"That's lovely," said Katy, drawing a long breath, "only very sad! What beautiful stories you do write, Cecy! But I wish you wouldn't always kill the people. Why couldn't the knight have killed the father, and--no, I suppose Zuleika wouldn't have married him then. Well, the father might have--oh, bother! why must anybody be killed, anyhow? why not have them fall on each other's necks, and make up?"

"Why, Katy!" cried Cecy, "it wouldn't have been a tragedy then. You know the name was A _Tragedy_ of the Alhambra."

"Oh, well," said Katy, hurriedly, for Cecy's lips were beginning to pout, and her fair, pinkish face to redden, as if she were about to cry; "perhaps it _was_ prettier to have them all die; only I thought, for a change, you know!--What a lovely word that was--. 'Corregidor'--what does it mean?"

"I don't know," replied Cecy, quite consoled. "It was in the 'Conquest of Granada.' Something to walk over, I believe."

"The next," went on Katy, consulting her paper, "is 'Yap,' a Simple Poem, by Clover Carr."

All the children giggled, but Clover got up composedly, and recited the following verses:

"Did you ever know Yap?

The best little dog Who e'er sat on lap Or barked at a frog.

"His eyes were like beads, His tail like a mop, And it waggled as if It never would stop.

"His hair was like silk Of the glossiest sheen, He always ate milk, And once the cold-cream

"Off the nursery bureau (That line is too long!) It made him quite ill, So endeth my song.

"For Yappy he died Just two months ago, And we oughtn't to sing At a funeral, you know."

The "Poem" met with immense applause; all the children laughed, and shouted, and clapped, till the loft rang again. But Clover kept her face perfectly, and sat down as demure as ever, except that the little dimples came and went at the corners of her mouth; dimples, partly natural, and partly, I regret to say, the result of a pointed slate-pencil, with which Clover was in the habit of deepening them every day while she studied her lessons.

"Now," said Katy, after the noise had subsided, "now come 'Scripture Verses,' by Miss Elsie and Joanna Carr. Hold up your head, Elsie, and speak distinctly; and oh, Johnnie, you _mustn't_ giggle in that way when it comes your turn!"

But Johnnie only giggled the harder at this appeal, keeping her hands very tight across her mouth, and peeping out over her fingers. Elsie, however, was solemn as a little judge, and with great dignity began:

"An angel with a fiery sword, Came to send Adam and Eve abroad And as they journeyed through the skies They took one look at Paradise.

They thought of all the happy hours Among the birds and fragrant bowers, And Eve she wept, and Adam bawled, And both together loudly squalled."

Dorry snickered at this, but sedate Clover hushed him.

"You mustn't," she said; "it's about the Bible, you know. Now John, it's your turn."

But Johnnie would persist in holding her hands over her mouth, while her fat little shoulders shook with laughter. At last, with a great effort, she pulled her face straight, and speaking as fast as she possibly could, repeated, in a sort of burst:

"Balaam's donkey saw the Angel, And stopped short in fear.

Balaam didn't see the Angel, Which is very queer."

After which she took refuge again behind her fingers, while Elsie went on--

"Elijah by the creek, He by ravens fed, Took from their h.o.r.n.y beak Pieces of meat and bread."

"Come, Johnnie," said Katy, but the incorrigible Johnnie was shaking again, and all they could make out was--

"The bears came down, and ate------and ate."

These "Verses" were part of a grand project on which Clover and Elsie had been busy for more than a year. It was a sort of rearrangement of Scripture for infant minds; and when it was finished, they meant to have it published, bound in red, with daguerreotypes of the two auth.o.r.esses on the cover. "The Youth's Poetical Bible" was to be the name of it.

Papa, much tickled with the sc.r.a.ps which he overheard, proposed, instead, "The Trundle-Bed Book," as having been composed princ.i.p.ally in that spot, but Elsie and Clover were highly indignant, and would not listen to the idea for a moment.

After the "Scripture Verses," came Dorry's turn. He had been allowed to choose for himself, which was unlucky, as his taste was peculiar, not to say gloomy. On this occasion he had selected that cheerful hymn which begins--

"Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound."

And he now began to recite it in a lugubrious voice and with great emphasis, smacking his lips, as it were, over such lines as--

"Princes, this clay _shall_ be your bed, In spite of all your towers."

The older children listened with a sort of fascinated horror, rather enjoying the cold chills which ran down their backs, and huddling close together, as Dorry's hollow tones echoed from the dark corners of the loft. It was too much for Philly, however. At the close of the piece he was found to be in tears.

"I don't want to st-a-a-y up here and be groaned at," he sobbed.

"There, you bad boy!" cried Katy, all the more angry because she was conscious of having enjoyed it herself, "that's what you do with your horrid hymns, frightening us to death and making Phil cry!" And she gave Dorry a little shake. He began to whimper, and as Phil was still sobbing, and Johnnie had begun to sob too, out of sympathy with the others, the _Feet_ in the Loft seemed likely to come to a sad end.

"I'm goin' to tell Aunt Izzie that I don't like you," declared Dorry, putting one leg through the opening in the floor.

"No, you aren't," said Katy, seizing him, "you are going to stay, because _now_ we are going to have the Feast! Do stop, Phil; and Johnnie, don't be a goose, but come and pa.s.s round the cookies."

The word "Feast" produced a speedy effect on the spirits of the party.

Phil cheered at once, and Dorry changed his mind about going. The black bottle was solemnly set in the midst, and the cookies were handed about by Johnnie, who was now all smiles. The cookies had scalloped edges and caraway seeds inside, and were very nice. There were two apiece; and as the last was finished, Katy put her hand in her pocket, and amid great applause, produced the crowning addition to the repast--seven long, brown sticks of cinnamon.

"Isn't it fun?" she said. "Debby was real good-natured to-day, and let me put my own hand into the box, so I picked out the longest sticks there were. Now, Cecy, as you're company, you shall have the first drink out of the bottle."

The "something delicious" proved to be weak vinegar-and-water. It was quite warm, but somehow, drank up there in the loft, and out of a bottle, it tasted very nice. Beside, they didn't _call_ it vinegar-and-water--of course not! Each child gave his or her swallow a different name, as if the bottle were like Signor Blitz's and could pour out a dozen things at once. Clover called her share "Raspberry Shrub,"

Dorry christened his "Ginger Pop," while Cecy, who was romantic, took her three sips under the name of "Hydomel," which she explained was something nice, made, she believed, of beeswax. The last drop gone, and the last bit of cinnamon crunched, the company came to order again, for the purpose of hearing Philly repeat his one piece,--

"Little drops of water,"

which exciting poem he had said every Sat.u.r.day as far back as they could remember. After that Katy declared the literary part of the "Feet" over, and they all fell to playing "Stagecoach," which, in spite of close quarters and an occasional b.u.mp from the roof, was such good fun, that a general "Oh dear!" welcomed the ringing of the tea-bell. I suppose cookies and vinegar had taken away their appet.i.tes, for none of them were hungry, and Dorry astonished Aunt Izzie very much by eyeing the table in a disgusted way, and saying: "Pshaw! _only_ plum sweatmeats and sponge cake and hot biscuit! I don't want any supper."

"What ails the child? he must be sick," said Dr. Carr; but Katy explained.

"Oh no, Papa, it isn't that--only we've been having a feast in the loft."

"Did you have a good time?" asked Papa, while Aunt Izzie gave a dissatisfied groan. And all the children answered at once: "Splendiferous!"

CHAPTER VI

INTIMATE FRIENDS

"Aunt Izzie, may I ask Imogen Clark to spend the day here on Sat.u.r.day?"

cried Katy, bursting in one afternoon.