Chương Chương 3 · THE DAY OF SCRAPES

. THE DAY OF SCRAPES

Mrs. Knight's school, to which Katy and Clover and Cecy went, stood

quite at the other end of the town from Dr. Carr's. It was a low,

one-story building and had a yard behind it, in which the girls played

at recess. Unfortunately, next door to it was Miss Miller's school,

equally large and popular, and with a yard behind it also. Only a high

board fence separated the two playgrounds.

Mrs. Knight was a stout, gentle woman, who moved slowly, and had a face

which made you think of an amiable and well-disposed cow. Miss Miller,

on the contrary, had black eyes, with black corkscrew curls waving about

them, and was generally brisk and snappy. A constant feud raged between

the two schools as to the respective merits of the teachers and the

instruction. The Knight girls for some unknown reason, considered

themselves genteel and the Miller girls vulgar, and took no pains to

conceal this opinion; while the Miller girls, on the other hand,

retaliated by being as aggravating as they knew how. They spent their

recesses and intermissions mostly in making faces through the knot-holes

in the fence, and over the top of it when they could get there, which

wasn't an easy thing to do, as the fence was pretty high. The Knight

girls could make faces too, for all their gentility. Their yard had one

great advantage over the other: it possessed a wood-shed, with a

climbable roof, which commanded Miss Miller's premises, and upon this

the girls used to sit in rows, turning up their noses at the next yard,

and irritating the foe by jeering remarks. "Knights" and "Millerites,"

the two schools called each other; and the feud raged so high, that

sometimes it was hardly safe for a Knight to meet a Millerite in the

street; all of which, as may be imagined, was exceedingly improving both

to the manners and morals of the young ladies concerned.

One morning, not long after the day in Paradise, Katy was late. She

could not find her things. Her algebra, as she expressed it, had "gone

and lost itself," her slate was missing, and the string was off her

sun-bonnet. She ran about, searching for these articles and banging

doors, till Aunt Izzie was out of patience.

"As for your algebra," she said, "if it is that very dirty book with

only one cover, and scribbled all over the leaves, you will find it

under the kitchen-table. Philly was playing before breakfast that it was

a pig: no wonder, I'm sure, for it looks good for nothing else. How you

do manage to spoil your school-books in this manner, Katy, I cannot

imagine. It is less than a month since your father got you a new

algebra, and look at it now--not fit to be carried about. I do wish you

would realize what books cost!

"About your slate," she went on, "I know nothing; but here is the

bonnet-string;" taking it out of her pocket.

"Oh, thank you!" said Katy, hastily sticking it on with a pin.

"Katy Carr!" almost screamed Miss Izzie, "what are you about? Pinning on

your bonnet-string! Mercy on me, what shiftless thing will you do next?

Now stand still, and don't fidget. You sha'n't stir till I have sewed it

on properly."

It wasn't easy to "stand still and not fidget," with Aunt Izzie

fussing away and lecturing, and now and then, in a moment of

forgetfulness, sticking her needle into one's chin. Katy bore it as

well as she could, only shifting perpetually from one foot to the

other, and now and then uttering a little snort, like an impatient

horse. The minute she was released she flew into the kitchen, seized

the algebra, and rushed like a whirlwind to the gate, where good

little Clover stood patiently waiting, though all ready herself, and

terribly afraid she should be late.

"We shall have to run," gasped Katy, quite out of breath. "Aunt Izzie

kept me. She has been so horrid!"

They did run as fast as they could, but time ran faster, and before they

were half-way to school the town clock struck nine, and all hope was

over. This vexed Katy very much; for, though often late, she was always

eager to be early.

"There," she said, stopping short, "I shall just tell Aunt Izzie that it

was her fault. It is _too_ bad." And she marched into school in a very

cross mood.

A day begun in this manner is pretty sure to end badly, as most of us

know. All the morning through, things seemed to go wrong. Katy missed

twice in her grammar lesson, and lost her place in the class. Her hand

shook so when she copied her composition, that the writing, not good at

best, turned out almost illegible, so that Mrs. Knight said it must all

be done over again. This made Katy crosser than ever; and almost before

she thought, she had whispered to Clover, "How hateful!" And then, when

just before recess all who had "communicated" were requested to stand

up, her conscience gave such a twinge that she was forced to get up with

the rest, and see a black mark put against her name on the list. The

tears came into her eyes from vexation; and, for fear the other girls

would notice them, she made a bolt for the yard as soon as the bell

rang, and mounted up all alone to the wood-house roof, where she sat

with her back to the school, fighting with her eyes, and trying to get

her face in order before the rest should come.

Miss Miller's clock was about four minutes slower than Mrs. Knight's, so

the next playground was empty. It was a warm, breezy day, and as Katy

sat here, suddenly a gust of wind came, and seizing her sun-bonnet,

which was only half tied on, whirled it across the roof. She clutched

after it as it flew, but too late. Once, twice, thrice, it flapped, then

it disappeared over the edge, and Katy, flying after, saw it lying a

crumpled lilac heap in the very middle of the enemy's yard.

This was horrible! Not merely losing the bonnet, for Katy was

comfortably indifferent as to what became of her clothes, but to lose it

_so_. In another minute the Miller girls would be out. Already she

seemed to see them dancing war-dances round the unfortunate bonnet,

pinning it on a pole, using it as a football, waving it over the fence,

and otherwise treating it as Indians treat a captive taken in war. Was

it to be endured? Never! Better die first! And with very much the

feeling of a person who faces destruction rather than forfeit honor,

Katy set her teeth, and sliding rapidly down the roof, seized the fence,

and with one bold leap vaulted into Miss Miller's yard.

Just then the recess bell tinkled; and a little Millerite who sat by the

window, and who, for two seconds, had been dying to give the exciting

information, squeaked out to the others: "There's Katy Carr in our

back-yard!"

Out poured the Millerites, big and little. Their wrath and

indignation at this daring invasion cannot be described. With a howl

of fury they precipitated themselves upon Katy, but she was quick as

they, and holding the rescued bonnet in her hand, was already

half-way up the fence.

There are moments when it is a fine thing to be tall. On this occasion

Katy's long legs and arms served her an excellent turn. Nothing but a

Daddy Long Legs ever climbed so fast or so wildly as she did now. In one

second she had gained the top of the fence. Just as she went over a

Millerite seized her by the last foot, and almost dragged her boot off.

Almost, not quite, thanks to the stout thread with which Aunt Izzie had

sewed on the buttons. With a frantic kick Katy released herself, and had

the satisfaction of seeing her assailant go head over heels backward,

while, with a shriek of triumph and fright, she herself plunged headlong

into the midst of a group of Knights. They were listening with open

mouths to the uproar, and now stood transfixed at the astonishing

spectacle of one of their number absolutely returning alive from the

camp of the enemy.

I cannot tell you what a commotion ensued. The Knights were beside

themselves with pride and triumph. Katy was kissed and hugged, and made

to tell her story over and over again, while rows of exulting girls sat

on the wood-house roof to crow over the discomfited Millerites: and

when, later, the foe rallied and began to retort over the fence, Clover,

armed with a tack-hammer, was lifted up in the arms of one of the tall

girls to rap the intruding knuckles as they appeared on the top. This

she did with such good-will that the Millerites were glad to drop down

again, and mutter vengeance at a safe distance. Altogether it was a

great day for the school, a day to be remembered. As time went on, Katy,

what with the excitement of her adventure, and of being praised and

petted by the big girls, grew perfectly reckless, and hardly knew what

she said or did.

A good many of the scholars lived too far from school to go home at

noon, and were in the habit of bringing their lunches in baskets, and

staying all day. Katy and Clover were of this number. This noon, after

the dinners were eaten, it was proposed that they should play something

in the school-room, and Katy's unlucky star put it into her head to

invent a new game, which she called the Game of Rivers.

It was played in the following manner: Each girl took the name of a

river, and laid out for herself an appointed path through the room,

winding among the desks and benches, and making a low, roaring sound, to

imitate the noise of water. Cecy was the Platte, Marianne Brooks, a tall

girl, the Mississippi, Alice Blair, the Ohio, Clover, the Penobscot, and

so on. They were instructed to run into each other once in a while,

because, as Katy said, "rivers do." As for Katy herself, she was "Father

Ocean," and, growling horribly, raged up and down the platform where

Mrs. Knight usually sat. Every now and then, when the others were at the

far end of the room, she would suddenly cry out, "Now for a meeting of

the waters!" whereupon all the rivers bouncing, bounding, scrambling,

screaming, would turn and run toward Father Ocean, while he roared

louder than all of them put together, and made short rushes up and down,

to represent the movement of waves on a beach.

Such a noise as this beautiful game made was never heard in the town of

Burnet before or since. It was like the bellowing of the bulls of

Bashan, the squeaking of pigs, the cackle of turkey-cocks, and the laugh

of wild hyenas all at once; and, in addition, there was a great banging

of furniture and scraping of many feet on an uncarpeted floor. People

going by stopped and stared, children cried, an old lady asked why some

one didn't run for a policeman; while the Miller girls listened to the

proceedings with malicious pleasure, and told everybody that it was the

noise that Mrs. Knight's scholars "usually made at recess."

Mrs. Knight coming back from dinner, was much amazed to see a crowd of

people collected in front of her school. As she drew near, the sounds

reached her, and then she became really frightened, for she thought

somebody was being murdered on her premises. Hurrying in, she threw open

the door, and there, to her dismay, was the whole room in a frightful

state of confusion and uproar: chairs flung down, desks upset, ink

streaming on the floor; while in the midst of the ruin the frantic

rivers raced and screamed, and old Father Ocean, with a face as red as

fire, capered like a lunatic on the platform.

"What _does_ this mean?" gasped poor Mrs. Knight, almost unable to speak

for horror.

At the sound of her voice the Rivers stood still, Father Ocean brought

his prances to an abrupt close, and slunk down from the platform. All

of a sudden, each girl seemed to realize what a condition the room was

in, and what a horrible thing she had done. The timid ones cowered

behind their desks, the bold ones tried to look unconscious, and, to

make matters worse, the scholars who had gone home to dinner began to

return, staring at the scene of disaster, and asking, in whispers, what

had been going on?

Mrs. Knight rang the bell. When the school had come to order, she had

the desks and chairs picked up, while she herself brought wet cloths to

sop the ink from the floor. This was done in profound silence; and the

expression of Mrs. Knight's face was so direful and solemn, that a fresh

damp fell upon the spirits of the guilty Rivers, and Father Ocean wished

himself thousands of miles away.

When all was in order again, and the girls had taken their seats, Mrs.

Knight made a short speech. She said she never was so shocked in her

life before; she had supposed that she could trust them to behave like

ladies when her back was turned. The idea that they could act so

disgracefully, make such an uproar and alarm people going by, had never

occurred to her, and she was deeply pained. It was setting a bad example

to all the neighborhood--by which Mrs. Knight meant the rival school,

Miss Miller having just sent over a little girl, with her compliments,

to ask if any one was hurt, and could _she_ do anything? which was

naturally aggravating! Mrs. Knight hoped they were sorry; she thought

they must be--sorry and ashamed. The exercises could now go on as usual.

Of course some punishment would be inflicted for the offense, but she

should have to reflect before deciding what it ought to be. Meantime she

wanted them all to think it over seriously; and if any one felt that she

was more to blame than the others, now was the moment to rise and

confess it.

Katy's heart gave a great thump, but she rose bravely: "I made up the

game, and I was Father Ocean," she said to the astonished Mrs. Knight,

who glared at her for a minute, and then replied solemnly: "Very well,

Katy--sit down;" which Katy did, feeling more ashamed than ever, but

somehow relieved in her mind. There is a saving grace in truth which

helps truth-tellers through the worst of their troubles, and Katy found

this out now.

The afternoon was long and hard. Mrs. Knight did not smile once; the

lessons dragged; and Katy, after the heat and excitement of the

forenoon, began to feel miserable. She had received more than one hard

blow during the meetings of the waters, and had bruised herself almost

without knowing it, against the desks and chairs. All these places now

began to ache: her head throbbed so that she could hardly see, and a

lump of something heavy seemed to be lying on her heart.

When school was over, Mrs. Knight rose and said, "The young ladies who

took part in the game this afternoon are requested to remain." All the

others went away, and shut the door behind them. It was a horrible

moment: the girls never forgot it, or the hopeless sound of the door as

the last departing scholar clapped it after her as she left.

I can't begin to tell you what it was that Mrs. Knight said to them: it

was very affecting, and before long most of the girls began to cry. The

penalty for their offense was announced to be the loss of recess for

three weeks; but that wasn't half so bad as seeing Mrs. Knight so

"religious and afflicted," as Cecy told her mother afterward. One by one

the sobbing sinners departed from the schoolroom. When most of them were

gone, Mrs. Knight called Katy up to the platform, and said a few words

to her specially. She was not really severe, but Katy was too penitent

and worn out to bear much, and before long was weeping like a

water-spout, or like the ocean she had pretended to be.

At this, tender-hearted Mrs. Knight was so much affected that she let

her off at once, and even kissed her in token of forgiveness, which made

poor Ocean sob harder than ever. All the way home she sobbed; faithful

little Clover, running along by her side in great distress, begging her

to stop crying, and trying in vain to hold up the fragments of her

dress, which was torn in, at least, a dozen places. Katy could not stop

crying, and it was fortunate that Aunt Izzie happened to be out, and

that the only person who saw her in this piteous plight was Mary, the

nurse, who doted on the children, and was always ready to help them out

of their troubles.

On this occasion she petted and cosseted Katy exactly as if it had been

Johnnie or little Phil. She took her on her lap, bathed the hot head,

brushed the hair, put arnica on the bruises, and produced a clean frock,

so that by tea-time the poor child, except for her red eyes, looked like

herself again, and Aunt Izzie didn't notice anything unusual.

For a wonder, Dr. Carr was at home that evening. It was always a great

treat to the children when this happened, and Katy thought herself happy

when, after the little ones had gone to bed, she got Papa to herself,

and told him the whole story.

"Papa," she said, sitting on his knee, which, big girl as she was, she

liked very much to do, "what is the reason that makes some days so lucky

and other days so unlucky? Now today began all wrong, and everything

that happened in it was wrong, and on other days I begin right, and all

goes right, straight through. If Aunt Izzie hadn't kept me in the

morning, I shouldn't have lost my mark, and then I shouldn't have been

cross, and then _perhaps_ I shouldn't have got in my other scrapes."

"But what made Aunt Izzie keep you, Katy?"

"To sew on the string of my bonnet, Papa."

"But how did it happen that the string was off?"

"Well," said Katy, reluctantly, "I am afraid that was _my_ fault, for it

came off on Tuesday, and I didn't fasten it on."

"So you see we must go back of Aunt Izzie for the beginning of this

unlucky day of yours, Childie. Did you ever hear the old saying about,

'For the want of a nail the shoe was lost'?"

"No, never--tell it to me!" cried Katy, who loved stories as well as

when she was three years old.

So Dr. Carr repeated--

"For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,

For the want of a shoe the horse was lost,

For the want of a horse the rider was lost,

For the want of a rider the battle was lost,

For the want of a battle the kingdom was lost,

And all for want of a horse-shoe nail."

"Oh, Papa!" exclaimed Katy, giving him a great hug as she got off his

knee, "I see what you mean! Who would have thought such a little

speck of a thing as not sewing on my string could make a difference?

But I don't believe I shall get in any more scrapes, for I sha'n't

ever forget--

"'For the want of a nail the shoe was lost.'"