[_See Note S, Addenda._]
PUSSY AND THE HARE.
In the parish of P----, Aberdeenshire, there lived some years ago a
crofter and his wife, and a little boy their only son. A fine she-tabby
cat who nightly sang duets with the kettle to welcome the master home, was
the only other member of the family.
One day, while roaming over the moorland in search of birds' nests, the
boy found a young hare, sound asleep among the heather. Such a prize was
worth any number of birds' eggs, and the lad carried it tenderly home and
presented it to his mother, and it was that night placed in a box in the
cow-byre. Next morning it was gone--puss had eaten it no doubt, and no one
could blame her. Pussy had had kittens, only a day or two before, and they
had all been drowned. For about a week after the disappearance of the
hare, it was observed, that pussy was not so regular in her attendance on
the house as usual. She never lay by the fire--the kettle might sing its
duets by itself; she ate her meals hurriedly and greedily, and then
escaped out.
"It's the hare she ate that's no agreeing wi' her," said the goodman.
"There's mair in it than that," said the canny goodwife; and, with a
woman's instinct, she followed pussy out and up into the hay-loft; and, lo
and behold! there lay the cat, in a snug little bed, suckling the lost
hare, and singing as sweetly as a linnet. Pussy reared the hare, and they
became inseparables. At breakfast pussy always waited until the hare had
finished, and when there happened to be broth for dinner--a dish the hare
did not relish--the cat never failed to beg for a piece of bread, which
she carried at once to her strange foster-child. The cat and hare went
everywhere together; sometimes indeed they might be seen fully a mile from
home. This cat was a famous hunter, and always brought her dead rabbits
home. It was funny, at times, to see the pair coming from the fields at
even, the cat with her dead quarry in her mouth, creeping stealthily
along, her eyes in every direction, and the big hare, rather out of
breath, bringing up the rear, and looking very foolish, as if he didn't
exactly know what it all meant, and rather deprecated the cat's conduct
than otherwise. This cat could fish; for one day a gentleman hooked a
large salmon in the river, and after running it for nearly two hours his
line broke and he lost it. Now, this salmon was found next morning on the
cottar's door-step. The cat and hare were both present; and as there is no
account on record of hares fishing, we think the credit of the capture
must be given to pussy. For two years this strangely matched couple were
friends, and bosom companions, for they slept together. But, one fine
summer's day they were lying in front of the house half-asleep in the
sunshine,--the hare at one side of the door, pussy at the other, and the
cottar's wife knitting between them.
The whole scene was one "of peas," and might have remained so, only
tragedy, in the shape of farmer Dick's big, disreputable collie, was at
that precise moment peeping round a corner and taking stock.
"Hullo!" said the dog to himself; "it's a--no, it isn't; yes, it is; hang
me, if it isn't--_a hare_--as cheeky as you like too. I'll teach him."
And he did. The poor hare never required another lesson. Nor did pussy
lose any time in giving the dog one. Rendered frantic by her poor friend's
death, she sprang on his back and tore him with tooth and nail. One of the
dog's eyes was entirely destroyed; and it need not be added he ever after
gave that house a wide berth. After the untimely fate of her foster-child,
pussy was extremely disconsolate, moping about and never caring to leave
the house. She had not long to mourn for him however, for some months
after she fell a victim to her own curiosity; for, like women, cats are
extremely prying.
The cottar's wife was one day melting some tallow in a large tea-pot,
which after using she left by the fire-side; and that night, when every
one was in bed, pussy, who had been dying all day to know what was inside
that tea-pot, "pirled" off the lid and popped her imprudent head in. Alas!
she never got it out again. About midnight the honest couple--snug in
bed--were awakened by a dreadful clattering noise in the kitchen, along
the passage, and on the stair.
"Geordie, Geordie! rise and see," said the good wife, nudging her goodman.
"Jean, Jean! rise and see yersel'," said he, nudging her in turn.
"It's _Hallow E'en_, Geordie," cried Jean; "and there is a deil, or
_deils_ rather, in the house, I ken." For the reader must bear in mind
that, though banished from English soil, fairies, bogles, and all that
ilk, still linger among the breckans of our Scottish glades and glens; and
annually on the night of 31st October, they play a thousand pranks under
the direct supervision of the archfiend himself. This superstition proved
fatal to poor puss. Gradually the noise got less, and soon ceased
entirely. Next morning, the cottar's wife was up betimes and downstairs.
She soon returned, wringing her hands and weeping bitterly.
"Oh! Geordie," she cried; "come doon and see what the deil has done to our
poor pussy."