“I’m afraid you don’t,” said Dr. Carr, with an odd sigh, which set Katy to wondering.  What should papa sigh for?  Had she done any thing wrong?  She began to rack her brains and memory as to whether it could be this or that; or, if not, what could it be?  Such needless self-examination does no good.  Katy looked more “solemn” than ever after it.

Altogether, Mrs. Page was not a favorite in the family.  She had every intention of being kind to her cousin’s children, “so dreadfully in want of a mother, poor things!” but she could not hide the fact that their ways puzzled and did not please her; and the children detected this, as children always will.  She and Mr. Page were very polite.  They praised the housekeeping, and the excellent order or every thing, and said there never were better children in the world than John and Dorry and Phil.  But, through all, Katy perceived the hidden disapproval; and she couldn’t help feeling glad when the visit ended, and they went away.

With their departure, matters went back to their old train, and Katy forgot her disagreeable feelings.  Papa seemed a little grave and preoccupied; but the doctors often are when they have bad cases to think of, and nobody noticed it particularly, or remarked that several letters came from Mrs. Page, and nothing was heard of their contents, except that “Cousin Olivia sent her love.”  So it was a shock, when one day papa called Katy into the study to tell of a new plan.  She knew at once that it was something important when she heard his voice:  it sounded so grave.  Beside, he said “My daughter,” he began, “I want to talk to you about something which I have been thinking of.  How would you and Clover like going away to school together?”

“To school?  To Mrs. Knight’s?”

“No, not to Mrs. Knight’s.  To a boarding-school at the East, where Lilly Page has been for two years.  Didn’t you hear Cousin Olivia speak of it when she was here?”

“I believe I did.  But, papa, you won’t really?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Dr. Carr, gently.  “Listen, Katy, and don’t feel so badly, my dear child.  I’ve thought the plan over carefully; and it seems to me a good one, though I hate to part from you.  It is pretty much as your cousin says:  these home-cares, which I can’t take from you while you are at home, are making you old before your time.  Heaven knows I don’t want to turn you into a silly giggling miss; but I should like you to enjoy your youth while you have it, and not grow middle-aged before you are twenty.”

“What is the name of the school?” asked Katy.  Her voice sound a good deal like a sob.

“The girls call it ‘The Nunnery.’  It is at Hillsover, on the Connecticut River, pretty cold, I fancy; but the air is sure to be good and bracing.  That is one thing which has inclined me to the plan.  The climate is just what you need.”

“Hillsover?  Isn’t there a college there too?”