ZEPHYR “SECOND”
It was Edwy himself who had named the cat Zephyr second. For one summer
they had a cat visitor that he named Zephyr, but she had gone back
to her home among the mountains and they had never seen her again.
But for this little kitten that had come to them, so white, so pretty
and engaging, a real snow-flake in color, so tiny and playful; Zephyr
seemed such an appropriate name. He could not call it Zephyr alone, for
that would have seemed like forgetting the former one, who was not so
beautiful as this one, and had never leaped higher than one’s head like
this one, but Zephyr second, or Zephyr II, would be quite the thing,
and keep the former one in memory.
He was glad that this one had come to his Aunt Aida’s, for they would
be a month longer in camp, and then Zephyr’s winter would not seem so
long.
He seemed more and more appreciative of all the graceful pranks of his
pet when she ran like a wild happy thing, leaping up as high as the
fence posts after butterflies in the sunshine, running up to the very
tops of the trees, and back again, but never catching the birds, oh no;
she was too happy to lie in wait for them, and the best trick of all
was, when she would sit on the bank and watch for a boat coming from
the other camp, every time he and Willard were out of her sight. She
would listen for the lapping of the oars, then leap to the bank, give
a glad little cry, arch her back, and give her sweet, high-toned purr
when they came near.
One evening before it was quite dark, when supper was just ready at
their father’s camp on the hill, Aida and Mo-ma had come over to stay
all night. They were to have their even-song, with the organ, violin,
and guitar, and the sweet human sympathetic voices of all in unison.
The songs which Edwy was sure “could be heard by the birds in their
nests high up in the tall trees, that leaned over the camp roof.”
They had just heard Willard and his father, fastening their boat at the
foot of the hill, and now they, “the truants,” were running quickly up
the stone steps from the landing, when Willard, the first comer, opened
the door and thrust some object inside.
It was none other than Zephyr!
“While we were passing your dock, we saw Zephyr waiting all alone on
the bank. We called to her, and she came running down and we took her
right into the boat with us, and here she is!”
“You precious darling,” said Edwy, stroking her.
As supper was now ready, he took her in his lap, and, contrary to all
rules, he fed her, as the poet Maeterlinck used to do with his pet cat,
talking to her in his happy voice in his own place at the table.
The evening had grown cool enough to have a fire of apple-tree wood,
blazing before the broad hearth, so before they began their even-song,
Willard had laid the moss-covered logs together and lighted them,
removing first the dainty fender, which his own hands had made, with
artistic deftness; having woven in the name of their camp among the
interstices of the woven wire. Now, where the welcome fire-glow shone
through it on the hearth-rug. Zephyr had taken her position, quite at
home and happy; purring her “grey thrums,” louder than ever, in her
contentment.