would please her, but Katy hardly said "Thank you," and never saw how
tired Aunt Izzie looked. So long as she was forced to stay in bed, Katy
could not be grateful for anything that was done for her.

But doleful as the days were, they were not so bad as the nights, when,
after Aunt Izzie was asleep, Katy would lie wide awake, and have long,
hopeless fits of crying. At these times she would think of all the plans
she had made for doing beautiful things when she was grown up. "And now
I shall never do any of them," she would say to herself, "only just lie
here. Papa says I may get well by and by, but I sha'n't, I know I
sha'n't. And even if I do, I shall have wasted all these years, and the
others will grow up and get ahead of me, and I sha'n't be a comfort to
them or to anybody else. Oh dear! oh dear! how dreadful it is!"

The first thing which broke in upon this sad state of affairs, was a
letter from Cousin Helen, which Papa brought one morning and handed to
Aunt Izzie.

"Helen tells me she's going home this week," said Aunt Izzie, from the
window, where she had gone to read the letter. "Well, I'm sorry, but I
think she's quite right not to stop. It's just as she says: one
invalid at a time is enough in a house. I'm sure I have my hands full
with Katy."

"Oh, Aunt Izzie!" cried Katy, "is Cousin Helen coming this way when she
goes home? Oh! do make her stop. If it's just for one day, do ask her! I
want to see her so much! I can't tell you how much! Won't you? Please!
Please, dear Papa!"

She was almost crying with eagerness.