forgotten all about it.

All this time Katy had been sitting on the ledge of the bookcase in the
Library, poring over a book. It was called Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered.
The man who wrote it was an Italian, but somebody had done the story
over into English. It was rather a queer book for a little girl to take
a fancy to, but somehow Katy liked it very much. It told about knights,
and ladies, and giants, and battles, and made her feel hot and cold by
turns as she read, and as if she must rush at something, and shout, and
strike blows. Katy was naturally fond of reading. Papa encouraged it, He
kept a few books locked up, and then turned her loose in the Library.
She read all sorts of things: travels, and sermons, and old magazines.
Nothing was so dull that she couldn't get through with it. Anything
really interesting absorbed her so that she never knew what was going on
about her. The little girls to whose houses she went visiting had found
this out, and always hid away their story-books when she was expected to
tea. If they didn't do this, she was sure to pick one up and plunge in,
and then it was no use to call her, or tug at her dress, for she neither
saw nor heard anything more, till it was time to go home.

This afternoon she read the Jerusalem till It was too dark to see any
more. On her way up stairs she met Aunt Izzie, with bonnet and shawl on.

"Where _have_ you been?" she said. "I have been calling you for the last
half-hour."

"I didn't hear you, ma'am."

"But where were you?" persisted Miss Izzie.