Aunt Izzie slept in her room that night. Katy was feverish. When morning
came, and Dr. Carr returned, he found her in a good deal of pain, hot
and restless, with wide-open, anxious eyes.
"Papa!" she cried the first thing, "must I lie here as much as a week?"
"My darling, I'm afraid you must," replied her father, who looked
worried, and very grave.
"Dear, dear!" sobbed Katy, "how can I bear it?"
CHAPTER IX
DISMAL DAYS
If anybody had told Katy, that first afternoon, that at the end of a
week she would still be in bed, and in pain, and with no time fixed for
getting up, I think it would have almost killed her. She was so restless
and eager, that to lie still seemed one of the hardest things in the
world. But to lie still and have her back ache all the time, was worse
yet. Day after day she asked Papa with quivering lip: "Mayn't I get up
and go down stairs this morning?" And when he shook his head, the lip
would quiver more, and tears would come. But if she tried to get up, it
hurt her so much, that in spite of herself she was glad to sink back
again on the soft pillows and mattress, which felt so comfortable to her
poor bones.
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