CALIBAN
With rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes Mary returned from a walk with Katy
Summers. It had been pleasant but uneventful. Just as she turned in at
the little dooryard of home, she thought she spied a black Something
dart like a shadow across the little strip of green beside the house.
“It looks like a cat,” said Mary to herself. “I will see where it went
to.” She followed to the end of the house, where the shape had seemed
to disappear. There was nothing to be seen. She went around the ell,
and back to the front of the house again. Still there was no trace of
the little shadow that had streaked into invisibility.
“If it was not my imagination, it must have gone under the house,”
said Mary to herself. “Two or three times I have thought I spied a
black blur in the act of disappearing; and I believe we are haunted by
something on four legs. I will ask the family.”
That night at the supper-table she broached the question.
“Mother, have you ever seen a cat about the place--a black cat, a swift
cat, a cat that never stays for a second in one spot--a mysterious cat
that is gone as soon as you see it?”
“That sounds spooky enough!” commented Dr. Corliss. “You make the
shivers run down my sensitive spine!”
“I have not seen any cat,” said Mrs. Corliss. “I think you must be
mistaken, Mary.”
“Yes, I’ve seen a cat!” volunteered John,--“a thin black cat, oh, so
thin! I saw him run across the lawn once; and once I saw him crouching
down by the lilac bush near the back door. I think he was catching
mice.”
“Then there _is_ a cat,” said Mary. “I thought I might be dreaming. He
must be very wild. I believe he lives under our house.”
“Under the house!” exclaimed Mrs. Corliss. “Surely, we should all have
seen him if he lived so near. I can’t think he could have escaped my
eyes. But now, I remember, I have heard strange noises in the cellar
once or twice.”
“I have, often,” said Mary, “under my library.”
“Maybe it is a witch-cat!” suggested Dr. Corliss, pretending to look
frightened. “You people are all so fond of poetry and ravens and
mystery and magics--you attract strange doings, you see. Maybe Aunt Nan
had a witch-cat who helped her play tricks on the ever-to-be-surprised
world.”
“Daddy!” cried John, “there’s no such thing as a witch-cat, is there,
truly?”
“Of course not!” laughed his mother. “Daddy is only joking. And now I
come to think of it, I have wondered why the scraps I put out for the
birds always vanished so quickly. A hungry cat prowling about would
explain everything.”
“It might be Aunt Nan’s cat,” said Mary thoughtfully. “Poor thing! He
might have run away when he couldn’t find Aunt Nan any more. He might
have been frightened, and have hid under the house.”
“I think in that case he would have starved to death in all these
weeks,” said Mrs. Corliss. “Besides, I should think the neighbors would
have told us, or that Aunt Nan herself would have left some word.”
“I’m going to find out, if I can,” said Mary. “If it’s Aunt Nan’s cat I
want to be good to him. We want to be good to him, anyway, don’t we?”
“Of course we do,” said Mrs. Corliss. “But there is nothing so hard to
tame as a wild cat.”
Katy Summers knew nothing of any cat belonging to Miss Corliss. Neither
did the other neighbors.
That next day on coming home from school Mary again spied the cat. Just
as she clicked the gate she saw the long, black shape scurry across the
lawn and vanish under the ell, under Mary’s library. Mary tiptoed to
the house and, stooping, called gently, “Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!”
At first there was no response. But presently there came a feeble and
doleful “Miaou!” And Mary thought she could catch the gleam of two
green eyes glaring out of the darkness.
“I must get him something to eat,” said Mary. “Perhaps I can tempt him
to make friends.” And running into the house she returned with a saucer
of milk and a bit of meat, which she set down close to the house.
“Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!” she called, in a tone of invitation.
“Miaou!” cried the forlorn cat again. But he did not come forth from
his hiding-place.
“I shall have to go away, and give him a chance to eat when I am not
by,” thought Mary. And this she did. From her chamber window she could
just manage to watch the hole under the ell. After a long time she was
rewarded by seeing the cat’s head emerge from the hole. For a minute
he stared around with wild eyes, his body ready to spring. But finding
himself safe, he hungrily seized the meat and retreated with it under
the house. Presently he came out again, licking his chops eagerly,
and began to lap the milk, retreating every now and then as if some
fancied sound alarmed him. The poor creature’s sides were so thin that
he resembled a cut-out pasteboard cat. His tail was like that of a long
black rat. He seemed to be wearing a collar about his neck.
“He must have been somebody’s pet cat,” said Mary to herself. “I must
try to tame him.”
But it took a great deal of time and patience to make friends with
the poor black pussy, which had evidently been greatly frightened and
almost starved. Day after day Mary set out the saucer of milk and a
bit of meat. And each time she did so, she talked kindly to the cat
hidden under the house, hoping that he would come out while she was
still there. But it was many days before she got more than the mournful
“Miaou!” in answer to her coaxing words.
At last, one day, after waiting a long time beside the saucer of milk
and a particularly savory plate of chicken-bones, Mary was rewarded
by seeing the cat timidly thrust out his head while she was talking.
He drew back almost immediately. But finally the smell of the chicken
tempted him beyond caution, and he got up courage to face this stranger
who seemed to show no evil intentions. He snatched a chicken-bone and
vanished. But this was the beginning of friendship.
The next day the cat came out almost immediately when Mary called
him. Presently he would take things from her hand, timidly at first,
then with increasing confidence, when he found that nothing dreadful
happened. But still Mary had no chance to examine the collar, on which
she saw that there were some words engraved.
At last came a day when the cat let Mary stroke his fur, now grown
much sleeker and covering a plumper body. And from that time it became
easier to make friends. Soon Mary held the creature on her lap for a
triumphant minute. And the next day she had a chance to examine the
engraved collar. On the silver plate was traced,--“_Caliban. Home of N.
Corliss. Crowfield_.”
“He was Aunt Nan’s cat!” cried Mary in excitement. And she ran into the
house with the news.
Mrs. Corliss was astonished. “We must make Caliban feel at home
again,” she said. “He must have had a terrible fright. But we will help
him to forget that before long.”
In a little while Mary succeeded in coaxing Caliban into the house.
And once inside he did not behave like a stranger. For a few moments,
indeed, he hesitated, cringing as if in fear of what might happen. But
presently he raised his head, sniffed, and, looking neither to right
nor left, marched straight toward the library. Mary tiptoed after
him, in great excitement. Caliban went directly to the big armchair
beside the desk, sniffed a moment at the cushion, then jumped up and
curled himself down for a nap, giving a great sigh of contentment. From
that moment he accepted partnership with Mary in the room and all its
contents.
“Well, I never!” cried Mrs. Corliss, who had followed softly. “The
cat is certainly at home. I wonder how he ever happened to go away? I
suppose we shall never know.”
And they never did. They made inquiries of the neighbors. But nobody
could tell them anything definite about Aunt Nan’s cat. Some persons
had, indeed, seen a big black creature stalking about the lawn in the
old lady’s time, and had not liked the look of him, as they said. But
as Miss Corliss had never had anything to do with her neighbors, so
her cat seemed to have followed her example. And when Aunt Nan’s day
was over, the cat simply disappeared.
Caliban must have lived precariously by catching mice and birds. But he
never deserted the neighborhood of the old house when the new tenants
came to live there; though it took him some time to realize that these
were relatives of his mistress whom he might trust.
Once more an inmate of the house, Caliban never wandered again. He
adopted Mary as his new mistress, and allowed her to take all kinds of
liberties with him. But to the rest of the family he was always rather
haughty and stand-offish. John never quite got rid of the idea that
Caliban was a witch-cat. And sometimes he had a rather creepy feeling
when the great black cat blinked at him with his green eyes.
But Mary said it was all nonsense. “He’s just a dear, good, soft
pussy-cat,” she cried one day, hugging the now plump and handsome
Caliban in her arms.
And Caliban, stretching out a soft paw, laid it lovingly against his
little mistress’s cheek.
But John vowed that at the same moment Caliban winked wickedly at him!