Good Mrs. Hedgehog hurt one of her feet slightly in our hurried retreat,
and next day was obliged to rest it; but as our curiosity was more on
the alert than ever, I went down in the afternoon to the tinker camp.
The old woman was sitting in her usual position, and she seemed to have
recovered herself. Sybil was leaning back against a tree opposite; she
wore a hat and shawl, and looked almost as wild as the tinker-mother had
looked the day before. She seemed to have been at the inn with the
clergywoman, and was telling the tinker-mother the result.
"You told her he had got two years, my daughter? Does she say she will
get him out?"
"She says she has no more power to do it than yourself, Mother--and the
young gentleman says the same--unless--unless it was made known that
Christian was innocent."
"Two years," moaned the old woman. "Is she sure we couldn't buy him out,
my dear? Two years--oh! Christian, my child, I shall never live to see
you again!"
She sobbed for a minute, and then raising her hand suddenly above her
head, she cried, "A curse on Black--" but Sybil seized her by the wrist
so suddenly, that it checked her words.
"Don't curse him, Mother," said the gipsy girl, "and I'll--I'll see what
I can do. I meant to, and I've come to say good-bye. I've brought a
packet of tea for you; see that you keep it to yourself. Good-bye,
Mother."
"Good-evening, my daughter."
"I said good-bye. You don't hold with religion, do you?"
"I does not, so far, my daughter; though I think the young clergywoman
speaks very convincingly about it."
"Don't you think that there may be a better world, Mother, for them that
tries to do right, though things goes against them here?"
"I think there might very easily be a better world, my dear, but I never
was instructed about it."
"You don't believe in prayers, do you, Mother?"
"That I does not, my daughter. Christian said lots of 'em, and you sees
what it comes to."
"It's not unlucky to say 'GOD bless you,' is it, Mother? I
wanted you to say it before I go."
"No, my daughter, I doesn't object to that, for I regards it as an
old-fashioned compliment, more in the nature of good manners than of
holy words."
"GOD bless you, Mother."
"GOD bless you, my daughter."
Sybil turned round and walked steadily away. The last glimpse I had of
her was when she turned once more, and put the hair from her face to
look at the old woman: but the tinker-mother did not see her, for she
was muttering with her head upon her hands.
* * * * *
It was a remarkable summer--that summer when I had seven, and when we
took so much interest in our neighbours.
I make a point of never disturbing myself about the events of by-gone
seasons. At the same time, to rear a family of seven urchins is not a
thing done by hedgehog-parents every year, and the careers of that
family are very clearly impressed upon my memory.
Number one came to a sad end.
What on the face of the wood made him think of pheasants' eggs, I cannot
conceive. I'm sure I never said anything about them! It was whilst he
was scrambling along the edge of the covert, that he met the Fox, and
very properly rolled himself into a ball. The Fox's nose was as long as
his own, and he rolled my poor son over and over with it, till he
rolled him into the stream. The young urchins swim like fishes, but just
as he was scrambling to shore, the Fox caught him by the waistcoat and
killed him. I do hate slyness!
Numbers two and three were flitted. I told them so, but young people
will go their own way. They had excellent victuals.
Number four (my eldest daughter) settled very comfortably in life, and
had a family of three. She might have sent them down to the burdocks to
pick snails quite well, but she would take them out walking with her
instead. They were picked up (all four of them) by two long-legged Irish
boys, who put them into a basket and took them home. I do not think the
young gentlemen meant any harm, for they provided plenty of food, and
took them to bed with them. They set my daughter at liberty next day,
and she spoke very handsomely of the young gentlemen, and said they had
cured the skins with saltpetre, and were stuffing them when she left.
But the subject was always an awkward one.
Number five is still living. He is the best hand at a fight with a snake
that I know.
Numbers six and seven went to Covent Garden in a hamper. They say
black-beetles are excellent eating.
The whole seven had a narrow escape with their lives just after Sybil
left us. They over-ate themselves on snails, and Mrs. Hedgehog had to
stay at home and nurse them. I kept my eye on our neighbours and brought
her the news.
"Christian has come home," I said, one day. "The Queen has given him a
pardon."
"Then he _did_ take the pheasants' eggs?" said Mrs. Hedgehog.
"Certainly not," said I. "In the first place it wasn't eggs, and in the
second place it was Black Basil who took whatever it was, and he has
confessed to it."
"Then if Christian didn't do it, how is it that he has been forgiven?"
said Mrs. Hedgehog.
"I can't tell you," said I; "but so it is. And he is at this moment with
the clergywoman and the tinker-mother."
"Where is Sybil?" asked Mrs. Hedgehog.
I did not know then, and I am not very clear about her now. I never saw
her again, but either I heard that she had married Black Basil, and that
they had gone across the water to some country where the woods are
bigger than they are here, or I have dreamt it in one of my winter naps.
I am inclined to think it must be true, because I always regarded Sybil
as somewhat proud and unsociable, and I think she would like a big wood
and very few neighbours.
But really when one sleeps for several months at a stretch it is not
very easy to be accurate about one's dreams.
FOOTNOTES:
Footnote B: _Patteran_ = the gipsy "trail."
Footnote C: "Poknees," gipsy word for magistrate.
TOOTS AND BOOTS.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
My name is Toots. Why, I have not the slightest idea. But I suppose very
few people--cats or otherwise--are consulted about their own names. If
they were, these would perhaps be, as a rule, more appropriate.
What qualities of mind or body my name was supposed to illustrate, I
have not to this hour a notion. I distinctly remember the stage of my
kittenhood, when I thought that Toots was the English for cream.
"Toots! Toots!" my young mistress used to say, in the most suggestive
tones, creeping after me as I would creep after a mouse, with a
saucerful of that delicious liquid in her hand.
"Toots is first-rate stuff," I used to think, and I purred accordingly,
for I never was an ungrateful cat.
This was in the dining-room, and in the morning. Later in the day,
"Toots" was served in the drawing-room. It was between these two
periods, I remember, that one day I found myself in the larder. Why I
went there, puzzled me at the time; for if there is anything I hate it
is a chill, and there was a horrid draught through a window pierced with
tiny holes, which seemed to let in a separate blast for every hair of
one's fur. I followed the cook, it is true; but I did not follow the
cook as a rule--not, for instance, when she went out to the coal-hole in
the yard. I had slipped in under her dress. I was behind the potato-tub
when she went out, shutting the door after her. For some mysterious
reason I felt on the tip-claw of expectation. My nose twitched with
agreeable sensations. An inward voice seemed to murmur, _Toots_!
Regardless of the draughts, I sprang on to the shelf close under the
window. And there was such a dish of cream! The saucers in which one got
it at breakfast did not hold a twentieth part of what this brimming pan
contained. As to the five o'clock china, in which visitors give you a
tepid teaspoonful, with bits of old tea-leaves in it--I grinned at the
thought as I drew in tongueful after tongueful of the thick yellow
cream.
At this moment I heard my young mistress's voice in the distant
passages.
"Toots, Toots!" said she.
"I've got plenty," purred I, lifting my head to speak, by a great
effort.
"Toots, Toots!" she miowed on, for she wasn't much quicker-witted than
the rest of her race.
"No, thank you," thought I; "and if you want five o'clock toots for
yourself, I advise you to come here for it." I thought this, but speak I
really could not--I was too busy lapping.
It was delicious stuff! But when the dish was about three-parts empty, I
began to feel as if I had had a good deal, and to wish I had more
appetite for the rest. "It's a shame to leave it, though," I thought,
"when a few more laps will empty the dish." For I come of an ancient and
rough-tongued cat family, who always lick their platters clean. So I set
to work again, though the draught was most annoying, and froze the cream
to butter on my whiskers.
I was polishing the glazed earthenware with the family skill, when I
became conscious that the house was resounding to the cry of "Toots!"
"Toots, Toots!" squeaked the housemaid, in the servants' hall.
"Toots, Toots!" growled the elderly butler, in the pantry.
"Toots, Toots, cock-a-Toots!" yelled that intolerable creature, the
Macaw.
"Toots, Toots!" snapped the cook.
"Miow," said I; for I had finished the cream, and could speak now,
though I confess I did not feel equal to any great exertion.
The cook opened the door. She found me--she did not find the cream,
which she had left in the dish ready for whipping.
Perhaps it was because she had no cream to whip, that she tried to whip
me. Certainly, during the next half-hour, I had reason to be much
confused as to the meaning of the word "Toots." In the soft voice of my
mistress it had always seemed to me to mean cream; now it seemed to mean
kicks, blows, flapping dish-cloths, wash-leathers and dusters, pokers,
carpet brooms, and every instrument of torture with which a poor cat
could be chased from garret to cellar. I am pretty nimble, and though I
never felt less disposed for violent exercise, I flatter myself I led
them a good dance before, by a sudden impulse of affectionate
trustfulness, I sprang straight into my mistress's arms for shelter.
"You must beat him, miss," gasped the cook, "or there'll never be no
bearing him in the house. Every drop of that lovely cream gone, and half
the sweets for the ball supper throwed completely out of calculation!"
"Naughty Toots, naughty Toots, naughty Toots!" cried the young lady,
and with every "Toots" she gave me a slap; but as her paws had no claws
in them, I was more offended than hurt.
This was my first lesson in honesty, and it was also the beginning of
that train of reasoning in my own mind, by which I came to understand
that when people called "Toots" they meant me. And as--to do them
justice--they generally called me with some kind intention, I made a
point of responding to my name.
Indeed, they were so kind to me, and my position was such a very
comfortable one, that when a lean tabby called one day for a charitable
subscription, and begged me to contribute a few spare partridge bones to
a fund for the support of starving cats in the neighbourhood, who had
been deserted by families leaving town, I said that really such cases
were not much in my line. There is a great deal of imposition
about--perhaps the cats had stolen the cream, and hadn't left off
stealing it when they were chased by the family. I doubted if families
where the cats deserved respect and consideration ever did leave town.
One has so many calls, if one once begins to subscribe to things; and I
am particularly fond of partridge.
But when, a few months later, the very words which the lean tabby had
spoken passed between the butler and the cook in reference to our own
household, and I learnt that "the family" were going "to leave town," I
felt a pang of conscience, and wished I had subscribed the merry
thought, or even the breast-bone--there was very little on it--to the
Deserted Cats' Fund.
But it was my young mistress who told me (with regrets and caresses,
which in the circumstances were mere mockery) that I was to be left
behind.
I have a particularly placid temper, and can adapt myself pretty
comfortably to the ups and downs of life; but this news made my tail
stand on end.
"Poor dear Toots!" said my mistress, kissing my nose, and tickling me
gently under the ear, as if she were saying the prettiest things
possible. "I am _so_ sorry! I don't know _what_ we are to do with you!
But we are going abroad, and we _can't_ take you, you dear old thing!
We've such heaps of luggage, and such lots of servants, and no end of
things that _must_ go! But I _can't bear to think_ of you left behind!"
"No," said I indignantly; "that's just it, and the people at number ten,
and number fourteen, and number twenty-five, couldn't bear to think what
would become of their cats, so they went away and didn't think about it.
They couldn't bear to see them die, so they didn't give them a dose of
quick poison, but left them to die of starvation, when they weren't
there to see. You're a heartless, selfish race, you human beings, and I
suspect that Mrs. Tabby is not the only shabby-looking, true-hearted
soul, who has to pester people for subscriptions to patch up the dreary
end of existence for deserted pets, when caressing days are over. Fuff!"
And I jumped straight out of her arms, and whisked through the
dining-room window. For some time I strolled thoughtfully along the top
of the area railings. I rather hoped I might see Mrs. Tabby. I wondered
how her subscription list was getting on. I felt all the difference
between a lady's interest in a Reduced Gentlewomen's Benevolent
Institution or a Poor Annuitants' Home, when she is well and wealthy,
and the same lady's interest when some turn of Misfortune's wheel has
left her "dependent on her own exertions." It seemed that I was to be
left dependent on my own exertions--and my thoughts turned naturally to
Mrs. Tabby and the Deserted Cats' Fund.
But not a sign of the good creature! At this moment a hansom cab rattled
up, and a gentleman got out and rang our front-door bell. As he got out
of the cab, I jumped down from the railings, and rubbed against his
legs--he had very long legs.
"Halloa, Toots! is that you?" said he in a kindly voice, which had
always had attractions for me, and which in my present mood was
particularly grateful. His hat was set well on the back of his head, and
I could clearly see the friendly expression of his countenance. Suddenly
he tilted it over his nose, which I have observed that he is apt to do
when struck by a new idea. "Toots!" said he abruptly, "what are they
going to do with you?"
Blessings on this kind of friend! say I; the friend who will encumber
himself with the responsibility of thinking what's to become of you,
when you are down in the world. Those tender-hearted souls who can't
bear to think of your misfortunes are a much more numerous part of one's
acquaintance.
A ray of hope began to dawn upon me. Perhaps a new and an even more
luxurious home was to be offered for my acceptance. In what foolish
panic had I begun to identify myself with the needy classes of society?
A cat of my stripes and style! Once more I thought of benevolent
institutions from a patronizing point of view. But I would be a patron,
and a generous one. The shock _had_ done so much! And the next time Mrs.
Tabby called I would _pick out a lot of my best bones for the Fund_.
Meanwhile, I went back to the railings, and from these took a flying
leap, and perched myself on the gentleman's shoulder. I could hardly
have managed it from the ground, he had such very long legs.
I think, by the bye, that I have mentioned this before. I do not wish to
repeat myself, or to dwell on my grievance, though, if his legs had been
shorter, his riding-boots would not have been so long, and I might at
this moment know what became of--but I must not forestall my story.
I jumped on to the gentleman's shoulder. In doing so, I knocked his hat
over one eye. But I have seen it so since then, and he made no
complaint. The man-servant opened the door, and we went into the house
together.
CHAPTER II.
I flatter myself that my head is not remarkable for size and beauty
alone. I am a cat of mind, and I made it up at once as to the course of
conduct to pursue.
I am also a cat with some powers of observation, and I have observed
that two things go a long way with men--flattery and persistence. Also
that the difficulty of coaxing them is not in direct proportion to their
size--rather the reverse. Another thing that I have observed is, that
if you want to be well-treated, or have a favour to ask, it is a great
thing to have a good coat on your back in good order.
How many a human being has sleeked the rich softness of my magnificent
tiger skin, and then said, in perfect good faith, "How Toots enjoys
being stroked!"
"How you enjoy the feel of my fur, you mean," I am tempted to say. But I
do not say it. It doesn't do to disturb the self-complacency of people
who have the control of the milk-jug.
Having made up my mind to coax the gentleman into adopting me, I devoted
myself entirely to him for the evening, and ignored the rest of the
party, as serenely as a cat knows how. Again and again did he put me
down with firm, but not ungentle hands, saying--"Go down, Toots," and
pick stray hairs in a fidgety manner off his dress-trousers; and again
and again did I return to his shoulder (where he couldn't see the hairs)
and purr in his ear, and rub my long whiskers against his short ones.
But it was not till he was comfortably established in an arm-chair by
the drawing-room fire, round which the rest of the family were also
seated, that the charm began to work.
"How devoted Toots is to you!" purred the ladies, after an ineffectual
effort on my part to share the arm-chair.
"You're a very foolish Toots," said the gentleman. (I was back on his
shoulder by this time.)
"Toots, you've deserted me," said my young mistress. "I'm quite
jealous," she added.
"Toots, you brute!" cried the gentleman, seizing me in both hands.
"Where's your good taste, and your gratitude? Go to your mistress, sir,"
and he threw me into her lap. But I sprang back to his shoulder with one
leap.
"It's really most extraordinary," said one lady.
"And Toots never goes to strangers as a rule," added my mistress.
Everybody is proud of being _exceptionally_ favoured. It was this last
stroke, I am convinced, that rubbed him the right way. A gratified
blandness pervaded his countenance. He made no further attempts to
dislodge me, and I settled myself into the angles of his shoulder and
affected to go to sleep.
"What are you going to do with him?" he asked, crossing one long leg
over the other with a convulsive abruptness very trying to my balance,
and to the strength of the arm-chair.
Both the ladies began to mew. They were _so_ sorry to leave me behind,
but it was _quite_ impossible to take me. They couldn't bear to think of
my being unhappy, and didn't know where in the world to find me a home.
"I wish _you_ would take him!" said my mistress.
I listened breathlessly for the gentleman's reply.
"Pets are not in the least in my line," he said. "I am a bachelor, you
know, of very tidy habits. I dislike trouble, and have a rooted
objection to encumbrances."
"We hear you have a pet mouse, though," said my mistress. He laughed
awkwardly.
"My dear young lady, I never said that my practice always squared with
my principles. Helpless and troublesome creatures have sometimes an
insinuating way with them, which forms an additional reason for avoiding
them, especially if one is weak-minded. And----"
"And you _have_ a pet mouse?"
He sat suddenly upright with another jerk, which nearly shot me into the
fire-place, and said,
"I'll tell you about it, for upon my word I wish you could see the
little beggar. It was one afternoon when I came in from riding, that I
found a mouse sitting on the fender. I could only see his back, with the
tail twitching, and I noticed that a piece had been bitten out of his
left ear. The little wretch must have heard me quite well, but he sat on
as if the place belonged to him.
"'You're pretty cool!' I said; and being rather the reverse myself, I
threw the Queen's Regulations at him, and he disappeared. But it
bothered me, for I hate mice in one's quarters. You never know what
mischief they mayn't be doing. You put valuable papers carefully away,
and the next time you go to the cupboard, they are reduced to shreds.
The little brutes take the lining of your slippers to line their nests.
They keep you awake at night--in short, they're detestable. But I am not
fond of killing things myself, though I've a sort of a conscience about
knowing how it's done. I don't like leaving necessary executions to
servants. As to mice, you know--poisoning is out of the question, on
sanitary grounds. 'Catch-'em-alive' traps are like a policeman who
catches a pickpocket--all the trouble of the prosecution is to come; and
as to the traps with springs and spikes--my man set one in my bedroom
once, and in the middle of the night the mouse was caught. For nearly an
hour I doubt if I was much the happier of the two. Every moment I
thought the poor wretch would stop screaming, for I had ordered the trap
in the belief that death was instantaneous. At last I jumped up, and put
the whole concern into my tub and held it under water. The poor beast
was dead in six seconds. A catch-'em-alive trap and a tub of water is
the most merciful death, I fancy; but I am rather in favour of letting
one animal kill another. It seems more natural, and _fairer_. They have
a run for their lives, so to speak."
"And who did you get to kill your mouse?"
"Well, I know a youngster who has a terrier. They are a perfect pair. As
like as two peas, and equally keen about sport--they would go twenty
miles to chase a bluebottle round an attic, sooner than not hunt
something. So I told him there was a mouse _de trop_ in my rooms, and he
promised to bring Nipper next morning. I was going out hunting myself.
"The meet was early, and my man got breakfast at seven o'clock for me in
my own quarters; and the first thing I saw when I came out of my bedroom
was the mouse sitting on the edge of my Indian silver sugar-basin. I
knew him again by his ear. And there he sat all breakfast-time,
twitching his tail, and nibbling little bits of sugar, and watching me
with such a pair of eyes! Have you ever seen a mouse's eyes close? Upon
my word, they are wonderfully beautiful, and it's uncommonly difficult
to hurt a creature with fine eyes. I didn't touch it, and as I was going
out I looked back, and _the mouse was looking after me_. I was a fool
for looking back, for I can't stand a pitiful expression in man or
beast, and it put an end to Nipper's sport, and left me with a mouse in
my quarters--a thing I hate. I didn't like to say I'd changed my mind
about killing the mouse, but I wrote to Nipper's master, and said I
wouldn't trouble him to come up for such a trifling matter."
"So the mouse was safe?"
"Well, _I_ thought so. But the young fellow (who is very good-natured)
wrote back to say it was no trouble whatever, and the letter lay on my
mantel-piece till I came home and found that he and Nipper had broken a
chair-leg, and two china plates."
"_Did_ they kill the mouse?"
"Well, no. But I nearly killed Nipper in saving him; and the little
rascal has lived with me ever since."
The ladies seemed highly delighted with this anecdote, but, for my own
part, I felt feverish to the tips of my claws, as I thought of the
miserable creature who had usurped the place I wished to fill, and who
might be the means of my having to fall back after all on the Deserted
Cats' Fund. What bungling puss had had him under her paws, and allowed
him to escape with a torn ear and the wariness of experience? Let me but
once catch sight of that twitching tail!----
At this moment the gentleman got up, stretched his long----
But I will _not_ allude to them! It annoys me as much as the thought of
that bungling cat, or of Nipper's baulked attempt. He put up his hands
and lifted me from his shoulder, and my heart sank as he said, "If I am
to catch my train, I fear I must say good-bye."
I believe that, in this hopeless crisis, my fur as usual was in my
favour. He rubbed his cheek against mine before putting me down, and
then said, "And you've not told me, after all, where poor Toots is
really going."
"We have not found a home for him yet, I assure you," said my mistress.
"Our washerwoman wants him, and she is a most kind-hearted and
respectable person, but she has got nine children, and----"
"Nine children!" ejaculated my friend, "My poor Toots, there will not be
an inch of that magnificent tail of yours left at the end of a week.
What cruelty to animals! Upon my word, I'd almost rather take Toots
myself, than think of him with a washerwoman and nine children. Eh,
Toots! would you like to come?"
I was on the carpet, rubbing against his--yes, long or short, they were
_his_, and he was kind to me!--rubbing, I say, against his legs. I could
get no impetus for a spring, but I scrambled straight up him as one
would scramble up a tree (my grandmother was a bird-catcher of the first
talent, and I inherit her claws), and uttered one pitiful mew.
The gentleman gave a short laugh, and took me into his arms.
"Oh, _how_ good of you! Jones shall get a hamper," cried the ladies. But
he shook his head.
"Three of the fourteen parcels I've got to pick up at the station are
hampers. I wouldn't have another on my mind for a fortune. If Toots
comes at all, he must come like a Christian and look after himself."
I will not dwell on our departure. It was a sadly flurried one, for a
cat of my temperament. The ladies saw us off, and as my young mistress
covered me with farewell kisses, I felt an unquestionable pang of
regret. But one has to repress one's affections, and consider one's
prospects in life, if one does not want to come upon the Deserted Cats'
Fund!
My master put his hat on the back of his head on the steps, and knocked
it off in shouting through a hole in the roof of the cab that we were to
drive like the wind, as we were late. At the last moment several things
were thrown in after us. A parcel of books he had lent the young lady,
and a pair of boots he had left behind on some former occasion. The
books were very neatly packed, and addressed, but the boots came "like
Christians, and looked after themselves." And through all, I clung fast,
and blessed the inherited vigour of my grandmother's claws.
At the parcels office, I certainly risked nine lives among the fourteen
parcels which were dragged and pitched, and turned over in every
direction; but though he paid me no other attention, my master never
forgot to put back a hand to help me when we moved on. Eventually we
found ourselves alone in a very comfortable carriage, and I suppose the
fourteen packages were safe too, thanks to the desperate struggles of
five porters, who went off clutching their paws as if they were
satisfied with the result.
After incommoding me for some time by rustling newspapers, and making
spasmodic struggles to find a posture that suited him, my master found
one at last and fell asleep, and I crept up to the velvet collar of his
great-coat and followed his example.
CHAPTER III.
I like living with bachelors. They have comfortable chairs, and keep
good fires. They don't put water into the tea-pot: they call the
man-servant and send for more tea. They don't give you a table-spoonful
of cream, fidgeting and looking round to see if anybody else wants it:
one of them turns the jug upside-down into your saucer, and before
another can lay hold of it and say, "Halloa! The milk's all gone,"--you
have generally had time to lap it up under the table.
I prefer men's outsides, too, to women's in some respects. Why all human
beings--since they have no coats of their own, and are obliged to buy
them--do not buy handsomely marked furs whilst they are about it, is a
puzzle to a cat. As to the miserable stuff ladies cover themselves with
in an evening, there is about as much comfort and softness in it as in
going to sleep on a duster. Men's coats are nothing to boast of, either
to look at or to feel, but they _are_ thicker. If you happen to clutch a
little with gratification or excitement, your claws don't go through;
and they don't squeak like a mouse in a trap and call you treacherous
because their own coats are thin.
I was very comfortable in my new home. My master was exceedingly kind to
me, and he has a fearless and friendly way of tickling one's toes which
is particularly agreeable, and not commonly to be met with.
Yes, my life was even more luxurious than before. It is so still. To
eat, drink, and sleep, to keep oneself warm, and in good condition, and
to pay proper attention to one's personal appearance; that is all one
has to do in a life like mine in bachelors' quarters.
One has unpleasant dreams sometimes. I think my tea is occasionally too
strong, though I have learned to prefer it to milk, and my master
always gives it to me in his own saucer. If he has friends to tea, they
give me some in their saucers. One can't refuse, but I fancy too much
tea is injurious to the nerves.
The night before last, I positively dreamed that I was deserted. I
fancied that I was chased along a housetop, and fell from the gutter.
Down--down--but I woke up on the bear-skin before the fire, as our
man-servant was bringing in candles.
It made me wonder how Mrs. Tabby was getting on. I had never done
anything further in that matter; but really when one's life goes in a
certain groove, and everything one can wish for is provided in
abundance, one never seems to have time for these things. It is
wonderful how energetic some philanthropic people are. I dare
say they like the fuss. (I can't endure fuss!) And Mrs. Tabby's
appearance--excellent creature!--would probably make her feel
ill-at-ease in bachelor quarters, if we could change places. Her fur is
really almost mangy, and she has nothing to speak of in the way of a
tail. But she is a worthy soul. And some day, when the Captain and I are
going to town without much luggage--or if she should happen to be
collecting in the country,--I will certainly _look up a few of my worst
bones for the Fund_.
I really hesitate to approach the subject of my one source of
discontent. It seems strange that there should be any crook in a lot so
smooth as ours. Plenty to eat and drink, handsome coats, no
encumbrances, and a temperament naturally inclined--at least, in my
case--towards taking life easy. And yet, as I lay stretched full-length
down one of my master's knees the other night, before a delicious fire,
and after such a saucerful of creamy tea which he could not drink
himself--I kept waking up with uncomfortable starts, fancying I saw on
the edge of the fender--but I will tell the matter in proper order.
I turned round to get my back to it, but I thought of it all the same;
and as every hair of my moustaches twitched, with the vexation of my
thoughts, I observed that my master was pulling and biting at his, and
glaring at the fire as if _he_ expected to see--however, I do not
trouble myself about the crumples in _his_ rose-leaves. He is big enough
to take care of himself. My own grievance I will state plainly and at
once. It may be a relief to my mind, which I sometimes fear will be
unhinged by dwelling on the thought of--but to begin.
It will easily be understood that after my arrival at my new home, I
waited anxiously for the appearance of the mouse; but it will hardly be
credited by any one who knows me, or who knew my grandmother, that I saw
it and _let it escape me_. It was seated on the sugar-basin, just as the
Captain had described it. The torn ear, the jerking tail, the bright
eyes--all were there.
If this story falls into the paws of any young cat who wishes to avoid
the mortifications which have embittered my favoured existence, let me
warn him to remember that a creature who has lived on friendly terms
with human beings cannot be judged by common rules. Many a mouse's eye
as bright as this one had I seen, but hitherto never one that did not
paralyze before my own.
He looked at me--I looked at him. His tail jerked--mine responded. Our
whiskers twitched--joy filled my brain to intoxication--I crept--I
crouched--I sprang--
He was not spell-bound--he did not even run away. With a cool twinkle of
that hateful eye, and one twitch of the ragged ear, he just overbalanced
the silver sugar-pot and dropped to the ground, the basin and sugar
falling on the top of him with a crash which made me start against my
will. I think that start just baulked the lightning flash of my second
leap, and he was gone--absolutely gone. To add insult to injury, my
master ran in from his bedroom and shouted--"Stealing, Toots? confound
you, you've knocked down my sugar-pot," and threw both his hair-brushes
at me.
_I_ steal?--and, worse still, _I_ knock down anything, who have walked
among three dozen wine-glasses, on a shelf in the butler's pantry,
without making them jingle! But I must be calm, for there is more to
tell.
The mouse never returned. It was something, but it was not enough. My
pride had been deeply hurt, and it demanded revenge. At last I felt it
almost a grievance that I _did_ reign supreme in the Captain's quarters,
that the mouse did not come back--and let me catch him.
Besides our in-door man, my master had an Irish groom, and the groom had
a place (something between a saddle-room and a scullery) where _he_ said
he "kept what the master required," but where, the master said, Terence
kept what was not wanted, and lost what was.
There certainly were, to my knowledge, fifteen empty Day and Martin's
blacking-bottles in one corner, for I used occasionally to walk over
them to keep my feet in practice, and it was in this room that Terence
last had conscious possession of the hunting-breeches which were never
seen after the Captain's birthday, when Terence threw the clothes-brush
after me, because I would not drink the master's health in whisky, and
had to take the cleanest of the shoe brushes to his own coat, which was
dusty from lying in the corn-chest.
But he was a good-natured creature, and now and then, for a change, I
followed him into the saddle-room. I am thankful to say I have never
caught mice except for amusement, and a cat of daintier tastes does not
exist. But one has inherited instincts--and the musty, fusty, mousey
smell of the room did excite me a little. Besides, I practised my steps
among the blacking-bottles.
I was on the top of the most tottering part of the pile one afternoon,
when I saw a pair of bead-like eyes, and--yes, I could swear to it--a
torn ear. But before I could spring to the ground they had vanished
behind the corn-chest.
This was how it came about that when the Captain's room was cosiest, and
he and his friends were kindest, I used to steal away from luxuries
which are dear to every fibre of my constitution, and pat hastily down
to the dirty hole, where Terence accumulated old rubbish and misused and
mislaid valuables--in the wild hope that I might hear, smell, or see the
ragged-eared enemy of my peace.
What hours I have wasted, now blinking with sleep, now on the alert at
sounds like the revelries of mocking mice.
When I say that I have even risked wet feet, on a damp afternoon, to get
there--every cat will understand how wild must have been the
infatuation!
I tried to reason myself out of it. "Toots," I would say, "you banished
him from your master's room, and you have probably banished him from
Terence's. Why pursue the matter farther? So pitiful an object is
unworthy of your revenge."
"Very true," I would reply to myself, "but I want a turn in the air.
I'll just step down as far as the saddle-room once more, and make myself
finally comfortable by looking behind the old barrel. I don't think I
went quite round it."
There is no delusion so strong when it besets you, or so complete a
failure in its results--as the hope of getting relief from an
infatuation by indulging it once more. It grows worse every time.
One day I was stealing away as usual, when I caught my master's eye with
a peculiar expression in it. He was gnawing his moustaches too. I am
very fond of him, and I ran back to the chair and looked up and mewed,
for I wanted to know what was the matter.
"You're a curious cat, Toots," said he; "but I suppose you're only like
the rest of the world. I did think you did care a little bit for me.
It's only the cream, is it, old fellow? As a companion, you prefer
Terence? Eh? Well, off with you!"
But I need hardly say that I would not leave him. It was no want of love
for him that led me to the saddle-room. I was not base enough to forget
that he had been my friend in need, even if he had been less amiable to
me since. All that evening I lay on his breast and slept. _But I dreamt
of the mouse!_
The next morning he went out riding.
"He will not miss me now," thought I. "I will devote the morning to
hunting through that wretched room inch by inch, for the last time. It
will satisfy me that the mouse is not there, and it really is a duty to
try and convince myself of this, that I may be cured of an infatuation
which causes annoyance to so excellent a master."
I hurried off as rapidly as befitted the vigour of the resolution, and
when I got into the saddle-room I saw the mouse. And when the mouse saw
me he fled like the wind.
I confess that I should have lost him then, but that a hole on which he
had reckoned was stopped up, and he had to turn.
What a chase it was! Never did I meet his equal for audacity and
fleetness. But I knew the holes as well as he did, and cut him off at
every one. Round and round we went--behind the barrel, over the
corn-chest, and then he made for the middle of the room.
Now, amongst all the rubbish which Terence had collected about him,
there were many old articles of clothing belonging to the Captain,
including a pair of long riding-boots, which had been gathering mildew,
and stiffening out of shape in their present position ever since I came.
One of these was lying on the floor; and just as I was all but upon the
mouse, he darted into the boot.
A quiver of delight ran through me. With all his unwonted sagacity,
Master Mouse had run straight into a trap. The boot was wide, and head
and shoulders I plunged in after my prey.
I scented him all the way down the leg, but the painful fact is that I
could not quite get to the bottom. He must have crouched in the toe or
heel, and I could get no farther than the calf. Oh, if my master's legs
had but been two inches shorter! I should have clawed into the remotest
corner of the foot. As it was, I pushed, I struggled, I shook, I worried
the wretched boot--but all in vain.
Only when I was all but choked did I withdraw my head for a gasp of
fresh air. And there was the Captain himself, yelling with laughter, and
sprawling all over the place in convulsions of unseemly merriment, with
those long legs which--but they are not his fault, poor man!
* * * * *
That is my story--an unfinished tale, of which I do not myself know the
end. This is the one crook in my luxurious lot--that I cannot see the
last of that mouse.
Happily, I don't think that my master any longer misunderstands my
attachment to the saddle-room. The other day, he sat scribbling for a
long time with a pencil and paper, and when he had done it, he threw the
sketch to me and said, "There, Toots, look at that, and you will see
what became of your friend!"
It was civilly meant, and I append the sketch for the sake of those whom
it may inform. I do not understand pictures myself.
Those boots have a strange fascination for me now. I sit for hours by
the mouth of the one where he went in and never came back. Not the
faintest squeak from its recesses has ever stirred the sensitive hairs
of my watchful ear. He must be starving, but not a nibble of the leather
have I heard. I doze, but I am ever on the alert. Nightmares
occasionally disturb me. I fancy I see him, made desperate by hunger,
creep anxiously to the mouth of the boot, pricking his tagged ear. Once
I had a terrible vision of his escaping, and of his tail as it vanished
round the corner.
But these are dreams. He has never returned, I suspect that the truth
is, that he had a fit from fright, in the toe of the boot, and is dead.
Some day Terence will shake out his skeleton.
It grows very cold. This place is full of draughts, and the floor is
damp.
He _must_ be dead. He never could have lasted so long without a move or
a nibble.
And it is tea-time. I think I shall join the Captain.
[Illustration]
THE HENS OF HENCASTLE.
(_Translated from the German of_ VICTOR BLÜTHGEN.)
What a hot, drowsy afternoon it was.
The blazing sun shone with such a glare upon the farmyard that it was
almost unbearable, and there was not a vestige of grass or any green
thing to relieve the eye or cast a little shade.
But the fowls in the back yard were not disturbed by the heat the least
bit in the world, for they had plenty of time in which to doze, and they
were fond of taking a _siesta_ in the hottest place that could be found.
Certainly the hottest place that afternoon, by far, was the yard in
which they reposed.
There were five of them--a cock and four hens. Two of the hens were
renowned throughout the whole village, for they wore tufts of feathers
on their heads instead of the usual red combs; and the cock was very
proud of having such distinguished-looking wives.
Besides which, he was naturally a very stately bird himself in
appearance, and had a splendid blackish-green tail and a golden speckled
hackle, which shone and glistened in the sun. He had also won many sharp
battles with certain young cocks in the neighbourhood, whom curiosity
about the tufted foreigners had attracted to the yard. The consequence
of these triumphs was that he held undisputed dominion as far as the
second fence from the farmyard, and whenever he shut his eyes and
sounded his war-clarion, the whole of his rivals made off as fast as
wings and legs could carry them.
So the five sat or stood by themselves in the yard, dozing in the
sunshine, and they felt bored.
During the middle of the day they had managed to get some winks of
sleep, but now the farmer's men began to thresh in a barn close by,
making noise enough to wake the dead, so there was small chance of
well-organized fowls being able to sleep through the din.
"I wish some one would tell a story," said one of the common hens, as
she ruffled all her feathers up on end, and then shook them straight
again, for coolness. "I am tired of scrabbling in the dust, and
fly-catching is an amusement only suited to sparrows and such vulgar
birds."
This was a hit at one of the foreign hens, who had wandered away a
little and was pecking at flies on the wall. The two common hens were
very fond of vexing the foreign ones, for their feelings were hurt at
being reckoned less beautiful and rare.
The tufted fair one heard the remark, and called out spitefully from a
distance: "If certain people were not ignorant country bumpkins, they
would be able to tell a good story themselves."
"That remark can't apply to me, for I know a great number of stories,"
replied the common hen, turning her head on one side to show her
contempt. "For instance: once upon a time there was a hen who laid
nothing but soft-shelled eggs--"
"You can't mean _me_ by that story," said the tufted one, "for I have
only laid one soft-shelled egg in my whole life. So there! But do tell
me how your interesting story ends--I am so anxious to hear the end."
"You know that best yourself," retorted the other.
"Now I'm sure, dear Father Cock, you could tell us something really
amusing if you would be so kind," said the second common hen, who was
standing near him. "Those two make one's life a burthen, with their
everlasting wrangling and bickering."
"Hush!" said the cock, who was standing motionless with one leg in the
air, an attitude he often assumed when any very hard thinking had to be
done; "I was just trying to recollect one."
After a pause, he said in a solemn voice: "I will tell you the terrible
tale of the troubles of 'The Hens of Hencastle.'
"Once upon a time--it was the village fair week, when, as you know,
every one eats and drinks as much as he possibly can, and consequently a
great many animals are killed,--the farmer's cook came into the
fowlyard, and after carefully looking over all the chickens, remarked
that seven of them would be twisting merrily on the spit next morning.
On hearing this, all the fowls were plunged into the deepest despair,
for no one felt sure that he would not be of the seven, and no one could
guess how the victims would be chosen. Two young cockerels, in their
deep perplexity, at last went to the yard-dog, Flaps by name, who was a
very great friend of theirs, and to him they cackled out their woes.
"'Why do you stop here?' asked Flaps. 'If you had any pluck at all you
would run away.'
"'Ah! Perhaps so--but who has enough courage for such a desperate step?'
sighed the young cockerels. 'Why, you yourself are no more courageous
than we, else why do you stop here chained up all day, and allow those
tiresome children to come and tease you?'
"'Well,' replied the dog, 'I earn a good livelihood by putting up with
these small discomforts, and besides that, _I_ am not going to be set
twisting on a spit. However, if you particularly wish it, we can go
away somewhere together; but if we do, I may as well tell you at once,
that you will have to feed me.'
"The cockerels, fired by this bold advice, betook themselves at once to
the henroost with the courage of young lions; and after a short but
animated discussion, persuaded the whole of the cocks and hens to run
away and to take Flaps as protector of the community.
"When darkness fell, the dog was unchained for the night as usual, and
as soon as the coast seemed clear, he went to the henhouse, pushed back
the sliding door with his nose, and let them all out.
"Then he and the whole company stole away as quietly as possible through
the yard-gate, away out into the open country.
"The fowls flew and wandered on, the livelong night, perfectly happy in
their freedom, and feeding themselves from the sheaves of corn that
stood in the stubble-fields.
"Whenever Flaps felt hungry, the hens laid him a couple of eggs or so
which he found far nicer than barley-meal and dog-biscuit.
"When they passed through thinly-populated places where they were not
likely to be observed, they marched gaily forward; but whenever there
was a chance of danger, they only travelled by night.
"Meanwhile the cook went early in the morning to kill the chickens; but
on finding the whole place as empty as Mother Hubbard's cupboard, she
fell into a violent fit of hysterics, and the kitchen-maid and pig-boy
had to put her under the pump, and work it hard for a quarter of an hour
before they could revive her.
"After some days' journeying, the wanderers arrived at a large
desolate-looking heath, in the middle of which stood an old
weather-beaten house, apparently uninhabited. Flaps was sent forward to
examine it, and he searched from garret to cellar without finding a
trace of a human being. The fowls then examined the neighbourhood for
two whole days and nights with a like result, and so they determined to
take up their abode in the dwelling.
"In they trooped, and set themselves to work to turn it into a strong
castle, well fortified against all danger. They stopped up the holes and
cracks with tufts of grass, and piled a wall of big and little stones
right round the house. When the repairs were completed they called it
Hencastle.
"During the autumn some of the fowls ventured forth into the cornfields
that lay near the haunts of men, and collected a store of grain to
supply them with food during the winter. They kept it on the floor of a
loft, and when spring came they sowed the remainder of the stock in a
field, where it produced such an abundant crop that they had plenty of
provisions for the following winter.
"Thus they lived a peaceful and happy life, which was so uneventful that
it has no history; and Mark, the watchman, who always stood on the
coping-stone of the highest chimney to act as sentinel, used constantly
to fall asleep, partly from sheer boredom, and partly from the combined
effects of old age, good living, and having nothing on earth to do.
Flaps, too, who had undertaken to guard the castle against intruders,
and who at first used to patrol the house carefully inside and out every
night, soon came to the conclusion that the game was not worth the
candle.
"One chilly evening, about the time of the first snows, when the wind
was beginning to whistle over the heath and make strange noises in the
castle, two old hens were up in the loft having a chat and picking up a
few stray grains of corn for supper. All of a sudden they heard a
mysterious 'Piep.' 'Hollo!' said one, 'what's that? no one can be
hatching out at this time of the year--it's impossible; yet surely
something said "Piep" down there in the corner.'
"Just then another 'Piep' was heard.
"'I don't think it sounds _quite_ like a young chicken,' replied the
other hen.
"In the middle of their discussion on this knotty point, they descried
a couple of mice at the edge of the corn-heap. One of them was sitting
on his hind-legs, washing his ears and whiskers with his fore-paws, but
his wife was gobbling up corn at a rapid rate, and in this sight the
wise and far-seeing old hens discerned the probability of future
troubles.
"'Hollo there! that's our corn,' they cried; 'you mustn't steal it. Of
course you may have a few grains in the depth of winter to keep you from
starving; but remember, when spring comes again, this sort of thing must
stop, and you must go away and never come here any more.'
"'Piep,' said the mice, and vanished.
"The two hens told the rest what had happened, but nobody troubled
themselves about such an insignificant matter, and some said that the
poor old things made mountains out of molehills. Anyhow, in two days
everybody, including the wise hens themselves, had forgotten all about
it. Later on, that winter, the mice had seven young ones--seven such
skinny, thread-limbed, beady-eyed little beasts that no one noticed
their arrival.
"Very soon after, almost before any hen had time to look round or think,
behold! mice were squeaking in every corner, and there were holes behind
every wainscot, plank, and rafter.
"A year passed away, and when winter returned again the mice came and
took the stored corn away in such quantities that everybody saw none
would be left to sow in the spring.
"Matters had come to a crisis; many and anxious discussions were held
amongst the fowls, for good counsel was a thing much sought after at
Hencastle.
"At first they took very energetic measures, and many a mouse fell a
victim to a well-aimed peck from a cock's beak; but alas! the mice took
energetic measures also, and resisted to the death, so that many a
fowl's leg was bitten to the bone. Much had been said, and much was
done, but the mice were more numerous than before.
"The commonwealth then decided on sending three experienced cocks out
into the world, to try and find some means for getting rid of the plague
of mice.
"The cocks journeyed for one whole day without finding anything to help
them in their trouble, but towards evening they came to a wild, rocky
mountainside, full of caves and clefts, and made up their minds to stay
there for the night; so they crept into a hole under a ledge of rock,
put their heads under their wings, and went to sleep.
"In the middle of the night they were roused by the sound of flapping
wings, followed by a whispering voice, saying, 'whish--ish,' which soon
broke out into a loud 'Whoo--hoo! whoo--hoo!' They popped their heads
out of the hole to see what was the matter, and they perceived a great
owl sitting on a stump, flapping its wings up and down, and rolling its
great round eyes about, which glared like red-hot coals in its head.
"'Mice here! Mice here! Whoo--hoo!' it shrieked.
"On hearing this the cocks nudged one another, and said, 'We are in
luck's way at last.' Then as the owl still continued to call for mice,
one of them plucked up courage and addressed it: 'If you will only come
with us, sir, you shall have as many mice as you can eat--a whole
house-full, if you like.'
"'Who may you be?' hissed the owl, and glared with its fiery eyes into
the cleft.
"'We come from Hencastle, where there are hundreds of mice, who devour
our corn day and night.
"'Whoo--hoo! I'll come, I'll come,' screamed the owl, snapping its beak
with pleasure.
"In the grey of the dawn the fowls sat on the roof-tree, listening to
Mark, the watchman, who stood on the top of, his chimney, and cried,
"'What do I see?
Here come the three!
And with them, I reckon,
A bird with no neck on.'
"Thereupon the owl and the three messengers flew up with a rush to the
top of the castle.
"'Ha! ha! I smell mice,' shrieked the new comer, and dashed through a
hole in the roof, from whence it shortly reappeared with a mouse in its
claws.
"This sight filled all the fowls with joy; and as they sat on the edge
of the roof in a row, they nudged each other, and remarked,
"'This has indeed been a happy venture.'
"For a few days everything went as smoothly as possible, but after a
time the mice began to find out that the owl could only see really well
at night, that it saw badly by day, and hardly at all when the midday
sun was shining through the window into the loft. So they only came out
at noon, and then dragged enough corn away into their holes to last them
till the following day.
"One night the owl did not catch a single mouse, and so, being very
hungry, drove its beak into some hen's eggs that lay in a corner, and
ate them. Finding them more to its taste than the fattest mouse, and
much less trouble to catch, henceforth the owl gave up mouse-hunting,
and took to egg-poaching. This the fowls presently discovered, and the
three wise cocks were sent to tell the owl to go away, as it was no
longer of use to anybody, for it never caught mice but only ate eggs.
"'Whoo--hoo! whoo--hoo! More eggs--give me more eggs, or I'll scratch
your eyes out,' shrieked the owl, and began to whet its beak on a beam
in such a savage manner that the three cocks fled in terror to the top
of the chimney.
"Having somewhat recovered from their alarm, they went down and told
Flaps, who was basking in the sunshine, that the owl must be got rid of.
"'What, are all the mice eaten, then?' inquired he.
"'Alas!' answered one of the cocks, 'the brute will eat nothing but eggs
now, and threatens to scratch our eyes out if we don't supply as many
more as it wants.'
"'Wait till noonday,' said the dog, 'and I'll soon bring the rascal to
reason.'
"At twelve o'clock Flaps quietly pushed the door open and went up into
the loft. There sat the old owl winking and blinking in a corner.
"'So you are the robber who is going to scratch people's eyes out,' said
Flaps. 'For this you must die!'
"'That remains to be seen,' sneered the owl; 'but eyes I will have, and
dogs' eyes too!' and with that it swooped down upon Flaps' head; but the
old dog seized the bird between his teeth and killed it, though not
before one of his own eyes had been scratched out in the struggle.
"'No matter,' said Flaps; 'I've done my duty, at any rate, and I don't
know why I should want more than one eye to see with;' and so saying, he
went back to his post.
"The fowls made a great feast, which lasted the whole day, to celebrate
the owl's death.
"But the mice remained in the castle, and continued to increase and
multiply. So the three wise cocks had to go forth on a second voyage of
discovery, in order to try and find a remedy against the intruders.
"They flew on for a night and a day without any result; but towards
morning, on the second day, they alighted to rest in a thick wood, and
there, in one of the forest glades, just as the sun was rising, they saw
a red-coated animal watching a mouse-hole. It was a fox, who had come
out to find something for breakfast. They soon saw him catch a mouse and
eat it, and then heard him say, 'Heaven be praised for small mercies! I
have managed to secure a light breakfast at last, though I've been
hunting all night in vain.'
"'Do you hear that?' said one of the messengers. 'He considers himself
very lucky to have caught a single mouse. That's the sort of animal we
want.'
"So the cock called down from the tree--'I say! below there! Mr.
Mouse-eater! you can have a whole loft-full of such long-tailed vermin
as that, if you will come with us. But you must first solemnly swear
that you will never eat eggs instead of mice.'
"'Nothing on earth shall ever tempt me to touch an egg. I swear it most
solemnly,' said the fox, staring up into the tree. 'But whence do you
come, my worthy masters?'
"'We live at Hencastle, but no one knows where that is except the mice,
who eat us out of house and home.'
"'You don't say so,' said the fox from below, licking his lips. 'And are
there many more such handsome, magnificent birds as you are, at
Hencastle?'
"'Why, of course, the whole place is full of them.'
"'Then I'll come with you,' said the fox, lowering his eyes, lest the
cocks should discern the hungry look in them. 'And if there are a
thousand mice in the loft, they shall all soon lick the dust. Ah! you
don't know what delicious dainties such--mice--are.'
"This time the fowls had to wait till evening before they heard Mark,
the watchman, crowing from his chimney, and calling forth,
"'Here come the three!
But what do I see?
Why, the friend that they bring
Is a four-legged thing.'
"When the fox got to the outer wall, he sniffed about uneasily and
said,
"'I smell a dog, and I am not fond of the race, nor do they as a rule
like me.'
"'You need not be alarmed,' replied the cocks; 'there is only one of
them here--our friend Mr. Flaps,--and he is always stationed outside the
castle; besides, he is just as glad as we are that you have come to kill
the mice.'
"But in spite of this assurance, the fox did not at all like the idea of
going in past Flaps, who stood at the door, showing his teeth, and with
the hair down his back standing on end; but at last, catching sight of a
number of plump young chickens looking out at a window, Reynard could
resist no longer, and with his mouth watering in anxiety to be among
them, he slipped past Flaps like lightning, and scampered up into the
loft. Once there, he behaved so affably to the fowls, and especially to
some of the oldest and most influential hens, that very soon every one
looked on him as their friend in time of need, and their enthusiasm was
brought to a climax when they saw him catch four mice in half as many
minutes.
"In the dead of the night, when all were asleep, Reynard crept up to
where the fowls roosted, and finding out where the youngest and fattest
were perched, he snapped off the heads of a couple before they had even
time to flutter a feather. He then carried them to the window, opened it
very gently, dropped the dead bodies out on to the ground beneath, and
then sped away down to the house-door and bolted it.
"When he had done this, he returned to the old hens and woke them by
groaning in such a heartbreaking manner, that all the fowls crowded
round him to know what was amiss.
"'Alas!' cried he, 'it has been my sad lot to witness a most fearful
sight. That dog whom you keep down below to guard the house slipped in
at the door, and going to the corner where the lovely young chickens
roost, quicker than thought killed two that were more beautiful than
angels. I was chasing a mouse under the stairs at the time, and happened
to come up just as the dreadful deed was done, and I saw the robber
making off with his booty. Only come with me a minute, and you shall see
that I have spoken the truth.'
"He took the scared and frightened fowls to the window, and when they
looked out, they saw to their horror their guardian Flaps sniffing at
the dead bodies on the ground outside.
"'Who would have thought it!' said the hens, in an awe-stricken whisper.
"'You may thank me,' said the fox, 'for my presence of mind in bolting
the house-door when he ran out, or no one knows how many more he would
have killed! If you will take my advice, you will send him about his
business; and if you will put me in his place, I can assure you that you
shall be protected in quite another manner.'
"'Hi! open the door,' cried Flaps, who saw something was wrong; 'you've
got another King Stork, I'll be bound.' But though he rattled and shook
the door, no one unbolted it. 'Ah!' sighed Flaps, 'before long the whole
pack of idiots will be killed and eaten.' So he scratched open an old
hole in the wall that had been stopped up, and crept in. He arrived just
in time to hear the old hens giving orders that no more eggs were to be
given him, and that the door was to be kept bolted, in order that he
might be obliged either to leave the place or to starve.
"They were all talking at once, and so eagerly, that no one noticed the
dog come up behind them. He gave one spring and seized the fox by the
throat. The attack was quite unexpected, but the fox fought, writhed,
and wriggled like an eel, and just as he was being borne down, he made
one desperate snap, and bit off the dog's ear close to the head.
"'Well, my ear is done for, but so is this blood-thirsty villain,' said
Flaps, looking down at the fox, which lay dead at his feet; 'and as for
you, you pack of ungrateful fools, one ear is quite enough to listen to
you with. Here have I been your faithful comrade for all these years,
and yet you believe that I have turned murderer in my old age on the
word of this rogue, who did the evil deed himself last night.'
"Now that the panic was over, the fowls felt heartily ashamed of
themselves for having been deceived by the fox, and done Flaps such
great injustice. So they all asked his pardon, and the feast which they
held to celebrate their deliverance from the fox was even more
magnificent than the last, and it went on for two whole days.
"Hencastle was _en fête_ for a time, but it was a very short time. For
the mice were no less glad than the fowls that their enemy was dead; and
now that both he and the owl had disappeared, they came out fearlessly
at all hours of the day, and lived a life quite free from trouble and
care.
"Not so the fowls. What was to be done with the ever-increasing colony
of corn-stealers? The more the fowls meditated, the more the mice
squeaked and played about, and the more corn they dragged away into
their holes. There was even a rumour that some one meddled with the
eggs.
"There was nothing for it but to dispatch the three messengers a third
time, with directions to be more vigilant and careful than before. Away
they flew, farther than ever. The first chance of help that arose was
from a couple of cats and a kite, who seemed likely to perform the
required work, but the cocks declined to accept their aid, feeling that
the Hencastle had suffered too much already from two-winged and
four-legged protectors.
"At length the messengers reached a bit of waste ground close to a
village, and there they saw an extremely grimy-looking gipsy sitting on
a bank. He knocked the ashes out of his black pipe, and muttered, 'I've
the luck of a dog! Here am I with a lot of the best mouse-traps in the
world, and I haven't sold one this blessed day!'
"'Here's luck!' said the wise birds. 'That is exactly the man for us; he
is neither two-winged nor four-legged, so he will be quite safe.'
"They flew down at once to the rat-catcher and made their proposition.
He laughed softly and pleasantly to himself, and accepted their
invitation without any demur, and started at once with a light step and
lighter heart for Hencastle.
"Two days after this, the fowls heard Mark, the watchman, crowing away
lustily from his chimney-pot,
"'What do I see?
Here come the three!
And the black beast they bring
Has no tail and no wing.'
"'But,' added the sentinel in less official language, 'he carries a
bundle of things that look like little houses made of wire.'
"The gipsy was at once taken up to the loft, and having, luckily, a few
scraps of strong-smelling bacon left over from his last night's supper,
he struck a light and managed to make a small fire in the long-disused
grate with some bits of dry grass and chips. He then frizzled some bacon
and baited his traps, and in less than ten minutes he had filled them
all, for the mice had never smelt such a delicious thing as fried bacon
before, and besides, they were new to the wiles of man.
"The fowls were wild with delight, and in their thankfulness they
bethought them of a special mark of favour, and every hen came clucking
up to him and laid an egg at his feet.
"For about a week the gipsy did nothing but catch mice and eat eggs; but
all things must have an end, and the bacon ran out, just when the gipsy
had come to the conclusion that he was heartily sick of egg-diet. Being
a man of action, he put out his hand suddenly and caught the fattest and
nicest young chicken within reach, and promptly wrung its neck.
"Oh, what a row there was in the henroost! The cocks began to crow loud
enough to split their throats, and the hens to fly about and cackle. The
man was nearly deafened, and yelled out at the top of his voice, 'What
do you expect, you fools? Mice can only be caught with meat, and meat I
must and will have too.' He then let them rave on, and quietly and
methodically continued to pluck his chicken. When it was ready, he made
a fire and began to roast it.
"In the meanwhile, Flaps had heard all the noise and outcry, and as it
showed no signs of abating, he thought the man was most likely in
mischief, so he went into the castle.
"'Oh! Woe! Misery! Horror! Despair!' cried all the fowls at once as soon
as they saw him. 'The murderer has slain young Scratchfoot the cock, and
is just going to roast him!'
"'You're a dead man,' growled Flaps to the rat-catcher, as soon as he
got up to the loft.
"'I'm not so sure of that, my fine cur,' said the man, taking hold of
the cudgel he had brought with him, and tucking up his sleeves.
"But the brave old dog sprang at him and bit him so severely that he
uttered a savage groan, and dealt Flaps a heavy blow with his cudgel.
This nearly broke the dog's leg and obliged him to relax his hold, on
which the gipsy dashed down-stairs and ran away with such speed that
Flaps on three legs had no chance of overtaking him.
"'Wait a bit!' cried the man from afar. 'I'll remember you!' And then
his retreating figure became smaller and smaller on the heath until at
last it disappeared altogether.
"This time the fowls had no heart for a feast. They sat brooding and
moping in rows on the rafters, for they began to see very clearly that
it was quite hopeless to try and get rid of the mice.
"Poor old Flaps, too, was very ill. A good many days elapsed before he
could get about, and for years he walked lame on his injured leg.
"One morning as the fowls were listlessly wandering about, wondering
what was to happen next, Mark, the watchman, was heard crowing away in a
very excited manner,
"'What do I see?
Twenty and three!'
"'What do you see?' cried they all in a great fright. 'Twenty and three
what?'
"'An army of soldiers dressed in smock frocks. They are armed with
pitchforks, and the black gipsy is their general.'
"The fowls flew up like a cloud to the roof, and sure enough they saw
the rat-catcher coming across the heath with a crowd of villagers
towards the castle.
"When they broke the doleful news to Flaps, he said, 'That scoundrel of
a man has betrayed our hiding-place, and we must wander forth again. Get
ready, and keep up your spirits, and remember that in any case we should
not have been able to stay here much longer, on account of the mice.'
"So the hens filled their crops as full as possible, and escaped with
Flaps out at the back door.
"When the country-folk got to the house, they found nothing in it but a
small heap of corn; so they fell upon the gipsy and half killed him for
having brought them on a fool's errand. Then they divided what little
corn there was left, and went away.
"As to the mice they were left to whistle for their food.
"So ends the tale of the Hens of Hencastle."
"And a very fine tale too," said one of the stranger-hens who had been
asleep all the time, and woke up with a jump. "It was deeply
interesting." The threshers happened to have stopped to rest for a
moment, or she would never have woke at all.
"Of course it was!" said the cock, full of dignity; and he shook his
feathers straight.
"But what became of the fowls afterwards?" asked one of the common hens.
"I never tell a hen a secret," said the cock; and he strutted off to
hunt for worms.
FLAPS.
A SEQUEL TO "THE HENS OF HENCASTLE."
And what became of Flaps after they all left Hencastle? Well, he led his
company on and on, but they could find no suitable place to settle in;
and when the fowls recovered from their fright, they began to think that
they had abandoned the castle too hastily, and to lay the blame on
Flaps.
Mark himself said that he might have overestimated the number of the
invaders. There might not have been twenty-three, but really Flaps was
in such a hurry for the news, and one must say something when it was
one's duty to make a report.
The three wise cocks objected to speak of themselves or their services,
but they had had some experience on behalf of the community in times of
danger, and in their opinion there had been a panic, and the hasty
action taken by Flaps was injudicious and regrettable.
The oldest hen of Hencastle shook her feathers to show how much Flaps
was in the wrong, and then puffed them out to show how much she was in
the right; and after clearing her throat almost as if she were going to
crow, she observed very shrilly that she "didn't care who contradicted
her when she said that the common sense of the Mother of a Family was
enough to tell _her_ that an old dog, who had lost an eye and an ear and
a leg, was no fit protector for the feminine and the young and the
inexperienced."
The chief cock was not so free of his opinions as the chief hen, but he
grumbled and scolded about everything, by which one may make matters
amply unpleasant without committing oneself or incurring responsibility.
Another of the hens made a point of having no opinion. She said that was
her way, she trusted everybody alike and bore her share of suffering,
which was seldom small, without a murmur. But her good wishes were
always at any one's service, and she would say that she sincerely hoped
that a sad injustice had not been done to the red-haired gentleman with
the singularly agreeable manners, who would have been gatekeeper of
Hencastle at this moment if it had not been for Flaps.
Poor Flaps! Well might he say, "One ear is enough to listen to you with,
you pack of ungrateful fools!"
He was beginning to find out that, as a rule, the Helpless have a nice
way with them of flinging all their cares upon the Helpful, and
reserving their own energies to pick holes in what is done on their
behalf; and that they are apt to flourish, in good health and poor
spirits, long after such friends as Flaps have been worn out, bit by
bit, in their service.
"First an eye, then an ear, then a leg," the old dog growled to himself;
"and there's not a fowl with a feather out of him. But I've done my
duty, and that's enough."
Matters went from bad to worse. The hens had no corn, and Flaps got no
eggs, and the prospect of either home or food seemed very remote. One
evening it was very rainy, the fowls roosted in a walnut-tree for
shelter, and Flaps fell asleep at the foot of it.
"Could anything be more aggravating than that creature's indifference?"
said Hen No. 2. "Here we sit, wet to the skin, and there he lies asleep!
Dear me! I remember one of my neck feathers got awry once, at dear old
Hencastle (the pencilling has been a good deal admired in my time,
though I say it that shouldn't), and the Red-haired Gentleman noticed it
in a moment. I remember he put his face as close to mine as I am to you,
but in the most gentlemanly manner, and murmured so softly,
"'Excuse me--there's just one of those lovely little feathers the least
bit in the world--'
"I believe it was actually between his lips, when we were interrupted,
and I had to put it tidy myself. But we might all be plucked as bare as
poor young Scratchfoot before Flaps would think of smoothing us down.
Just hear how he snores! Ah! it's a trying world, but I never complain."
"I do, though," said the chief hen. "I'm not one to put up with neglect.
Hi, there! are you asleep?" And scratching a bit of the rough bark off
the walnut-tree, she let it drop on to Flaps' nose.
"I'm awake," said Flaps; "what's the matter?"
"I never knew any one snore when he was awake before," said the hen; and
all the young cockerels chuckled.
"Well, I believe I was napping," said Flaps. "Damp weather always makes
me sleepy, and I was dreaming of the old farmyard."
"Poor old farm!" sighed Hen No. 2. "We had board and lodging there, at
any rate."
"And now we've neither," said Hen No. 1. "Mr. Flaps, do you know that
we're wet to the skin, and dying of starvation, whilst you put your nose
into your great-coat pocket and go to sleep?"
"You're right," said Flaps. "Something must be done this evening. But I
see no use in taking the whole community about in the rain. We will send
out another expedition."
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" screamed the three wise ones; "that means that
we're to face the storm whilst you have another nap, eh?"
"It seems an odd thing," said the chief cock, scratching his comb with
his claw, "that Flaps never thinks of going himself on these
expeditions."
"You're right," said Flaps. "It is an odd thing, for times out of mind
I've heard our old friend, the farmer, say, 'If you want a thing
done--Go; if not--Send.' This time I shall go. Cuddle close to each
other, and keep up your spirits. I'll find us a good home yet."
The fowls were much affected by Flaps' magnanimity, and with one voice
they cried: "Thank you, dear Flaps. Whatever you decide upon will do for
us."
And Mark added, "I will continue to act as watchman." And he went up to
the top of the tree as Flaps trotted off down the muddy road.
All that evening and far into the night it rained and rained, and the
fowls cuddled close to each other to keep warm, and Flaps did not
return. In the small hours of the morning the rain ceased, and the
rain-clouds drifted away, and the night-sky faded and faded till it was
dawn.
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" said Mark, and all the fowls woke up.
"What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?" said they. "Is
Flaps coming?"
"Not a thing can I see
From the top of the tree,
But a long, winding lane
That is sloppy with rain;"
replied Mark. And the fowls huddled together again, and put their heads
back under their wings.
Paler and paler grew the grey sky, and at last it was broken with golden
bars, and at the first red streak that caught fire behind them, Mark
crowed louder than before, and all the hens of Hencastle roused up for
good.
"What do you see and hear from the tree-top, dear Mark?" they inquired.
"Is Flaps coming?"
"Not a sound do I hear,
And I very much fear
That Flaps, out of spite,
Has deserted us quite;"
replied Mark. And the fowls said nothing, for they were by no means at
ease in their consciences.
Their delight was proportionably great when, a few minutes later, the
sentinel sang out from his post,
"Here comes Flaps, like the mail!
And he's waving his tail."
"Well, dear, dear Flaps!" they all cackled as he came trotting up,
"where is our new home, and what is it like?"
"Will there be plenty to eat?" asked the cocks with one crow.
"Plenty," replied Flaps.
"Shall we be safe from mice, owls, wild beasts, and wild men?" cried the
hens.
"You will," answered Flaps.
"Is it far, dear Flaps?"
"It is very near," said Flaps; "but I may as well tell you the truth at
once--it's a farmyard."
"Oh!--" said all the fowls.
"We may be roasted, or have our heads chopped off," whimpered the young
cockerels.
"Well, Scratchfoot was roasted at Hencastle," said Flaps; "and he wasn't
our only loss. One can't have everything in this world; and I assure
you, if you could see the poultry-yard--so dry under foot, nicely wired
in from marauders; the most charming nests, with fresh hay in them;
drinking-troughs; and then at regular intervals, such abundance of corn,
mashed potatoes, and bones, that my own mouth watered at--are served
out--"
"That sounds good," said the young cockerels.
"Ahem! ahem!" said the chief cock. "Did you see anything very
remarkable--were the specimens of my race much superior in strength and
good looks?----"
"My dear cock!" said Flaps; "there's not a tail or a comb or a hackle to
touch you. You'll be cock of the walk in no time."
"Ahem! ahem!" said the chief cock modestly. "I have always had a sort of
fatality that way. Pray, my dears, don't look so foolish and deplorable,
but get the young people together, and let us make a start. Mr. Flaps is
a person of strong common sense, a quality for which I myself have
always been remarkable, and I thoroughly endorse and support his
excellent advice, of which I am the best judge. I have very much
regretted of late to observe a tendency in this family (I say a
tendency, for I hope it goes no further) to undervalue Mr. Flaps, and
even (I hardly like to allude to such reprehensible and disgusting
absurdity) to recall the memory of a vulgar red-haired impostor, who
gained a brief entrance into our family circle. I am not consulted as I
should be in these fluctuations of opinion, but there are occasions when
it is necessary that the head of a family should exercise his discretion
and his authority, and, so to speak, put down his claw. I put down my
claw. We are going to Mr. Flaps' farmyard. Cock-a-doodle-doo
Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
Now, when the head of a family says "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" there is
nothing more to be said. So to the farmyard the whole lot of them went,
and were there before the sun got one golden hair of his head over the
roof of the big barn.
And only Mark, as they all crowded into their new home, turned his head
round over his back to say: "And you, Flaps; what shall you do?"
"Oh, I shall be all right," said Flaps. "Good-bye and good luck to you."
It cannot be said that Flaps was positively in high spirits when he had
settled his protégés in their new home in the farmyard, and was left
alone; but there are some good folk who contrive to make duty do the
work of pleasure in this life, and then a piece of business fairly
finished is as good as a treat.
It is not bread and bones, however, and Flaps was very hungry--so hungry
that he could not resist the temptation to make his way towards the
farmhouse, on the chance of picking up some scraps outside. And that was
how it came about, that when the farmer's little daughter Daisy, with a
face like the rosy side of a white-heart cherry set deep in a lilac
print hood, came back from going with the dairy lass to fetch up the
cows, she found Flaps snuffing at the back door, and she put her arms
round his neck (they reached right round with a little squeezing) and
said:
"Oh, I never knew you'd be here so early! You nice thing!"
And Flaps' nose went right into the print hood, and he put out his
tongue and licked Daisy's face from the point of her chin up her right
cheek to her forehead, and then from her forehead down her left cheek
back to her chin, and he found that she was a very nice thing too.
But the dairymaid screamed, "Good gracious! where did that nasty strange
dog come from? Leave him alone, Miss Daisy, or he'll bite your nose
off."
"He won't!" said Daisy indignantly. "He's the dog Daddy promised me;"
and the farmer coming out at that minute, she ran up to him crying,
"Daddy! Isn't this my dog?"
"Bless the child, no!" said the farmer; "it's a nice little pup I'm
going to give thee. Where did that dirty old brute come from?"
"He would wash," said little Daisy, holding very fast to Flaps' coat.
"Fine washing too!" said the dairymaid, "And his hair's all lugs."
"I could comb them," said Daisy.
"He's no but got one eye," said the swineherd. "Haw! haw! haw!"
"He sees me with the other," said Daisy. "He's looking up at me now."
"And one of his ears gone!" cried the dairy lass. "He! he! he!"
"Perhaps I could make him a cap," said Daisy, "as I did when my doll
lost her wig. It had pink ribbons and looked very nice."
"Why, he's lame of a leg," guffawed the two farming-men. "See, missy, he
hirples on three."
"I can't run very fast," said Daisy, "and when I'm old enough to,
perhaps his leg will be well."