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