Down the Snow Stairs. Alice Abigail Corkran

had added bits to it. He had put in about the giants, and about a tiger with glaring green eyes going to spring upon him just as they found the gate of the garden.

      The more she thought of all these things the more Kitty felt she must see Johnnie.

      Out went one bare foot from under the coverlid, and still there in the moonlight it seemed to be written: “To-morrow is Christmas Day and there may be no Johnnie.”

      This might be Johnnie’s last night. Kitty felt she would cry out if she did not see him, and out of bed went the other bare foot.

      The clock struck the half-hour; it was half-past nine. How silent the house was! Her mother was lying down. Nurse was with Johnnie. If only she would come out of his room! She wished with all the might of her little heart nurse would come out. But nothing stirred through the house. Yes, after awhile she heard a slight noise, a door was creaking below. It was Johnnie’s door. She heard a step. Out of bed dashed Kitty. She ran into the lobby; she looked over the balusters.

      Yes, it was nurse going downstairs to the kitchen. She saw her white cap and apron distinctly. Kitty’s heart seemed to stop beating. The kitchen door closed after nurse. Hush!

      CHAPTER II

       KITTY AND JOHNNIE.

       Table of Contents

      Hush! The night-gowned, barefooted small figure crept down the wide staircase. Outside, the garden covered with snow glittered under the light of the big, beautiful full moon; it was so bright that it put out all the stars except those in far-away corners. There was a colored window on that staircase. As Kitty crept past it a bar of pink light, a square of lovely blue, a patch of orange shaped like a dragon fell upon her white night-gown. The trees outside were still, as if they were fast asleep under their eider-down covering of snow.

      Hush! There was not a sound or a stir through the house, except the flap, flap of Kitty’s bare feet on the stairs. Suddenly a mouse ran across; Kitty saw its long tail quite distinctly. She was very much afraid of mice; the sight of one would give her a creepy feeling. But to-night she did not care for this mouse, nor for an army of mice. She was going to see Johnnie. She had no fear, except that of not being able to reach him.

      Hush! Suddenly a stair creaked, and the creak sounded like a scream through the silence. Kitty huddled herself up, her shoulders to her ears, her elbows and hands pressed close against her sides and chest. She stood a moment or two staring, and thump, thump went her heart; but everything remained silent as before, and the bare toes resumed their march—cautiously—down—down. Now she sees Johnnie’s door. It is not quite shut. Something is standing before it. What is it? Something white and small. Is it Johnnie’s spirit?

      Flutter—flutter—thump—thump went her heart. She stood trembling with terror; but alive or dead she must see Johnnie. Her love is greater than her fear. Down—down she goes, keeping her eyes fixed on that white thing before the door. Then she almost laughs out, for she sees it is no spirit, but a white apron hanging just inside the door.

      Hush! Just as Kitty reaches the last step a door opens below. It is the kitchen door. She hears the servant talking. Nurse’s voice reaches her quite plainly. Is she coming up? Beat—beat—beat goes Kitty’s heart, and she peers over the balusters.

      The next moment the door is shut again, and once more there is not a stir or a sound through the house.

      Hush! Cautiously—cautiously Kitty pushes Johnnie’s door wide enough open to let her pass in.

      She stands now in the dear familiar room. A fire burning in the grate fills every corner with a ruddy glow. She sees the pictures on the walls, on the table the medicine bottles and a spoon, in its accustomed place the low red-cushioned chair and tiny crutch beside it. A little bed with white curtains stands in a corner.

      Softly—softly Kitty makes her way toward the bed, and pauses when she approaches it.

      Johnnie’s face is on the pillow, white as the snow in the garden; all around it a cloud of golden hair. His eyes are closed, and the long lashes look very dark against the pale cheeks.

      Kitty remained quite quiet a moment looking at him; then she came closer within the curtains and laid her hand—a very warm brown plump one—on the wee white hand lying outside the red coverlid.

      “Johnnie!” she whispered, and the name came as if the little heart would burst if it was not spoken.

      Johnnie opened his eyes, looked blankly and queerly at her, then at once closed them again.

      “Johnnie, speak to me!” urged Kitty with a sob.

      Thus appealed to, Johnnie once more opened his eyes wider and wider, till the white wasted face seemed to become all blue eyes. Still he gazed blankly at his visitor in the night-gown; gradually his look brightened, he began to smile, the smile broadened into a laugh.

      “Kitty!” he exclaimed in a glad feeble whisper.

      “I ought not to have waked you,” said Kitty, in a quivering voice; “but they have not let me near you for nine days. I have counted them—nine (a great sob). I have sat outside your door—but they would not let me in (sob, sob, sob).”

      “Poor old Kitsy!” whispered Johnnie; and up went the tiny hot hand in an effort to stroke Kitty’s cheek.

      “They will send me away now if they find me,” continued Kitty, shaking with a burst of tears. “Mother is lying down. I heard nurse go downstairs—and so—and so—” Here the heaving of the little bosom, and the quick motion of the chin up and down, checked further speech.

      Johnnie panted a moment on his pillow before he said:

      “I have sometimes fancied you were in the room, Kitsy. I saw you quite plain—your freckles and your dear little cocked nose.”

      At this description of herself Kitty knelt in a delighted heap by Johnnie’s bed, and rubbed her face round and round on his red flannel sleeve, very much like an affectionate pussy.

      “I have cried so much since you were ill,” she went on after awhile. “One day I wetted seven pocket handkerchiefs with my tears. I hung them up to dry. I counted them—there were seven.”

      Johnnie’s eyes glistened with sympathy, and he repeated in his feeble voice:

      “Poor old Kitsy!”

      “It was the day,” went on Kitty, wishing to be exact, “that mother said I was to say in my prayers, ‘Pray God, leave us little Johnnie; but thy will be done.’ I prayed all day, I kept going down on my knees, and every time I waked up in the night I said ‘Leave us little Johnnie.’ I did not say ‘Thy will be done.’ I said ‘Leave us little Johnnie, leave us little Johnnie.’”

      There was a silence; then Johnnie said in an odd sort of a way:

      “I know what day that was. It was the day I saw my guardian child.”

      “Your guardian child!” repeated Kitty curiously.

      Johnnie nodded.

      “What was he like?” asked Kitty, pressing nearer up against the bed.

      “He was just like me,” answered Johnnie, looking straight before him, as if he were seeing there what he described; “only his two legs were both the same size—so he had no crutch, and he had a rosy face.”

      “How was he dressed?” asked Kitty, growing more curious.

      “He had a rainbow sort of a coat on,” replied Johnnie, “and he had two little pink wings. I thought he had come, perhaps, because I was going to die—and he wanted to show me that in heaven