the merry-makers, and a cry of "Fire!" came from the town, causing a
general stampede. "Post-office all afire! Men wanted!" shouted a
breathless boy, racing through the crowd toward the river. Then great
was the scampering, for shops stood thickly all about the post-office,
and distracted merchants hastily collected their goods, while the
firemen smashed windows, ran up and down ladders, broke in doors, and
poured streams of water with generous impartiality over everybody and
everything in the neighborhood, and the boys flew about, as if this
unexpected display of fireworks suited them exactly.
Such noble exertions could not fail of success, and the fire was happily
extinguished before the river was pumped dry. Then every one went home,
and, feeling the need of refreshment after their labors, had supper all
over again, to the great delight of the young folks, who considered this
a most appropriate finish to an exciting day.
But the merriest party of all was the one gathered on Fred's piazza to
eat cake and talk over the fun. Such a droll group as they were. The
Indians were sadly dilapidated as to feathers and paint, beside being
muddy to the knees, having landed in hot haste. Poor Cleopatra had been
drenched by the hose, but though very damp still sparkled with
unextinguishable gayety. Elaine had tied herself up in a big shawl,
having lost her hat overboard. Jack and Grace wore one waterproof, and
Annie was hoarse with leading her choir of birds on the floating island.
Also several of the pirates wore their beards twisted round behind for
the sake of convenience in eating.
All were wet, warm, and weary, but all rejoiced over the success of the
day's delights, and it was unanimously agreed that this had been the
jolliest Fourth they had ever known.
IV.
SEVEN BLACK CATS.
They all came uninvited, they all led eventful lives, and all died
tragical deaths; so out of the long list of cats whom I have loved and
lost, these seven are the most interesting and memorable.
I have no prejudice against color, but it so happened that our pussies
were usually gray or maltese. One white one, who _would_ live in the
coal-bin, was a failure, and we never repeated the experiment. Black
cats had not been offered us, so we had no experience of them till
number one came to us in this wise.
Sitting at my window, I saw a very handsome puss come walking down the
street in the most composed and dignified manner. I watched him with
interest, wondering where he was going.
Pausing now and then, he examined the houses as he passed, as if looking
for a particular number, till, coming to our gate, he pushed it open,
and walked in. Straight up to the door he came, and finding it shut sat
down to wait till some one opened it for him.
Much amused, I went at once, and he came directly in, after a long stare
at me, and a few wavings of his plumy tail. It was evidently the right
place, and, following me into the parlor, he perched himself on the rug,
blinked at the fire, looked round the room, washed his face, and then,
lying down in a comfortable sprawl, he burst into a cheerful purr, as if
to say,--
"It's all right; the place suits me, and I'm going to stay."
His coolness amused me very much, and his beauty made me glad to keep
him. He was not a common cat, but, as we afterward discovered, a Russian
puss. His fur was very long, black, and glossy as satin; his tail like a
graceful plume, and his eyes as round and yellow as two little moons.
His paws were very dainty, and white socks and gloves, with a neat
collar and shirt-bosom, gave him the appearance of an elegant young
beau, in full evening dress. His face was white, with black hair parted
in the middle; and whiskers, fiercely curled up at the end, gave him a
martial look.
Every one admired him, and a vainer puss never caught a mouse. If he saw
us looking at him, he instantly took an attitude; gazed pensively at the
fire, as if unconscious of our praises; crouched like a tiger about to
spring, and glared, and beat the floor with his tail; or lay luxuriously
outstretched, rolling up his yellow eyes with a sentimental expression
that was very funny.
We named him the Czar, and no tyrannical emperor of Russia ever carried
greater desolation and terror to the souls of his serfs, than this royal
cat did to the hearts and homes of the rats and mice over whom he ruled.
The dear little mice who used to come out to play so confidingly in my
room, live in my best bonnet-box, and bring up their interesting young
families in the storeroom, now fell an easy prey to the Czar, who made
nothing of catching half a dozen a day.
Brazen-faced old rats, gray in sin, who used to walk boldly in and out
of the front door, ravage our closets, and racket about the walls by
night, now paused in their revels, and felt that their day was over.
Czar did not know what fear was, and flew at the biggest, fiercest rat
that dared to show his long tail on the premises. He fought many a
gallant fight, and slew his thousands, always bringing his dead foe to
display him to us, and receive our thanks.
It was sometimes rather startling to find a large rat reposing in the
middle of your parlor; not always agreeable to have an excited cat
bounce into your lap, lugging a half-dead rat in his mouth; or to have
visitors received by the Czar, tossing a mouse on the door-steps, like a
playful child with its cup and ball.
He was not fond of petting, but allowed one or two honored beings to
cuddle him. My work-basket was his favorite bed, for a certain fat
cushion suited him for a pillow, and, having coolly pulled out all the
pins, the rascal would lay his handsome head on the red mound, and wink
at me with an irresistibly saucy expression that made it impossible to
scold.
All summer we enjoyed his pranks and admired his manly virtues; but in
the winter we lost him, for, alas! he found his victor in the end, and
fell a victim to his own rash daring.
One morning after a heavy snow-fall, Czar went out to take a turn up and
down the path. As he sat with his back to the gate, meditatively
watching some doves on the shed-roof, a big bull-dog entered the yard,
and basely attacked him in the rear. Taken by surprise, the dear fellow
did his best, and hit out bravely, till he was dragged into the deep
snow where he could not fight, and there so cruelly maltreated that he
would have been murdered outright, if I had not gone to the rescue.
Catching up a broom, I belabored the dog so energetically that he was
forced to turn from the poor Czar to me. What would have become of me I
don't know, for the dog was in a rage, and evidently meditating a grab
at my ankles, when his master appeared and ordered him off.
Never was a boy better scolded than that one, for I poured forth vials
of wrath upon his head as I took up my bleeding pet, and pointed to his
wounds as indignantly as Antony did to Caesar's.
The boy fled affrighted, and I bore my poor Czar in to die. All day he
lay on his cushion, patient and quiet, with his torn neck tied up in a
soft bandage, a saucer of cream close by, and an afflicted mistress to
tend and stroke him with tender lamentations.
We had company in the evening, and my interesting patient was put into
another room. Once, in the midst of conversation, I thought I heard a
plaintive mew, but could not go to see, and soon forgot all about it;
but when the guests left, my heart was rent by finding Czar stretched
out before the door quite dead.
Feeling death approach, he had crept to say good-by, and with a farewell
mew had died before the closed door, a brave and faithful cat to the
end.
He was buried with great pomp, and before his grave was green, little
Blot came to take his place, though she never filled it. Blot's career
was a sad and brief one. Misfortune marked her for its own, and life was
one too many for her.
I saw some boys pelting a wretched object with mud. I delivered a
lecture on cruelty to animals, confiscated the victim, and, wrapping
her in a newspaper, bore the muddy little beast away in triumph. Being
washed and dried, she turned out a thin black kit, with dirty blue bows
tied in her ears. As I don't approve of ear-rings, I took hers out, and
tried to fatten her up, for she was a forlorn creature at first.
But Blot would not grow plump. Her early wrongs preyed upon her, and she
remained a thin, timid, melancholy little cat all her days. I could not
win her confidence. She had lost her faith in mankind, and I don't blame
her. She always hid in corners, quaked when I touched her, took her food
by stealth, and sat in a forlorn bunch in cold nooks, down cellar or
behind the gate, mewing despondently to herself, as if her woes must
find a vent. She would _not_ be easy and comfortable. No cushion could
allure, no soft beguilements win her to purr, no dainty fare fill out
her rusty coat, no warmth or kindness banish the scared look from her
sad green eyes, no ball or spool lure her to play, or cause her to wag
her mortified thin tail with joy.
Poor, dear little Blot! She was a pathetic spectacle, and her end was
quite in keeping with the rest of her hard fate. Trying one day to make
her come and be cuddled, she retreated to the hearth, and when I pursued
her, meaning to catch and pet her, she took a distracted skip right into
a bed of hot coals. One wild howl, and another still more distracted
skip brought her out again, to writhe in agony with four burnt paws and
a singed skin.
"We must put the little sufferer out of her pain," said a strong-minded
friend; and quenched little Blot's life and suffering together in a pail
of water.
I laid her out sweetly in a nice box, with a doll's blanket folded round
her, and, bidding the poor dear a long farewell, confided her to old
MacCarty for burial. He was my sexton, and I could trust him to inter my
darlings decently, and not toss them disrespectfully into a dirt-cart or
over a bridge.
My dear Mother Bunch was an entire contrast to Blot. Such a fat, cosey
old mamma you never saw, and her first appearance was so funny, I never
think of her without laughing.
In our back kitchen was an old sideboard, with two little doors in the
lower part. Some bits of carpet were kept there, but we never expected
to let that small mansion till, opening the door one day, I found Mrs.
Bunch and her young family comfortably settled.
I had never seen this mild black cat before, and I fancy no one had ever
seen her three roly-poly, jet-black kits. Such a confiding puss I never
met, for when I started back, surprised, Mrs. Bunch merely looked at me
with an insinuating purr, and began to pick at my carpet, as if to
say,--
"The house suited me; I'll take it, and pay rent by allowing you to
admire and pet my lovely babies."
I never thought of turning her out, and there she remained for some
months, with her children growing up around her, all as fat and funny,
black and amiable, as herself.
Three jollier kits were never born, and a more devoted mother never
lived. I put her name on the door of her house, and they lived on most
comfortably together, even after they grew too big for their
accommodations, and tails and legs hung out after the family had
retired.
I really did hope they would escape the doom that seemed to pursue my
cats, but they did not, for all came to grief in different ways. Cuddle
Bunch had a fit, and fell out of the window, killing herself instantly.
Othello, her brother, was shot by a bad boy, who fired pistols at all
the cats in the neighborhood, as good practice for future gunning
expeditions.
Little Purr was caught in a trap, set for a woodchuck, and so hurt she
had to be gently chloroformed out of life. Mother Bunch still remained,
and often used to go and sit sadly under the tree where her infants were
buried,--an afflicted, yet resigned parent.
Her health declined, but we never had the heart to send her away, and it
wouldn't have done any good if we had tried. We did it once, and it was
a dead failure. At one time the four cats were so wearing that my
honored father, who did not appreciate the dears, resolved to clear the
house of the whole family; so he packed them in a basket, and carried
them "over the hills and far away," like the "Babes in the Wood." Coming
to a lonely spot, he let them out, and returned home, much relieved in
mind. Judge of his amazement when the first thing he saw was Mrs. Bunch
and her children, sitting on the steps resting after their run home.
We all laughed at the old gentleman so that he left them in peace, and
even when the mamma alone remained, feeble and useless, her bereavement
made her sacred.
When we shut up the house, and went to the city for the winter, we gave
Mother Bunch to the care of a kind neighbor, who promised to guard her
faithfully. Returning in the spring, one of my first questions was,--
"How is old Pussy?"
Great was my anguish when my neighbor told me that she was no more. It
seems the dear thing pined for her old home, and kept returning to it in
spite of age or bad weather.
Several times she was taken back when she ran away, but at last they
were tired of fussing over her, and let her go. A storm came on, and
when they went to see what had become of her, they found her frozen, in
the old sideboard, where I first discovered her with her kits about
her.
As a delicate attention to me, Mrs. Bunch's skin was preserved, and
presented when the tale was told. I kept it some time, but the next
Christmas I made it into muffs for several dolls, who were sent me to
dress; and very nice little muffs the pretty black fur made, lined with
cherry silk, and finished off with tiny tassels.
I loved the dear old puss, but I knew the moths would get her skin if I
kept it, and preferred to rejoice the hearts of several small friends
with dolls in full winter costume. I am sure Mrs. Bunch would have
agreed with me, and not felt that I treated her remains with disrespect.
The last of my cats was the blackest of all, and such a wild thing we
called him the Imp. He tumbled into the garret one day through a broken
scuttle, and took possession of the house from that time forth, acting
as if bewitched.
He got into the furnace pipes, but could not get out, and kept me up one
whole night, giving him air and light, food and comfort, through a
little hole in the floor, while waiting for a carpenter to come and saw
him out.
He got a sad pinch in his tail, which made it crooked forever after. He
fell into the soft-soap barrel, and was fished out a deplorable
spectacle. He was half strangled by a fine collar we put on him, and was
found hanging by it on a peg.
People sat down on him, for he would lie in chairs. No one loved him
much, for he was not amiable in temper, but bit and scratched if
touched, worried the bows off our slippers in his play, and if we did
not attend to him at once, he complained in the most tremendous bass
growl I ever heard.
He was not beautiful, but very impressive; being big, without a white
hair on him. One eye was blue and one green, and the green one was
always half shut, as if he was winking at you, which gave him a rowdy
air comical to see. Then he swaggered in his walk, never turned out for
any one, and if offended fell into rages fit to daunt the bravest soul.
Yes, the Imp was truly an awful animal; and when a mischievous cousin of
ours told us he wanted a black cat, without a single white hair on it,
to win a wager with, we at once offered ours.
It seems that sailors are so superstitious they will not sail in a ship
with a black cat; and this rogue of a cousin was going to send puss off
on a voyage, unknown to any one but the friend who took him, and when
the trip was safely over, he was to be produced as a triumphant proof of
the folly of the nautical superstition.
So the Imp was delivered to his new master, and sailed away packed up in
an old fishing-basket, with his head poked out of a hole in the cover.
We waited anxiously to hear how the joke ended; but unfortunately the
passage was very rough, his guardian too ill to keep him safe and quiet,
so the irrepressible fellow escaped from prison, and betrayed himself by
growling dismally, as he went lurching across the deck to the great
dismay of the sailors.
They chased, caught, and tossed the poor Imp overboard without loss of
time. And when the joke came out, they had the best of it, for the
weather happened to improve, and the rest of the voyage was prosperous.
So, of course, they laid it all to the loss of the cat, and were more
fixed in their belief than ever.
We were sorry that poor old Imp met so sad a fate, but did not mourn him
long, for he had not won our hearts as some of our other pets had.
He was the last of the seven black cats, and we never had another; for I
really did feel as if there was something uncanny about them after my
tragical experiences with Czar, Blot, Mother Bunch's family, and the
martyred Imp.
V.
ROSA'S TALE.
"Now, I believe every one has had a Christmas present and a good time.
Nobody has been forgotten, not even the cat," said Mrs. Ward to her
daughter, as she looked at Pobbylinda, purring on the rug, with a new
ribbon round her neck and the remains of a chicken bone between her
paws.
It was very late, for the Christmas-tree was stripped, the little folks
abed, the baskets and bundles left at poor neighbors' doors, and
everything ready for the happy day which would begin as the clock struck
twelve. They were resting after their labors, while the yule log burned
down; but the mother's words reminded Belinda of one good friend who had
received no gift that night.
"We've forgotten Rosa! Her mistress is away, but she _shall_ have a
present nevertheless. Late as it is, she will like some apples and cake
and a Merry Christmas from the family."
Belinda jumped up as she spoke, and, having collected such remnants of
the feast as a horse would relish, she put on her hood, lighted a
lantern, and trotted off to the barn.
As she opened the door of the loose box in which Rosa was kept, she saw
her eyes shining in the dark as she lifted her head with a startled air.
Then, recognizing a friend, she rose and came rustling through the straw
to greet her late visitor. She was evidently much pleased with the
attention, and rubbed her nose against Miss Belinda gratefully, but
seemed rather dainty, and poked over the contents of the basket, as if a
little suspicious, though apples were her favorite treat.
Knowing that she would enjoy the little feast more if she had company
while she ate it, for Rosa was a very social beast, Miss Belinda hung up
the lantern, and, sitting down on an inverted bucket, watched her as she
munched contentedly.
"Now really," said Miss Belinda, when telling her story afterwards, "I
am not sure whether I took a nap and dreamed what follows, or whether
it actually happened, for strange things do occur at Christmas time, as
every one knows.
"As I sat there the town clock struck twelve, and the sound reminded me
of the legend which affirms that all dumb animals are endowed with
speech for one hour after midnight on Christmas eve, in memory of the
animals about the manger when the blessed Child was born.
"'I wish the pretty fancy was a fact, and our Rosa could speak, if only
for an hour, because I am sure she has an interesting history, and I
long to know it.'
"I said this aloud, and to my utter amazement the bay mare stopped
eating, fixed her intelligent eyes upon my face, and answered in a
language I understood perfectly well,--
"'You shall know it, for whether the legend is true or not I feel as if
I could confide in you and tell you all I feel. I was lying awake
listening to the fun in the house, thinking of my dear mistress over the
sea and feeling very sad, for I heard you say I was to be sold. That
nearly broke my heart, for no one has ever been so kind to me as Miss
Merry, and nowhere shall I be taken care of, nursed, and loved as I have
been since she bought me. I know I am getting old, and stiff in the
knees, and my forefoot is lame, and sometimes I'm cross when my shoulder
aches; but I do try to be a patient, grateful beast. I've got fat with
good living, my work is not hard, I dearly love to carry those who have
done so much for me, and I'll tug for them till I die in harness, if
they will only keep me.'
"I was so astonished at this address that I tumbled off the pail, and
sat among the straw staring up at Rosa, as dumb as if I had lost the
power she had gained. She seemed to enjoy my surprise, and added to it
by letting me hear a genuine _horse laugh_, hearty, shrill, and clear,
as she shook her pretty head, and went on talking rapidly in the
language which I now perceived to be a mixture of English and the
peculiar dialect of the horse-country Gulliver visited.
"'Thank you for remembering me to-night, and in return for the goodies
you bring I'll tell my story as fast as I can, for I have often longed
to recount the trials and triumphs of my life. Miss Merry came last
Christmas eve to bring me sugar, and I wanted to speak, but it was too
early and I could not say a word, though my heart was full.'
"Rosa paused an instant, and her fine eyes dimmed as if with tender
tears at the recollection of the happy year which had followed the day
she was bought from the drudgery of a livery-stable to be a lady's pet.
I stroked her neck as she stooped to sniff affectionately at my hood,
and said eagerly,--
"'Tell away, dear, I'm full of interest, and understand every word you
say.'
"Thus encouraged, Rosa threw up her head, and began with an air of pride
which plainly proved, what we had always suspected, that she belonged to
a good family.
"'My father was a famous racer, and I am very like him; the same color,
spirit, and grace, and but for the cruelty of man I might have been as
renowned as he. I was a very happy colt, petted by my master, tamed by
love, and never struck a blow while he lived. I gained one race for him,
and promised so well that when he died I brought a great price. I
mourned for him, but was glad to be sent to my new owner's racing-stable
and made much of, for people predicted that I should be another
Goldsmith Maid or Flora Temple. Ah, how ambitious and proud I was in
those days! Vain of my good blood, my speed, and my beauty; for indeed I
_was_ handsome then, though you may find it hard to believe now.' And
Rosa sighed regretfully as she stole a look at me, and took the attitude
which showed to advantage the fine lines about her head and neck.
"'I do not find it hard, for we have always said you had splendid points
about you. Miss Merry saw them, though you were a skeleton, when she
bought you; so did the skilful Cornish blacksmith when he shod you. And
it is easy to see that you belong to a good family by the way you hold
your head without a check-rein and carry your tail like a plume,' I
said, with a look of admiration which comforted her as much as if she
had been a _passee_ belle.
"'I must hurry over this part of my story, because, though brilliant,
it was very brief, and ended in a way which made it the bitterest
portion of my life,' continued Rosa. 'I won several races, and great
fame was predicted for me. You may guess how high my reputation was when
I tell you that before my last fatal trial thousands were bet on me, and
my rival trembled in his shoes. I was full of spirit, eager to show my
speed and sure of success. Alas, how little I knew of the wickedness of
human nature then, how dearly I bought the knowledge, and how it has
changed my whole life! You do not know much about such matters, of
course, and I won't digress to tell you all the tricks of the trade;
only beware of jockeys and never bet.
"'I was kept carefully out of every one's way for weeks, and only taken
out for exercise by my trainer. Poor Bill! I was fond of him, and he was
so good to me that I never have forgotten him, though he broke his neck
years ago. A few nights before the great race, as I was getting a good
sleep, carefully tucked away in my roomy stall, some one stole in and
gave me a warm mash. It was dark, I was half awake, and I ate it like a
fool, though I knew by instinct that it was not Bill who fed it to me. I
was a confiding creature then, and as all sorts of queer things had been
done to prepare me I thought it was all right. But it was not, and that
deceit has caused me to be suspicious about my food ever since, for the
mash was dosed in some way; it made me very ill, and my enemies nearly
triumphed, thanks to this cowardly trick.
"'Bill worked over me day and night, that I might be fit to run. I did
my best to seem well and gay, but there was not time for me to regain my
lost strength and spirit, and pride alone kept me up. "I'll win for my
master if I die in doing it," I said to myself, and when the hour came
pranced to my place trying to look as well as ever, though my heart was
very heavy and I trembled with excitement. "Courage, my lass, and we'll
beat in spite of their black tricks," whispered Bill, as he sprung to
his place.