"Mirram: that was the name of pussy. It appears a strange one, I admit;
but you see there is nobody accountable for it except the little cat
herself, for she it was who named herself Mirram. I don't mean to say
that pussy actually came to her little mistress, and said in as many
words, `Mirram is a pretty name, and I should like to be called Mirram.
Call me Mirram, please, won't you?'
"For cats don't talk nowadays, except in fairy tales; but this is how it
was. She was the most gentle and kindly-hearted wee puss, I believe,
that ever was born, and if you happened to meet her anywhere, say going
down the garden walk, she would look lovingly and confidingly up in your
face, holding her tail very erect indeed, and `Mirram' she would say.
"You see, `Mirram' was the only English word, if it be English, that
pussy could speak, and she made it do duty on every occasion; so no
wonder she came to be called Mirram.
"If she were hungry she would jump upon your knee, and gently rub her
shoulders against you and say, `Mirram.'
"`Mirram' in this case might be translated as follows: `Oh, please, my
dear little mistress, I am _so_ hungry! I've been up ever since five
o'clock this morning. With the exception of a bird which I found and
ate, feathers and all, and a foolish little mouse, I've had no
breakfast. Do give me a little milk.'
"This would be an appeal that you couldn't resist, and you would give
her a saucerful of nice new milk, telling her at the same time that it
was very naughty of her to devour poor birds, who come and cheer us with
their songs both in winter and in summer.
"Another morning she would come hopping in through the open window, when
you least expected her, and say `Mirram' in the most kindly tone. This
would, of course, mean, `Good-morning to you. I'm glad to see you
downstairs at last. I've been up and out ever since sunrise. And, oh!
such fun I've been having. You can't conceive what a fine morning it
is, and what a treat it is to rise early.'
"And now, having introduced this little puss to you by name, I must tell
you something about her playmates, and say a word or two about the place
she lived in, and her life in general, and after that show you how pussy
at one time came to grief on account of a little fault she had. Of
course, we all have our little faults, which we should strive to
conquer, and I may as well confess at once what Mirram's was. Well, it
was--_thoughtlessness_.
"The first and the chief of pussy's playmates, then, was her
child-mistress. Would you like to know what her name was? I will tell
you with pleasure; and when you hear it I'm sure you will say it is a
strange one. She had two Christian names--the first was Fredabel, the
second was Inez--Fredabel Inez--the latter being Spanish.
"`But,' you will say, `is "Fredabel" Spanish too, because I never heard
of such a name before?'
"No, I am quite sure you never did; for this reason: no child was ever
called by that name before, the fact being that her papa invented the
name for her, as it was the only way he could see to get out of a
dilemma, or difficulty. And here was the dilemma. When pussy's
mistress was quite a baby, her two aunts came to see her, and they had
no sooner seen her than they both loved her very much; so they both went
one morning into her papa's study, and the following conversation took
place:--
"`Good-morning, brother,' said one aunt. `I love your baby very, _very_
much, and I want you to call her after me--her first name, mind you--and
when she grows up she won't lose by it.'
"`Good-morning, brother,' said the other aunt. `I also love your dear
baby very much, and if you call her first name after mine, when she
grows up she'll gain by it.'
"Well, when baby's papa heard both the aunts speak like this, he was
very much perplexed, and didn't know what to do, because he didn't want
to offend either the one aunt or the other.
"But after a great deal of cogitation, he possessed himself of a happy
thought, or rather, I should say, a happy thought took possession of
him. You see the name of the one aunt was Freda, and the name of the
other was Bella, so what more natural than that baby's papa should
compound a name for her between the two, and call her Fredabel.
"So he did, and both aunts were pleased and merry and happy.
"But at the time our tale begins baby hadn't grown up, nor anything like
it; she was just a little child of not much over four years old.
"Now, as the one aunt always called her Freda and the other Bella, and
as everybody else called her Eenie, I think we had better follow
everybody else's example, and call her Eenie, too.
"Was Eenie pretty, did you ask? Yes, she was pretty, and, what is still
better than being pretty, she was very kind and good. So no wonder that
everybody loved her. She had a sweet, lovely face, had Eenie. Her
hair, that floated over her lair shoulders, was like a golden sunbeam;
her eyes were blue as the bluest sky, and large and liquid and
love-speaking, and when she looked down her long dark eyelashes rested
on cheeks as soft as the blossom of peach or apricot.
"Yet she was merry withal, merry and bright and gay, and whenever she
laughed, her whole face was lighted up and looked as lovely as sunrise
in May.
"I have said that Eenie was good and kind, and so she was; good and kind
to every creature around her. She never tormented harmless insects, as
cruel children do, and so all creatures seemed to love her in return:
the trees whispered to her, the birds sang to her, and the bees told her
tales.
"That was pussy Mirram's mistress then; and it was no wonder Mirram was
fond of her, and proud to be nursed and carried about by her. Mind you,
she would not allow any one else to carry her. If anybody else had
taken her up, puss would have said--`Mirram!' which would mean, `Put me
down, please; I've got four legs of my own, and I much prefer to use
them.' And if the reply had been--`Well, but you allow Eenie to handle
and nurse you,' pussy would have answered and said--
"`Isn't Eenie my mistress, my own dear mistress? Could any one ever be
half so kind or careful of me as she is? Does she ever forget to give
me milk of a morning or to share with me her own dinner and tea? Does
she not always have my saucer filled with the purest, freshest water?
and does she forget that I need a comfortable bed at night? No; my
mistress may carry me as much as she pleases, but no one else shall.'
"Now Mirram was a mighty hunter, but she was also very fond of play; and
when the dogs were in their kennels on very bright sunshiny days, and
her little mistress was in the nursery learning her lessons, as all good
children do, Mirram would have to play alone. _She_ wasn't afraid of
the bright sunshine, if the dogs were; she would race up into a tall
apple-tree, and laying herself full length on a branch, blink and stare
at the great sun for half an hour at a time. Then--
"`Oh!' she would cry, `this resting and looking at the sun is very lazy
work. I must play. Let me see, what shall I do? Oh! I have it; I'll
knock an apple down--then hurrah! for a game of ball.'
"And so she would hit a big apple, and down it would roll on the broad
gravel-path; and down pussy would go, her face beaming with fun; and the
game that ensued with that apple was quite a sight to witness. It was
lawn-tennis, cricket, and football all in one. Then when quite tired of
this, she would thrust the apple under the grass for the slugs to make
their dinner of, and off she would trot to knock the great velvety bees
about with her gloved paws. She would soon tire of this, though,
because she found the bees such serious fellows.
"She would hit one, and knock it, maybe, a yard away; but the bee would
soon get up again.
"`It is all very well for you, Miss Puss,' the bee would say; `your life
is all play, but I've got work to do, for I cannot forget that, brightly
though the sun is shining now, before long cold dismal winter will be
here, and very queer I should look if I hadn't laid up a store of nice
honey to keep me alive.'
"And away the bee would go, humming a tune to himself, and Mirram would
spy a pair of butterflies floating high over the scarlet-runners, but
not higher than Mirram could spring. She couldn't catch them, though.
"`No, no, Miss Puss,' the butterflies would say; `we don't want you to
play with us. We don't want any third party, so please keep your paws
to yourself.'
"And away they would fly.
"Then perhaps Mirram would find a toad crawling among the strawberry
beds.
"`You're after the fruit, aren't you?' pussy would say, touching it
gently on the back.
"`No, not at all,' the toad would reply. `I wouldn't touch a strawberry
for the world; the gardener put me here to catch the slugs; he couldn't
get on without me at all.'
"`Well, go on with your work, Mr Toad,' pussy would reply; `I'm off.'
"And what a glorious old garden that was for pussy to play in, and for
her mistress to play in! A rambling old place, in which you might lose
yourself, or, if you had a companion, play at hide-and-seek till you
were tired. And every kind of flower grew here, and every kind of fruit
and vegetable as well; just the kind of garden to spend a long summer's
day in. Never mind though the day was so hot that the birds ceased to
sing, and sat panting all agape on the apple-boughs--so hot that the
very fowls forgot to cackle or crow, and there wasn't a sound save the
hum of the myriads of insects that floated everywhere around, you
wouldn't mind the heat, for wasn't there plenty of shade, arbours of
cool foliage, and tents made of creepers?--and oh! the brilliancy of the
sunny marigolds, the scarlet clustered geraniums, the larkspurs, purple
and white, and the crimson-painted linums. No, you wouldn't mind the
heat; weren't there strawberries as large as eggs and as cold as ice?
And weren't there trees laden with crimson and yellow raspberries? And
weren't the big lemon-tinted gooseberries bearing the bushes groundwards
with the weight of their sweetness, and praying to be pulled? A
glorious old garden indeed!
"But see, the dogs have got out of their kennels, and have come down the
garden walks on their way to the paddock, and pussy runs to meet them.
"`What! dogs in a garden?' you cry. Yes; but they weren't ordinary
dogs, any more than it was an ordinary garden. They were permitted to
stroll therein, but they were trained to keep the walks, and smell, but
never touch, the flowers. They roamed through the rosary, they rolled
on the lawn, they even slept in the beautiful summer-houses; but they
never committed a fault--but in the autumn, when pears and apples
dropped from the trees, they were permitted, and even encouraged, to eat
their fill of the fruit. And they made good use of their privilege,
too. These were pussy's playmates all the year round--the immense black
Newfoundlands, the princely boarhounds, the beautiful collies, and the
one little rascal of a Scottish terrier. You never met the dogs without
also meeting Mirram, whether out in the country roads or at home, on the
leas or in the paddock; she pulled daisies to throw at the dogs in
summer, and in winter she used to lie on her back, and in mere
wantonness pitch pellets of snow at the great boar hound himself.
"The dogs all loved her. Once, when she was out with the dogs on a
common, a great snarly bulldog came along, and at once ran to kill poor
Mirram. You should have seen the commotion that ensued.
"`It is our cat,' they all seemed to cry, in a kind of canine chorus.
`Our cat--_our_ cat--our cat!' And all ran to save her.
"No, they didn't kill him, though the boarhound wanted to; but the
biggest Newfoundland, a large-hearted fellow, said, `No, don't let us
kill him, he doesn't know any better; let us just refresh his memory.'
"So he took the cur, and trailed him to the pond and threw him in; and
next time that dog met Mirram he walked past her very quietly indeed!
"Mirram loved all the dogs about the place; but I think her greatest
favourite was the wee wire-haired Scottish terrier. Perhaps it was
because he was about her own size, or perhaps it was because he was so
very ugly that she felt a kind of pity for him. But Mirram spent a deal
of time in his company, and they used to go trotting away together along
the lanes and the hedges, and sometimes they wouldn't return for hours,
when they would trot home again, keeping close cheek-by-jowl, and
looking very happy and very funny.
"`Broom' this little dog had been called, probably in a frolic, and from
some fancied resemblance between his general appearance and the
hearth-brush. His face was saucy and impudent, and sharp as needles;
his bits of ears cocked up, and his tiny wicked-looking eyes glanced
from under his shaggy eyebrows, as if they had been boatman-beetles. I
don't think Broom was ever afraid of anything, and very important the
little dog and pussy looked when returning from a ramble. They had
secrets of great moment between them, without a doubt. Perhaps, if her
mistress had asked Mirram where they went together, and what they did,
Mirram would have replied in the following words--
"`Oh! you know, my dear mistress, we go hunting along by the hedgerows
and by the ponds, and in the dark forests, and we meet with such
thrilling adventures! We capture moles, and we capture great rats and
frightful hedgehogs, and Broom is so brave he will grapple even with a
weasel; and one day he conquered and killed a huge polecat! Yes, he is
so brave, and nothing can ever come over me when Broom is near.'
"Now, no one would have doubted that, in such a pretty, pleasant country
home as hers, with such a kind mistress, and so many playmates, pussy
Mirram would have been as happy as ever a pussy could be. So she was,
as a rule; but not always, because she had that one little fault--
thoughtlessness. Ah! those little faults, how often will they not lead
us into trouble!
"I don't say that pussy ever did anything very terrible, to cause her
mistress grief. She never did eat the canary, for instance. But she
often stopped away all night, and thus caused little Eenie much anxiety.
Pussy always confessed her fault, but she was so thoughtless that the
very next moonlight night the same thing occurred again, and Mirram
never thought, while she was enjoying herself out of doors, that Eenie
was suffering sorrow for her sake at home.
"On the flat roof of a house where Mirram often wandered, in the
moonlight was a tiny pigeon-hole, so small she couldn't creep in to save
her life even, but from this pigeon-hole a bonnie wee kitten used often
to pop out and play with Mirram. Where the pigeon-hole led to, or what
was away beyond it, pussy couldn't even conjecture, though she often
watched and wondered for hours, then put in her head to have a peep; but
all was dark.
"Perhaps, when she was quite tired of wondering, and was just going to
retire for the night, the little face would appear, and Mirram would
forget all about her mistress in the joy of meeting her small friend.
"Then how pleased Mirram would look, and how loudly she would purr, and
say to the kitten--
"`Come out, my dear, do come out, and you shall play with my tail.'
"But it was really very thoughtless of Mirram, and just a little selfish
as well, not to at once let kittie have her tail to play with; but no.
"`Sit there, my dear, and sing to me,' she would say.
"Kittie would do that just for a little while. Very demure she looked;
but kittens can't be demure long, you know; and then there would
commence the wildest, maddest, merriest game of romps between the two
that ever was seen or heard of; but always when the fun got too exciting
for her, kittie popped back again into her pigeon-hole, appearing again
in a few moments in the most provoking manner.
"What nights these were for Mirram, and how pleasantly they were spent,
and how quickly they passed, perhaps no one but pussy and her little
friend could tell. When tired of romping and running, like two feline
madcaps, Mirram would propose a song, and while the stars glittered
overhead, or the moon shone brightly down on them, they would seat
themselves lovingly side by side and engage in a duet. Now, however
pleasant cats' music heard at midnight may appear to the pussies
themselves, it certainly is not conducive to the sleep of any nervous
invalid who may happen to dwell in the neighbouring houses, or very
soothing either.
"Mirram found this out to her cost one evening, and so did the kitten as
well, for a window was suddenly thrown open not very far from where they
sat.
"`Ah!' said Mirram, `that is sure to be some one who is delighted with
our music, and is going to throw something nice to us.'
"Alas! alas! the something _did_ come, but it wasn't nice. It took the
shape of a decanter of water and an old boot.
"One night pussy Mirram had stayed out very much longer, and Eenie had
gone to bed crying, because she thought she would never, never see her
Mirram more.
"Thoughtless Mirram! At that moment she was once again on the roof, and
the kittie's face was at the pigeon-hole. Mirram was sitting up in the
most coaxing manner possible.
"`Come out again,' she was saying to kittie, `come out again. Do come
out to--'
"She didn't see that terrible black cat stealing up behind; but she
heard the low threatening growl, and sprang round to confront her and
defend herself.
"The fight was fierce and terrible while it lasted, and poor Mirram got
the worst of it. The black cat had well-nigh killed her.
"`Oh!' she sobbed, as she dropped bitter, blinding tears on the
roof,--`oh, if I had never left my mistress! Oh, dear! oh, dear!
whatever shall I do?'
"You see Mirram was very sad and sorrowful now; but then, unfortunately,
the repentance came when it was too late."
"Thank you," Ida said, when I had finished; "I like the description of
the garden ever so much. Now tell me something about birds; I'll shut
my eyes and listen."
"But won't you be tired, dear?" said my wife.
"No, auntie," was the reply; "and I won't go to sleep. I never tire
hearing about birds, and flowers, and woods, and wilds, and everything
in nature."
"Here is a little bit, then," I said, "that will just suit you, Ida. It
is short. That is a merit. I call it--"
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