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
tractable child, and intelligent beyond her age, but she was never quite
so good with any one as with Katy. She followed her about like a little
lover; she lavished upon her certain special words and caresses which
she gave to no one else; and would kneel on her lap, patting Katy's
shoulders with her soft hand, and cooing up into her face like a happy
dove, for a half-hour together. Katy laughed at these demonstrations,
but they pleased her very much. She loved to be loved, as all
affectionate people do, but most of all to be loved by a child.
At last, the long convalescence ended, Walter was carried away to his
father, with every possible precaution against fatigue and exposure, and
an army of workpeople was turned into Mrs. Ashe's house. Plaster was
scraped and painted, wall-papers torn down, mattresses made over, and
clothing burned. At last Dr. Carr pronounced the premises in a sanitary
condition, and Mrs. Ashe sent for her little girl to come home again.
Amy was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing her mother; but at the last
moment she clung to Katy and cried as if her heart would break.
"I want you too," she said.
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