of the beautiful handwriting of my grandmother. "It is for next Saturday,"
announced my father, "and we are all invited to stay until Monday. And now
listen, Paula, this concerns you. Grandmother writes, 'It would delight me
very much to embrace our new little relative. I hope that from now on she
will keep a warm place in her heart for her old grandmother who loves her
without having ever met her.'"
Teresa, who was indeed tired out with the care of Catalina, and who was
very sensitive to warm weather, was no less happy than we were, for she,
too, was to go with us. Only Catalina manifested no enthusiasm over the
coming visit. My father observing this said to her anxiously, "You have
nothing to say, daughter mine?"
"I'm not going, father."
"What's that you say? You've been much better these last days and are well
able to stand the trip. You weren't very well last year, and yet you went
to 'Las Lilas' and found it so beneficial to your health."
"Yes, I know, father," answered poor Catalina, "but I know also that I've
always been a source of great trouble for you, and Teresa would never have
a minute's peace because of me. I shall go a little later, father, when I'm
stronger, if grandmother will have me. She knows very well how I long to go
to 'Las Lilas' but I fear that the trip would only bring on an especial
spell of weariness and that would spoil the fun of everybody. Maria, who
works in the garden here, can look after me for a day or two. She is very
kind and thoughtful, and I know she'll care for me very well."
We all stared at Catalina! It was the first time in all her history that I
had ever seen her forget herself. It was a great struggle, for she had
become so accustomed to think only of her own comfort. Tears welled up in
her eyes as she smilingly awaited father's decision. "But this is going to
be a great disappointment to you," he said, passing his hand over the
feverish forehead of the invalid.
"No, father; it will give me great pleasure this time," came Catalina's
brave answer.
"Be it therefore as you wish," he said.
Pleasure? I couldn't understand what pleasure there would be for Catalina
to stay behind alone with Maria, especially at this time of the great event
of the year.
My father looked at Catalina tenderly as if he read her very heart, and saw
there something he had never seen before. "Thou hast changed much, daughter
mine, since your last sickness."
"For better or worse?" asked Catalina with a mischievous smile.
"For better, my daughter. Indeed, far better!"
"It's because I'm older than I was, perhaps, father."
"No, no; it's more than that."
"I wonder if I could dare tell you the truth."
"Never fear. Tell me what's on your mind, Catalina."
"Well, it's this, father dear. God has spoken to me and I have answered
Him."
"How has He spoken to thee?" said my father, and there was no sternness in
his look either.
Catalina pointed furtively at Paula.
"And how hast thou answered Him?"
"I've asked Him that He might save me and that He might make me a real
Christian."
There was a strange look in my poor father's face as he answered quietly,
"If I could believe that there was a God, I would say that He had heard
thee."
Catalina wrote a long letter to grandmother, the contents of which she did
not care to show us. So it was as Catalina wished, and Maria promised to
take good care of the invalid.
At last the great day arrived. Paula and I, up at sunrise, scurried to the
window to look at the weather, and oh joy! It was a magnificent day without
a cloud in the sky! A little later when Teresa arrived to call us, great
was her surprise to find us all ready to start.
"What a wonderful thing," she remarked dryly, "you'd never be late to
school if you did this every morning."
After the first moment of enthusiasm, Paula strangely enough began to lose
little by little the happy atmosphere which usually surrounded her. I
discovered soon the cause. She was thinking of Catalina.
"It's going to be terribly lonely for her," she said.
"Never fear," I said, "she can go another time."
But she shook her head as if trying to throw off something painful that
seemed to be on her mind.
"Oh, Lisita, if you could but know how lonely Catalina will feel as she
sees us go without her. When I took her breakfast to her yesterday and saw
that she had been crying I simply could not bear the thought of leaving her
at home alone."
"But if papa says it is all right, it can't be so bad. Besides, father
loves her as much as you do."
Paula didn't answer me.
Soon the time came to start. Teresa started calling to one and another. One
had lost this thing, another had misplaced something else. My father
scolded and helped, at the same time trying to get us off. Then Rosa wasn't
ready and Louis, always unprepared, couldn't find his favorite blue
necktie. At last we were ready. The only thing that remained was to say
good-bye to Catalina. Louis, impatient to be off, performed that ceremony
quickly; Rosa who had reserved a surprise for the invalid, put a new book
into her hand as she kissed her; Teresa, as she embraced her in her turn,
left many instructions; then, as Paula came forward, we heard a sob as she
buried her face on my oldest sister's shoulder.
"What's the matter now?" said my father. An unintelligible sound was heard;
but Catalina understood and her eyes moistened with happiness. "Oh,
father," she said, "I know; she's crying on my account, she doesn't want to
leave me alone here." "Is that it, Paula?" questioned my father. "Yes,
please leave me here, uncle, I shall be so happy to be at Catalina's side
while you are gone." But Catalina refused this sacrifice, saying, "No, no,
my dear little Paula. I'll not be lonely. You have too tender a heart. Now
go, things will be all right here. Everything has been arranged for me, and
it will make me happy to know of the good time you are all to have with our
grandmother."
My father didn't know what to do. The time was passing. "Come, Paula,
come," he said; "it's time to go."
Paula raised her head. "If you order me to go, I'll go, for I must obey
you, and I know they are waiting for us. But if you will _permit_ me to
stay"--and she put emphasis on the word _permit_ in her peculiarly
irresistible manner--"I would be a whole lot happier here than in 'Las
Lilas.'"
"Stay then," said my father, as he added with a smile, "You certainly are a
little despot, for you seem to twist me to your will in everything."
Paula laughed at this, as happy as if she had received the most valuable of
gifts, as she kissed him.
"Oh, yes; kisses are all very well," said father, pretending to be angry,
"but what will the grandparents say?"
"You will tell them"--but the rest of the sentence I could not hear, as she
bent close to my father's ear.
"Where's Paula?" everybody cried, as we went through the door downstairs.
"Look," said my father, pointing to the upper window. There was Paula, with
a radiant face, waving her handkerchief in good-bye to all of us!
"Come, come, hurry up; stop your fooling!" cried Louis.
"I'm staying here."
"How is that?"
"Oh, I'm just staying with Catalina."
"That's too much!" cried Louis, "to stay here while the rest of us go on a
holiday. Papa, you won't permit such a silly thing; will you?"
"Well, she begged me with tears to let her stay and there she is," said
father.
"Good-bye, uncle; good-bye, Teresa--A happy journey to you all," cried
Paula. "Give a good hug and a kiss to grandmother and to grandfather," we
heard her say as we turned the corner.
"She isn't a bit like the rest of us," said Louis, "she never seems to seek
her own pleasure, and yet the funny thing about it is, she's always happy.
I can't understand a nature like that."
"It's because she finds her happiness in making other people happy," said
Teresa.
This was also what our grandmother said, when we explained Paula's absence.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE CAT MOTHER
It was the month of October. I was sure that my father would permit Paula
to go to school with me after the summer vacation, but not so. Catalina
herself wished to teach her at home. This decision caused me many tears and
complainings.
Teresa tried to console me. "Don't worry," she said, "just wait a little. I
know Catalina, she'll soon tire of teaching, and then she'll let Paula go
to school with you." Teresa was right In the beginning Catalina was
enchanted with the task. Paula was obedient, and she did the best she
could; but she didn't learn very quickly, therefore Catalina soon tired,
and Paula, with a teacher so inexperienced, became sleepy and inattentive.
So it was that the teacher tired the pupil and the pupil tired the teacher.
Catalina was the first to complain. "Paula doesn't care much for study,"
she said to her father. "I'm afraid I am wasting my time trying to teach
her."
"Well, then," said my father, "perhaps the best thing will be to send her
along to school with Lisita."
Catalina hesitated a moment. She wished to do something for others, but she
was slow to learn how.
"I think it would be better to let her go," she said resignedly.
So it was that the following Monday my father accompanied us both to school
and duly inscribed her as a student. Paula immediately became the center of
great interest on the part of my school-companions. They remarked upon the
beauty of her eyes and hair, the latter reaching almost to her knees.
Coming out of class at noon-time all forty-five pupils surrounded her
affectionately, and at the end of a week Paula was the best-known pupil in
the entire school. Catalina was right, however, for Paula was not really a
student, but she applied herself because, as she said, she did not wish to
cause pain to Mademoiselle, the teacher.
As she left the school in the afternoon, the teacher would kiss Paula with
a tenderness not seen toward others. At times Paula would bring her a few
flowers, which caused Mademoiselle's eyes to sparkle with such happiness
that she almost seemed beautiful to us.
"Have you a garden?" she said to us one day.
"Yes, Mademoiselle."
"How happy I should be to have one. When you have an over-abundance of
flowers don't forget me."
"Poor Mademoiselle Virtud," said Paula one day, "I am sure she has some
secret burden."
"Nobody likes her," I said. (I remembered that I had twenty-five lines to
copy because I had talked all the afternoon.)
"God loves her!"
"And you?" I questioned.
"Oh, certainly," said Paula.
"Notwithstanding she is so disagreeable?"
"I do not know. We don't know her outside of school."
"And I don't want to know her. As for you, you love everybody that nobody
else loves." And that was true: Paula was always the friend of the poor and
the despised. In that great school which was a world in miniature, there
were many unfortunate little ones who suffered neglect from their drunken
parents; others were cruelly treated at home, and in the case of still
others, their timidity or physical weakness exposed them to the ridicule of
their comrades. In Paula, however, they all found a friend and a companion
who loved them and defended them.
The capacity to love and to make others happy, extended itself also to the
animals, but not to those small boys who destroyed the birds' nests or
threw stones at the horses or dogs--these she attacked without mercy. In
the neighborhood of "The Convent" where we lived, there were quite a number
of this type of boy whose greatest pleasure was to torture the dogs and
cats. One of these especially, the son of the "Breton," was a veritable
executioner. He never attended school, for his father never bothered with
him, and his mother, poor woman, accustomed to misery and the blows of her
drunken husband, had apparently lost all semblance of human feeling. This
boy spent his time tormenting anything or anybody who was unable to resist
him--old men, sick people, little children, and especially dumb animals.
One cold day in December Paula and I were walking slowly along the street,
studying our lessons as we walked. Suddenly we heard the piercing cries of
a cat in distress. Paula, always touched by suffering of any kind, stopped
to listen. Louder came the cries of the cat.
"Mee-ow, mee-ow."
Paula threw her grammar on a road-side bench. "Poor little thing," I cried,
"we can't help him, for I can't see where he can possibly be."
"Well, I can't stop here," said Paula. "Come along, we'll soon find him."
We ran over to the canal which ran along a few feet below the avenue.
Suddenly I was afraid!
"Perhaps Joseph, the Breton's son, is mixed up in this!" I said trembling.
"Come along anyway, unless you want me to go alone," Paula said quietly. So
I followed her.
Sure enough, it was the Breton's son surrounded by a dozen ragamuffins of
his own set. They took no notice of us. He had a beautiful black cat, that
had a string tied to its hind legs. The boy was swinging it around his head
and at times ducking it in the canal while his companions danced around him
with delight.
"Now that he's good and wet, let's bury him," suggested Joseph.
"Alive?" said his comrades.
"Of course alive! And the old dame, his owner can--"
But here Paula suddenly lunged forward, seizing the wicked youngster by the
wrists with a surprising strength for one of her age.
"You'll do nothing of the kind," she cried. "Let him go; do you hear me?"
"Let me alone!" said the young bully as he tried to bite her.
Not being able to accomplish this, he gave her a ferocious kick, which
caused Paula to let go with a cry of pain. She now saw that her efforts
were useless.
"See here," she said to him, after a few seconds' thought, "If you give me
the cat, I'll give you four cents."
"Ah, you haven't got four cents."
"Yes, I have; I have it here in my pocket"
"All right, let me have the money."
"No, no," said Paula, "if I give you my four cents first, I know you will
never let me have the cat. Come, give him to me," she said beseechingly;
"he's never done you any harm and you have made him suffer so much." But
Joseph refused this appeal. With a diabolical grin he raised the cat again
to swing it over his head. There was a meow of agony--but it was the last
one! In spite of her former lack of success, Paula made one supreme effort
to rescue the cat. Somehow the string got loose, the cat escaped, and was
soon lost to view.
Then the rage of the young ruffian knew no bounds as he turned to Paula.
"Run, run!" I cried; but Joseph and his companions cut off the only path of
escape.
Crazy with terror, I began to yell, "Help! help!" with all my strength; but
the boys drowned my cries with their own shouts. This very circumstance
saved us. I saw someone coming to our help.
We soon recognized with joy that it was Dr. Lebon. On seeing him the boys
ran away with the exception of Joseph, who was a little too late. The
Doctor, who knew him, suspected he was the guilty one, and succeeded in
getting him by the ear. Then the doctor said to me, "What has happened,
Lisita?" And I told him the whole story.
"Well, he won't do it again; that's one thing certain," said the doctor.
"Oh, let him go!" said Paula generously.
"Paula," said the doctor with a severity we had never seen in him before,
"Go back to the house with Lisita!"
We had nothing to do but obey. On the way back we could tell by Joseph's
cries that he was having a bad time of it!
Teresa was frightened when she saw the condition of Paula's leg, as the
result of the terrible kick she had received. The doctor soon arrived at
the house, and Paula could scarcely help crying as the doctor examined her;
but he said as he left us, "If I am not mistaken, Joseph will never trouble
you any more."
This was true. Joseph avoided us for a long time; but he took revenge on us
through the other boys, who would cry after Paula as she walked up the
street, "Cat mother! Cat mother!" This incident won us a friend. Shortly
afterwards, returning from school, an elderly woman that lived in one of
the most miserable huts among the "Red Cottages", stopped us and asked if
one of us was called Paula.
"This is she," said I, pointing to my cousin.
"Then you are the one that saved my cat," she said. "How can I thank you
enough, Mademoiselle? For that cat is my one consolation. If you would be
kind enough to visit me sometime, I would be so pleased to see you."
Paula looked at her in surprise, and said, "I will ask Teresa if we may
come to see you." Which permission Teresa readily gave.
"It's Louisa. I know her well. She has lived in that little hut for fifteen
years. True, she is a bit weak in her head but she would never hurt a fly.
Speak to her of the Lord Jesus, Paula! It will do her good."
On the following Thursday, therefore, we went to visit her. As we left the
house, Teresa handed us a jar of preserves, saying, "Give Louisa this. Poor
thing! Not many good things have come into her life."
Louisa herself answered our knock, "Ah," she said, "please excuse the
disorder. If I had known you were coming today I would have straightened
things a bit. Sit down here, on this box, Mesdemoiselles. I am sorry that I
have no chairs to offer you. Ah, here comes Cordero!" she continued, and we
could hardly recognize the beautiful black cat that jumped purring into
Paula's lap, as the same cadaverous animal that was swinging around
Joseph's head a few days before.
"It's my one friend," said the poor old woman, sitting down on another box.
"Do you believe that?" said Paula. "Can you not call us your friends? And
there's another friend who has sent you a present. Our Teresa sent this for
you." She placed in the eager hands of the old woman the preserves.
"Is it for me? How can I thank you? For years everybody has made fun of me,
for I never speak to anyone; preferring the company of animals to that of
people."
Paula had such a sympathetic way of getting at people's hearts, that
instinctively she understood how lonely Louisa had been.
"By the way," said Paula, "this is for your cat"--and she put two cents on
the table.
The old woman did not seem to understand.
"It's for him, you know," said Paula, "you can buy some liver with this.
Surely Cordero likes liver!"
The pleasure in Louisa's eyes was almost childlike, as she addressed her
cat saying, "You must thank this good mademoiselle," and Cordero jumped
down and rubbed against Paula in a most affectionate manner.
It was time to leave as the short day was ending and we had to be in the
house before dark.
"How can I thank you, mademoiselle?" said Louisa. "Do come to see me soon
again, even though I am a poor old woman who nobody loves."
"Oh, Louisa," exclaimed Paula, "there is One who loves you: don't you know
Him?"
Louisa shook her head sadly.
"No, nobody loves me. And to tell you the truth, I don't love anyone else
either."
"The Lord Jesus loves you, Louisa."
"The Lord Jesus? Tell me about Him, mademoiselle; I have heard the
name--who is He?"
"The Lord Jesus is He who died on the cross, that you might go to Heaven.
He suffered much before He died. They despised Him. They beat Him. They
spat in His face. Even His own friends deserted Him and He was so poor that
He didn't have any place at night to lay His head. Yet, He was God Himself.
He died for our sins--and He rose from the dead. He is now in Heaven, and
He waits to receive you there, Louisa. None of us deserve to go to Heaven,
but He who was so perfect suffered in our stead. He died for all of us
sinners that we might be pardoned. I wish I could explain it better, much
better, but Jesus loves you, Louisa. I know He loves you more than you
could ever dream."
Louisa's wrinkled face lighted with a smile; but she did not seem able to
believe or comprehend this good news, which came to her, oh, so late in
life.
"Oh, if it were only true," she murmured, as she clasped her hands together
and her eyes filled with tears.
"But it is true, Louisa; don't you believe it? See here, He knows very well
you live here alone with your cat, and that you are so sad, and that you
have nobody else to care for you. He wishes to be your Friend, and He will
be if you will ask Him. Why not ask Him now, Louisa?"
"Oh, perhaps so, some day, mademoiselle."
"Do it now, Louisa."
"No, no; not now."
"Oh, why not now, Louisa?"
"Because I don't understand very well, mademoiselle. How could God love me,
a poor, forlorn, useless old woman, who never loved Him, nor served Him.
You come back again. Perhaps I'll end up by understanding better. And now,
good-bye, mesdemoiselles. I have delayed you both too long."
We shook hands with her. Oh, what a cold hand it was! The touch of it sent
a shiver through me!
"Goodbye, Louisa," said Paula, and suddenly kissing her, she gave her a
hearty embrace as well and added, "I am going to pray for you, dear
Louisa." One could see that the poor old woman was greatly touched as she
said simply: "Thank you, mademoiselle, thank you."
I had almost forgotten Louisa and her cat when a few days later a neighbor
came in with a worried look asking for Teresa. When she appeared, the woman
blurted out the news that Louisa was dying.
"Louisa dying? Nonsense, I saw her on the street yesterday."
"Perhaps so, for she dragged herself around until the last minute. But I
knew she was ill, so I took her a cup of hot soup this morning. I found her
in bed with a terrible cough, and now she can scarcely breathe. She keeps
calling for Mademoiselle Paula."
"Have you sent for the doctor?"
"No; she's afraid he'll send her to the hospital and they'll take away her
cat."
Teresa shrugged her shoulders.
"I'll go at once, and I'll take Paula with me."
Murmuring her thanks, the woman left. "Can't I go?" I said. "Oh, Teresa,
please let me go too."
Teresa hesitated. "All right, come along!" she said at last.
Louisa's neighbor had not exaggerated her condition. The poor woman was
sitting up in her bed. Its thin covers could not protect her from the cold,
and a terrible cough racked her thin frame. When, at times, the cough left
her she would fall back on her pillow completely exhausted. It needed all
Teresa's efforts to restore her.
"My poor Louisa!" said Teresa tenderly.
"You were very good to come," said the neighbor who was staying as nurse.
"And Mademoiselle Paula?"
"Here she is. Come here, Paula."
And as Paula came near the bed, Louisa said with a weak voice. "Now I
understand the love of God, for when you kissed me and embraced me, it was
that kiss that made me understand that God loves even me. I will soon be
far from the living, but I shall die in the arms of the Lord Jesus."
"Now, don't cry," continued Louisa weakly, as she saw us all weeping. "My
misfortunes have been my own fault. I was selfish, I wished to live alone
without God and without hope. I have been abandoned. I have known what it
was to be cold and hungry for many years; but the happiest time of my life
has been these last three days. They began with your visit, Mademoiselle
Paula. That afternoon I prayed, and I believe God had pity on me. I am sure
of that."
Here Paula broke in: "You had better not talk any more now, Louisa. Your
cough will come back--you are already too tired."
"Perhaps so," Louisa said, "but I must speak while I have strength for it.
Oh, Mademoiselle Paula, I did want to thank you before I die!"
"But Louisa dear," said Paula in the midst of her tears, "I have done
nothing for you; I didn't even know you were ill."
The poor sick one took Paula's soft hand between her thin ones, and raised
it to her lips, "You have been like God's angel to me."
"No, no, Louisa, Louisa!"
"Yes, and you loved me, mademoiselle, and your love revealed to me God's
love! May He bless you richly!"
"Amen," sighed Teresa.
Then again came that terrible cough which seemed to tear the poor weak body
in two.
"I can do no more," she murmured, as soon as she was able to speak.
"Well," said Teresa, "you will soon be with the Lord Jesus in heaven."
A contented sigh came from the bed as we caught the words, "Oh, what
happiness!"
"Is there nothing you would like us to do for you? No word to send to some
friend or relative?"
"I have no other friend but Cordero, the cat. What will become of him?"
Teresa hated cats, and we never dared bring one into the home, but now we
saw a struggle going on within her, and finally she said, "Would you be
happy if we took him home with us?"
"Oh, indeed, yes," said the poor dying woman, "but please don't take him
yet. Leave him with me until the end. He has been my only comfort and the
nights are so long."