her at all. And my instinct was right, for when I went through her
kitchen, to go out for my daily airing, she looked "daggers" at me, and
said, "Scat!"
I was so provoked I walked just as slow as I could and held up my head;
but she came at me with her dishcloth, and as I did not care to be hit
by that dirty thing, smelling of fish, I swallowed my pride and ran
away. She slammed the back door after me, and called me a "pampered
brute."
I dared not show my head again for a long time. I was cold and hungry,
but I had faith. I knew I should be looked for; and, sure enough, both
of them came to hunt for me, the woman of the house with them, all
smiles. She said: "Poor Pussy! Did it want to come in?"
I just glared at her. I wanted to say, "_It_ did not want you to let
_it_ in." I thought the treatment bad enough; but to be called _it_
broke the back of my belief in her.
I kept out of her way; but one morning she saw me coming in from the
kitchen, and drove me upstairs with her duster. My mistress saw her, and
was very indignant, though she did not say anything, but she never let
me go down alone after that.
This woman had a little step-son. She kept him in from play with his
friends on Saturday afternoons, to get his Sunday-school lessons, and he
just hated her and the lessons, as a matter of course.
I used to play and chase my tail as if I did not know what it was, to
divert his attention, for I did pity him. He was pleased, but it made
him forget the long, tiresome answers. So I gave up trying to amuse him,
for I did not want him to be punished. And when, after all my sympathy,
he pulled and pinched my tail, I said, "He is a chip from the old
block," and left him to his deceitful step-mother.
I felt very glad that, with all their sorrows and wrongs, cats never
have step-fathers or mothers. It is better never to have known your own
father than to have one who is always bringing you a new mother. And I
guess, after all, there is just as much morality among cats as there is
among human beings.
Sometimes there were days when I could not contain myself. I wanted to
run and fight, and send forth my voice just as other cats were allowed
to. The Bohemian blood my poor mother suffered from was answerable for
this state of feeling.
At this time we lived in a flat on the fifth story of a very high
building. It was a very small place, but we were passing through sad
reverses just then, though I could not understand, else I would never
have added to their trials.
Miss Milly would go away every day, and when she returned at night,
looked so white and tired, it made me very anxious. Though she petted
me, and called me her greatest comfort, she did not play with me, and
her brightness was gone.
After she had gone in the morning, Miss Eleanor and I would go about and
attend to our little work, and then, when she would sit down to mend the
boys' clothes, she would take me in her lap and talk to me about their
troubles.
The boys had both found places, and were working very hard and away all
day.
We were lonesome. The kitchen had a large window, and outside there was
a long wooden box made on it, and here the janitor brought fresh earth
every few days, for it was my garden park and hunting ground. It was my
only outing, for I never went down over the stairs. When I went out
there, I was so near the sky that the earth seemed very far away. I did
long for a run over the green grass.
Miss Eleanor, when it was pleasant, would take me up through a boxed-up
stairway to the top of the house, where I could run a long time. It was
very large, for the building covered a great space, and was gravelled
over like the street. A very high wall surrounded it, so there was no
chance to run away.
One night I could not sleep. I was possessed to go out. The window of
our bedroom was open, and I got out into the gutter and walked along. It
ran around the building and was very narrow, and I half drew back. Then
I said, "Courage!" and went on till I reached the corner where the
pointed tower cut me off. Then I realized my situation. I could not turn
around in this narrow space, and I closed my eyes in horror. I dared not
look below, the distance was so great. Above, the beautiful stars seemed
to look down on me and my wickedness.
How sorry I was! No one could see me, a little gray speck, way up so
high. I remained there till the morning light gave me a little courage.
I tried to think of good things, and I remembered about the little
sparrows that God cared for, and I trusted he would not let me "fall to
the ground" for my dear mistress's sake.
She had suffered so much I did not want her to have the pain of losing
me. So I just shut my eyes and turned very slowly and painfully, with
many slips and strains; but my face at last was turned homeward. Then I
cowered down with real vertigo. I could not take one step; but soon I
braced up and crawled along till I reached the bedroom window, where I
was safe.
The delight of my friends may be imagined. They had hunted everywhere
for me, and Miss Milly had had almost a nervous fit, for she said: "He
has fallen down and has been dashed to pieces by this time." They did
not go to bed, and were waiting for the morning light to search the
building.
Of course I was very much ashamed, though it proved how much they loved
me. I promised myself I would never try them again; and I was frightened
when I realized what a narrow escape I had had.
Then I enjoyed my good breakfast, washed myself thoroughly, and getting
into my nice basket, slept all day.
But there are moments now when the horror of my situation overpowers me,
and I always hear with pity about the men who mount the high buildings
and church steeples. And I never, though I am a patriotic cat, desire to
go to the top of Bunker Hill Monument. The picture of it satisfies me.
It makes my head spin, and I have vertigo of the mind; just to think of
it makes me lose my head. For a cat to lose his head is a serious
matter. We might spare a piece of tail, but we need every bit of the
head.
That reminds me of a cat of Miss Eleanor that really lost half of its
tail. Her name was "Persimmon."
The family all laughed at Miss Eleanor for her romantic idea, and very
soon the name degenerated into "Sim"--a much more appropriate one for
the wild and homely creature who answered to it. She was one of Miss
Eleanor's many pensioners. Somehow the mean-looking and abused always
were those she selected for pets.
After they had in vain tried to find a home for Sim, she at last settled
down as one of the family, to the disgust of their old and well-bred
cat.
Sim had no manners, and was not in the least degree sensitive. She was a
dirty white, with pale greenish eyes; and a dark shadow under them gave
her a weird aspect. Miss Milly said the dark shadow was "ashes," but
Miss Eleanor said it was the "shadow of deep thought." More people,
however, believed in the ashes than in the thought.
She would crowd herself in where there was no room for her; and after
the loss of her tail, she was more determined to assert her position
than before.
It happened in this wise: Sim had a very high temper, and in a quarrel
with a bigger cat than herself she was vanquished. In trying to run away
she climbed the fence. The cat following could only reach her tail. It
was a long one, and she struck her claws into it with such force that
she nearly tore it off. Sim went about, for a few days, a sorry object,
till it fell off. The remains of it only measured about two inches.
She exhibited herself on the front doorstep whenever any one called, in
an unblushing manner. A friend of my mistresses, a professor of music,
asked what kind of animal she was, saying he had never met just her
like.
At last she made herself so disagreeable that the mother said they must
dispose of her. They felt badly, but their mother's decision they never
questioned.
Sim was put into a bag and given to two boys of kind and reliable
natures, who promised to care for her very kindly. She was taken to the
Juniper, and drowned. The boys said they would take a boat out into deep
water and drop her in. The society with the long name had not then been
organized, and dear good Dr. Angell had not entered upon his life-long
work of protecting animals, so this method of getting rid of them was
thought the most humane.
The children had been sent to Beverly, to their elder sister's, to spend
the day, and their mother hoped by her cheerfulness to make them forget
the cat.
About five o'clock they returned home, and on going into the sitting
room who should they see but Sim, or Bobtail, as she was called, sitting
by the fire, washing her face.
Their mother laughed at their surprise. She said the cat was taken away
at ten o'clock, and at four she saw a shadow on the window and heard a
loud mew, and on her opening the door, Sim walked in. She fed her, and
since then she had spent the time washing herself--a thing she never was
willing to do.
It was too late, however, for her to reform. The mother had decided on
her fate, and she was doomed.
"I shall see the next time that it is a sure thing," their mother said;
"as to her return, we must investigate that matter."
Later on, the boys came in. They were not told of Sim's return. They
were not exactly untruthful about it, but evaded the true story. They
said, when asked how far out they had taken her, that they could not get
a boat, and had got rid of her on the rocks.
"Are you sure she is dead?" asked the girls.
"Dead? I guess so! Dead enough!" they both answered.
"Then here is an instance of one returned from the dead," said Miss
Eleanor, bringing in Sim, who yelled and scratched as soon as she saw
her would-be executioners.
Their faces were a study. "Is it Sim?" they asked in such real
astonishment that no one could doubt them.
"Now, boys," the mother said, "you have deceived us; but we will listen
to your story if you will tell the truth."
With shamefacedness they said they did not mean to be deceitful; they
really believed she was dead. They took her down to Juniper, and while
they were trying to find a boat she had burst open the bag and run off
over the rocks. They followed her, and she disappeared under a rock into
the water. They heard a splash, and waited some time to make sure that
she was gone. It must have been a stone that fell in, while Sim escaped.
They were very honest in telling their story, and they were forgiven and
received their money, though the mother decided to attend to the
business in her own way.
When, some days after, Sim was missing, no one asked any questions,
believing that everything had been done for the best.
But how that cat found her way home is a question no one could ever
answer. The boys carried her down in a wagon. The Juniper (now called
the "Willows"--a famous Salem resort) was about a mile from the home she
was taken from. It is a rather crooked road for one to remember. She
probably hid herself and followed the boys at a distance. My opinion is
that Sim just used her wits, and thought it out as we all do, and
followed the trail of the wagon.
It is really a cat tail we are all sure of.
The family said that they never could go down to that pleasant resort,
in after years, without thinking that Sim was hovering around in spirit.
Had she been black, a witch cat, they would have felt sure of it.
XVIII
THANKSGIVING
I suppose I am growing old and forgetful, for memory brings things to me
upside down, as I have heard old people say. All I can do about it is to
tell the little incidents relating to the past as they come back to me.
For the last few days Thanksgiving has been in my mind more or less all
the time, and I think you will be interested if I tell you about one
that I enjoyed very much.
My mistress took me in her arms one day, saying, "Daisy, you are going
to have a real Thanksgiving."
I opened my eyes wide (I know that I have very handsome eyes, and love
to show them off, just as boys and girls do); for I did not know what a
thanksgiving meant.
"Yes," she said, "I have just received a note from our friend, Miss W.
You know her." (I winked in answer, for I did admire her.) "Every year
she sends us a turkey, with a basket of goodies all cooked, ready to
eat. This note tells me that she will send the basket Thursday morning.
Now you do not understand what 'Thanksgiving' means, and I will explain
it to you."
I settled myself comfortably on her lap; she always put on a clean white
apron to keep the hairs from my coat off of her dress. I resented this,
for I could not see, for the life of me, why cats' hair was not quite as
good as camels' hair that her dress was made of. And I just crawled
under her apron one day when she was reading, and I liked the feeling of
the soft wool better than I did the cambric apron, it was so woolly and
warm.
I had just snoozed off, dreaming that I was asleep between the camel's
humps she had told me of, when all at once she dropped her book, saying,
"Oh, Daisy, just look at my dress!" And sure enough, it was covered all
over with gray hair, for I was shedding my fur fast.
I was really ashamed of myself, and said: "I am just like Dr. Jekyl and
Mr. Hyde. So I will just go under the bed, the best place for a 'Hyde,'
and repent of my wickedness. I do not know why I do these things, but my
mistress loves me all the same."
So this afternoon I sat on her nice apron, listening to her story of
Thanksgiving like a well-behaved cat.
This is what she told me: That on the last Thursday of November it
usually occurred. The Governor of the State made a proclamation, which
was read in all the churches and published in the papers. The day was
set apart for giving thanks for all the blessings God had bestowed on us
during the year.
Of course I had to listen to all this, but I was awful anxious for her
to get to that basket. But for once she was very tiresome, and now I am
glad she was, for I have an idea of Thanksgiving I shall never forget.
Once, she said, people invited all their family, no matter how many or
how poor they were, to dine. They always attended church, and then
returned to a bountiful dinner of turkey, chickens, plum puddings of
mammoth size, and pies of every variety. All the poor of the family
would eat all they could for the present, and then fill in for the
future.
The children, who never get too much, had nuts and candy in plenty, and
the day was altogether lovely to them all, more particularly to those
who gave than to those who received.
Now, she said, things were changed. No one invited or thought of the
poor of the family, and no one went to church but the poor relations who
had nowhere else to go.
Perhaps the minister preached from the text, "In my Father's house are
many mansions;" that is, if he had an idea of the fitness of
things,--that it would give the poor homeless ones a sure hope of the
future, where perhaps those who have such nice homes here would not be
as well off as the poor would be; and this Christian thought would help
them bear their slights with patience.
Meanwhile the rich do not go to church. They give dinner parties to
those who have money and a higher rank in society; and if one thought is
given to their own flesh and blood who are poor, they wish that all the
old grandfathers and grandmothers, uncles and aunts and cousins were old
turkeys and chickens; then their necks would be wrung, and they would be
rid of them forever, and would never be called upon to remember kindness
rendered to them in the past by these same old relatives.
The sons of the family celebrate the day by a grand carousal, which
leaves its mark on them for many days.
"But," she said, "we have no such days to remember, we are very quiet
and sad, but very thankful for all our blessings; and you are one of the
greatest. I have told you all this because I know you understand it, and
I love to talk to you." (Oh my! how my heart did swell with pride when
she said that.) "I want you to have a lovely time this year--a real
Thanksgiving."
Of course I was all ready for it. I did not sleep much that night, and
was early at the window to see the arrival of that basket. Long before
it arrived I had thought long and seriously of all my mistress had told
me.
I was perfectly wild when that basket came and they unfolded the turkey.
I could have hugged him at once, he did smell so good, but I never moved
from the hassock where my mistress placed me.
I never saw such a lot of nice dishes and beautiful things on them. Even
the dessert had not been forgotten. There was such a big bunch of
celery. I thought it was a tree, and that I could run up in it.
At last, after the inward cravings after that fowl had torn me almost to
pieces, and my desire to be polite and good had been almost upset by the
inclination to rush in and devour right and left, they carved up the
turkey, and I had so many tidbits I did not know which to eat first, the
head or the tail, for I had both of them.
I did do justice to that dinner, and, like a child, as I did not know
when to leave off, they had to take it from me. I then laid down and
slept so sound that I had the nightmare. I thought I was beset by poor
relations: that an aunt was sitting on my head, an uncle on my tail, and
cousins on my stomach, and they pressed me so hard that I yelled out
loudly.
Miss Eleanor came to me, saying, "What is the matter?" Of course I could
not tell her, but I did not want to have such visitors again. I would
rather give them my dinner.
We had a very light supper, and my mistress promised me the sequel to my
Thanksgiving the next day. Indeed, the sequel beat the beginning, and I
thought how nice it would be always to live on sequels.
They took a big platter, and stood it on a newspaper on the floor. In it
was the carcass of the turkey and all the giblets. Miss Milly said I
should, for once, have a real low-minded junket.
And I did. It was like a bone-yard, with the remains all around me. I
felt so generous that I would willingly have said "come" to all the poor
relations in the world. They would be welcome to all the bones I had
picked and all of the quack. It was lovely, but I was greased from head
to foot. When tired, I seated myself on the bones, in the midst of the
carcass, and my fur was glued together in places.
The work of cleaning me was something fearful. I was as patient as I
could be, though I could not help jerking away a few times. Miss Milly
said, "You do not look like my lovely Daisy," and it was many days
before I looked like myself again.
That evening my mistress let me look at the photograph of our nice young
friend. I thought it lovely and a very good likeness. I gave a little
purr at it, but I suppose a gobble or a crow would have been more
appropriate.
She is a very dear friend to my mistress, and I am very fond of her.
When she comes in, I always keep awake to hear her talk. She is very
fascinating. I do not think she cares very much for cats. I suppose it
is because she does not know much about them. One thing I do know: she
would be kind to them, for when I am left alone with her, she smiles at
me and says, "Daisy, you are a nice cat," just the same as if my
mistress were here.
Some people make so much of me before my mistress, but behind her back
say, "Scat, you old cat!" There is no need for them to speak. I know
them, and would not go near them on any account. Then I do wish I could
speak and warn my mistress of their falseness.
One of these people called one day and brought her great boy with her.
He could hardly keep his hands off of me. When my mistress took his
mother into the next room, to show her some work, he lingered behind,
thinking, "Now is my opportunity."
He pulled my ear and yelled "Sassage meat" in it. Whatever he meant by
his "sassage meat" I did not know, but I saw my opportunity and gave him
a good dig with my claws and made his cheek bleed. He bellowed well,
like a real calf, and his mother looked daggers at me, for I boldly
stood my ground. I would not go to my retreat under the bed, for I was
not to blame.
Miss Milly was very sorry, and helped his mother wash his cheek and got
court-plaster for her. After he had been coaxed and comforted, he poured
forth his wrongs, saying that he was sitting quietly, when I rushed upon
him and without the least provocation clawed his face.
Miss Eleanor came forward then, saying, "You are mistaken. I was in the
alcove, and saw you pull Daisy's ear and yell 'sassage meat' in it, and
he scratched you in self-defence." The mother was very indignant. She
said, "I have always told Harold never to touch such spiteful creatures
as cats." No one answered her, and she soon left with her pretty boy,
and she never came again.
Miss Eleanor said she thought, as Harold was to be a lawyer,--so his
mother had told her,--he would never let truth stand in his way in
gaining a case.
My ear did burn from the sharp nails he had pinched it with, and I was
not sorry that I defended myself, and I made up my mind that when
children came to the house, particularly if they were with their
parents, I would keep out of their way.
Miss Milly came to the same conclusion. She said: "Daisy shall not be
subjected to a trial of this kind again; it spoils his temper and makes
him rude, and then he is unhappy about it."
And I was. I had reason to remember it, for my ear was swollen, and they
were obliged to put salve on it to make it heal.
Some time after this we went into the country for a short time. While
there I made the acquaintance of a very intelligent cat. His name was
Pedro. He was very hard to get acquainted with at first, and I was just
wild to know him, for he was very handsome and dignified.
I thought of every reason why he was so cool to me. At last I said to
myself: "It is my collar and padlock. He thinks I am proud." So I worked
and worked till I got the padlock up on my back, and then I licked down
my fur to cover my collar. Then I walked out, and after a few turns in
the garden I saw Pedro on the grounds. He belonged to a very wealthy
man, and the house and grounds were quite lovely.
I walked to meet him very humbly. When I said, "Good morning, Pedro," he
looked me all over, and instead of answering me, he said with a scoff,
"Oh, you are in disgrace, are you?"
"No indeed," I answered; "what makes you think so?"
"Because you are not in full dress, and I miss that trinket you are so
proud of."
This did provoke me, and I said, "The 'trinket,' as you call my nice
padlock, is on my back. I supposed it was that that made you so against
me. All the cats are envious and jealous of that."
"Envious! jealous!" he hissed. "I guess I am not a mean fellow enough to
be jealous of a trumpery bit of finery on a stuck-up cat."
I had to swallow to keep down my temper. As I did want his friendship, I
passed over his insolence in silence.
As I turned to go home I said: "I cannot understand why you dislike me;
I have been anxious to be friends with you, and have wondered if my
collar and padlock had made you think I put on airs. I tried to hide
this gift of my dear mistress, though it seemed treachery to her,
thinking perhaps you would then be pleased with me. Now, of course, I
shall never try for your friendship again."
He had been silent, but he moved about uneasily. Then he winked very
fast, and at last said: "Is that really so? Did you want to be friends
with me? Why, I thought of all the blue-bloodedest, old-familiest,
aristocratical creeters, you were the biggest. I thought you were a cat
duke or a count, and them's the creeters I despise, for I am a real
democrat."
"So am I," I joyfully said, too much delighted to notice Pedro's bad
grammar. "There is my paw on it, and I do hope we shall be good friends.
We ought to be _fast_ friends. As for the dukes and counts, I spell them
without capitals. That is how I value them. The only likeness they have
to us is that we have whiskers, with this difference: the barber makes
theirs, while God made ours."
We laughed and had a jolly time over the dukes and the counts; the rest
of the rabble we did not give even a small-lettered title to.
After this we met every day, and our friendship increased till Pedro
confided his history to me. If ever a cat had cause to mistrust the
whole world, he had, and my heart ached with pity.
It was one very pleasant morning when we had met and walked down and
seated ourselves on a nice grassy mound at the end of the garden, that
Pedro said, "If you would like to hear my story, I will tell it to you
this morning."
Of course I expressed my pleasure, and, making myself comfortable, I
prepared to give my best interest to the story.
"My mother was born in New York. While quite a small kitten she was
given a nice home with people who believe that no home is complete
without the family cat. She was a very large cat, striped like a tiger,
with a beautiful long tail. She was amiable and affectionate.
"The people were very kind to her, and she was quite happy. They were
not very wealthy, but they had great expectations. An old uncle, a very
Croesus, owned the estate they lived on, and a magnificent one
adjoining, where he lived with a widowed sister. He was a childless
widower, and made no secret of his intentions in regard to them.
"Of course they were not sure of his millions. He had given them a life
interest, but should the children offend him, he would wash his hands of
them at once. He was a rough, irascible, outspoken old man, despising
shams, and a falsehood he would never forgive. He was a tender-hearted
friend to animals, but his special favorites were cats.
"He was very fond of my mother, and she returned his affection. Tige, as
she was called from her beautiful stripes, would run to meet him when he
came to the house, walking very proudly by his side. He always noticed
her kittens, always taking one for his own, while he would see that the
rest were disposed of in a humane manner.
"When I was born, he made me his favorite. There were three besides
myself, and we were called a very handsome family. My little brothers
and sister were to be kept. Some friends of the family, who were cat
lovers, were to have them, while I was to be the pet of my mother's old
friend.
"My mother enjoyed us, for she was allowed to nurse us all till we were
old enough to be weaned. Three of them were striped like my mother. I
alone was Maltese. Probably I favored my father; never having seen him,
I cannot tell.
"It was the first of July, and two of the boys belonging to the house
were at home on a vacation. They were not bad boys, but were full of
life. Boys will be boys, you know. They had been kind to my mother,
though rather rough, and she kept her kittens out of their reach.
"We all found them changed for the worse, and I was sorry they had a
long vacation. They were never still. They drove the pony in a reckless
manner, and gave the poor dogs no rest.
"Tige, my mother, had always been a favorite; now, though they seemed
fond of her, they were teaching her tricks all the time, making her jump
over strings and hoops when she was sleepy and did not want to be
troubled. And then they would take up the kittens by the tails, to hear
them squeal, saying, when their mother remonstrated, that it did not
hurt them.
"But I can tell you it _did_ hurt. Imagine being taken up by the feet,
the blood rushing to the head, and then put down with a jerk, while
everything would look dark around, as the blood, in flowing back, seemed
to settle around the eyes. It was fearful suffering, and we did squeal
well. They were never caught by the uncle in such pranks, you may be
sure; they were too sly.
"My mother dreaded them and would hide us the best she could under her
fur. She had no peace, for her anxiety made her afraid to leave us alone
long enough to get her dinner. I know it all now, but then we were so
young we did not care for anything except to cuddle up together and see
which one could get the most milk out of our mother.
"The boys were to have two cousins to spend the Fourth of July with
them. We could hear, from our nice basket home, all about the great
preparations the boys were making to celebrate the day. All the young
people living in the homes near were invited, and the uncle had spent no
end of money in fireworks and Chinese lanterns and all the things boys
love.
"He said, 'This is the one day of the year when children should be made
happy, and they will be more likely to remember its meaning.'
"The two cousins who came were disagreeable-looking boys. All the
animals on the place, from the horses and dogs down to my mother,
instinctively distrusted them, for animals find out their enemies very
quickly. They soon found they would have no peace while these boys were
here, for the visitors were not afraid of the uncle.
"I cannot tell you the horror of the night before the Fourth of July.
The boys were out till very late, and by five o'clock were again on
their feet. The yelling, blowing of horns, and firing of crackers made
us almost crazy. My mother would jump at every fresh noise, for, like
all cats, she was of a very nervous temperament. I now believe she had a
presentiment of coming events.
"We could not get one square meal. Just as we would get our lips on her
breast, ready for a good mouthful, she would jump and jerk away from us;
and as we had no teeth, we could not hold on; besides, the worry and
fright prevented the milk from coming. My poor mother, how she suffered
that night!"
Pedro paused, overcome by his feelings, while I ventured a word of
sympathy.
"We had been removed from the house into one of the outbuildings, quite
a good distance from where the fireworks were to be, close to the
stable; and we enjoyed seeing the horses and pony come out to the great
trough to drink. It was exactly opposite where we were, and was very
cool, the drop by drop sounding very soothing, though we did not exactly
like the water. Our removal had been the work of our kind friend, the
uncle. He knew, however delightful the noise was to young America, that
we did not enjoy it at all.
"All day they were around the grounds with their crackers and pistols,
and the din and smell of powder made all the animals in the stable
wretched; but my poor mother suffered more than all the others, with
four refractory kittens to care for.
"The family had a great supper, and then, about eight o'clock, the
fireworks began. They were a great success, and when nothing was left
but crackers, the elder people went into the house, where the windows
opening on the veranda gave them a fine view of the grounds.
"The old uncle had entered with boyish delight into all the fun, and was
supposed by the boys to be in the house resting. There was a ripple of
excitement as some of the boys left the fireworks to the younger ones,
and stole away, as they thought, unnoticed.
"One of the cousins, a great big fellow of sixteen or seventeen, came,
and taking the basket containing my mother and her four little kittens,
carried it out of the shed, and put it on a rock by the side of the
pump. Next, he took some straw and stuffed it in all around the sides of
the basket. From behind a hedge one of the boys got a can and handed it
to him, and from it he poured kerosene over the straw and all over the
sides of the basket.
"I saw all this with wonder. When he took up the basket, I was hanging
over the side, and fell out just before he put it down. He had not
missed me, and my mother was probably so frightened and choked by the
smell of the kerosene that she could not think. I was quite pleased with
my liberty, though I did not know how much it would influence my fate.
"Before my mother could start up and try to remove her kittens a tramp
of feet made her aware that her tormentors were approaching. She could
have jumped and saved herself, but, like a true mother, she cowered down
over her kittens.
"The boys were all in high glee, while the big fellow yelled out, 'Here
we are, and we will show you a piece not on the bill.'
"Quick as thought he applied a match to the basket in front, while
another great fellow held a burning paper to the straw at the back of
the basket, and all fell back as a loud report was heard, and a volume
of flames sprang up around the basket."
Poor Pedro paused, overcome for a moment, while I almost gasped for
breath, soon he continued in a trembling voice:--
"One shrill scream from my mother, and the last sight I had of her was
in the midst of the flames, her fur all ablaze, her eyes starting from
her head, and magnified to three times her size, while three little
flames around her repeated the dreadful picture in her three kittens.
"A fearful oath rent the air, and powerful hands cleared a passage and
seized the basket and plunged it into the trough that chanced to be
filled to the brim with water, and held it there till the flames died
out, and the last sobbing breath was still forever.
"The flames had enveloped his arms, his sleeves were burned to flinders,
and his hands were a fearful sight. But to me his face looked like the
face of an angel, and I crawled up on his boot, with one little mew. He
heard it, and in spite of his maimed hands took me up and dropped me
into the pocket of his loose coat, where I knew nothing more, for my
little brain was dazed at the fearful sight I had been witness to.
"He was a profane man, and they said the air was blue with the language
he used. Doctor L., his great friend and physician, chanced to be near.
He said, 'My dear friend, you must not get so excited; you will have
apoplexy. You will never be able to use your hands again if they are not
attended to at once.'
"In his anxiety to end my mother's sufferings, he had held the basket
down with both hands, never thinking of his burned hands or the pain.
"'No matter,' he answered, as he glared around on all the people
assembled; 'I do not need to write, to demolish all your hopes.' And he
looked at the boys with hatred. 'I have but to serve a few papers as you
have these poor creatures, and the money you have looked upon as your
own goes to charity.--'Not one cent,' he said, while the veins in his
forehead swelled up like cords, with the anguish he was suffering,
'shall ever go to one of you, for you were all in the secret, though all
may not yet have reached the fearful state of cruelty of your
ringleader. Call John,' he said, and when his faithful servant came, he
gave him his orders, then said, 'Now, Doctor, get your things ready; you
can torture me as soon as John returns.'
"An easy-chair, table, and the lotions and bandages ordered by Doctor L.
were brought out, as the patient refused to move from the spot till his
work was completed.
"Soon John appeared with a small iron box in his arms, taken from the
safe. His master's eyes brightened when he saw him, for he was suffering
great pain.
"'Now, John, take my keys from my pocket and open that box. Jane,' he
said, addressing his sister, who stood by his side, anxiety for him
expressed in her face, 'take from that box the package marked "My last
will and testament." Now, John, clear a space, then burn every inch of
that paper in the presence of these murderers and their abettors; for it
is a cruel murder, and Tige shall be avenged.'
"It was done, and no one dared interfere, though some of them knew they
were seeing the hopes of years fade away and perish in that heap of
ashes.
"'Now,' he said to the doctor, 'dress my burns. I am satisfied.' Just
then I mewed, and he exclaimed, 'Poor little orphan! Take him out of my
pocket, Jane; he shall have such tender care that this dreadful scene
may be forgotten.'
"The sister took me out of his pocket very tenderly, and I clung to her,
while she stood by her brother and tried to help him bear the suffering
caused by the dressing of his wounds. The pain was fearful, but he said
it was a pleasure to bear it, knowing that he had spared poor Tige and
her kittens by ending their suffering at once.
"When the basket was taken out, my poor mother was found, her fur singed
off, while one side of her was completely roasted. My little brothers
and sister were just singed, for their mother had tried to cover them
with her body. The water had ended their lives at once. I did not see
them, but I heard the people describe the horrible sight.
"By his master's orders John carried them home and buried them, after
putting them in a nice box on the grounds. I will show you their grave
some day before you leave.
"The uncle never forgave them. He allowed his nephew and his wife the
use of the house and an annuity for life; but not one cent of his money
could be used for the children.
"Their own means being small, they were obliged to give up the thought
of a profession for their sons and put them into business. The uncle
said very justly that no one ought to be a doctor who had no love in his
heart for the dumb creatures so dependent on him for their welfare.
"He lived but two years after this, and he made me his special care.
Nothing was too good for me, and I loved him with all my heart, and I
know I was a great comfort to him. When I would lick the scars on his
hands, I have seen the tears in his eyes, and he would smooth my fur,
and say, 'Poor Tige! poor Tige!'
"He never quite recovered the use of his left hand, but he never
complained; and when I was big enough I would walk out with him every
day, for I distrusted every one, and made very few friends. He named me
Pedro for a friend of his, a Spanish gentleman from whom he inherited
some of his wealth.
"At his death he gave me to his sister, and left a large sum to be used
for my benefit. He had given her a fine property and the estate where we
now live. After her death it is to be used for charity and a home for
animals.
"She has been very kind to me. The friends whom she has taken to live
here and keep the home for her are very nice, and they understand just
how I am situated. They are fond of animals, and make a great deal of
me; but I can never care for people again. My mistress is not very
strong, probably will not live much longer, and I hope when she dies I
shall soon follow her. The horrible scene of my mother's death has taken
all the pleasure of life from me. Do you wonder I do not make new
friends or trust people?"
I assured him of my sympathy, saying that I hoped there were no such
wicked people about now.
"Don't think that," he said; "there are hundreds of just such wicked,
cruel acts committed all the time. Something should be done to stop the
work now, and save the children from being murderers and criminals."
I was very unhappy over Pedro's story. I did wish my mistress could hear
this sad tale, for I know that she would try to help the poor abused
creatures.
I had quite an ill turn from worry of mind over this sad story, and from
the internal injury that I received from the encounter with that
bulldog.
My mistress was quite anxious about me. She gave me catmint tea and made
me a lovely little blanket, and this with a thick shawl folded under it
was placed on the lounge for my bed. I was very comfortable, and I hope
a grateful cat, when I contrasted my lot with others. I did not feel
(even to the dog that attacked me) any bitterness, for had he been
taught better by his master, he would not have treated me like an enemy.
How can we expect a life-long prejudice, such as dogs and cats have for
each other, to be uprooted, unless they are taught better by their
owners and by the good examples that ought to be set before them? How
can human beings boast of being better than animals?
Think of the heathen cannibals, eating human flesh. To them the fat
little baby is just like a chicken. Then the Indians--did a cat ever
worry a rat worse than they tortured the white men? When you think of
this, can you conscientiously say we are worse, or even as bad as human
beings?
There is money, and eloquence, and sympathy for the heathen; but the
poor animals are left to learn without teachers what ought to be taught
them, to make them the faithful servants and intelligent companions of
man.
I trust the day will come when these humble friends will be as much
thought of in the family as the children; there is no doubt they will
fully repay all kindness done them.
XIX
MEWS AND PURRS
In my humble opinion no one ever told stories to equal those of my
friends. Miss Eleanor could tell the cutest little fox and pig stories,
while Miss Milly excelled on cat stories.
During my sickness they entertained me finely. Miss Eleanor used to tell
a story of the "Pig Family," and the boys were wild over it. No matter
how many new ones were told, they never were satisfied to go to sleep
without hearing the well-worn pig story.
One night when Miss Eleanor was away, Miss Milly put the children to
bed, and of course told them stories. They were not satisfied without
the pig story. She was in a hurry, and preferred to tell stories out of
her own head, saying she did not know the Pig Family; that was Aunt
Eleanor's story.
At last, as they would not go to sleep without it, she told it to them
as she remembered it. When it was finished, she looked at Willie, and
saw that his lip was quivering and his eyes were full of tears.
"What is the matter?" she said.
"You haven't told about the little blue pig," he sobbed.
"Oh, nonsense!" she said; "he is dead probably."
This finished him. He cried as if his heart would break. She said she
never killed a pig before, and had such a hard time bringing that blue
one to life, she never would kill another.
Now I am just like the children. I love to hear the same stories over
and over, and feel really acquainted with the little creatures that they
tell about. And I take after my mistress. I build "castles in the air,"
though I have heard her say she always got an axe ready to demolish
them, for she knew they would have to go. I wish I did know what an axe
is. I would have one too.
One day there was a real big snowstorm. I looked out of the window, and
when I saw the big white snowflakes coming down, I did wonder about
them. Miss Eleanor read one day of a little girl who, on seeing the
snowflakes, asked her mother if the angels were shaking their feather
beds.
What a little silly she was, for I know better than that. I do not
believe even an angel would throw away feathers. They are so nice, I do
love to sleep on them. But then cats know more; only they keep it to
themselves.
We had a good fire in the grate, and it crackled and spluttered, and
looked, as Miss Eleanor said, very homelike. Just then a young lady
called at the door to return a book my mistress had loaned her. They
asked her to come in and have tea with them.
She had a room in the upper story, and they had frequently invited her
in to warm her, for she had no fire, and they feared she was not very
well off, and they tried to befriend her without hurting her pride.
She was very pretty and well educated, and I liked her very much. She
petted me and told me stories of cats she had known in her home before
her father and mother had died, for she was an orphan.
She was very sad, and Miss Milly took out all her pictures and treasures
to amuse her. At last she said: "I will tell you about the first cat I
ever remember. He belonged to my father, and his name was Tom."
I pricked up my ears, for I was wild to hear the story of Tom. All the
little anecdotes I had heard of him pleased me very much.
I think my mistress's father and mother were lovely people, and when any
one comes in and speaks of having known them, I listen with all my
heart. And now I was to hear all about Tom. So I got up on Miss Milly's
lap, ready to devour every word.
My mistress said she did not know where Tom was born. He first made his
debut in one of the good old-fashioned houses now standing in Salem, of
witchcraft fame. She said:--
"My father petted him with his children, and he was the ruling spirit of
the house. Though not a handsome cat, he could be very fascinating. He
was so coy of his marks of favor that one valued them more for their
rarity. That he had blue blood in his veins no one could doubt, from the
supreme contempt he evinced toward poor alley cats. He always perched
himself on the highest place on the fence and looked down upon them.
They looked up to him in the most abject manner, for they knew he was
generous and had the right to give the contents of the swill house to
them, if he pleased."
He was very fond of Miss Milly, and as she was the youngest, and not
very strong, he made it his special duty to amuse her.
After having stolen a squab that had been cooked for her, and persuaded
her to pretend she had eaten it, he ever after was a devoted friend to
her. When they had company, Tom was a study. He inspected them with a
critical eye. If satisfied, he allowed himself to be petted by them.
Often, however, he would reject the offered attention, with a hiss of
scorn, and make himself scarce while they remained. Their father said
Tom was a good judge of character, for he turned a "cold shoulder" where
he himself would have been pleased to do the same.
They had an old bachelor cousin, and their mother was his favorite aunt.
The son of her eldest brother, naturally he was a welcome guest with all
the family. Having no brothers of their own, they were inclined to
receive Cousin Robert's oddities with favor. He would come in of an
evening, and if not noticed by them would remove his wraps and soon make
himself at home.
One evening, to his sorrow, Cousin Robert made them a visit. After a
short conversation with his aunt, he drew near the table where his
cousins were playing games. One or two smothered sounds proved his
enjoyment.
Cousin Robert was rather fond of cats, but his advances to acquaintance
with Tom had met with poor success. His gentle "Pussy, Pussy" and
extended hand had been met with disdain. Their father said he thought
that Tom resented the "Pussy" as too weak a name for his majesty.
He never approached his would-be friend and cousin or accepted his flag
of truce. Their father, later on, did remember that Tom had cast
unfriendly glances at Cousin Robert from his corner where he could
overlook all their movements. Subsequent events explained their meaning
in a manner most unfavorable to their object.
This evening the children were full of fun. The game was very
attractive, and Cousin Robert never thought of Tom.
Suddenly their mother exclaimed, "What a strong smell of medicine!" Then
remembering that Cousin Robert had rheumatism, and very likely it was
liniment he had used, she tried to pass it over. Too late, however, for
they were all sensible of a very strong medicinal smell by this time.
A low laugh from their father, who was seated in his armchair by the
fire, called our attention to Tom. He was in his usual corner, engaged
in a furious battle with some dark object. Just as they asked, "Is it a
mouse," one fierce tug dislodged the cork from a bottle from which he
had just torn the paper, and they all cried out "Valerian!"
Tom bounded out of his corner, crushing in his grasp the dark object he
had battled with, and drunk with the valerian, he turned over and over
in perfect abandonment.
Cousin Robert gazed with dazed eyes upon the scene; then he rushed
forward, saying, "Good Godfrey! it's my--my hat!"
The shouts of laughter and the fiendish leer of Tom's eye, as he gazed
upon him, rendered their poor cousin speechless, after having aired his
only approach to profanity.
After a time he made grab after grab at his poor old hat. In vain,
however; for Tom turned over and over, crushing it out of shape,
flourishing such formidable claws every time he tried to rescue it,
serving friend and foe alike, when the children tried to help their
cousin, that they were obliged to give up the attempt.
Tom held the fort, and knew how to keep it; and the children were too
well aware of Tom's power as an illustrator to desire to represent
etchings, even by their "own artist, taken on the spot."
When at last the bottle was taken from him, only one-half of the
valerian was left.
As soon as their father could command his voice, he said, "I will make
good the loss of the hat, and keep Tom on short rations to pay for it."
The children were bursting with suppressed laughter at the sight of
Cousin Robert, in one of their father's old hats. When they said good
night to him, Tom got up, and, walking around him, cocked up his eye as
if to say, "How funny you do look!"
Tom went in for his full share of the fun, when they all drew near the
fire, laughing over the funny features of the scene. If his tongue was
silent, his eyes were eloquent with a language they all understood.
After a time he went to his corner and returned with the poor old hat,
which he laid with great dignity at his master's feet. "That settles the
question," he seemed to say.
It did settle it with Cousin Robert. Though he got a new hat, it was
months before he visited them again, and then Tom was put out of the
room--an indignity he resented by stealing a neighbor's chicken.
It was pure wickedness, for he did not care for it himself, but gave it
to the poor alley cats to devour; for he patronized them and had many
disreputable pensioners. All his master said, when told of Tom's
wickedness, was, "Pay for it." And to Tom he would say, "If you go on
this way, you bad boy, we shall end our days in the poorhouse."
Tom looked as if he did not care where we ended our days, if we took him
with us. And he was very sure his master would never go without him.
Tom carried the old felt hat up into his den in the attic, and when any
unusual noise was heard, his master would say, "Tom is rehearsing his
play of 'Valerian, or The Old Felt Hat.'"
I thought the story of Cousin Robert very nice, and when I lie on the
lounge, looking in the fire, I can see all these scenes, and I do enjoy
it. Miss Eleanor says she thinks I have a great deal of imagination. I
suppose it is something nice, so I guess I have. I don't feel a bit
jealous, for Miss Milly was a child then, and Tom was not her special
pet, as I am; for I know that I am the "very apple of her eye," as I
have heard people say, and it sounds big because I don't know what it
means.
Miss Milly said she would tell more about Tom some day, for the young
lady was very much pleased with his story. She looked warm and happy,
and drank lots of tea, and ate crackers and had a good time generally.
Some time after, a friend called who had known them from childhood and
knew Tom. Such nice reminiscences I never heard before. When she noticed
me, she began talking about cats, and I thought she would never stop.
They invited her to take tea, though they laughingly said, "We have no
two dishes alike, and very humble fare."
She enjoyed it, however, though she had a lovely home, servants and
carriages at her command. This little bit of Bohemianism, as they called
it, was a delight to her. She made them promise to spend the day with
her, saying, "You can bring Daisy, for I will send a carriage for you,
and my Priggy will be delighted with him."
I was pleased with the invitation, but took a dislike to Priggy at once.
Such a name! Just think of it! To be called Priggy, when there are
beautiful flowers and places that cats can be named for. To call a poor
creature Priggy was weakness personified. I was disgusted, and refused
to believe in Priggy.
As we never went to see him, my mistress not being well enough to visit,
I never had the chance to express my indignation to him. Perhaps it is
just as well. Poor little fool! He may think Priggy is a lovely name.
Some time after, when it stormed very hard, and the young lady upstairs
was cold and low-spirited, my mistress invited her down and entertained
us with more of Tom's history.
She said Tom was very fastidious in regard to dress. He despised
anything ragged, and a dirty swill man (waste merchants they are called
now) aroused his deepest anger. Beggars of all ages and sex he ignored.
The children's dresses he looked over with a critical eye, and if he
detected a rag, he would make mending impossible.
What he would have done in these days of sewing machines cannot be
imagined, for he was frantic over a thread of cotton or silk, and only a
knot kept the whole work from being torn to pieces by his sharp teeth.
They had one of the best-natured Pats to do their outdoor work that
could be found. Pat Ryan was a faithful soul. His one great fault was
his love of the bottle.
He very soon gave up the attempt of making friends with Tom, for he
answered all his advances with hisses and growls, loud and deep. His
tail would swell up, and he would bristle all over when Pat tried to pet
him; just as human beings do when they are presumed upon by those they
think beneath them in the social scale.
Pat had truly to earn his living by "the sweat of his brow." No modern
helps for him. His whole stock in trade consisted of two large firkins
on a rough wheel-barrow, to transport the waste that he went from house
to house collecting.
He would have thought the millennium had come could he have looked
forward to the progress of to-day,--the strong blue carts, with their
well-fed high-steppers, and the Patricks of the period, seated with
pipes in their mouths, and leather lap-robes, in imitation of their
employers, going their rounds, pounding back gates, and bullying the
servants if they were not prompt to greet them.
This improvement in the swill business might have made Pat give up his
bottle and take to the nearly as demoralizing vice of smoking all the
time. But his heavy wheel-barrow had no horse but himself, and the
overflowing firkins were a load for him, particularly when, as was often
the case, he was as full as his firkins.
It was then that Tom saw his opportunity. When Pat's gait was unsteady,
his vision oblique, when he magnified his load by double firkins, double
barrow, double people, and double street, Tom would swoop down upon him,
and by some dexterous movement, known only to himself, cross Pat's path
and overthrow his load. Then, reaching the highest place on the fence,
he would look down, as if to say: "Well, you have come to grief. How did
you do it?"
Pat was not deceived. Drunk or sober, he recognized his enemy, and gave
him the full measure of his wrath. "Ye limb of Satan," he would say,
"ye'll get it yet!" Such promises were never realized. Old Cloven-foot
only could compete with this clever cat.
One unlucky day Pat came earlier than usual, and finding the gate
closed, had to reach his arm over to unfasten it. It was quite a stretch
over the top of the fence, and Pat's head did not come even with the
top, so that he could not look over.
Tom, who was looking on, at once took in the situation. He crawled on
his belly on the ledge of the fence just below the top, and every time
Pat would reach over his hand, Tom would grab it with his open paws, his
claws as sharp as needles.
Yelling with rage and pain, realizing that it was his enemy, Tom, poor
Pat, unwilling to give up, tried and tried again, only to be served in
the same manner.
At last he mounted on the barrow, bringing his head on a level with the
fence. Before he could gain advantage from this move Tom had grabbed
with both paws Pat's old straw hat, rushing like mad up to the house.
Pat had by this time forced an entrance, and ran after him, in pursuit
of his old hat, calling on all the saints to demolish Tom. Bareheaded,
with torn and bleeding hands, witnesses of his wrongs, Pat poured forth
his tale of woe to his friends in the kitchen, where he found sympathy,
for Tom was feared by all the servants. Of course the culprit was
nowhere to be seen.
Their mistress soon healed the breach, if not the wound, by giving Pat
an old hat. To be sure, it was rather too respectable looking for his
calling, but then, he was satisfied even if it did not accord with the
rest of his outfit. No salve for his wound would have equalled that hat.
Miss Milly said as she watched him from her window, walking off with his
new hat on, Tom crawled out from under the sofa, and, mounting the arm
of her chair, said in cat language, "Don't he look just like Cousin
Robert?"
Miss Milly said that when her father came home, Tom ran to meet him;
then he took his master's slippers, and carried them to his chair.
"What means this unusual demonstration?" asked his master. Tom hung his
head and walked under the chair. Then, when his master was seated, he
crawled out, and, mounting to the arm of his chair, rubbed against his
shoulder. Secure of his position, he looked around on them, as if to
say, "Now tell all you know." With his large eyes fixed on their faces,
he enjoyed over again his adventures, wagging his tail in recognition of
the telling points in the story they related to their father.
His master said: "Tom's ancestors must have been in the hat trade, he is
so fond of hats. We shall have to establish a branch of the business,
and make Tom the head. If he goes on in this way, we cannot find hats
enough to pay his debts."
Tom enjoyed it, looking at Miss Milly as if to say, "Don't I do it to
keep up her spirits?"
He did not come in contact with Pat for some time, for Pat prudently
kept out of his way. His cunning only slumbered, however. They called it
turning over a new leaf; but one day he came out with a new joke on Pat.
"Looking from my window," Miss Milly said, "one morning, I saw quite an
army of cats assembled around the plank walk leading to the swill house.
Tom, seated on the highest post in the yard, surveyed them with great
satisfaction, which was shown by the proud elevation of his head.
"His most gracious manner was explained when Pat, coming in, dispersed
them, and a long array of bones was exposed to view--the remains of the
feast Tom had invited them to partake of.
"Pat could not do justice to the subject. Shaking his fist at Tom, who
never winked, but gazed with solemn eyes at him, he said: 'Ye mane
crathur, ye are a human for spite, picking out the best for the old
alley cats ye hates. I will get a dog.' Tom only yawned, and said as
plain as cat could say, 'How tiresome!' After he had watched poor Pat
picking up the leavings, muttering all the time hatred of his enemy, he
came to me for approval. My mother being in the room, she put him in the
attic, telling him he ought to be punished by solitary confinement.
"He soon procured his release by making such a racket over my head,
running about, upsetting marbles, then chasing them about, that I was
very glad to open the door and say, 'You bad cat, come down.' He came
when he got ready, very slowly, and was quite cool to me, though I told
him he had made my head ache with his racket.
"He was not a neighborly cat, never visiting, as cats often do, the
neighbors' houses, and he treated their cats with the greatest disdain.
He often fed them. I have seen him pick open the waste-house door, claw
out a lot of bread and bones for the benefit of the hungry crowd. Then
he would mount the fence and look on. 'With them, but not of them,' was
his motto.
"Though he did not visit around, he knew everything going on in the
street. He overlooked the butcher, baker, and grocer, and knew every
grain of provision carried into the houses, even going so far as
smelling of the meat; but when offered anything, he refused with such
contempt that one and all came to look upon him as a very aristocratic
cat.
"Every carriage that came to the street was received by him. He always
waited till the trunks were carried in, the driver paid, and then he
would come home satisfied.
"A friend of ours, who boarded in the next house, had just returned from
her country home. Tom, being a favorite of hers, received her, and
superintended the removal of her trunks with great interest. He followed
her into the house and remained some time. When my mother called him
home, he came very unwillingly.
"The next morning after breakfast he disappeared. This was nothing
unusual, as my father said, 'Probably Tom had some business needing his
attention daily.'
"In the afternoon, when my mother called on our friend, she found Tom
had dined there.
"After a time, this lady, remembering that she had brought me a book
from her home, proposed going up to her trunk for it. Shortly after, she
called my mother, who, with the lady of the house, went up to the attic
where the trunks were kept. There they found Tom with two of the house
cats seated on a huge trunk that had not been opened. The trunk bore
marks of their claws, as scratches long and deep had torn and disfigured
the leather.
"The scene was most laughable. Tom looked wise (nothing could embarrass
him), while the others looked sheepish. They could not be induced to
leave their perch, and at last light dawned on the situation, when the
friend said, 'Do you think Tom remembers that I promised him some fresh
catmint from the country?' 'Undoubtedly,' said my mother; 'he not only
remembers, but he smells it.'
"The catmint was soon produced, and they all had a feast. Tom wanted to
stay and have a free fight after he had eaten his fill; but my mother
let him see the large bag she carried home, and he followed her
unwillingly. He knew where it was kept, and would go and mew before the
closet door till he got his catmint. After it was gone, on seeing the
empty bag, he went over to our friend's, and up to the trunk. Nothing
would satisfy him but looking in and seeing it was empty.
"For some time he was cool to our friend, but after a few days,
remembering perhaps that she might go home and get him more, he accepted
her marks of affection with quiet dignity.
"Tom was very thoughtful. When told not to do certain things, he was
very ready to obey. His master would say, 'Tom, did I not tell you never
to get into my chair unless there is a covering on it?' and Tom would
look as ashamed while the hairs were brushed off, and would avoid the
chair for a long time, and once he was seen to pull the tidy down from
the back, and sit on it. As it was lace, and he tore a hole in it, his
thoughtfulness was appreciated only by his master.
"Tom was not a cat for every one to love. He had very little reverence
in his composition. My father and mother," Miss Milly continued, "were
very hospitable, and always at the church gatherings entertained all
they could accommodate. Unlike the children of to-day, we were kept in
the background.
"One of our guests was an old travelling preacher--'colporteur,' as he
was called, since he carried about religious books for sale. There is no
doubt he sold many, for buying a book was a more simple thing than
arguing with him, his tongue being one of the most aggressive.
"Every morning the family were early called to prayers, kneeling down
before chairs in the long room, having to remain in that position while
this old man prayed for every one around, calling them by name. All
fared alike. Though I do not believe he remembered our faces, he never
forgot our names. My name, unfortunately, was taken from Shakespeare,
and not from some heroine of religious fiction; and I suffered more when
mine was called than my sister did, nearly all of the family having good
Bible names that he enjoyed repeating. It is not necessary to say how
long he lingered over it to impress its worldliness on his listeners. It
was to me like opening a wound every morning.
"Tom, however, paid him for it. Perhaps he did not like his own name
being left out. An additional cause for revenge, no doubt, was that when
once he passed the reverend gentleman, the humane Christian put out his
foot, giving Tom a slight kick, and said, 'What a great beast!' This was
enough to arouse Tom's ire, even if not mentioning him with the family
had not been enough. So one morning Tom attended family prayers.
"Now this old man wore shoes tied with good strong strings, with little
tags on the ends. Tom looked at them and saw his opportunity. Just in
the middle of the prayer he pounced upon one of the long strings, giving
a pull with his sharp, strong teeth that made the words in the mouth of
his victim come out with a jerk.
"Of course Tom fled at the sound, and after a time the prayer continued.
Finally, just as we were hoping for the last clause, it came in the
shape of Tom, who rushed out from under the sofa, and with one wrench
untied the other shoe, while the amen came out with a bound. Then we had
to listen to a long harangue on the sin of keeping animal pets where we
could feed poor children.
"My father and mother listened respectfully, but made no promise of
turning God's dumb creatures out to starve. My elder sister quoted to
us:--
"'He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small;
For the dear God that loveth us,
He made and loveth all.'
But then, the 'Ancient Mariner' himself could not have convinced this
ancient bigot.
"Tom kept out of the way for some time, but we did not trust him. After
untying his enemy's shoes, we were afraid he would attack his brown wig.
My mother every morning made sure he was out of the way before we went
to prayers.
"How it happened, we never knew, but Tom outwitted her, and one morning,
the last of the visitor's stay at our house, Tom made his mark, gaining
a place in our memory never to be filled by any other cat.
"Just at the close of a long prayer Tom crept along stealthily toward
the chair of his enemy. No one was in a position to see him; but when he
crawled by the lounge where I was lying, I felt his presence, and my
heart seemed to stand still, for I knew he was bent on mischief. I dared
not move, and had to watch him with bated breath as he gained on his
unconscious prey. Now his noble enemy never bowed his head in prayer,
but, kneeling before a chair, his hands spread out, his eyes closed, his
body swaying to and fro, presented a very undignified appearance.
"No doubt Tom thought so, for he walked around and faced him, looking in
his face through the opening in the back of the chair for a long time.
Suddenly he made a grab (I think he intended to catch the fluttering end
of the necktie), but just then the preacher lowered his head, and Tom's
claws came down full on the bridge of his nose with such force that the
words of the prayer were shouted in a manner suggesting profanity.
"All was confusion, as the enraged old man started to his feet, prayer
and religion alike forgotten in his desire for revenge. Too late,
however; for Tom rushed from the room, his tail up in the air, like a
flag of victory. He did not appear again until all trace of our visitor
was removed.
"Poor old man! He did look abject, with the blood dripping over the end
of his nose, and tears of rage and pain in his eyes. Never did piety
disappear so quickly as it did from this good old man, in view of his
wrongs. One would have thought Tom possessed of human intelligence to
hear him denounced. My sister said she believed he was sorry that Tom
had no soul to be lost, thus to appease his wrath.
"My mother produced salve and some court-plaster and made him as
comfortable as possible, but without receiving any thanks. He left us,
very indignant that my father would not promise to have Tom killed. He
refused to remain to breakfast, saying he would not take another meal in
the house with that 'ungodly cat.'
"As my father paid all his expenses, and my mother gave him new and warm
clothing, he had no reason to be offended. My sister said he was a 'wolf
in sheep's clothing,' and Tom knew it, and had been trying to protect us
against him.
"Tom spent the night at a neighbor's, coming home the next day in a most
amiable frame of mind and a very (for him) humble air. Instead of
running to meet my father as usual, he kept in his corner, pretending to
be asleep. No one spoke to him, and he bore it as long as he could; then
he walked over to my father, and, putting a paw on each knee, looked up
in his face with a piteous mew.
"Poor father could not bear that. His tender heart was touched, and he
put his hand on Tom's head, saying, 'Oh, Tom, I am so sorry you are such
a wicked boy!' but the tone assured Tom, who at once jumped up on my
father's shoulder and kissed his face with delight.
"All through the long sermon preached to him of his sins he sat very
quiet, and never once winked, but kept his wide-open, wise eyes on his
master; at last he yawned two or three times, and then washed his face.
But peace was established.
"'What a character that man will give you, Tom, wherever he goes,' said
my mother.
"Tom shook his head as if to say: 'Such is fame. I always wanted to be
famous. Then, I love to etch, particularly on noses, and that was a good
big one. I enjoyed it.'
"Poor Tom! I can hardly tell of his death even now, after so many years,
without the swelling in my throat, to keep back the tears caused by deep
sorrow for my pet.
"One night he went out and did not return till morning. The door of one
of the outbuildings was left open for him to go in if he pleased, but he
never came home till morning; then, as we learned from the servants, he
went up to his den in the attic. At noon time he did not come down, and
my sister went in search of him and found him dead.
"He was not in his nice little basket bed, of which he was very proud;
but lay on some old relics, among the most noticeable of which was the
old hat of Cousin Robert.
"He had been poisoned. His bright face was all green, and his brilliant
eyes were glassy. We could not even rub and kiss his dear old nose as he
liked us to, for drops had run down from his mouth and stained the
beautiful fur coat we loved so well, and my mother said we must not
touch him.
"Under the pile of things where he lay was an open map of the United
States; he had trampled it down some time before. We often said he
studied it when alone. Tom was closed up in this map, with a large rug
outside, and buried in the river.
"How we mourned for him and how changed was that lovely river view to
me! I could never have been consoled, had not a dear old lady said to
me,--
"'Why do you mourn so for your precious pet?'
"'Ah,' I said, 'I shall never, never see him again.'
"'Why not?' she asked.
"'Because cats have no souls, no after life.'
"'My child,' she answered, 'God never gave us these dear, affectionate
creatures to care for and then part with forever. You will have your
dear Tom again where perfect happiness is secured by just such
meetings.'
"I think she was right; and as good Dr. Watts so beautifully describes
in that well-known Baptist hymn, 'Sweet Fields beyond the Swelling
Flood,' there is no doubt there we shall find our faithful dumb friends.
"My father never recovered from Tom's loss. He would not take his
accustomed place by the fire where Tom had been his companion for so
many years, and he never made a pet of any of the many cats we had,
though they were very bright ones.
"My dear good father! I have very little recollection of him, as he died
while I was quite young. But I never remember him without Tom seated in
all his glory by his side."
When Miss Milly had finished her story we were all subdued by the death
of Tom; but then he had a happy life, so I just winked off my tears and
hoped I should know him in heaven.
XX
HEADS AND TALES
I did not recover my cheerfulness after hearing the story of Tom, and
Miss Eleanor said she hoped Miss Milly would never repeat it again.
The young lady friend had wiped her eyes often, and I was very glad when
they made her some hot ginger tea and packed her off to her room. They
said she had a cold in her head, but I know better. It was Tom and his
death that had gone to her head and made her eyes water. It was what
made me cough and sneeze and wink, to keep from the womanish weakness of
tears.
Good gracious! I shall have hysterics next, if I have got to hear such
doleful things. I am ashamed of myself. I thought I had more dignity.
Pshaw! I was not crying. It is that horrid musk that I smell; it always
makes my eyes water. I am glad my mistress never uses it, and I do wish,
if people come here to be warmed and comforted and entertained, they
would not wear perfume. I do despise it. I shall have to chew a lot of
catmint and roll in it before I feel like myself again.
I know that when I went to Beverly I rode over that very river where Tom
was buried. I am very glad I did not know it then, and I am very glad
that some day I shall see all these dear people. Of course I know just
how indignant some will be to read this. I think it very strange that
there are so many who do not want any one to go to heaven but those they
approve. They scorn the idea that God should save the creatures he has
made, because they call them a lower order of beings.
I have said more than I ought to on this subject, for my mistress always
says when any one begins upon it, "We will not discuss it, if you
please, for we shall not agree." And I always like to please her and do
as she says; and then, I do lose my temper and have such bad feelings
that I fear I shall be counted with the bad ones, whom Dante says are
shadows in the other world. And of all things I think a shadow is a
"little too thin." I am glad my mistress cannot hear this, for she hates
slang.
Some days ago a lady was here, and she started that endless subject of
"servants." My mistress tried to turn the conversation, but it was of no
use. The servant question, when one gets on it, is like a brook; it goes
on forever. To be sure, I did hear a young man once say something that
would stop it, and my mistress hushed him up at once; but not before I
had heard it, and it sounded so forcible that I went under the bed and
said it, and wondered if it would stop the women from talking about
their servants. They did not say it often, as my mistress did not know I
had heard it.
Always after the people who discussed their servants had gone, Miss
Eleanor would say, "Now I will read something to take away the
disagreeable impression."
It was usually Dickens, for he seems to have got at the very heart of
things, and his poor are shown up with hearts, while the higher classes
are heartless oftentimes.
Of course this is only given you second-hand, but I comprehend it, else
I should not repeat it.
I do dote on Dickens, and I think "David Copperfield" is my special
favorite. Aunt Betsey Trotwood seems like a real aunt to me. Dear little
Dora! I was very wretched when she died, and I loved Jip. I know he
would have played with me very nicely.
When Miss Eleanor read about his death, there was a lump in her throat,
and Miss Milly's eyes were full of tears, and I thought it was time for
me to go under the bed, not for any particular reason, only there are
times when one likes to be alone.
While I am writing I would like, if possible, to correct any bad
impression regarding cats and their habits. It has been said that cats
will draw the breath of an infant and sometimes of older people while
sleeping. I deny this, and will tell you a story which illustrates the
superstition, and was told by one of our friends.
This lady visited us one day, and while talking about me and cats in
general, she said she had always thought cats were not to be trusted,
and never allowed her children to play with one, for the very foolish
beliefs of which I have spoken. "But," she said, "I have changed my
opinion, and now think a cat properly trained is a noble creature." Then
she told us this story:--
"You remember my cousin, of course, for I know you probably have visited
at my uncle's. They were very fond of cats, always keeping two or three.
When my cousin was married, she took with her one of her old cat's
kittens. She was quite well grown, and was called Dido. She was a great
pet with my cousin's husband, and as it was his first experience of
cats, he was delighted with her playfulness.
"They were fortunate in having servants who were kind to cats. Just
after the first child was born one of the husband's relatives died,
leaving him a large old country place--a farmhouse with a great many
acres of land. He was very much pleased, for he said the country air
would be good for baby and its mother, for she was very delicate since
the birth of her beautiful boy.
"The house had not been occupied for some time, and was one of those
old, rambling, picturesque places, a delight to lovers of the olden
times. The furniture was substantial, but very severe in style.
"'You need not take the boy's bassinet,' said the father, laughing; 'for
there was a cradle that looked as if it had come from Noah's Ark, and
Shem, Ham, and Japhet, not to speak of all the two-by-twos, had been
rocked in it.'
"'Oh,' said his wife, 'how lovely that will be! we can fill it with
pillows, and baby will be delighted with it.'
"'Nonsense,' said her husband; 'don't go and build "castles in the air"
out of that old cradle. It will do for Dido to sleep in; but on the
whole, you had better take the bassinet and all the other folderols for
Baby, else you will be homesick.'
"She decided, however, that she would take nothing with her, but enjoy
all the old-fashioned surroundings.
"The place proved very satisfactory, and she found a nice large room
leading out of hers for the baby's nursery.
"The large pointed-top mahogany cradle was duly polished and installed
in the room, making a royal bed for his highness the baby. With its
wealth of pillows and lace coverings it looked quite regal.
"The nurse girl was very devoted to Baby, always watching him while he
slept. Dido had appropriated the baby ever since his birth, and would
allow his little soft hand to take liberties with her, pulling her tail,
when she would resent it in others. She spent much of her time in the
house, watching the baby.
"About a week after they had settled comfortably at home they were
called up from the piazza by the screams of the husband's sister, who
was visiting them. All she could say was, 'That cat--that cat--has
killed the baby!'
"They rushed into the room, and a strange sight met their eyes. Standing
in the cradle, with a paw each side of the baby, was Dido.
"The poor mother rushed to the cradle, crying, 'Oh, my baby, my baby!'
"Her husband drew her back, saying, 'Look there.' At the side of the
cradle were two great rats that Dido had killed just as they were about
to attack the baby.
"Dido was bleeding from a wound in the neck, where they had bitten her,
but she kept her watch over the baby till her friends arrived. She mewed
out her thanks when they petted her and praised her. The baby had slept
through it all.
"The aunt said she was just coming out of her room when she heard Dido
give a shrill cat call, and she went in, but seeing her over the baby,
supposed she had drawn its breath and killed it.
"They were so grateful to Dido that they would not rest till the doctor
had been sent for to dress her wounds. They soon healed, and after this
Dido seemed to have the care of the baby on her mind; and the cradle
being long, a rug was put in at the foot, and after the matting was put
over the top Dido would lie on it to keep it down. That she slept with
one eye open, they were sure; for if the baby opened his eyes, Dido
would either mew or go for them.
"They found the large closet in the room full of rat holes, and as the
room had been unused for so long, they infested it.
"They removed to a smaller room, and as they took precautions, were soon
free from rats. Probably the latter knew they had a powerful enemy in
Dido, and left.
"There were three cats belonging to the house that had left when it was
closed; but on finding it inhabited again, they had returned, as cats
love to keep to one home. They were well treated, and repaid the
kindness by clearing the house of rats.
"As the family left the man and his wife who had worked for them in the
house during the winter, they never had trouble with rats again.
"They had a picture of Dido taken with the baby, and all their friends
made a great fuss over her."
I did wish I could see this picture; for Miss Milly always shows me
pictures, and I enjoy them very much. Why, I could take the photograph
cases and tell you every one, if I could speak.
Sometimes we have real fun over the old-fashioned ones. My mistress
laughs with us, and says, "This is the family 'Rogues' Gallery,' they do
look so funny." And they never show them to strangers, for they say we
love them too well to let any one else laugh at their old-fashioned
looks.
I do love pictures, but I have been taken to places where they had
horrid crayons on the walls, and the eyes stared at me so I did want to
scratch them out. I hate a chromo, but a nice, peaceful landscape makes
me happy; and I often see one where I would like to lie down and dream,
for a cat can have real artistic taste.
I don't think I care much for babies. I suppose it is because I have
never been around them; and when I have been, the mothers have never
allowed me to get acquainted with them.
I was very cross one day when a friend of my mistress brought her baby
to see us. It was all dressed in white, with a white astrachan hood with
goats' hair fringe, and it looked just like a little poodle. I wanted to
lick it all over when Miss Milly said, "Here, Daisy; come and see this
dear baby." But its mother cried out, "Oh, don't let that horrid cat
touch my baby!" just as if I was a bear or a tiger.
I was so insulted I just walked into a corner. But the baby had seen me,
and held out its little hand and crowed. I looked away, but my mistress
said, "Daisy will not hurt your baby," and she took me in her arms and
let the baby put his soft little hand on my ear. It laughed and crowed,
while I licked its hand. The mother looked as if she thought I would
devour it.
When Miss Milly put me down, seeing the mother's uneasiness, the way
that innocent little creature yelled, kicked, and beat his mother was
dreadful. I fled under the bed, saying to myself, "How glad I am that we
are unmarried people, with no children to raise a tempest for nothing."
The mother excused him by saying, "He was excited seeing that great
cat." I thought, "And the great cat was excited seeing and hearing the
Old Adam in that child."
I know my mistress was glad to get rid of them, and Miss Eleanor, who is
very fond of children, said, "How beautiful that child would have been
had it not been for its mother's foolishness."
Before I get too stupid or too old, I must tell you a delightful story
of one of the witch cats of old Salem and her little mistress, sweet
Hope Farley, a little lame girl my mistress knew and loved.
After I have had my "forty winks" and my nerves forget that baby, I
shall remember it all.
XXI
JETT
The story I am about to tell you has for its chief interest a little
lame girl, very sweet and lovely, who died in old Salem many years ago.
I think good children are almost as nice as good little kittens.
As Jett belonged to this little girl, I must tell you about her, that
you may know how devotedly a cat can return affection and kindness. This
is the moral of my story, and I tell it to you in the beginning, though
I know morals usually come on the end. And then people have got all the
interest of the story and they skip the moral. It is better that it
should leaven the whole story.
Everything about Salem has a fascination for me, and I often think how
nice it would be to fly through the air and take a peep at the people
beneath me; but then, this pleasure is given only to black cats, and
there is no use for any other colored cat to wish for it.
Little Hope Farley lived in a big, old-fashioned house, with a lovely
garden around it. All the rooms were long and wide, with deep window
seats, cushioned, and very comfortable--a nice place for a cat to sleep
and enjoy herself.
In one of these nice roomy window seats little Hope would lie, with Jett
curled up by her side. But I must not anticipate; I will tell the story
just as I heard it from Miss Milly.
Hope was motherless; her father's sister had made up to her as well as
any one ever can the loss of her mother. Aunt Martha was a charming
woman of about forty-five, and she took little Hope into her heart at
once.
(Dear me! How I wish cats had aunts! I do think they are just the nicest
people to care for the unfortunate that can be found.)
Hope's father was a literary man, buried in his studies and books. When
a man is that way inclined, he might, for all the good he is to his
family, be buried in earnest. Then they would have his memory, and one
could read on his tombstone how great a man he was, and the papers could
praise him and speak of virtues that nothing but his death would ever
have brought to light.
Aunt Martha was abroad when his wife died, and Hope, who was but three
years old, was left to the care of a nurse.
Some carelessness caused her to fall, and a curvature of the spine and
lameness for life were the consequence.
Dear me! These "curvatures" and such big words will kill me; but I must
tell this story just as my mistress told it to me, for if ever she reads
this little book, I want her to know how well I remember all she said.
After Hope met with the accident that crippled her for life, her father
wrote to his sister to return and care for his unfortunate child and his
helpless self.
She willingly accepted the charge, and soon found she had a "white
elephant" on her hands. Her brother buried himself in his books, and to
her care was left not only his child, but the whole household. He did
pay the bills, but it was because he had the money; else he would have
left even that to her, for she had a good fortune of her own.
Hope repaid her for her care by loving her with all her heart, and they
were very happy together.
The beautiful garden was a great source of pleasure to them all. Even
the father would walk up and down with his hands behind him; and
although he did not seem to notice anything, the air, the fragrance of
the flowers, and the peace of the scene probably gave him strength.
Around the sides of the garden, by the high fence, were currant bushes
thick and plenty. The fruit was large, red, and tempting, and the
flowers of every kind growing in their native beauty made the spot an
earthly paradise. There were tall hollyhocks, double leafed, red and
white, bachelors'-buttons, beds of pinks, and roses of every variety,
lilies of the valley, modest but bound to be noticed for their rare
fragrance, and beds of pansies that would have made the fortune of the
florist. But here no thought of money crept in to mar the beauty of
God's free gift, the beautiful flowers.
The garden sloped down, joining the land belonging to the next house,
that faced on the side street. The low fence was broken, and just where
the gate had hung, a hedge fence supplied its place, as the gate had
fallen to pieces. The rank weeds and flowers grew in tangles; Nature
seemed to have fought with Art, and to have gained the victory.
The estate had been unoccupied for years, the owner having just died far
away from home, where he had been for years in pursuit of health. His
heir, a distant cousin, was expected to make his home here; as his
business was in Boston, it would be very convenient.
Great curiosity was expressed regarding the newcomers, particularly as
there was a mystery regarding the neglect of the place for so many
years; and a mystery in old Salem always wore a bewitching air.
About ten days after their arrival my story commences.
It was way down near the broken gate, under the sheltering boughs of an
old apple tree, that a most luxurious seat had been contrived. Like a
couch, it was protected at the back by cushions like the seat.
It was high noon of a sultry day in June, yet the thick leaves of the
old apple tree formed a perfect shade for the dear little child reposing
in this lovely retreat. The little silent figure and the crutches,
leaning against the seat, told the whole melancholy tale: little Hope
Farley was a cripple.
The soft hum of bees and insects filled the air, and the scent of
flowers perfumed all around, and the bright blue sky above, lending its
soft light, made her seem a part and portion of this charming picture of
nature. Her doll, her dearest companion, was by her side. She had given
her the quaint old-fashioned name of Joanna, and never suffered it to be
abbreviated.
She held conversations with her, and confided all her little troubles to
her wooden ear. (It would be well if wooden ears and cats' ears were the
only ones to hear secrets, would it not? I must put in my cat's oar once
in a while, for, you see, this story is a big one for a cat to
remember.)
This day Joanna was particularly unsatisfactory, and Hope, getting tired
of her airs, said:--
"Joanna, why are you so silent? Don't you hear the bees, and can't you
see that great speckled toad under the currant bushes, hopping about?
Oh, no, you don't like such things. You prefer flowers. Well," after a
pause, "so do I. And I do love you, you dear, dear dolly." And she
hugged her in her arms.
A slight crackling of the bushes and a scornful laugh caused Hope to
start and look up, just as a lad of about twelve years of age presented
himself on the other side of the hedge. He was a big, fair-haired boy,
handsome, but rough looking, and rude as a young bear.
"What do you do that for, you little silly? That old doll don't know
anything! Come, and let's play something."
Hope looked at him with wide-open eyes.
"Sulky little monkey!" he indignantly exclaimed, "why don't you speak?
Say," after a pause, while he regarded her with surprise, "why don't you
want to play?"
She looked at him in pathetic silence, then her eyes glanced at her
crutches.
As he followed her glance, surprise, sorrow, and pity transformed his
face. After a time he said in a subdued voice:--
"I am sorry I was so rude. I did not know. May I come over there?"
Hope saw how sincere he was, and in her quaint way welcomed him. He soon
cleared the barrier, and seated on the stump of a tree they were very
soon acquainted.
Every day after that they met, and soon became fast friends, exchanging
childish confidences and mutually petting Joanna, for Jack was loyal to
all of Hope's belongings.
(Now I must draw a breath, and put in my cat's oar. I have made you
acquainted with Jett's two stanch friends, and you will better
understand the story. I do pity Hope, for my shoulder troubles me very
much, and I have to wait before I jump as I used to, and I know that she
suffered, and I am very glad she had a cat to comfort her. I think
sometimes if I could see these beautiful places and run around among the
flowers, how happy I should be; but that is one of my air castles. But
in the hereafter I know it will all be mine, and the gardens and fields
of Paradise compensate for those we have not here. Now I will return to
my story.)
One day, after Jack had been a long time silent, he suddenly said, "Have
you got a step-mother?"
"A step-mother? What is that? My mother is an angel. She died when I was
two years old."
"Well," he said, "you will have one, never fear; your father will get
one. My mother died when I was five years old, and now--a year ago--my
father went and got one. So will yours."
"You bad boy! He won't. My Aunt Martha won't let him. You are a dreadful
boy to talk so!"
"Don't be down on a fellow so. Much you know about men. Your father's no
better than mine. He'll get a wife yet, see if he don't; and you will
hate her just as I do my step-mother.
"My father loved me till this woman came. He used to take me everywhere
with him, and he cried when I begged for my mother after she died; he
hugged me and called me his poor little chap. And _now_ it is all over.
I have never called her mother, and I never will. She killed Pipkin, my
mother's cat, just as soon as she came. She made the servant drown her,
because she was treacherous and broke a saucer, and she was afraid of
her.
"She is a beast. Dear old Pipkin is better off away from her; but I do
miss her and will never forgive that woman. My mother would kiss me, and
then Pipkin and the kitty would lie beside me for company; and after my
mother died that cat was all the comfort I had. The servants loved her.
Not one of them would have killed her, but this woman has servants who
will do her dirty work.
"She has red cheeks and a white skin, and a big mouthful of teeth that
she is showing all the time, just like old Towzer, the bulldog."
"Why does she hate you?" Hope asked. "Can't you make her like you?"