"No, you haven't," said Abel meditatively. "You may _think_ you have.
What then? First thing you know you'll be dreaming again--thank the
Lord for it. I ain't going to ask you what's soured you on dreaming
just now. After awhile you'll begin again, especially if you come to
this garden as much as I hope you will. It's chockful of dreams--_any_
kind of dreams. You take your choice. Now, _I_ favour dreams of
adventures, if you'll believe it. I'm sixty-one and I never do anything
rasher than go out cod-fishing on a fine day, but I still lust after
adventures. Then I dream I'm an awful fellow--blood-thirsty."
I burst out laughing. Perhaps laughter was somewhat rare in that old
garden. Tamzine, who was weeding at the far end, lifted her head in a
startled fashion and walked past us into the house. She did not look
at us or speak to us. She was reputed to be abnormally shy. She was
very stout and wore a dress of bright red-and-white striped material.
Her face was round and blank, but her reddish hair was abundant and
beautiful. A huge, orange-coloured cat was at her heels; as she passed
us he bounded over to the arbour and sprang up on Abel's knee. He was
a gorgeous brute, with vivid green eyes, and immense white double
paws.
"Captain Kidd, Mr. Woodley." He introduced us as seriously as if the
cat had been a human being. Neither Captain Kidd nor I responded very
enthusiastically.
"You don't like cats, I reckon, master," said Abel, stroking the
Captain's velvet back. "I don't blame you. I was never fond of them
myself until I found the Captain. I saved his life and when you've
saved a creature's life you're bound to love it. It's next thing to
giving it life. There are some terrible thoughtless people in the
world, master. Some of those city folks who have summer homes down the
harbour are so thoughtless that they're cruel. It's the worst kind of
cruelty, I think--the thoughtless kind. You can't cope with it. They
keep cats there in the summer and feed them and pet them and doll them
up with ribbons and collars; and then in the fall they go off and
leave them to starve or freeze. It makes my blood boil, master."
"One day last winter I found a poor old mother cat dead on the shore,
lying against the skin and bone bodies of her three little kittens.
She had died trying to shelter them. She had her poor stiff claws
around them. Master, I cried. Then I swore. Then I carried those poor
little kittens home and fed 'hem up and found good homes for them. I
know the woman who left the cat. When she comes back this summer I'm
going to go down and tell her my opinion of her. It'll be rank
meddling, but, lord, how I love meddling in a good cause."
"Was Captain Kidd one of the forsaken?" I asked.
"Yes. I found him one bitter cold day in winter caught in the
branches of a tree by his darn-fool ribbon collar. He was almost
starving. Lord, if you could have seen his eyes! He was nothing but a
kitten, and he'd got his living somehow since he'd been left till he
got hung up. When I loosed him he gave my hand a pitiful swipe with
his little red tongue. He wasn't the prosperous free-booter you behold
now. He was meek as Moses. That was nine years ago. His life has been
long in the land for a cat. He's a good old pal, the Captain is."
"I should have expected you to have a dog," I said.
Abel shook his head.
"I had a dog once. I cared so much for him that when he died I
couldn't bear the thought of ever getting another in his place. He was
a _friend_--you understand? The Captain's only a pal. I'm fond of the
Captain--all the fonder because of the spice of deviltry there is in
all cats. But I _loved_ my dog. There isn't any devil in a good dog.
That's why they're more lovable than cats--but I'm darned if they're
as interesting."