gravely at the other house, and she was too well trained to ask
questions. The threatening symptoms passed off, however, and little
Walter slowly got better; but it was a long convalescence, and Mrs. Ashe
grew thin and pale before he began to look rosy. There was no one on
whom she could devolve the charge of the child. His mother was dead; his
father, an overworked business man, had barely time to run up once a
week to see about him; there was no one at his home but a housekeeper,
in whom Mrs. Ashe had not full confidence. So the good aunt denied
herself the sight of her own child, and devoted her strength and time to
Walter; and nearly two months passed, and still little Amy remained at
Dr. Carr's.

She was entirely happy there. She had grown very fond of Katy, and was
perfectly at home with the others. Phil and Johnnie, who had returned
from her visit to Cecy, were by no means too old or too proud to be
play-fellows to a child of eight; and with all the older members of the
family Amy was a chosen pet. Debby baked turnovers, and twisted cinnamon
cakes into all sorts of fantastic shapes to please her; Alexander would
let her drive if she happened to sit on the front seat of the carryall;
Dr. Carr was seldom so tired that he could not tell her a story,--and
nobody told such nice stories as Dr. Carr, Amy thought; Elsie invented
all manner of charming games for the hour before bedtime; Clover made
wonderful capes and bonnets for Mabel and Maria Matilda; and Katy--Katy
did all sorts of things.

Katy had a peculiar gift with children which is not easy to define. Some
people possess it, and some do not; it cannot be learned, it comes by
nature. She was bright and firm and equable all at once. She both amused
and influenced them. There was something about her which excited the
childish imagination, and always they felt her sympathy. Amy was a