and hurt her, and they did not give her enough to eat. So she did not
grow large nor handsome, because one must have the right kind of food
and care when one is young in order to grow properly.
But she learned a great deal about people and how to look out
for herself; so when she came to live with the gentleman and the
gentleman’s wife and catch mice for them, she was a wise little cat as
well as a homely one.
But they did not know she was homely, for they found out what a loving
little heart she had, and how wise she was; and, you know, it doesn’t
matter at all how homely you are if you are only loving and thoughtful
and quick and kind. Indeed, you will seem quite beautiful to those
about you,—more beautiful than if you looked prettier and were less
kind and loving.
So the little Grandma soon won the hearts of her new friends. Jack and
Hallet were her grandchildren, and fine fellows they were, so big and
black and striped,—real tiger-cats.
It was strange that such a little cat as Grandma should have such
large, handsome children and grandchildren; but then, you see, she
might have been large and handsome herself if she had been properly
cared for when she was young.
Well, Grandma’s daughter Ann was the mother of Jack and Hallet. Before
Jack and Hallet were born their mother Ann was in great trouble,
because every time before all but one of her kittens had mysteriously
disappeared, and after a while that one disappeared too.
She seemed to know that the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife were
somehow to blame for this, for she had always had her kittens in the
house, and had taken great pride in showing them to her human friends
as soon as they were born. This time she and Grandma were noticed
having a great consultation together; that means, you know, that they
seemed to be talking it over. Finally, she and Grandma went off,
Grandma leading the way.
The gentleman wondered what it was all about, and watched them without
their knowing it. Grandma led Lady Ann up the long hill back of the
house to an old barn, way off where hay was stored. Into this barn they
went, and in a nice soft bed of hay Jack and Hallet were born; and not
a word did these two conspirators say to their human friends about the
two handsome kits up in the old hay barn.
But when the kittens were half grown,—too big to disappear, you
know,—their mother proudly took them home and showed them to the
gentleman and his wife, who were also very proud of them, they were so
handsome.
Well, they were Jack and Hallet, and they lived to be old and very
well behaved cats, and they were always handsome. Little Goliah was
Grandma’s own child; but he never was much of a kit, for Grandma was
very old—that is, old for a cat—when he was born. She hid him away
until he was a big kit, for she wanted to save him from disappearing;
and because he was her youngest he was also her favorite. Even after he
was grown up, she would wash his face and brush his coat with her rough
tongue. She treated him as though he were a little kitten until she
died of old age.
And Goliah was always a weak kit, and not nearly as large nor as
handsome as the others, and not so very wise. But the gentleman’s wife
took the best of care of him for Grandma’s sake.
The very funniest, cunningest thing Grandma ever did was to bring the
kit that sat on the sticky fly-paper to her mistress. This happened
before Grandma got to be so old. The kitten was very young, and it was
her grandchild, the child of her daughter Sue.
One day the little fuzzy kit sat down on the sticky fly-paper that the
girls who worked in the kitchen had left lying around. They had been
forbidden to use it, for fear a kit might sit on it; and how they got
the fly-paper anyway is a mystery. For the gentleman and his wife had
built their pretty log-house away out in the mountains, thirty or forty
miles from a railroad, and there were no shops in the mountains where
one could go to buy things.
Probably the fly-paper had been sent by mistake with the things ordered
from the far-away big city. Things were always being sent by mistake.
So the kit sat down on the fly-paper. Then it rolled over on it, trying
to get loose.
The girls took it up as soon as they saw it, but it was a
dreadful-looking kitten by the time they got it free. Its fur was all
stuck together, and its paws and its ears and everything were terribly
stuck up.
Then its mother and Grandma tried to put it to rights, and they licked
and licked and licked, but the more they licked the worse it looked.
There was no doing anything with it.
Finally the gentleman and his wife, who were in the sitting-room,
heard Grandma crying very loudly at the door. They wondered what had
happened, and opening the door saw Grandma on the step. She was talking
very fast,—in her _meow_ talk, you know,—and behind her stood Mother
Sue with the kitten in her mouth.
They had done all they could, and now they had come for help to the
gentleman and his wife.
[Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL WASHES HIS FACE
“Out there in the corn-field he climbed quickly up to her shoulder, and
sat there and washed his face with his little hands.” (Page 125)]
The gentleman was very angry when he saw the fix the kitten was in,
and the careless girls in the kitchen got a good scolding, which I am
sure they deserved. But before he took time to do any scolding, the
gentleman got something that would soften the sticky stuff, and he and
his wife very carefully cleaned the baby kitten’s fur, and then washed
it with warm water and soap, and rubbed it dry. It was hours before
they got that kitten put to rights.
Well, those were the cats that lived around Baby Mitchell; and if he
had only had a number of lives, no doubt the kittens could have been
taught, after they had killed him a few times, that they must not hurt
him. But as he had only one life, he couldn’t very well spare that; and
so the kits had to be shut out of the room where he was.
I think they knew he was there, for they used to smell about the door
and act as kits do when they think there is a mouse inside. Not
that Baby Mitchell smelled at all like a mouse,—indeed, he was the
sweetest, cleanest little dot that ever wore a fur coat,—never any
unpleasant odor about him. But kits can smell so much sharper than we,
that they no doubt knew there was some little chap in there, and they
no doubt thought the little stranger needed their attention. For they
were famous hunters, and caught all the mice on the place, as well as
all the squirrels and birds they could, and even the rabbits.
Of course it was too bad for them to catch the birds and squirrels; but
they were not really to blame, for they did not know any better. They
thought all little animals ought to be eaten up by kits, if kits could
catch them.
Not that they ever got very hungry, for they always had enough, and
more than enough, in their plates around at the back of the kitchen.
Every morning and evening, when the man brought the fresh milk, their
dishes were filled, and when they heard him sing out, “Poos, p-ooo-s,
p-ooo-s,” they would come running out of the woods, or from under the
house, or off the porch, or wherever they happened to be,—for no
matter how many mice and squirrels and birds they had eaten they were
always able to drink a little milk.
It was fun to see their heads close together in the dish; only Goliah
would never eat with the others. He had to have his dish separate, and
sometimes he would not eat at all unless his mistress took him in the
house and let him sit by her chair. He would not even eat the nice meat
and things the gentleman’s wife gave the kits every day unless she
fixed a plate for him all by himself.
By this time you will have guessed that the gentleman’s wife was fond
of kittens.
Long ago, when Grandma was young, there were twenty kits to take
care of. They were all Grandma’s children or grandchildren, and they
accumulated before the gentleman’s wife could harden her heart enough
to cause some of them to disappear when they were first born. Those
were great days for the cats! And it was a sight to see them come
running when the man brought in the milk and called “Poos, p-ooo-s,
p-ooo-s.”
It was a sight, too, to see them go walking with the family. When
the gentleman and his wife would start for a walk in the cool of the
evening, all the kits would go tagging on behind, with their tails in
the air, as proud as you please. But as years passed, some of them died
of old age or otherwise disappeared, until finally there were only
Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah left,—a very harmonious family, all
but Goliah, who was sometimes cross to the other kits, and would growl
at them and slap their faces, which seemed to astonish them very much.
Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah were the only cats that belonged
there when Baby Mitchell appeared upon the scene. Not that Baby
Mitchell was seen much, for he stayed in his lady’s room, with the door
shut, all the time.
But Billy came every day to drink the milk and eat the good things
the other cats had. Billy belonged to the man who brought the milk,
and he had plenty to eat at home. Still, he liked to come, and the
gentleman’s wife let him, because he was related to Grandma too. He
was a funny-looking cat, rather square in shape, and he had a way of
scratching with his hind legs, like a dog. He was cross to Goliah and
would cuff him when he got a chance.
Then there was Lady Jane. He had one white eye and a torn ear. He was a
very dissipated-looking cat, and he had evidently fought a great many
fights. Why he was called Lady Jane, I am sure I do not know. He was
not related to Grandma, and nobody knew where he came from. He did not
fight the kits that belonged to the gentleman’s wife, at least not when
he came to get something to eat. And though she did not like his looks,
the gentleman’s wife was too kind-hearted to drive him away.
When summer was over, the gentleman and his wife went away to their
other home in a Northern city; but you must not suppose they left
their cats to suffer. No, indeed! The kits had a warm house of their
own to sleep in, and there was a little door left open at the back of
it so that they could go into the kitchen if they wanted to. They were
good neat cats, that never abused this privilege.
Every day, all winter long, the man came with fresh milk, night and
morning, and called “P-ooo-s, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.” And two or three
times a week they had fresh meat, or, best of all, canned salmon. The
gentleman left a whole case of salmon for them every year, and they
loved it better than anything else,—for you know cats are very fond of
fish. Some cats will even go fishing for themselves if they live near
the water.
[Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL LIKES CHINKAPINS
“He sat on the Lady’s knee and cracked chinkapins, and would give the
shells a toss that sent them far away.” (Page 132)]
Baby Mitchell’s lady once had a cat whose name was Little Man Friday,
and he would catch his own fish out of a little bayou that came up
from the Gulf of Mexico, on whose shore the lady lived. For Little Man
Friday was a Florida cat, and perhaps some day you may like to hear his
story, and how he got his name.
Grandma and the other kits knew perfectly well when the gentleman and
his wife were packing their trunks to go North, and it made the poor
kits very unhappy. It made Grandma so dreadfully unhappy toward the
end of her life that they used to do it slyly, and not let her see the
preparations for going away.
Well, there isn’t any more about Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah.
They came into the story only because they lived in Baby Mitchell’s
house—no, Baby Mitchell lived in their house a little while, and they
didn’t eat him up, although they were such near neighbors.
V
LITTLE MITCHELL STARTS OUT TO SEE THE WORLD
It was soon time for Little Mitchell’s lady to go back to her home in
Boston.
“What are you going to do with that little squirrel?” asked her friend
the gentleman in whose house she stayed.
“I shall try to take him with me,” said she.
“Of course you will,” said her friend the gentleman’s wife. She knew
how it is about kittens, you see, and how you get attached to them
and do not like to give them away to other people who may not always
remember to take good care of them.
So the lady told Little Mitchell he should go to Boston with her. He
didn’t say whether he wanted to go or not, but of course he did want
to go,—for what could the little fellow have done without his lady?
He was still such a baby, and slept more than anything else, and still
drank his milk out of a spoon as you drink out of a tumbler. But how he
did hate to have his mouth wiped! When he had done drinking milk, his
lady would wipe his mouth off on a soft napkin, and he never forgot to
scream and cry when she did it. He was like some other naughty children.
Oh no, he didn’t like to have a dirty face,—that wasn’t it. But he
liked to wipe his mouth himself, and the trouble is he wouldn’t always
wipe it in the right place. Sometimes he would wipe it on the napkin,
like a good little squirrel; but he preferred to squirm out of his
lady’s hand and wipe it on her dress, and of course she did not like
that.
She would often give him a drink of cold water, and he seemed to enjoy
that almost as much as the milk, though the gentleman said he ought not
to have it, for his own mother would not have given him cold water. But
the lady only laughed, and said the reason that mother squirrels did
not give their babies cold water was because they had no tumblers in
which to carry it.
Anyway, he enjoyed the cold water, and he grew fast, and seemed a very
healthy, happy little fellow; and if he ever had a stomach-ache he said
nothing at all about it. So I do not believe he ever had one, for if
anything was really the matter with him he was quick enough to make a
fuss.
The day came at last for the lady to say good-bye to her dear friends,
the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife, and Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and
Goliah, and Sally and Lenoir.
Who were Sally and Lenoir? Why, don’t you know? Sally was the white
horse with the long mane, and when the long forelock was parted down
over her face she looked just like the beautiful picture of Rosa
Bonheur’s horse; and Lenoir was the black horse, just as handsome as
Sally, but not so famous-looking.
The gentleman and the gentleman’s wife said good-bye to Little
Mitchell; but Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah did not, for they were
not allowed to. The lady gave Peterkin a kiss on the top of his head
between his ears, because she liked him very much and felt sorry that
he was offended with her.
Then the man who was to drive her and Little Mitchell away in the
carriage snapped his whip, the two mules started off at a trot down the
driveway, and Little Mitchell and the lady were off,—not exactly for
Boston, because they had to go to a good many places before they could
get there.
And first, they had to go to Grandfather Mountain.
Of course they took a long and lovely drive that day, but there were
no deep rivers to cross, only some dear little streams, all ripply and
shiny where the sun got through to them under the tall trees.
After a while they came to a schoolhouse, buried deep in the shady
forest. It was not vacation, and as it was recess, all the little
barefooted boys and girls stood and looked at the carriage and the lady
and the driver.
It was not often that anybody passed the schoolhouse on that lonely
road, and they were very much interested. The lady was very much
interested too. They were such bright, pretty little barefooted people.
So she got out and spoke to the schoolmaster, and to the children, who
gathered shyly about her and looked into her face so sweetly that she
wanted to kiss them all.
After the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver had gone ever so far
past the schoolhouse, they stopped for dinner. The mules had some corn
and some dried corn-leaves to eat, and the lady had sandwiches and cake
and jam and lots of other good things out of a box that the gentleman’s
wife had given her; and the driver had all he wanted too. But of course
Little Mitchell had condensed milk again; the gentleman’s wife had
given the lady a nice fresh can of it for him. When he had eaten his
dinner, he stretched out on his lady’s knee and took a sun-bath and a
nap while she read in a book.
Then he was put back in his little box, and they all went on again,
through more lovely forests and over the Blue Ridge Mountain, which is
not so very high along here. The road was rather rough and steep in
places; but you know what a sleepy-head Little Mitchell was, so the
jolting of the carriage did not wake him up.
Well, toward night they got to a little hotel near the beautiful
Linville Falls. Here they stayed until next morning; but Little
Mitchell did not sleep in a feather-bed this time, because, you know,
he had his own little box, with nice warm cotton to cuddle down in.
Of course the children who lived here had to have a peep at the funny
little fellow. The children’s mother gave him some milk for his supper,
and then the lady put him to bed.
Next morning the lady and Little Mitchell and the driver went on,
and at noon they had their dinner again by the roadside, and Little
Mitchell again had his condensed milk, and screamed as naughty as could
be when his mouth was wiped, and stretched himself on his lady’s knee
in the sun.
Toward night they climbed a long sloping road up the side of the
Grandfather Mountain. It was a beautiful smooth road, not at all jolty;
and soon they came to a white house on the mountain side, the only
house for several miles.
Here the driver left them and returned to his own home; but Little
Mitchell and the lady stayed there several days.
Little Mitchell did not care about the beauty of the mountains, but
the lady did. She used to go out and walk, and leave him at home
asleep. Sometimes she walked up toward the top of the great Grandfather
Mountain,—that rocky top, as black as ink, which you can see miles and
miles away. It is black because the sharp rocky ridge wears a dress of
lichens as black as coals. I don’t know why such black lichens grow
all over Grandfather’s top, but they do, and below the black rocks is
a wide belt of dark green balsam firs that you know look black in the
distance; so it is a very stern-looking Grandfather Mountain indeed.
Why is it called the Grandfather Mountain?
Well, if you walk along a road that is at the north side of it you will
come to a place where you can look across and see standing out from
the side of the mountain a great stone face, like the face of an old,
old man; and it is from this profile the mountain gets its name.
Where Little Mitchell’s lady walked down in the woods below, it was not
black at all, but very bright and sweet, with fine trees growing; for
it is only near the top that the balsam firs are found.
Some of the forest leaves had already changed their color; for it was
early fall now, and the woods were all golden in the sunshine, and the
yellow witch hazel was everywhere in bloom.
Along the edges of the road were little piles of acorn shells. These
were the work of the squirrel folk. They had shelled out the green
acorns, and of course they must have eaten the inside part, or kernel.
Every little pile of shells showed where a squirrel had sat and eaten
acorns, or perhaps he had been on a limb of the tree above and dropped
the shells down.
[Illustration: LITTLE MITCHELL ON A FROLIC
“Hop, hop, went Little Mitchell, all up and down the room.” (Page 142)]
The lady tasted one of the green acorns, but it was so bitter and
puckery she made up a queer face over it. But she put some of the
acorns in her pocket for Little Mitchell. Since the other squirrels
liked them so much, she thought perhaps he would like them too; but
when she gave them to him he only played with them, and did not even
try to eat one.
It was about this time that Little Mitchell began to sit up. Such
a funny, floppy sitting up as it was! He did not hold his back up
straight, but got himself all into a queer little heap, and the best
he could do was to keep from tumbling over. But no doubt he felt very
proud of himself, and imagined he was a big grown-up squirrel.
He wasn’t, though, for he could not crack even an acorn; and he still
drank milk, though he had learned to love sugar cookies. His lady would
give him a little piece of one, and he liked it so much he almost
choked himself to death trying to stuff it down his throat too fast.
You may know what a baby he was when I tell you how he ran into the
fireplace.
The first time he tried it, there was no fire there, and he started to
go up the chimney, and his lady caught him just in time and pulled him
down all black and sooty.
The next time there was a fire; but that didn’t matter to Little
Mitchell. He ran right into it, and burned the whiskers all off
one side of his face, and the lady snatched him out just in time
to prevent his poor little nose from getting burned too. He was so
surprised that he didn’t even try to get out. You see, he was _such_ a
baby!
Of course he slept in his little box of cotton, and one cold night his
lady was awakened in the middle of the night by a great commotion. She
heard something scratching frantically somewhere, and Little Mitchell
was screaming and crying like everything.
She jumped up and got a light, and there was Little Mitchell’s box
wiggling about as though bewitched. He was inside, scratching and
thumping about and crying with all his might. What _could_ be the
matter?
You remember it was a cold night, and the lady concluded the little
fellow was cold, and so she took him out. The moment he got into her
warm hand, he stopped crying; so, not knowing what else to do, she
took him to bed with her, and he curled down at her side under her hand
and went to sleep like a good little kitten.
When he woke up in the morning, what do you think he did? He licked
his lady’s hand first; then he began to play with her fingers, making
believe to bite them, and patting them with his little paws and jumping
away just as a kitten does.
They had a real good frolic. Little Mitchell would scamper down to the
foot of the bed under the covers, then come creeping up until close to
the lady’s hand, when she would poke it at him and he would scurry off
again.
So he kept on playing until it was time to get up; then the lady left
him alone, all covered up in the warm bed, and he curled right up and
went to sleep until she was ready to go downstairs, when she put him
in his little box, which he didn’t like at all, you may be sure. But
there was a fire now, so the room was warm; and soon his lady brought
him his breakfast of warm milk and a little piece of sugar cooky.
Of course the lady always remembered the baby bunny asleep in his nest
at home, when she went out to walk; and if she saw anything she thought
he would like, she brought it home to him.
One day she brought him some chestnuts. They were the very first ones
to get ripe. Indeed, they were not ripe enough to fall out of their
burrs of themselves; but when their burrs were pounded open with a
stone, out they slipped, fine, fat, shiny brown ones. And so big they
were! That is because they grew on the dear and lovely Grandmother
Mountain, which you know is not so high as Grandfather Mountain, but
close to it, and very beautiful, covered with all sorts of delightful
growths. And its chestnuts _are_ so big! They grow on little low trees,
so little you would hardly expect to find any nuts on them; but their
tops are just covered with big, round, splendid burrs full of big,
plump, brown nuts that are as sweet as any nuts can be. The lady took
some of these nuts home, but she did not give them to Little Mitchell
until she had roasted them in the hot ashes and made them quite soft.
Then she gave him one, and the baby took it in his hands, and sat up as
well as he could, and looked very wise indeed. But he was just making
believe, for he didn’t know in the least what to do with that nut. He
sniffed at it, but seemed to have no idea what was inside, until the
lady opened it for him. Then he ate a piece of it, gnawing it with his
four little front teeth, and liked it very much.
Every day after that he had roasted chestnuts with his milk.
Oh yes, indeed, he soon learned to know them with the shell on, and to
take it off too. He would bite it loose, and then give it a fling that
sent it ever so far.
Thus they lived and had good times on the side of the beautiful
Grandfather Mountain for more than a week. Then one day the lady’s
trunk was taken off by a mule team to Blowing Rock; but she and Little
Mitchell did not go with it. They went around on the other side of the
mountain.
VI
LITTLE MITCHELL REFUSES TO LEAVE HIS LADY