There was something in Cousin Helen's face and manner, which made the
children at home with her at once. Even Philly, who had backed away with
his hands behind him, after staring hard for a minute or two, came up
with a sort of rush to get his share of kissing.

Still, Katy's first feeling was one of disappointment. Cousin Helen was
not at all like "Lucy," in Mrs. Sherwood's story. Her nose turned up the
least bit in the world. She had brown hair, which didn't curl, a brown
skin, and bright eyes, which danced when she laughed or spoke. Her face
was thin, but except for that you wouldn't have guessed that she was
sick. She didn't fold her hands, and she didn't look patient, but
absolutely glad and merry. Her dress wasn't a "frilled wrapper," but a
sort of loose travelling thing of pretty gray stuff, with a rose-colored
bow, and bracelets, and a round hat trimmed with a gray feather. All
Katy's dreams about the "saintly invalid" seemed to take wings and fly
away. But the more she watched Cousin Helen the more she seemed to like
her, and to feel as if she were nicer than the imaginary person which
she and Clover had invented.

"She looks just like other people, don't she?" whispered Cecy, who had
come over to have a peep at the new arrival.

"Y-e-s," replied Katy, doubtfully, "only a great, great deal prettier."

By and by, Papa carried Cousin Helen up stairs. All the children wanted
to go too, but he told them she was tired, and must rest. So they went
out doors to play till tea-time.

"Oh, do let me take up the tray," cried Katy at the tea-table, as she