you.’

‘You are a kind little girl,’ said Mrs Spenser, and gave her a kiss.

After this Katy used to go every day. Sometimes Mrs Spenser would be up and moving feebly about; but more often she was in bed, and Katy would sit beside her. The house never looked a bit better than it did that first day, but after a while Katy used to brush Mrs Spenser’s hair, and wash her face with the corner of a towel.

I think her visits were a comfort to the poor lady, who was very ill and lonely. Sometimes, when she felt pretty well, she would tell Katy stories about the time when she was a little girl and lived at home with her father and mother. But she never spoke of Mr Spenser, and Katy never saw him except once, when she was so frightened that for several days she dared not go near the house. At last Cecy reported that she had seen him go off in the stage with his carpet-bag, so Katy ventured in again.