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"Ka-tri-na!" Katrina should have heard that call though she lay with folded hands beside her mother 'neath the church-yard mould. "Katrina, get me Haeckel's Wonders of Life!" Katrina got it, by the simple and effective process of going into the room where the professor sat and taking it from its shelf. We heard the soft murmur of her voice, fallowed by the rumble of his.
When she returned to us, Jessica finished her story in the chastened spirit which follows such an interruption, and there were ten minutes of talk. We forgot the bare little room; old memories softly enfolded us; the Katrina we knew and loved dominated the situation. "Ka-tri-na!" Katrina's soft lips were not smiling now, but she rose at once, and with a murmured apology left the room.
Jessica and I indulged in the luxury of a long, comprehending gaze into the depths of each other's eyes. Katrina returned, and we all talked at once; for five minutes reminiscences and confidences flowed with the freedom of a mountain stream after a thaw. "Ka-tri-na!" Katrina sat still. She was listening to the end of Jessica's best story, but one willing foot went forward tentatively.
No, she was still in the same place, Katrina explained, but the city had lurched off in another direction, leaving her and Hans and the children undisturbed in their peaceful pastoral life. "Ka-tri-na!" I almost jumped, but it was only a memory, helped on by my vivid fancy. I had tried to picture the peaceful pastoral life, but all that responded was the echo of that distant summons.
Almost immediately she returned to us, her cheeks pink from her exertions. "Now," she began, "I want to hear all about it the nicest teachers, the chums who have taken my place." The voice in the next room boomed out again. "Ka-tri-na!" it bellowed. "My pipe! It is up-stairs." Katrina departed for the pipe.
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