Grandmother Gaumer was not dead. When the squire and the doctor reached her side, she sat just as Katy left her, erect, motionless, bright-eyed. They put her to bed and there she lay with the same bright, helpless gaze.

"Can you understand me?" asked the doctor gently.

The expression in the brown eyes changed. The flash of perception was almost invisible, but it was there; to the eyes of Katy who stood by the bed, breathless, terrified, it was as welcome as the cry of a first-born child to its mother.

"She is conscious," the doctor assured them.

Uncle Edwin and Aunt Sally, whom Katy considered so dull, returned presently in tearful haste from their farm at the edge of the town. They sat with grandmother while the doctor gave directions for the night to Katy in the kitchen.

Katy looked at the doctor wildly. The lamp cast dark shadows into the corners of the room; it surrounded Katy with a glare of light. Her hands clasped and unclasped, tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Will my grandmother die?" asked Katy in a hollow voice.

Young Dr. Benner looked down upon her. He had not given so much thought of late to the development of his protÉgÉ. He had met in the county seat an older lady who had taken his fancy, who needed no improvement, and whose mind was already sufficiently developed to suit his ideas. He looked now at Katy through narrowed eyelids. He suddenly remembered the great plans he had had for her and the greater plans she had had for herself. He began to wonder what Katy's life would be like, he who had just a little while ago been planning it so carefully! He heard in that instant's pause a clear whistle from the direction of the garden, and he decided without knowing the identity of the whistler that there would sooner or later be that sort of complication in Katy's life which would end her education, even if her grandmother's need of her did not. He was so busy with his speculations that he did not answer Katy's question until she was faint with apprehension.

Katy was a sensitive creature; she was suddenly aware of the changed, absent way in which he regarded her. She remembered that it was a long time since the doctor had invited her to ride with him, a long time since he had said anything to her about singing.

"My gran'mom is all I have in this world," she reminded him with piteous dignity.

"No, Katy." The doctor came back to reality with a start. "She will not die."

His expression terrified Katy.

"Then, when will she be well again?"

"I cannot say."

The whistle sounded again from beyond the garden wall. This time it penetrated to the consciousness of Katy, who, hearing it, blushed. No one but Alvin Koehler could produce so sweet and clear a note. For the first time he had called her. The night was warm and bright, and the breeze carried the odor of honeysuckle and jasmine into the kitchen. The beauty of the night seemed mocking. Katy's heart cried out angrily against the trouble which had come upon her, against the greater grief which now threatened.

"You mean that she will be sick a long, long time?"

"Possibly."

Katy clasped and unclasped her hands.

"You do not mean that perhaps she will never be well?"

"I do not believe she can ever be well, Katy." The doctor now laid his hand on Katy's shoulder.

Katy moved away, her hand on her side, as if to sustain the weight of a heavy heart.

"What am I to do for her?"

The doctor gave directions about the medicines, and then went across the yard to sit with the squire in his office. When he had gone, Katy stood for a moment perfectly still in the middle of the room. The whistle did not come again; Alvin, approaching the house without knowing anything of Grandmother Gaumer's illness, saw suddenly that the house was more brightly lighted than usual and stole away.

For an instant Katy stood still, then she crossed the room and opened the door which led into the dim front of the house, and went into the parlor. There she sat down on the high, slippery haircloth sofa. Presently she turned her head and laid her cheek against the smooth, cool surface of the arm. Overhead she could hear the sound of Uncle Edwin's soft, heavy tread, the sound of his deep voice as he spoke to Grandmother Gaumer or to Aunt Sally. Uncle Edwin was a good man, Katy said to herself absently, her mind dwelling upon a theme in which it took at that moment no interest; Uncle Edwin was a good man, but he was not a very smart man. He had never gone to school—to school—Katy found herself repeating that magic word. It brought fully into the light of consciousness the dread question which had been lingering just outside. If Grandmother Gaumer were to be a long time sick, who would take care of her? Uncle Edwin and Aunt Sally were kind, but they had their farm on the outskirts of Millerstown; they could not leave it.

"But I must have my education," whispered Katy to the smooth surface of the old sofa. "This is my time in life for education. Afterwards the mind gets dull, and you cannot learn. It is right that I should have a chance to learn."

Then Katy sat up; from the room above Uncle Edwin called her. "Ach, Katy, come once here!"

"I am coming," answered Katy as she flew.

In the sick-room her uncle and aunt welcomed her with relief. To them Katy was always a sort of wonder child. They had wanted to adopt her when she was a little girl; they had always loved her as they loved their own little Adam.

"We cannot make out what she wants, Katy. Perhaps it is you she wants."

Katy looked about the room, at the stout, disturbed uncle and aunt, then at the great bedstead, with its high feather bed, its plump pillows. Grandmother Gaumer's hair had been covered by a close-fitting cap; the sheet was drawn up under her chin; she seemed to have shrunk to a pair of eyes. But they were eyes into which the life of the body was concentrated. Katy almost covered her own as she met them, her throat contracted, all emotions combined into one overwhelming sensation.

"I will stay here now," announced Katy. "Aunt Sally, you can go home, and Uncle Edwin, if he is to stay all night here, can go to bed, and if I need anything I will call him."

Thus Katy, the dictator. When they had obeyed, Katy crossed the room to her grandmother's side. To such an interview as this there could be no witnesses.

"No one else is going to take care of you, gran'mom," promised Katy. "No one can travel so fast and talk so much." She leaned over and laid her hand on her grandmother's cheek. "I am going to stay with you to-night and to-morrow night and always. I am never going to leave you. I care for schooling, but I care more for you. You raised me from little when I had no father and mother to take care of me. I will remember what you said about gran'pop, and I will try to be like him. Do you understand me?" besought Katy in a sudden agony of fright.

The brown eyes answered, or Katy thought they answered.

"Well, then," said Katy. "Now I will read you a chapter and then you will go to sleep."