A NEW SENSATION
For a week I haven't thought about anything but my lame back and my
aching sides and my stiff legs. I have been unable to move without pain.
Every day Mary has lifted me off my chair, and has encouraged me to move
about the room, and even to go out on the balcony and sit in the sun a
little while, lest I should get too stiff to move. However, the effort
until to-day has been very painful to me, and I soon mewed to be lifted
back to my soft opera cloak.
Mr. Denville had a cat doctor come to see me. She was a lovely woman
with glasses on. She felt me all over, and looked at my tongue, and gave
me some nice medicine to take, that had catnip in it.
To-day I have been ever so much better, and this morning and this
afternoon I have had a new sensation that has taken my thoughts off
myself.
It thrilled me at noon. Mary had carried me down-stairs to her papa's
library, where he was sitting waiting for lunch to be served.
Mrs. Denville was with him. She sat in a big green chair by the window,
and the sunshine was streaming all over her brown head, and her good
face, and her pretty light dress.
“Harold,” she was saying to her husband as Mary entered the room, “this
is a lovely day—spring will soon yield to summer.”
“Yes,” he said, “it will. What arrangements do you wish to make for the
summer?”
“I don't know,” she said thoughtfully.
“Did you enjoy yourself last year?” he asked keenly.
Mrs. Denville smiled peculiarly, then she said, “I did, and I did not.”
“It was sensible, wasn't it?” he said sarcastically. “That great hotel
crammed with people. Everybody that we knew, and everybody that we
didn't want to know. Every woman dressed to extravagance, and every man
sulking in a stiff collar and tight fitting coat. Oh! those hotel
verandas were bliss!”
His wife laughed merrily. “Harold, I think our summers lately have been
too much a repetition of our winters. That is, as far as society goes. I
wish we could do something different.”
“Would you like to go to Europe?” he asked.
“And be seasick? No, thank you—but perhaps you would.”
“Too far from business this year. Perhaps you would like to go
yachting.”
“Harold, I am getting to hate the water. There are so many accidents.”
“What do you want to do, anyway?”
“I want to go somewhere where I can wear an old gown, and lie in a
hammock all day.”
Little Mary was listening very intently to this conversation, and seeing
her interest, I listened too.
“I am tired from this winter's gaieties,” Mrs. Denville was saying,
“and, in addition to that, a quieter place will be better for Mary.”
“We will go to my old home up in Maine,” said Mr. Denville decidedly. “I
have not spent a summer there since I was a boy, and you and Mary have
never been there.”
Mrs. Denville looked doubtful. “It is rather primitive, is it not?” she
asked.
Little Mary let me slip to the floor and walked toward her father.
“Oh, dear papa, would you take us to the old farm-house?”
He nodded his head.
“And I could see the cows and the other things—I have never lived on a
farm—oh, do let us go.”
Just now the conversation began to appeal to me personally. This was
talk about leaving Boston, the place I had been brought up in. What was
going to become of me if the Denvilles went away?
“Meow! meow!” I cried suggestively, and I crawled slowly to Mary's feet.
She looked down at me. “If we go to the farm-house, I could take
Black-Face, couldn't I?”
Her father nodded again.
“And Mona, and Slyboots, and Dolly, and the canaries?” pursued Mary in a
delighted voice—“oh! how lovely. Hotel people are always so horrid about
animals. Oh! Black-Face, what a lovely time we shall have,” and she
caught me up, and walked slowly about the room.
She never runs and skips as other little girls do. It hurts her back.
“Black-Face,” she said suddenly, “wait here. I must, I just must go
up-stairs, and tell nurse and Slyboots about this,” and she went as
quickly as she could out into the hall.
Mrs. Denville looked significantly at her husband. “Mary does not like
hotel life.”
He sighed heavily, and stared down at me, as I pressed up to his feet.
“I did not dream last year,” Mrs. Denville went on in a low voice,
“until the summer was over, what the poor child was going through. The
attention she excited as being set apart from other children, the
sympathy from strangers, though grateful to her, was afflicting. You
see, she is getting older and more self-conscious.”
“I knew it,” said Mr. Denville shortly.
“Why did you not tell me, Harold?” asked his wife gently.
“Why did not Mary tell you?” he asked.
“Because,” she said earnestly, and the tears started in her eyes,
“because she is so unselfish. Because you are both too mindful of my
comfort. You make an egotist of me.”
“Hush,” he replied, “Mary is coming back.”
“Black-Face,” said Mary excitedly, when she reentered the room, “this is
very wonderful news. I think I must go up and tell Mrs. Darley about it.
Mamma, couldn't I be excused from lessons this afternoon? Really, I just
feel boiling inside. If you knew how I have wanted to see the place
where my papa was born! He has told me such lovely stories about it.”
“Why did you not tell, me that you wished to go to Maine?” asked her
mother reproachfully.
“Because, mamma dear, I thought I might make you feel sorry. You see,
you had to be born in a city, so I asked papa to tell me those stories
only when we were alone.”
“And when have you been so much alone?” asked the lady sharply.
“When you were at teas, and lectures, and concerts, mamma, and making
calls. You know you used to go more than you do now.”
Mrs. Denville played with the rings on her fingers. I thought she looked
sorry about something, so I went up to her, and crawling on the
footstool beneath her feet, I managed to get on her lap.
She bent over and stroked me, and then I saw that there were tears in
her eyes.
I licked her pretty fingers, but she found my tongue rough, and smiled
and pushed me away.
“And may I be excused from lessons, mamma?” asked Mary coming up to her.
“It isn't that I don't want to study,” and my dear little mistress shook
her head earnestly, “but really I feel so peculiar that I think if I
don't get out somewhere I shall fly all to pieces.”
“You are no shirk,” said her mother gently, and she put her arm round
her, “you are an honest child. You need not explain. Certainly, you are
excused from lessons. I will telephone to Miss Roberts—I will take you
wherever you wish to go.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said Mary, and she caught her mother's hand
and pressed it to her lips.
At this moment Anthony appeared in the door announcing lunch, and they
all went out together.
All through the meal the little girl chattered about the country, and it
was beautiful to see her parents' eyes resting on her. They said very
little, but they answered all her questions.
When we went up-stairs Mary had to go and lie down and not speak for one
hour. This was her old nurse's decision, when she saw her flushed face.
I felt flushed myself, but there was no one to make me lie down, so I
gave way to my excitement and crept out in the hall. I absolutely had to
talk to some one, so I thought I would try that queer Slyboots.
Mary had made her a nice bed on the lounge, and she lay there looking
like a gutter queen. She always wore a ribbon. Mary didn't put one on
me, but she had to do something to give Slyboots distinction.
“This is great news,” I said, going up to the head of the sofa.
Slyboots gave me a disdainful glance, as if to say, “It doesn't take
much to excite you.”
“Were you ever in the country?” I inquired.
“Nop,” she replied briefly.
“Do you want to go?”
“Nop.”
“Will you run away when the time comes for you to be packed?”
“Nop,” she said again.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I went on eagerly.
“Nop.”
“Do you want me to go away?”
“Yaw,” she said rudely, so I went. I made my way down-stairs, and out in
the yard. Mona and Dolly would like to hear the good news, but bless me,
they knew it already. Human tongues, and dog tongues, and cat tongues
carry news like the wind. Anthony had heard Mr. and Mrs. Denville
talking, and the table-maid had heard, and they had told the house-maid,
and the house-maid had told the cook, and the cook had told the
kitchen-maid, and Mona had overheard, and so she knew, and Dolly knew.
However, the dogs were glad to get further details from me.
Mona asked me first thing how I felt, and said that she had missed me
during the last week. Then she wanted to know how Slyboots was behaving
herself.
“Beautifully,” I said. “She lets me alone, and I let her alone.”
“That is the best way, when there is incompatibility of temper,” said
Mona. “You absolutely can't get on with some creatures without
quarrelling.”
“Well, this is great news about the country, isn't it?” I remarked.
“Glorious,” said Mona heartily. “I love the country.”
“I have heard of Maine,” I said cautiously. “It is all country, isn't
it? Now, what is the country like? You know I have never been off Beacon
Hill.”
“What do you imagine it is like?” she asked.
“Something like the Common?”
“Very like it. Suppose each house on Beacon Hill had a piece of land
attached to it as large as the Common, and even much larger.”
“Why, you couldn't see the cats in the next yard,” I replied in
surprise.
Mona opened her great mouth and laughed heartily. “Couldn't see them,
nor hear them, nor the dogs either. But you'll have to go to the
country, little cat, to see what it is like.”
“What do you think about it, Dolly?” I asked, as she crept toward us.
Dolly is the meekest, gentlest, most timid, oddest dog I ever saw. She
is afraid of everything and everybody, and she never was whipped in her
life.
“Some ugly person must have spent all their time in beating her
grandmother or grandfather,” Mona said to me one day, “for she is the
most scared thing that walks the streets of Boston. Why, when Mr. or
Mrs. Denville want her to go to walk, they have to spend about five
minutes coaxing her to come out of her kennel.”
To-day, when I asked her what she thought about going to the country,
she looked perfectly terrified, and crept up to Mona for protection.
“She is afraid of bears, and wolves, and foxes,” said Mona kindly. “The
dog next door heard that we were going to Maine, and he has been
stuffing her. He told her he knew a spaniel who went up there and came
home inside a wildcat that his master had shot.”
“How cruel!” I said indignantly. “There aren't any wild animals in
Maine, are there, Mona?”
“None to hurt—there now, Dolly, prick up your ears. See how brave this
little cat is!”
Dolly's nerves were too shaken to raise her long, silky ears, and she
retreated into Mona's kennel.
“She's got the quakes badly to-day,” said good old Mona with a shake of
her head. “I'll have to stand guard here, till she gets over them.”
“And I must go back to my young mistress,” I said, “for I think she will
take me to see my parents to-day. Good-bye, Mona.”
“Good-bye, Pussy,” she said. “Keep away from Slyboots. She's a solitary
cat.”
Mary did take me with her when she went to drive. Oh! what a strange
time I had with my family! Let me think over what they said and I said.
Slyboots did not drive with us. Mary wanted to take her, but she drew
back. She had no reason to like the streets, and I was very glad to go
without her.
As soon as our carriage drew up in front of Mrs. Darley's, Mrs. Denville
and Mary found that she was not at home.
My heart sank, but to my great delight, little Mary said to her mother,
“Mamma dear, let me leave Black-Face here with her parents, and we can
call for her later. You will, won't you?”
Mrs. Denville smiled. “Certainly, if you wish it, though I think it is
an excess of sentiment.” Then she handed me to the foot-man, and he
winked mischievously at Gerty who was holding the door open, and Gerty
lifted me into the hall.
An excess of sentiment!—I wish Mrs. Denville could have seen my mother's
face, as I slowly walked into the sitting-room.
Cat mothers can feel as well as human mothers, and wasn't my dear one
glad to see her kitten come creeping toward her!
She met me half-way, she smelt me and licked me, and her soft, damp nose
told a tale. She had heard of my troubles.
They had all heard, for they all got up to receive me. There was no sun
in the window this afternoon, but still they were all lying on the broad
seat on the cushions.
I was conducted to the place of honor in the middle, and then they all
began to talk to me. Father, and Serena, and Jimmy Dory, but mother
didn't talk. She just licked.
“How do you feel, eh?” said Jimmy Dory, giving me a rough pat with his
paw. “Pretty sore, I guess.”
“How did you hear?” I asked sharply.
“Well, you see,” said Jimmy Dory, “since you went down to Beacon Street,
daddy found that he has a cousin living in the house next door to you.
She is a white Angora with blue eyes, and she came from Maine when he
did. The dog in the house with her is a great gossip—a regular dickens
of a fellow.”
Just here Serena interrupted him, and begged him not to swear.
“'Dickens' isn't swearing, is it, daddy?” and my brother appealed to our
father.
“It is rough and inelegant talk,” said my parent grandly, “and that is
next door to swearing.”
Jimmy Dory, not a bit abashed, continued to talk to me. “This
fox-terrier is a regular mischief anyway, and tells awful lies, but
usually there is a little grain of truth wrapped up in his lies. We got
the news the day after. Father's cousin—Angora Girl, they call her—heard
faint cat screams from your house one day last week. She told the
fox-terrier, and the fox-terrier asked your big dog Mona what had
happened. Mona said it was none of his business—to attend to his own
yard, and she would attend to hers. However, this fox-terrier, Smarty,
wasn't to be put down that way; so the next time Mona's back was turned,
he cornered the little dog. What do you call her?”
“Dolly,” I said.
“Yes, Dolly. He told Dolly that he would chew her up and spit her out if
she—”
At this point my sister Serena interrupted him again. “Father,” she
mewed piteously, “must I be forced to listen to this back-yard
vulgarity?”
“No, you shall not,” said my father, and he motioned with his paw for
Jimmy Dory to stop. Jimmy had to, and then my father motioned for Serena
to proceed with the news they had heard.
“It seems,” began Serena grandly, “that your spaniel has been endowed
with rather a pusillanimous disposition.”
I tried not to laugh, for Jimmy Dory was saying, “Oh glory!” in my ear.
“Do you mean that she is a coward?” I asked.
“Certainly that is the signification of my definition.”
“She is afraid of her own shadow,” I said.
“Apparently so, for the fox-terrier cowed her—”
“Dogged her you mean,” muttered Jimmy Dory.
“Cowed her into submission,” went on Serena severely, “and Dolly had to
relate the entire disgraceful occurrence. Afterward, the fox-terrier
rehearsed the matter to the cat known as Angora Girl, and Angora Girl
communicated the news to a cat who lives next door to us, and she
gossiped over the wall with Jimmy Dory. The story, as it reached our
ears, was to the effect that you had excited, braved, or, in some way,
roused the indignation of the street cat, Slyboots. She had inflicted
summary castigation on you, even to the extent of bruising, pounding and
otherwise injuring your body,” and Serena lifting her head, looked at me
through her imaginary glasses as if to say, “I am sorry for you, but I
fear it served you right.”
“What kind of a cat is this Slyboots, anyway?” inquired Jimmy Dory.
“She is a poor outcast cat,” I replied, “and I have tried to be kind to
her.”
“An elegant name,” remarked Serena ironically.
“And she hurt you very much,” murmured my mother in my ear.
“She gave me a fearful beating,” I said frankly.
“You have not yet told us the occasion of the altercation,” said my
father.
I told all about Slyboots; then, with a humble air, I waited for the
verdict of my family.
“Fighting,” began my father solemnly, “is a low-down, vulgar way of
settling disputes, and brings not only the participant, but also his or
her family,” and he stared significantly at Jimmy Dory, “into
disagreeable and unendurable prominence.”
“Just what I say,” interposed Serena with a toss of her head. “Here am I
being pointed out as the sister of the fighting cat on Beacon Street.”
“It's fun, isn't it, when you get your blood up?” said Jimmy Dory to me
in a low voice.
I shook my head. I had found no fun in fighting.
“I should advise you,” continued my father, “not to let it happen
again.”
Well pleased to think that I had got off so cheaply, I yet plucked up
courage enough to say meekly, “Suppose she takes my bed again?”
“Choose another,” said my father decidedly. “You are only a kitten. You
are not settled in your habits. Now, if it were a question of a cat of
my age giving up his bed, it would be another matter.”
“Suppose another cat should take your bed, father,” I inquired humbly,
“what would you do?”
He said nothing, but there was a dangerous glitter in his eye as he
looked at me.
“I bet you'd wallop him till there wasn't a grain of sense left in him,”
exclaimed Jimmy Dory feelingly. Then he ran under a big chair, for my
father's paw was uplifted threateningly.
This seemed a good time for me to throw my sensation in among them. “My
dear family,” I said impressively, “I have a tremendous piece of news
for you. I am to be taken from Boston.”
My mother stopped licking me, and put her head close to mine, as if to
listen more attentively.
My father and Serena were immensely impressed, but tried not to show it,
while Jimmy Dory took advantage of their abstraction, and crept from
under the chair to his former position beside me.
“Go on,” said my father commandingly.
“Well,” I continued, “the Denvilles are going to the country for the
summer. I am to be taken with them, also Slyboots, and the dogs, and the
birds.”
“What country—where is it?” inquired Jimmy Dory breathlessly.
“To Maine,” I replied, then I was silent, for this was my great stroke.
Maine was the far-distant, fabled country that my father had come from.
He had only alluded to it vaguely, for indeed I don't think he
remembered much about it, having been only a kitten when he left it. But
to us, his kittens, it was a land of dreams, of fair promise, of
beauty—in fact, just the kind of place an adventurous little cat would
like to visit.
“Oh, cracky!” muttered Jimmy Dory, “I wish I could go too.”
“You would get lost in the woods,” said Serena disdainfully, “and bears
would eat you.”
“You are not going alone,” said my mother anxiously, “who will there be
to protect you?”
“Oh, I shall keep close to Mona, I assure you, if there is any danger,”
I replied. “Do not be afraid, dear mother. Don't you remember that I
said all the family are going, Mr. and Mrs. Denville, and their
daughter?”
“Oh!” she replied in a calmer voice, but she was very uneasy. I could
tell by her looks.
My father so far had not spoken. Now we saw him licking his lips, and we
all watched him, to catch the words of wisdom that we knew he would let
fall.
“The first question is,” he said clearing his throat, “whether the
kitten is to be allowed to go.”
“Oh!” I said in my turn.
I am a pretty good-sized creature now, and being out in the world I am
rather getting unused to parental control. However, I have been brought
up to consider submission a necessary thing in kittens, so I listened
respectfully.
“Let us hear the arguments for and against,” he said, then he paused.
“I vote she goes,” and Jimmy Dory, without waiting to let ladies speak
first, plunged into a speech in defence of the free exercise of cat
will.
My father listened with a disapproving air. When Jimmy Dory had
finished, he said, “Young fellow, your words are only a wild chewing of
the air in favor of individual cat rights. Now, tell us plainly, why you
consider that Black-Face should be allowed to go to the country.”
“Because she wants to,” said my brother bluntly.
“No reason at all,” replied my father promptly. “Rather a reason for her
to stay at home. The young of any creature invariably wish to do what is
not good for them.”
“Father,” said Jimmy Dory in a sudden rage, “you don't want to hear
arguments for her going. You only want to hear arguments for her
staying.”
“Hush! my son,” replied our parent authoritatively. “My eldest daughter
will now state clearly and succinctly her reasons, or rather her views,
on the subject of this far-away and doubtful trip for Black-Face.”