either that it was too much trouble, or that she could not afford it.
But she could afford to buy an expensive set of china, and a dozen of
cut-glass tumblers, and a set of fine knives and forks, all of which
were quite too good for family use, and never made their appearance
except when she had company. And now she was out of conceit with her
tumblers, because Mrs. Cox had goblets, and dissatisfied with her
ivory-handled forks, because Mrs. Cox had silver ones; and she had
been straining every nerve to accomplish the purchase of those very
essential articles, when Mr. Webster disappointed all her calculations
by subscribing for a daily paper, and buying two new frocks and a set
of new and expensive school-books for Polly.
The first of these items she did not mind so much—it sounded genteel
to take a daily paper, and Mrs. Cox had two, but the latter seemed
perfectly useless to her mind, and she thought herself entitled to
indulge in at least a week of sulkiness in consequence. Accordingly,
she never spoke one word during supper except to reprove Polly, first
for taking so much butter, and then for sharing her bit of steak with
poor Tabby, who gratefully accepted her piece, small and gristly
though it was, and purred over it as she had never done over her nice
breakfasts and dinners at home.
"What a disagreeable woman," she thought to herself. "I don't see how
such a nice man came to marry her." And then she remembered how often
she had been sullen at home, when things did not go to please her, and
how, the very day she came away, she had refused to play with dear
little Miss Ella, who had always been so kind to her. And now she was
far away from them all, and they would never know how much she loved
them, though she had been so naughty. All her cheerfulness vanished as
these thoughts passed through her mind; moreover, she was very tired
and sleepy, and her side still gave her a good deal of pain; so she
went and sat down under the stove, and was soon asleep.
But she was not destined to sleep long. The baby, who had been set down
on the floor to amuse himself as he best could during supper-time,
spied her place of refuge, and crawling to a convenient distance,
he stretched out his little hand, and, grasping Tabby by the tail,
attempted to pull her towards him. Suddenly aroused by this rough
treatment, and by the pain it gave to her sore side, Tabby forgot both
prudence and good temper, and thought only of defending herself; and
extending her too-ready claws, she gave the little fellow a severe
scratch on the hand. Baby screamed of course, and his mother hastened
to take him up, and examine the extent of the mischief.
"There, Miss Polly, see what your fine new pet has done—scratched
poor baby's hand almost off: that is always the way with cats—nasty,
treacherous creatures, you can never tell when they are going to
scratch. Scat, you hateful, cross thing." And opening the door, she
took the broom and drove poor Tabby out into the snow, which was now
falling fast, giving her a slap with the broom as a parting present.
Polly remonstrated, but her objections were met by a box on the ear,
and a command to go to bed if she could not behave herself. Polly knew
by experience there was no use in opposing her mother while in such a
mood as this. So she washed up the dishes in silence, and then, taking
a new book which Sarah Ann had lent her, she sat down to read, but was
informed that there was enough to be done without wasting time over
nonsensical story-books, and commanded to take her sewing till eight
o'clock, when she was sent to bed in the dark.
Poor Tabby, meanwhile, after spending some time in vainly mewing at
the door for admittance, began to look about her for some place of
shelter for the night from the blinding snow and the keen north wind,
which seemed to pierce her through and through. At last, after much
searching, she found a hole in the wall under a barn, and was just
crawling into it, when she was made aware that the place had another
occupant, by hearing a growl, and the words, "Who's there?" from the
farthest corner.
"It is only a kitten," answered Tabby, trembling both from cold and
fear. "Please, do let me come in! I am so very cold."
"Come in, and welcome," said the cat who had spoken, rising and
stretching himself. "There is room enough, and we can help to keep each
other warm."
Tabby gladly availed herself of the permission, and snugged down by
the side of her new acquaintance, who proved to be a very large and
powerful Maltese cat, fat, and in good condition, but bearing the marks
of more than one battle, in his scarred nose and ragged ears.
"Why, what a little thing you are!" said the big cat compassionately.
"You are only a kitten, in good earnest, and you don't look like a wild
one either. I should think your folks might have let you sleep in the
house in such a bitter night as this."
"I only came to this house to-night," said Tabby. "At my own house,
they would never have turned me out, but that is a very different place
from this. I am afraid there are not many such people in the world."
"How did you come to leave your house if it was such a good one?"
naturally inquired the grey cat.
"Because I was a discontented little fool, and did not know when I was
well off," replied Tabby.
And in answer to some further questions, she proceeded to relate her
whole history to her new friend, greatly cheered by his sympathy, and
by his beginning to lick her all over as her own mother used to do.
"And what are you going to do now?" asked the grey cat, as he concluded.
"I am sure I don't know," replied Tabby, mournfully. "I have all the
while been hoping to get home again, but I am afraid there is not much
chance of it now. I suppose I must look-out for some place where I can
have a home and be well-treated. I have learned to catch mice since I
came from home, and I would do my best to be useful."
"I suppose it would be the best way for you," said the grey cat
thoughtfully. "You are hardly old enough or strong enough to get your
living in a barn. I prefer that way of life to any other, now that I am
used to it; though I confess, on such a night as this, I cannot help
longing for my old cushion by the fire."
"So you have not always lived in a barn!" remarked Tabby, in an
inquiring tone.
"Oh! No, I was brought up in the house, and very much petted, till I
was two years old and more. I used to have a cushion by the parlour
fire, and another in the kitchen, and stayed where I pleased, and I
always had a plate set down on the floor-cloth for me after dinner,
besides what the cook gave me. Everybody was kind to me, and nobody
could be happier than I was for those two years. Then the house was
sold, and the family moved away, and there was the end of my comfort
for a while."
"But I should have thought they would have taken you with them!" said
Tabby. "Why didn't they?"
"Just on account of the silliest nonsense in the world," replied the
grey cat. "My mistress was what is called a superstitious woman—that
is, she believed in all sorts of stuff about signs, and things being
lucky and unlucky—and some one as foolish as herself persuaded her that
it was unlucky to move a cat. So she went away, and left me to take
care of myself or to starve, whichever I liked best. I stayed about a
good while, but the people that bought the place did not like cats, and
drove me out whenever I attempted to make my way into the house. So at
last, in despair, I took to the barns, and now that I am used to it and
have learned to provide for myself, I like it very well."
"I do not think I should ever like to live in a barn," said Tabby.
"No, I daresay not. It 'is' pretty hard, especially as one has to fight
one's way among the other cats, and some of them are very ugly. I think
the best way for you will be to find a place in some nice family, where
they want a cat to pet. How do you like the look of things here?"
"Not at all!" returned Tabby, and she described the views she had
witnessed since her arrival.
"That is just the idea I had of her," said the Maltese cat, whose name,
he told Tabby, was Bold. "She has such a sharp voice. Mr. Webster
seems a nice man enough. I wonder why he doesn't make his wife behave
herself."
"Perhaps he can't!" suggested Tabby.
"Very likely," returned the grey cat, yawning. "It is not so easy
always to make people behave themselves, especially when they have not
much sense to begin with. But come, Tabby, since that is your name,
curl down here by me, and let us see if we can keep each other warm for
the night."
Tabby was only too glad to obey, and soon forgot all her troubles and
perplexities in sleep.
CHAPTER SIXTH.
THE RIVER.
THE next morning Tabby was awakened early by the cold, and at first
could hardly remember where she was, but the stinging of her ears and
paws soon brought her to her senses. Her companion had left her side,
and on going to the entrance of the hole where she had passed the
night, she saw by the footprints in the new-fallen snow that he had
gone to a large barn at some distance, where he was probably engaged
in catching his breakfast. At first she thought she would follow him,
but she reflected that she might easily miss him, and fall in with some
of those evil-disposed cats of which he had spoken the night before.
At another time, perhaps, this idea would not have deterred her, but
she felt weak and dispirited from the fatigues of the day before, and
thought she would make one more effort to ingratiate herself with the
mistress of the house, at least so far as to get some breakfast, after
which she thought she might feel more like resuming her travels.
She reached the house-door accordingly, and congratulating herself on
finding it ajar, she slipped in quietly, and took her seat on the floor
under the stove, taking care to retreat into the farthest corner, out
of reach of the baby. Having established herself safely, as she hoped,
she looked eagerly round for some signs of breakfast, but none were to
be seen except the dirty dishes, which Polly, with the signs of recent
tears on her face, was washing up at the sink. Mrs. Webster herself was
in the pantry, engaged in some cooking operations, to judge from the
sound of stirring and beating of eggs which issued from the open door.
"Come, Polly, have you almost finished those dishes?" said she, coming
into the kitchen with a dish in her hand. "You have been long enough
about them to wash every dish in the house. I want you to go up to
Martin's, and get some cinnamon and some essence of lemon."
"Father said he didn't want me to go to Martin's," said Polly.
"Never mind that," returned her mother. "You are my girl and not his,
and you have got to do as I say: so make haste!"
This was one of Mrs. Webster's favourite modes of "aggravation," as
Polly called it. Whenever she was particularly bent upon venting
her ill-humour upon the child, she reminded her that she was not
the father's own daughter. The fact was, though perhaps she hardly
confessed it to herself, that she was exceedingly jealous of Polly's
affection for her step-father, and thought it exceedingly unnatural
in the child to like him better than herself. This was one of her
"peculiar trials," as she was wont to say in her confidential
conversations with her dear friend, Mrs. Cox. According to her own
account, Mrs. Webster had a great many peculiar trials, and no one
could say that she was not extremely liberal in sharing them with her
friends.
"Come, make haste," repeated Mrs. Webster impatiently. "You get lazier
and lazier every day. I have a great mind to keep you at home from
school the rest of the winter, and try to teach you to work. You will
never be good for anything at the rate you go on."
Polly wiped the suds from her hands, and put on her bonnet without
replying to this threat, which she knew to be a vain one, as her father
would never consent to her being kept out of school.
"You are not going in that old frock!" exclaimed her mother. "What if
Mrs. Cox should see you? Put on your green dress."
"I thought you were in such a hurry," began Polly.
But her mother cut short her answer by a smart slap on the shoulder,
and an injunction not to be impudent. The fact was, Mrs. Webster was
in a thoroughly bad humour. She expected her friend and model, Mrs.
Cox, to tea in the evening, and had been bent upon surprising her with
the elegance of her entertainment, which she had intended should be
fully equal to anything Mrs. Cox ever had at home. And now not only
had her husband expended the money she had destined for plated forks
and goblets in clothes and school-books, but that very morning he
had absolutely refused to let her have a few shillings to purchase
materials for plum-cake and macaroons, declaring that the times were
too hard for poor people to indulge in such luxuries, and that he must
put by every halfpenny he could spare from absolute necessaries to make
the payments on his house and lot. In vain she had talked and reasoned,
and even cried. Mr. Webster would not be convinced, but departed with
his money folded in a paper with his savings-bank book, ready to be
deposited at noon.
But more annoyance was in store for her. Polly presently returned with
her hands empty. "Martin says that father told him not to let any one
get things there unless they brought the money."
"Your father is enough to provoke a saint," said Mrs. Webster. "I
declare, if I could contrive any decent excuse, I would send to tell
Mrs. Cox not to come. We shall not have anything fit to be seen—nothing
but plain pound-cake and sponge-cake, without a bit of seasoning, and
no preserves but raspberry jam. I would not have done it for anything,
if I had not supposed we could have things decent. Mrs. Cox is so
observing, too, she is sure to see everything. As for Mrs. Randall, she
never seems to know what she eats."
Tears of vexation actually stood in Mrs. Webster's eyes. Polly tried to
console her.
"Why, mother, I was up at Miss Augusta's one night, and went into the
dining-room just before tea. They had only then bread and butter, and
sponge-cake, and a little dried beef on the table—no plum-cake or
preserves at all; and they had company to tea, too, I know, for I saw
the ladies in the parlour; and you know Mrs. Cox herself says they are
the most elegant people in town."
"To be sure," said Mrs. Webster, a little comforted, "they ought to
know what's what as well as anybody, and they are as rich as Jews too.
But I suppose they had very handsome table furniture."
"It was just what they use every day," persisted Polly, "for I have
been there before at meal-times."
"Well, they are queer folks, those Fords," said Mrs. Webster. "I don't
pretend to understand them. Everybody looks up to them, and thinks them
the grandest people in town, and yet they never seem to care a bit
about style or fashion, or any such thing. They are very different from
the Lambs; 'they' do make a dash worth while."
"Yes, and who thinks any more of them for it?" interrupted Polly. "Mr.
Lamb is not half so much of a gentleman as father or Mr. Bond, and
Mrs. Lamb does not look like a lady, with all her fine clothes; and as
for manners, the Miss Lambs laugh and talk so loud on the street that
people turn round to look at them. I would rather be Miss Augusta Ford
than Miss Lamb, any day."
"Oh! You think Miss Augusta is perfect because she is your
Sunday-school teacher. I must allow, though, that she has much manners,
but I cannot understand how she can run about on foot to see all sorts
of people as she does. I should not think her mother would let her."
"Her mother does just so," replied Polly. "So I would not mind about
the cake, mother. I daresay everything will be nice enough, and Mrs.
Cox knows that father does not get as high wages as her husband."
"Don't say wages—salary sounds far better. And another thing, Polly,
while I think of it, I was quite ashamed the other afternoon, when
Mr. Larned asked you your name, to hear you answer 'Polly Anne' so
loud that every one in the church might hear you. Why didn't you say
Marianne, as I told you?"
"Because you told me yourself that I was christened Polly Anne after
grandma, and I didn't want to tell a lie in the church."
"Don't be impudent!" said her mother sharply. "Come, be smart now, and
clean up the fireside before you sweep, and then I want you to put down
the floor-cloth."
"Hadn't I better leave the fireside till after dinner?" asked Polly.
"I am not going to get any dinner," was the reply. "Your father has
taken his, and it is not worth while to cook anything just for us
two.—Turn that cat out! I am not going to have her near the fire."
"It is so cold," said Polly, pityingly. "Can't I put her down stairs?
There is a rat down there, I heard him the other day, and he has gnawed
some potatoes."
"Well, I don't care if you do, but I won't have her here. Come, be
smart now; we shan't be through to-day."
Tabby was accordingly turned out of her warm corner, where she had
been trying to forget that she was hungry, and soon found herself in a
damp cold cellar in company with a heap of potatoes, and a coal-box.
This last object renewed her home-sick longing, which seemed to grow
stronger and stronger as the chance of reaching home grew more remote.
"O mother, mother!" she said to herself. "Shall I ever see you and dear
Tody again, and do you ever think of poor, naughty Tabby?"
Overcome by these sad reflections, she sat down upon the lower stair,
and cried a long time, and then, somewhat relieved by having given free
vent to her sorrows, she set herself seriously about finding something
to eat. But hour after hour of patient watching was all in vain.
Neither rat nor mouse made its appearance, nor, though she searched in
every corner, could she find so much as a dry crust of bread to satisfy
the cravings of her appetite. What would she not now have given,
even for some of the cold potatoes she used to disdain? She returned
again and again to the only rat-hole she could find, but it was of no
use; and faint with hunger and misery, she could not even forget her
troubles in sleep. The cellar-door was opened once or twice, but it was
always shut again so quickly that she had no chance of escape, and the
windows were all tightly fastened.
She had finally fallen into a doze, and was just dreaming that she was
at home with her mother and Tody, eating cold chicken off a plate under
the dining-room table, when she was awakened once more by the opening
of the door.
"Dear me!" she said peevishly. "It seems I am not even to sleep in
peace."
But as she spoke, she looked up and saw by the light of a candle,
which shot through the chink, that the door had been left ajar. She
hastened up the stairs, and gently pawing against it, she succeeded
in noiselessly pushing it open, and found herself again in the same
kitchen, which had undergone such a change that she hardly knew it
again. The grate had been blacked and polished, till it shone like the
ebony shelves in Miss Sophia's cabinet; full white muslin curtains were
up at the windows, and a handsome green and red floor-cloth covered
the dingy rag carpet. The table was set with a fine damask cloth and
handsome china, and furnished with an abundance of cakes, preserves,
and dried beef, which looked so tempting to Tabby's hungry eyes that
she could hardly keep her paws off them. There was no one in the room
but Polly, who was tending the baby and keeping an eye on the biscuits,
which were baking in the oven. The door was half-opened into the
parlour, and lights and voices proclaimed that Mrs. Webster's company
had arrived.
"Oh!" thought Tabby. "If I could only have a little bit of that cake or
some of that beef, or even a scrap of bread!"
This was not a very good thought for a hungry kitten to cherish in
sight of a well-furnished table; and the said table being left for
the moment without any guard, she mounted upon a chair and carefully
abstracted a small piece of beef, which she thought would not be
missed. She had hardly jumped down with her prize, and secreted herself
behind the closet-door, before Mrs. Webster entered the room. Tabby
shrunk into the smallest possible compass, and was careful not to make
the least particle of noise in devouring her morsel, which seemed, from
its smallness, to increase her hunger, as it certainly did her thirst.
Mrs. Webster cast a vigilant eye upon the table, altered the
arrangement of things a little, and then proceeded to take the biscuits
out of the oven and to make tea. This done, she washed her hands,
settled her very handsome silk dress and head-dress a little, and
invited the ladies who were her guests to sit down. Polly did not
make her appearance, but stayed in the bedroom to tend the baby, and
Mr. Webster had not come in. Indeed, he rather avoided his wife's
tea-parties, for he did not particularly like her fine friends, and
could not help thinking that they sometimes amused themselves at her
attempts to be genteel, in which conjecture he was perfectly right, at
least so far as regarded Mrs. Cox.
"I had a call from one of your neighbours the other day, Mrs. Webster,"
said Mrs. Cox, as she was buttering her biscuit.
"From one of my neighbours?" repeated Mrs. Webster. "Who could it be? I
did not know that there was any one here who visited you."
"Neither more nor less than Mrs. Bond, the policeman's lady," replied
Mrs. Cox, laughing heartily. "Only think how honoured I felt!"
"You don't mean to say that woman actually came to call on you!" said
Mrs. Webster, in a tone intended to express the utmost surprise at the
said woman's audacity.
"She certainly did. I thought she came on an errand at first, of
course, and waited patiently to find out what she wanted, not dreaming,
of course, that she intended a visit. I did not even ask her to sit
down, but she helped herself to a chair, and sat talking as freely as
you please. Presently there was a ring at the door, and in walked Mrs.
Lamb. I felt ashamed enough, I can tell you, especially as Mrs. Bond
never offered to go, but sat talking in her calico frock and hood, as
composedly as if she were the grandest lady in the land. However, I
took care to tell Mrs. Lamb, after she had gone, that she was only a
poor person who had come on an errand."
"I suppose you will hardly return her visit," said Mrs. Webster, and
both the "ladies" laughed, as though the idea was a very ridiculous
one. "She is always running in here," continued Mrs. Webster, "and, I
am sorry to say, my Marianne has got up a wonderful intimacy with her
oldest daughter. I have tried to break it up, but find it difficult, as
they go to school together, and are in the same class in Sunday-school.
I think it has a very unfavourable effect upon Marianne's manners."
"I never allow 'my' children to associate with 'common' children,"
said Mrs. Cox, drawing herself up. "There are only two families in the
street that I permit them to play with at all. I should not think I was
performing the duties of a parent if I allowed them to form improper
associations."
"I saw your Fred out in the barn with Tom Bond the other day," said the
other lady, who had hitherto been rather silent. "They were amusing
themselves with stoning a kitten that was making its way through the
snow—at least Fred was, for I did not see Tom throw anything. I think
the Bond children very nice well-trained little things, for my part."
"I think you must be mistaken, Mrs. Randall," said Mrs. Cox, colouring,
and looking extremely offended. "My Frederick is too obedient to
his parents' commands to form improper associations, and he and his
brothers have been particularly enjoined to avoid any intimacy with the
Bonds."
"I think I shall take some more decided steps to break off Marianne's
intimacy with them," remarked Mrs. Webster; "and I certainly shall
discourage Mrs. Bond's running in here as often as she does. It is very
disagreeable."
"What a mean woman!" thought Tabby. "Just as if I did not hear her send
Polly over there to borrow things, at least three times this morning."
But if even Tabby's indignation was roused, we may be sure Polly's was
to the boiling-point. She could only find relief by talking to herself.
"Yes, it is all very well to talk about breaking off with the Bonds. I
wonder who went over to Mrs. Bond's yesterday to get her to cut out a
cap for Tommy, and stayed all the morning, though Mrs. Bond's baby was
sick, and she was just as busy as she could be washing? And who sends
to her for all sorts of things every day in the week? I should think
they would be ashamed."
But Mrs. Cox was again holding forth in her oratorical tones: