very different-looking Katy from the forlorn girl of the last chapter.

Cousin Helen's visit, though it lasted only one day, did great good. Not
that Katy grew perfect all at once. None of us do that, even in books.
But it is everything to be started in the right path. Katy's feet were
on it now; and though she often stumbled and slipped, and often sat down
discouraged, she kept on pretty steadily, in spite of bad days, which
made her say to herself that she was not getting forward at all.

These bad days, when everything seemed hard, and she herself was cross
and fretful, and drove the children out of her room, cost Katy many
bitter tears. But after them she would pick herself up, and try again,
and harder. And I think that in spite of drawbacks, the little scholar,
on the whole, was learning her lesson pretty well.

Cousin Helen was a great comfort all this time. She never forgot Katy.
Nearly every week some little thing came from her. Sometimes it was a
pencil note, written from her sofa. Sometimes it was an interesting
book, or a new magazine, or some pretty little thing for the room. The
crimson wrapper which Katy wore was one of her presents, so were the
bright chromos of Autumn leaves which hung on the wall, the little stand
for the books--all sorts of things. Katy loved to look about her as she
lay. All the room seemed full of Cousin Helen and her kindness.

"I wish I had something pretty to put into everybody's stocking," she
went on, wistfully; "but I've only got the muffetees for Papa, and these
reins for Phil." She took them from under her pillow as she spoke--gay
worsted affairs, with bells sewed on here and there. She had knit them
herself, a very little bit at a time.