[Illustration]
This is a tale of true love that no social distinctions could hinder; of
a love that persisted in spite of misfortune, disfigurement, and
poverty; of a love that ruled not merely the camp, the court, and the
grove, but the back garden also: of a love that (as Mr. Seaman sings)
"was strong love, strong as a big barn-door"; of a love that, no doubt,
would have laughed at locksmiths had the cachinnation been necessary;
that, in short, was the only genuine article, with the proper trade-mark
on the label.
[Illustration: MANY SUITORS.]
"Pussy" was the name of a magnificent Persian cat--a princess among
cats, greatly sought by the feline nobility of the neighbourhood. She
was the sort of cat that no merely individual name would be good enough
for; her magnificence soared above all such smallnesses, and, as she was
_the_ ideal cat, combining all the glories and all the beauties of
cat-hood in herself, she was called, simply and comprehensively,
"Pussy." She condescended to reside at the house, and at the expense, of
Mr. Thomas C. Johnson, of The Firs, Alford, Lincolnshire, and all the
most aristocratic Toms of the vicinity were suitors for the paw of this
princess. Blue Persians, buff Persians, Manx cats, Angora cats--all were
her devoted slaves, and it was generally expected that she would make a
brilliant match. She had a house (or palace) of her own at the back of
Mr. Johnson's. Here were her bed, her larder--an elegant shelf
supporting her wire meat safe, and her special knife and fork for her
meat must be cut up for her--and her plate and saucer. And here, by the
door, many suitors waited to bow their respects as she came forth to
take the air. But Pussy, who trod the earth as though the planet were
far too common for her use, turned up her nose at the noble throng, and
dismissed them with effective and sudden language, conjectured to be a
very vigorous dialect of Persian.
[Illustration: BOWING THEIR RESPECTS.]
[Illustration: VERY VIGOROUS PERSIAN.]
Then came, meekly crawling and limping to her door, one Lamech, a cat of
low degree and no particular breed. His only claim to distinction of any
sort was that he had lost a leg--perhaps in a weasel-trap. He was
ill-fed, bony, and altogether disreputable; his ears were sore, and his
coat unkempt. He came not as a suitor, but as a beggar, craving any odd
scraps that the princess might have no use for. So low was he esteemed,
indeed, that nobody called him Lamech, his proper name, and he was
familiarly and contemptuously known as "Three-legged Tommy." When the
princess's human friends saw Three-legged Tommy hanging about, they
regarded him as a nuisance and a probable offence in the sight of the
princess. Wherefore they chased him mercilessly, tempering their
severities, however, by flinging him scraps of food, as far out into the
road as possible.
[Illustration: COMMOTION AMONG THE NOBILITY.]
But presently a surprising thing was observed. Pussy actually
_encouraged_ Three-legged Tommy! More, she fed him, and her last drop of
new milk and her last and tenderest morsel of meat were reserved for his
regalement. There was intense commotion among the scorned feline
nobility. Three-legged Tommy was actually admitted into that sacred
palace, from the portals of which the most distinguished cats in Alford
had been driven away!
[Illustration: PASSING THE SACRED PORTAL.]
As for Three-legged Tommy himself, he grew not only more confident, but
more knowing. He came regularly at meal times. More, he grew fatter, and
less ragged. The princess enjoyed her self-sacrifice for a time, but
presently she set herself to get a double ration. Sharing her provisions
was all very loving and all very well, but she began to feel that there
were advantages in a full meal; and Three-legged Tommy, now grown much
more respectable, though a hopeless plebeian still, distinctly gave her
to understand that he could do with a bit more.
[Illustration: "THE FEAST IS SPREAD FOR THEE."]
Three-legged Tommy was the princess's first and only love, but next in
her affections ranked Mr. Johnson. It was her habit to follow him about
the house and garden, and to confide her troubles to him, sitting on his
knee. But now she tried stratagem. Five or six times a day she would
assail him with piteous mews, entreating caresses, beseeching eyes, and
the most irresistibly captivating manners she could assume. "What can
she want?" he would say. "She has not long been fed. _Is_ it meat, old
girl?" And, powerless to resist her, he would rise and follow.
Meat it was, of course. And when it was cut she would attack it with
every appearance of ravenous hunger--till the master's back was turned.
Then--"Come, my love, the feast is spread for thee!"
[Illustration]
Out would limp Lamech from behind some near shrub, and Pussy would sit
with supreme satisfaction and watch her spouse's enjoyment of the meal
she had cajoled for him. And so Three-legged Tommy waxed fat and
prospered, and the Beautiful Princess was faithful to him always. Miss
Mary Johnson, who was so kind as to send us the story, calls Pussy "a
devoted helpmeet." We trust she meant no pun.