"Did Papa eat any dinner?" asked Katy, one afternoon.
"Not much. He said he wasn't hungry. And Mrs. Jackson's boy came for him
before we were through."
"Oh dear!" sighed Katy, "I do hope _he_ isn't going to be sick. How it
rains! Clovy, I wish you'd run down and get out his slippers and put
them by the fire to warm. Oh, and ask Debby to make some cream-toast for
tea! Papa likes cream-toast."
After tea, Dr. Carr came up stairs to sit a while in Katy's room. He
often did so, but this was the first time since Aunt Izzie's death.
Katy studied his face anxiously. It seemed to her that it had grown
older of late, and there was a sad look upon it, which made her heart
ache. She longed to do something for him, but all she could do was to
poke the fire bright, and then to possess herself of his hand, and
stroke it gently with both hers. It wasn't much, to be sure, but I think
Papa liked it.
"What have you been about all day?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing, much," said Katy. "I studied my French lesson this
morning. And after school, Elsie and John brought in their patchwork,
and we had a 'Bee.' That's all."
"I've been thinking how we are to manage about the housekeeping," said
Dr.
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