Chapter XI: Conscience and the Katy-Dids

THE winter passed away full of busy cares and pleasures. Katy was losing her self-will, and growing more obedient and loving each day, and her mother had great comfort in her, and Katy was very happy herself, although one thing troubled her very much. Ever since she had become a Christian, the thought that she had once stolen a loaf of bread, and never repaid it in any way, had been a great grief to her. Sometimes she almost made up her mind to tell Mrs. Lynn about it, then Satan told her she needn't, that it was a long time ago and that of course she didn't intend to steal any more, and a loaf or bread wasn't any great affair, anyhow.

But Katy's conscience was growing tender the more closely she got to Jesus, and she did not feel at all satisfied with disposing of it in this way.

It was a warm evening in spring. Katy and her mamma sat on the piazza. The air was full of sweet smells from apple and lilac trees, the birds were singing soft little good-night songs, and the golden sun lit up everything with his last rays.

Mrs. Lynn was drinking it all in, with her eyes on the distant hills. She did not notice that Katy was not enjoying it with her, and that she was fidgeting about in a very uneasy way. The lesson in Sabbath-school the day before had been about the man who came to Jesus, and said if he had taken anything from any man, he restored it fourfold.

The teacher had talked a good deal about honesty, honesty in small things—if any one had been tempted into taking even a small thing from another, it was duty to make it good in some way.

So the old trouble was upon Katy. It had worried her all day in school, and had followed her home. How could she restore that loaf of bread?

It couldn't be done, at least it could not without telling somebody, and she never wanted to do that. Just here some little voices came from the tree overhead, and what did they say that made Katy start so, and that brought such a bright color into her face.

"Katy did!" "Katy 'didn't!'"

"Katy did!"

"Katy 'didn't!'"

On they went as fast and sharp as possible. What could it all mean? Did even the birds know all about it? Her troubled conscience made her ready to believe almost anything, and she had never heard a katy-did before.

The dispute went on:

"Katy did!" "Katy 'didn't!'"

Katy glanced at her mamma, wondering if she did not notice, but her face looked as serene as ever. Katy could stand it no longer, and she burst into tears, crying out:

"Yes, I did do it—I 'did!'"

"Why, Katy!" said her mamma. "What are you talking about? What is it, my dear?"

"Oh, mamma," said Katy, "what kind of birds are these that know all about me? I can't stand it. I did something real naughty once, that I never told you about. But how do they know about it?"

Then Katy poured all her troubles into her mamma's ear, just where she should have put them long ago.

And Mrs. Lynn comforted her by assuring her that it should all be made right if she could remember the place where the bakery was.

"Oh, yes," said Katy, eagerly. "I'm sure I know. I can see it now. It was on Canal Street. The man's name was Mr. Barton."

"Well, put it all away now, and never be troubled any more about it. And let me tell you a little about the katy-dids. They are not birds at all as you supposed, but tiny green insects, that you might think were little grasshoppers. They belong to the locust family, and the noise that you hear is made with their wings instead of their mouths. Now you must enjoy hearing the little creatures after this, and you must feel that they have forgotten all about this affair, and that they are saying,—

"'Katy did learn her lessons.' 'Katy didn't disobey.' 'Katy "did" grow up to be a good woman.'"