And there were Debby and Bridget and
Alexander, peeping out of the kitchen door to watch her, and dear old
Mary with her apron at her eyes crying for joy.
"Oh, the front door is open!" said Katy, in a delighted tone. "How nice!
And what a pretty oil-cloth. That's new since I was here."
"Don't stop to look at _that_!" cried Philly, who seemed in a great
hurry about something. "It isn't new. It's been there ever and ever so
long! Come into the parlor instead."
"Yes!" said Papa, "dinner isn't quite ready yet, you'll have time to
rest a little after your walk down stairs. You have borne it admirably,
Katy. Are you very tired?"
"Not a bit!" replied Katy, cheerfully. "I could do it alone, I think.
Oh! the bookcase door has been mended! How nice it looks."
"Don't wait, oh, don't wait!" repeated Phil, in an agony of impatience.
So they moved on. Papa opened the parlor door. Katy took one step into
the room--then stopped. The color flashed over her face, and she held
by the door-knob to support herself. What was it that she saw?
Not merely the room itself, with its fresh muslin curtains and vases of
flowers. Nor even the wide, beautiful window which had been cut toward
the sun, or the inviting little couch and table which stood there,
evidently for her.
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