A DOG AND A CAT
"Oh, Tabitha, Tabitha, come over to my house and see what papa has
brought me!"
Carrie's voice was shrill with joy; and hastily setting the last cup on
the pantry shelf, Tabitha seized her sunbonnet and rushed away to join
her excited playmate. "It's out here on the back porch, and oh, it's a
perfect darling! Tell me what to call him. Isn't he a beauty?"
Talking and laughing and capering in delight, Carrie led the way to the
rear of the house, and there in a box on the steps was a beautiful,
black, shaggy pup, with the longest, silkiest hair and the prettiest
brown eyes.
"Oh, Carrie Carson, aren't you the luckiest girl!" cried Tabitha,
looking enviously at the treasure as she bent over it to smooth the
soft, shaggy coat. "Just see what beau-ti-ful ears he has! And what a
cunning nose! See him lick my hand!"
"He's kissing you. Isn't he cute? One of papa's men at the mine owned
four of these little pups, and he sold this one for five dollars. He is
to be my very own and I am going to teach him tricks when he is old
enough. Isn't he a darling?"
"I should say he is! I wish he belonged to me." The black eyes grew very
wistful and the brown face unusually sober as she examined this new toy,
this live toy that could really play with its little mistress and
understand, at least in a measure, whatever was said to it.
Carrie saw the longing glance and promptly said, "You can play with him,
too, Puss, and help me teach him things,--to speak when he wants
something to eat, and to bring us sticks or stones when we throw them
for him to chase, and to jump through barrel hoops, and to shake hands,
and to walk on his hind legs like Jimmy's dog, Sport, does, and to play
sleep, and to stand on his hind legs--"
"That will be ever so nice, but it isn't the same as if he was mine,
Carrie," interrupted the mournful Tabitha, completely wrapped up in this
tiny specimen of puppyhood.
"No--that's so," answered the other child thoughtfully, watching the
precious possession with jealous eyes as it curled up in Tabitha's arms
and shut its eyes for a nap.
"He likes me already, doesn't he? I've always wanted a pet, but we've
never stayed long enough in one place to have anything of this kind. I
had a rabbit once, but a dog caught it, and I cried so hard Aunt Maria
said I never should have another."
"I'll tell you what! Part of this dog can be yours," said Carrie
generously, though it cost her an effort to speak those words.
"Oh, Carrie, you don't mean that?" cried the astonished Tabitha. "Really
own part of your beautiful pup? What will your father and mother say?"
"They won't care a bit. The dog is all mine to do what I like with, and
I like to give you a share of him. Course he will live here, and I will
feed him, so papa can tell me what to give him, as pups are very hard to
raise properly and it takes someone that knows how to do it. But you can
really, truly own half of him."
"What a good girl you are, Carrie!" exclaimed the other part owner, much
impressed at Carrie's grand air of knowledge. "If I had a dog all my
own, I'm afraid I'd never want to share him with anyone else, except to
play with. I'd want to keep all the ownership myself."
"Well, it would be different with you. All the pets you ever have had
was a bunny, while I've had a Shetland pony until we came up here on the
desert where there isn't anything for him to eat, and a little lamb out
on grandma's farm, and two brown hens, and a pair of doves, and three
kitties, and this makes the second dog."
"Oh!"
"That's a lot of pets to have one person own, isn't it? But they didn't
all belong to me at the same time, and this dog is the best of them
all--except the pony. Dear little Arrow is at grandma's house now and
when I go back to town to live, if I'm not too big I am to have her
again."
"What a cute name for a pony! What are you going to call this pup?"
"I had thought of Ponto, but papa says he will grow up into a big dog,
and he thought General would be a nice name."
"I like Ponto best, I believe. It has a grander sound to it than
General. And yet--can I name my half of the dog, too?" as a sudden
inspiration came to her mind.
"Why--yes--if it fits in with General," a little doubtfully, for
Carrie's ideas of beautiful names differed materially from Tabitha's.
"It will go with it splendidly--Sheridan Sherman Grant McClellan."
"Which one?"
"All of them. That ain't too many, is it? I do like all those generals
so much, and I should hate to have to drop any of them."
"It's an awfully long name to say when you want to call a dog," said the
first little mistress reflectively, yet afraid to suggest the curtailing
of it for fear of wounding her playmate.
"But you can shorten it up like--like I did once with--" The unhappy
episode was still very fresh in her mind, and her heart still very sore;
so she hesitated, unwilling to recall it further.
"I know," interrupted sympathetic Carrie hastily. "We can shorten it to
General Sheridan or General--what would you shorten it to?"
"General McClellan is the grandest sounding name, but General Grant is
the easiest to say, and I suppose a dog ought to be called the easiest
name so he can remember it. We'll call him General Grant."
The dog was named.
That evening Tabitha was sitting on the steps studying her geography
when Tom came home late for supper, but every moment or two she would
look up from her books toward the Carson house, and stare intently at
something he could not see, while she seemed to be listening for
something he could not hear. From his seat at the table he could watch
her unobserved, and when at last he had satisfied his appetite, he
joined her on the steps, asking curiously, "What's the matter, Puss?
Geography doesn't seem to be interesting you."
"Oh, Tom, it's the pup! Carrie has the dearest little shaggy dog. She
said I might be part owner of it, and we've named him General Sheridan
Sherman Grant McClellan. General is her name for him, and the rest is
mine. It's most too long to say the whole of it every time we want him
to come, so we are going to call him General Grant for short. Isn't
that a nice name?"
"Well, I should say so. The General no doubt would be flattered if he
could know."
"He's an awfully pretty pup and will make a great big dog when he's
grown up. His feet are dreadfully big, but Mr. Carson says he will need
them some day, and all big dogs have big feet when they are little.
Carrie wanted to name him Ponto, but her father thought General sounded
more dignified for such a big dog. Ponto is a pretty name, though, and
if I had a pup all of my own I'd call him-- Say, Tom, do you suppose Dad
would let me have a dog for my very own self? It's nice to own part of
one, but think how much better it would be if I had a whole one. Then
Carrie wouldn't have to share hers, and I really think she would rather
own all of General Grant herself. If I asked Dad, do you suppose he
would say yes?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Puss, but I am afraid not. We had a pup once
when I was small, and it chewed up everything it could get hold of. I
had a little suit of black velvet--I remember it was the first I ever
had with pockets in it--and one day the pup got hold of it and tore it
all to pieces. Dad gave him away at last because he did so much damage."
"What was its name?"
"Pinto."
"Why, isn't that funny--almost the name Carrie wanted! If I had a dog,
Tom, I should name him Pinto Ponto Poco Pronto. Wouldn't that be grand?
I never heard anything called that, and it has such a pretty jingle
about it when you say them all together. It's a--what do you call
it?--'literation? It means where a whole string of words begin with the
same letter. Don't you think that would make a splendid name for a dog?"
"Capital," answered loyal Tom, and Tabitha again took up the study of
her geography lesson, for while she had been talking, Mr. Carson had
opened the door of the big house and carried General Grant, box and all,
inside.
Tom was not the only one who had heard Tabitha's raptures over the new
possession, however. Sitting by the open window behind his newspaper,
Mr. Catt had caught every word of the conversation, unknown to his small
daughter, who did not realize his close proximity while she was
unburdening her heart to the big brother; and he smiled derisively at
the narrative; so when the child found courage to ask him for a pet dog
he answered curtly, "No, Miss Tabitha, we don't want any pups around
here. Dogs and cats fight, you know."
Without another word, the small supplicant went mournfully away to gaze
with longing eyes at the joint possession and wish more fervently than
ever that it might be hers.
But Mr. Catt was not really heartless. A few days later on his way home
from a short trip to his claims, he found a half-starved cat tied to a
lonely yucca far up on the mountain trail, where it had been abandoned
by its inhuman owners and left to this terrible fate. Indignation burned
within the man as he realized the plight of the unhappy animal, and
remembering Tabitha's plea for a pet, he carried the scrawny feline home
to the child, feeling assured of its welcome there. But unfortunately
the cat was as black as a coal, without a white hair on its body; its
tail had a very perceptible crook in it which refused to be straightened
out; its ears had been closely cropped, and altogether it was so gaunt
and hideous that involuntarily one shuddered to look at it.
"A cat!" exclaimed disappointed Tabitha when she had been called to see
the gift. "I never asked for a cat; I don't want a cat; I hate cats!
There are enough cats in this house already without this horrible
skeleton. I suppose you will want me to call it Tabby. Oh, dear, what a
time I do have living!"
With a wail of woe Tabitha fled up the trail to her hidden chamber among
the boulders and threw herself on the ground to sob out her grief and
anger over this unexpected and wholly unwelcome pet. That she would
regard the gift as an insult when he had presented it with the best of
intentions had never occurred to the father, and not understanding her
antipathy for all of the feline tribe, he was naturally somewhat angry
at her attitude; so he insisted that the cat had come to stay. And
indeed it looked as if she had, for no one wanted the homely, starved
creature, and though three times Tabitha surreptitiously pushed her down
the shaft of an abandoned mine on the other side of the mountain, the
animal always appeared serenely at meal time with a more ravenous
appetite than ever, and Tabitha began to think that the "nine lives of
a cat" was no joke, but a dreadful reality.
"I wish the owners of that thing had kept her. It was cruel to tie her
to the yucca and leave her to starve to death, but I 'most wish she'd
been dead when Dad found her. I hate the sight of her." She was sitting
on the lower step, elbows on her knees and chin resting in her hands as
she somberly surveyed the greedy animal lapping up the milk she had just
set before it, and vainly wished she had no pet at all.
The kitchen door opened behind her and the father stepped out on the
porch. His quick glance took in the whole situation in an instant, and
recalling the conversation concerning the dog a few nights previously,
he asked with some curiosity, "What have you named your cat, Tabitha?"
Without lifting her eyes or manifesting any interest in the subject she
answered briefly, "Lynne Maximilian."
The man started as if he could not believe his ears, and then with an
almost audible chuckle of amusement, he descended the steps and strode
rapidly up the path toward the town.