THE STORY OF DINAH DIAMOND.
Miss Ruth Elliot was the minister's sister. And two years before, when
she came to live in the parsonage, an addition of two rooms was built
for her on the ground floor because she was an invalid, and lame, and
could not climb the stairs.
They were pretty rooms, with soft carpets, pictures on the walls, and in
the winter time the sun shining in all day at the south window and the
glass door. In summer with this door wide open and the piazza cool and
shady with woodbine and clematis, you would have agreed with the little
girls who made up Ruth Elliot's sewing circle, that first Wednesday
afternoon, that they were "just lovely!"
All were there--the Jones' twins, Ann Eliza and Eliza Ann, tall girls as
like each other as two peas and growing so fast one could always see
where their gowns were let down; Grace Tyler with curly black hair and
rosy cheeks; Nellie Dimock, a little dumpling of a girl with big blue
eyes and a funny turned up nose; Fannie Eldridge, looking so sweet and
smiling, you would not suspect she could be guilty of the fault Susie
had charged her with; and Florence Austin, whose father had lately
purchased a house in Green Meadow, and with his family had come to live
in the country. Last of all, the minister's two little daughters, whom
you have already met.
Ruth Elliot was sitting at a table covered with piles of bright calico
pieces cut and basted for sewing, and when each girl had received a
block with all necessary directions for making it, needles were
threaded, thimbles adjusted, and the Patchwork Quilt Society was in full
session.
"Now, Aunt Ruth," said Susie, "you promised to tell us a story, you
know."
"Yes; tell us about Dinah Diamond, please," said Mollie.
"You and Susie have heard that story before, Mollie."
"That does not make a bit of difference, Auntie. The stories we like
best we have heard over and over again. Besides, the other girls haven't
heard it. Come, Aunt Ruth, please begin."
And so, while all sat industriously at work, Ruth Elliot related to the
little girls
THE TRUE STORY OF DINAH DIAMOND.
"When I was a little girl," she began, "I had a present from a neighbor
of a black kitten. I carried her home in my apron, a little ball of
black fur, with bright blue eyes that turned yellow as she got bigger,
and a white spot on her breast shaped like a diamond. I remember she
spit and clawed at me all the way home, and made frantic efforts to
escape, and for a day or two was quite homesick and miserable; but she
soon grew accustomed to her surroundings, and was so sprightly and
playful that she became the pet of the house.
"The first remarkable thing she did, was to set herself on fire with a
kerosene lamp. We were sitting at supper one evening, when we heard a
crash in the sitting-room, and rushing in, found the cloth that had
covered the center table and a blazing lamp on the floor. It was the
work of an instant for my father to raise a window, wrap the lamp in the
table-cloth, and throw both into the street. This left the room in
darkness, and I don't think the cause of the accident occured to any of
us, till there rushed from under the sofa a little ball of fire that
flew round and round the room at a most astonishing pace.
"'Oh, my kitten! my kitten!' I screamed. 'She's burning to death! Catch
her! Catch her! Put her out! Throw cold water on her! Oh, my poor, poor
Dinah!' and I began a wild chase in the darkness, weeping and wailing as
I ran. The entire family joined in the pursuit. We tumbled over chairs
and footstools. We ran into each other, and I remember my brother
Charlie and I bumped our heads together with a dreadful crash, but I
think neither of us felt any pain. They called out to each other in the
most excited tones: 'Head her off there! Corner her! You've got her! No,
you haven't! There she goes! Catch her! Catch her!' while I kept up a
wailing accompaniment, 'Oh, my poor, precious Dinah! my burned up Dinah
Diamond,' etc.
"Well, my mother caught her at last in her apron and rolled her in the
hearth rug till every vestige of fire was extinguished and then laid her
in my lap.
"Don't laugh, Mollie," said tenderhearted Nellie Dimock--"please don't
laugh. I think it was dreadful. O Miss Ruth, was the poor little thing
dead?"
"No, indeed, Nellie; and, wonderful to relate, she was very little hurt.
We supposed her fine thick coat kept the fire from reaching her body,
for we could discover no burns. Her tongue was blistered where she had
lapped the flame, and in her wild flight she had lamed one of her paws.
Of course her beauty was gone, and for a few weeks she was that
deplorable looking object--a singed cat. But oh, what tears of joy I
shed over her, and how I dosed her with catnip tea, and bathed her paw
with arnica, and nursed and petted her till she was quite well again! My
little brother Walter ("That was my papa, you know," Mollie whispered to
her neighbor), who was only three years old, would stand by me while I
was tending her, his chubby face twisted into a comical expression of
sympathy, and say in pitying tones: 'There! there! poo-ittle Dinah! I
know all about it. How oo must huffer' (suffer). The dear little fellow
had burned his finger not long before and remembered the smart.
"I am sorry to say that the invalid received his expressions of sympathy
in a very ungracious manner, spitting at him notwithstanding her sore
tongue, and showing her claws in a threatening way if he tried to touch
her. As fond as I was of Dinah, I was soon obliged to admit that she had
an unamiable disposition."
"Why, Miss Ruth, how funny!" said Ann Eliza Jones. "I didn't know there
was any difference in cats' dispositions."
"Indeed there is," Miss Ruth answered: "quite as much as in the
dispositions of children, as any one will tell you who has raised a
family of kittens. Well, Dinah made a quick recovery, and when her new
coat was grown it was blacker and more silky than the old one. She was
a handsome cat, not large, but beautifully formed, with a bright,
intelligent face and great yellow eyes that changed color in different
lights. She was devoted to me, and would let no one else touch her if
she could help it, but allowed me to handle her as I pleased. I have
tucked her in my pocket many a time when I went of an errand, and once I
carried her to the prayer-meeting in my mother's muff. But she made a
serious disturbance in the midst of the service by giving chase to a
mouse, and I never repeated the experiment.
"Dinah was a famous hunter, and kept our own and the neighbors' premises
clear of rats and mice, but never to my knowledge caught a chicken or a
bird. She had a curious fancy for catching snakes, which she would kill
with one bite in the back of the neck and then drag in triumph to the
piazza or the kitchen, where she would keep guard over her prey and call
for me till I appeared. I could never quite make her understand why she
was not as deserving of praise as when she brought in a mole or a mouse;
and as long as she lived she hunted for snakes, though after a while she
stopped bringing them to the house. She made herself useful by chasing
the neighbors' hens from the garden, and grew to be such a tyrant that
she would not allow a dog or a cat to come about the place, but rushed
out and attacked them in such a savage fashion that after one or two
encounters they were glad to keep out of her way.
"Once I saw her put a flock of turkeys to flight. The leader at first
resolved to stand his ground. He swelled and strutted and gobbled
furiously, exactly as if he were saying, 'Come on, you miserable little
black object, you! I'll teach you to fight a fellow of my size. Come on!
Come on!' Dinah crouched low, and eyed her antagonist for a moment, then
she made a spring, and when he saw the 'black object' flying toward him,
every hair bristling, all eyes, and teeth, and claws, the old gobbler
was scared half out of his senses, and made off as fast as his long legs
would carry him, followed by his troop in the most admired disorder.
"I was very proud of one feat of bravery Dinah accomplished. One of our
neighbors owned a large hunting dog and had frequently warned me that if
my cat ever had the presumption to attack his dog, Bruno would shake the
breath out of her as easy as he could kill a rat. I was inwardly much
alarmed at this threat, but I put on a bold front, and assured Mr. Dixon
that Dinah Diamond always had come off best in a fight and I believed
she always would, and the result justified my boast.
"It happened that Dinah had three little kittens hidden away in the
wood-shed chamber, and you can imagine under these circumstances, when
even the most timid animals are bold, how fierce such a cat as Dinah
would be. Unfortunately for Bruno he chose this time to rummage in the
wood-shed for bones. We did not know how the attack began, but suppose
Dinah spied him from above, and made a flying leap, lighting most
unexpectedly to him upon his back, for we heard one unearthly yell, and
out rushed Bruno with his unwelcome burden, her tail erect, her eyes
two balls of fire, and every cruel claw, each one as sharp as a needle,
buried deep in the poor dog's flesh. How he did yelp!--ki! ki! ki! ki!
and how he ran, through the yard and the garden, clearing the fence at a
bound, and taking a bee-line for home! Half-way across the street, when
Dinah released her hold and slipped to the ground, he showed no
disposition to revenge his wrongs, but with drooping ears and tail
between his legs kept on his homeward way yelping as he ran. Nor did he
ever give my brave cat the opportunity to repeat the attack, for if he
chanced to come to the house in his master's company, he always waited
at a respectful distance outside the gate.
"It would take too long to tell you all the wonderful things Dinah did,
but I am sure you all agree with me that she was a remarkable cat. She
came out in a new character when I was ill with an attack of fever. She
would not be kept from me. Again and again she was driven from the room
where I lay, but she would patiently watch her opportunity and steal in,
and when my mother found that she was perfectly quiet and that it
distressed me to have her shut out, she was allowed to remain. She would
lie for hours at the foot of my bed watching me, hardly taking time to
eat her meals, and giving up her dearly loved rambles out of doors to
stay in my darkened room. I have thought some times if I had died then
Dinah would have died too of grief at my loss. But I didn't die; and
when I was getting well we had the best of times, for I shared with her
all the dainty dishes prepared for me, and every day gave her my
undivided attention for hours. It was about this time that I composed
some verses in her praise, half-printing and half-writing them on a
sheet of foolscap paper. They ran thus:--
'Who is it that I love so well?
I love her more than words can tell.
And who of all cats is the belle?
My Dinah.
Whose silky fur is dark as night?
Whose diamond is so snowy white?
Whose yellow eyes are big and bright?
Black Dinah.
Who broke the lamp, and in the gloom
A ball of fire flew round the room,
And just escaped an awful doom?
Poor Dinah.
Who, to defend her kittens twain,
Flew at big dogs with might and main,
And scratched them till they howled with pain?
Brave Dinah.
Who at the table takes her seat
With all the family to eat,
And picks up every scrap of meat?
My Dinah.
Who watched beside me every day,
As on my feverish couch I lay,
And whiled the tedious hours away?
Dear Dinah.
And when thou art no longer here,
Over thy grave I'll shed a tear,
For thou to me wast very dear,
Black Dinah.'
"Did you really used to set a chair for her at the table and let her eat
with the folks?" Fanny Eldridge asked.
"Well, Fannie, that statement must be taken with some allowance.
Occasionally when there was plenty of room she was allowed to sit by me,
and I assure you she behaved with perfect propriety. I kept a fork on
purpose for her, and when I held it out with a bit of meat on it she
would guide it to her mouth with one paw and eat it as daintily as
possible. I never knew her to drop a crumb on the carpet. Indeed, I know
several boys and girls whose table manners are not as good as Dinah
Diamond's."
"I suppose you mean me, Auntie," said Mollie. "Mamma is always telling
me I eat too fast, and I know I scatter the bread about sometimes when
I'm in a hurry."
"Well, Mollie," said Miss Ruth, laughing, "I was _not_ thinking of you,
but if the coat fits, you may put it on."
"What became of Dinah at last, Miss Ruth?"
"She made a sad end, Fannie, for as she grew older her disposition got
worse instead of better, until she became so cross and disagreeable that
she hadn't a friend left but me. She would scratch and bite little
children if they attempted to touch her, and was so cruel to one of her
own kittens that we were raising to take her place--for she was too old
and infirm to be a good mouser--that we were afraid she would kill the
poor thing outright. One morning, after she had made an unusually savage
attack on her son Solomon, my mother said: 'We must have that cat
killed, and the sooner the better. It isn't safe to keep such an ugly
creature a day longer.' Dinah was apparently fast asleep on her cushion
in the corner of the kitchen lounge when these words were spoken. In a
few minutes she jumped down, walked slowly across the room and out at
the kitchen door, and we never saw her again."
"Why, how queer! What became of her?"
"We never knew. We inquired in the neighborhood, and searched the barn
and the wood-shed, and in every place we could think of where she would
be likely to hide, but we could get no trace of her, and when weeks
passed and she did not return we concluded that she was dead."
"You don't think--_do_ you think, Miss Ruth, that she understood what
was said and knew if she stayed she would have to be killed?"
"_I_ do," said Mollie, positively. "I'm sure of it!--and so the poor
thing went off and drowned herself, or, maybe, died of a broken heart."
"Oh!" said Nellie Dimock, "poor Dinah Diamond!"
"Nonsense, Mollie!" said Susie Elliot. "Cats don't die of broken
hearts."
"She had been ailing for some days," Miss Ruth explained, "refusing her
food and looking forlorn and miserable, and I am inclined to think
instinct taught her that her end was near. You know wild animals creep
away into some solitary place to die, and Dinah had a drop or two of
wild-cat blood in her veins. I fancy she hid herself in some hole under
the barn and died there. It was a curious coincidence, that she should
have chosen that particular time, just after her doom was pronounced, to
take her departure. But what grieved me most was that, excepting myself,
every member of the family rejoiced that she was dead.
"Poor Dinah Diamond! She was beautiful and clever, and constant and
brave, but she lived unloved and died unlamented because of her bad
temper."