SIX SMALL CATS DO GREAT THINGS
Three days later the moon looked down on a more wonderful sight than she
had seen since the cow had jumped over her,—more wonderful even than she
had seen then, for this sight was much more than one cat with a fiddle.
Six cats and three kittens led a procession of at least a dozen more
cats out of the town and along the wooded country roads. Ban-Ban was
ahead. He had a big red bow on his collar, which poor Rob had tied on,
intending the Maltese cat to look his best when expected company should
come that evening. He little thought that he was adorning Ban-Ban for a
journey, and a parting that was going to cost himself keen grief!
But Ban-Ban had no room in his mind for Rob’s anxiety; he trotted
proudly along, with his short, velvety ears pricked up, his nose alert
for dangers. Close behind him marched Wutz-Butz, in case he was needed
for a fight. Tommy Traddles came next, in case he was needed for advice.
Kiku-san—he wore a beautiful pink ribbon, because Lois loved to see him
well dressed—Kiku walked between Bidelia and Madam Laura, the only one
of the party with a regret. His thoughts dwelt on Lois, and how troubled
she would be when he did not come to bed that night, and she could not
find him in the morning. Behind Bidelia came the three kittens, driving
their young mother half crazy with their antics. They would not walk
soberly, but frisked and played, and ran out of sight into the shadow,
and sometimes half-way up a tree, until little Bidelia was sure that she
would be quite as gray as Ban-Ban, but with another sort of grayness,
from her worry, by the time she got to wherever they were going.
The stranger cats walked behind their leaders. They were all thin and
sad-looking, for they had had no homes, and life had been most hard to
them. They were glad enough to think that they were on their way to make
their fortunes in a city of cats, where there would be no stones thrown,
no dogs to chase them, no cruel boys to frighten and hurt them.
[Illustration:
One of the stranger cats.]
The six cat leaders all carried something. Ban-Ban had a big piece of
beef. He had not stolen it, because it had been bought for him, but he
had whisked it out of the refrigerator when the cook left the door open
for a moment.
Wutz-Butz had dragged along a piece of red flannel. He was inclined to
be stiff in his legs from rheumatism and his frequent battles, and he
had no mind to sleep on the cold ground, though many a soldier before
him has had no better bed.
Tommy Traddles had a pail of milk fastened over his shoulders,—Laura had
tied it on for him,—and in his paws he carried an umbrella, because he
knew that if it rained they would all hate to be out in the wet.
Bidelia, like the gay young thing that she was, brought only
neck-ribbons for her children, and some worsted balls with which
they—and she, too, if she would own it—loved to play. But Madam Laura,
like an older and wiser mother, brought catnip roots, as well as some
dried catnip to start on, in case the kittens were ill. She also had a
little bottle of castor-oil, because she knew how good that was for
kittens when they overate themselves.
Kiku-san carried his crocheted shawl. It was one that had been dyed red,
and which Lois kept in a rocking-chair for Kiku’s daytime naps. Kiku
wore it now around his shoulders, and wondered doubtfully if he could
get another crocheted shawl in Pussy-Cat Town when this one was worn
out.
They walked and they walked for what seemed a long, long distance even
to the cats. As to the kittens, they had long ceased frisking, and
crawled along slowly, mewing pathetically, and taking hold of Bidelia’s
tail to help themselves as they went.
[Illustration:
“Little Dolly Varden fell asleep.”]
Tommy Traddles looked around and saw how tired they were. “If some of
you gentlemen in the back there, who have no food or beds to carry,
would lay your forepaws on one another’s shoulders, and take turns in
letting the children sit on them, you would be able to get the poor
little kitlets over the ground, saving them suffering, and not hurting
yourselves,” he said.
The stranger cats were glad to do this, though they would never have
been wise enough to have invented this way of carrying the babies.
Little Dolly Varden fell asleep the instant she was put up on the paws
of a big black cat and a black and white one, who offered to carry her.
“She was that done out,” said the black and white cat. He had a kind
heart, but his English was not very good, because he had learned it in
the streets.
It was about twenty minutes past ten when the cat pilgrims reached a
lovely spot. It was a clearing in a wood, almost an acre wide. It stood
right on the bank of a tiny stream, which Bidelia called a river, but
which was really rather a small and quiet brook. All around this cleared
spot were beautiful woods, and only a grass-grown road ran through it,
such as is made by broad wagon wheels when men go to cut down trees in
the woods.
“This is the very place for us,” declared Ban-Ban, looking around him
with great content.
“It isn’t far from the town,” objected the black cat, who was helping
carry Dolly Varden. His name was ’Clipsy, short for Eclipse. He had not
always been poor; he was born in a very nice home, where he had been
given his name, but he had got lost when he was very young, and had had
a hard time ever since. He was a gentleman always, though; the cat
leaders all saw that he was the best of all the stranger cats who had
joined them.
“I know it is not far from town,” said Tommy Traddles, planting his
umbrella in the ground, and setting down his pail of milk beside it,
with a wink at Wutz-Butz to keep his eye on it—no one could tell what
some thirsty stranger cat might be tempted to do. “It is not far from
town, ’Clipsy, but it is rather better for that. Did you never notice
that when human beings have lost something they always look everywhere
else for it before they look near home? I suppose you haven’t noticed
that, because you have not lived with human beings since you were so
little, but it is quite true that when anything is lost and can’t be
found, it always turns out that it is because no one looked just at
hand, where the lost thing always hides. So it is better for us to
settle nearer our old human town than to go away off—to another State,
for instance.”
There was no disputing with a cat that could allude so carelessly to
“another State.” ’Clipsy at once gave up arguing; he didn’t know what
“another State” meant, and he wondered greatly how Tommy could be so
wise.
“Oh, it’s all right as to that,” said Ban-Ban, speaking in his quick
way. He understood about states, because he had so often sat by Rob when
he was learning his lessons. “I don’t think any one would find us in
this place; but I wonder if there is a good market here.”
“There ought to be fish in that river,” said Madam Laura, who liked fish
even better than most cats. “I know how to catch fish with my paw.”
“There _are_ fish in that stream,” said Tommy Traddles, decidedly. “And
field-mice in the woods; the market here will be excellent. I am
convinced that the guardian fairies of good cats have led us here. It is
well to be near town, because our city must be easily reached by
homeless cats who may wish to join us. I advise you, my friends, to
decide upon this spot at once as the site of the city. Do you agree to
stay here?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” cried all the cats together, their voices making a
chorus of soprano, alto, bass, baritone, and tenor. Even the kittens
joined with their thin little pipes, though they may have been crying
from sleepiness.
“We’ll make a camp!” cried Ban-Ban, putting up his back and dancing
around on his toes the way he had always done when Rob offered to play
with him. “We will camp out for the night, and in the morning we will
ask the carpenter cats to begin to build our houses.”
“It won’t take us long,” cried the carpenter cats, five of the strangers
who had joined the party.
“I told a friend of mine I would write at once after we settled on a
site to let him know where he could join us. What are you going to call
the town?” asked one of these cats.
“Purrington!” cried Bidelia, triumphantly, looking around for the praise
she felt sure that this happy name would win from all her companions.
She had been thinking up a name during the three days that she was
getting together her kittens’ neck-ribbons, mending their clothes, and
packing for the journey.
All the cats raised such a yowl of delight that if there had been any
human being within hearing he would certainly have thought that some
awful thing had happened to all the cats in the world at once. But it
was merely keen pleasure that such a fashionable-sounding, yet happy,
homelike, catified name had been hit upon by Bidelia, whom they now felt
surer than ever must secretly be a successful author.
“Purrington by all means,” said Tommy Traddles, with the grave approval
of a great scholar. “I should suggest that we also give this stream a
name, and call it the Meuse. Purrington-on-the-Meuse will be a
delightful heading for our note-paper.”
“Mews! Yes, that is a nice name for our river,” said Madam Laura. “Yet I
don’t like, don’t _quite_ like, calling the river after mews only. We
are often so unhappy when we mew!”
“My dear lady,” said Doctor Traddles,—Tommy Traddles had been honoured
with the title of Doctor of Claws by a feline college,—“we are not
calling it after our own mews; we do not spell it that way. This is
M-E-U-S-E, not M-E-W-S, and there is a river with that name in France. I
confess I had the double sound of the word in my mind when I suggested
the name, however.”
“How did you become so learned, Tommy?” sighed Madam Laura, much
impressed.
“I used to sit on a dictionary a great deal of the time while I was
growing,” said Thomas Traddles. “I then lived with a student of law, and
I absorbed learning, and especially a knowledge of words, by sitting,
and even napping, on his dictionary.”
“We are going to live in Purrington-on-the-Meuse!” cried Ban-Ban, with a
flirt of his tail. “Wutz-Butz, bring your red flannel over here. Those
kittens must be put to bed. Kiku-san, will you let Dolly Varden and
Puttel sleep with you in your crocheted shawl, while Nugget curls up
with Wutz-Butz in this red flannel?”
Before Kiku-san could reply, Bidelia started to say that she must keep
her children with her, and Wutz-Butz to say that he intended to watch
all that night with ’Clipsy and some others of the stranger cats; but
nobody could hear a word that either of them said, for all three kittens
set up a perfectly deafening trio of miaous:
“We want mamma, we want mamma; we won’t sleep with Y-O-U-U-U!” they
shrieked.
“Oh, dear,” sighed Bidelia, “they are so tired you must pardon them! My
darlings, you are going to sleep with mamma; please, please be quiet.”
And she gave three hasty but tender licks down the noses of each of
them, which quieted the kittens and comforted them.
“I was about to say that Bidelia may use my blanket to-night,” said
Wutz-Butz. “I shall stay awake and watch. By to-morrow night she will
have her own house all furnished.”
“You are most kind, Wutz-Butz,” said Bidelia, feeling rather ashamed
that she had looked down on Wutz-Butz, thinking him only a stupid
soldier. She curled herself down at once on his red flannel and drew the
three kittens to her, one under her forepaw, one close to her head, and
one tucked away under her chin—this was Dolly Varden, the smallest and
sweetest of the three.
Kiku-san and Ban-Ban laid down close together in Kiku’s crocheted shawl.
Kiku was very silent, and even Ban-Ban had nothing to say, but drew the
white cat’s gentle face close to his saucy one. They remembered Rob and
Lois, and it is more difficult to be brave at night, than it is in the
broad daylight, when the sun is shining.
“We will sing you to sleep,” said Madam Laura and Tommy Traddles,
kindly, guessing that these petted cats might be lonely. And they sang
to the tune of “Santa Lucia:”
“Little cats, dearest cats, sleep on your pillows,
Under the stars and ’neath green pussy-willows.
Sweet should your rest be and peaceful your slumber,
Dreaming of cream-pans and mice without number;
Rich your reward for your courage and pity,
Giving the homeless a home and a city.
Ban-Ban and Kiku-san, all cats shall bless you,
Lois and Robin again will caress you;
Bravest cats, dearest cats, sleep on your pillows,
Kissed by the winds and the soft pussy-willows.”
Sung to a low, sweet tune, this song proved soothing, and Kiku-san and
Ban-Ban fell asleep as soon as it ceased, borne away to dreamland by the
rise and fall of many purrs mingling with the murmur of their rippling
river Meuse.
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