MRS. BRINDLE BRINGS STARTLING NEWS
The twenty cats broke into a run at the sound of that weak mew. Although
it was not repeated, with their keen eyes, made to see in the dark, and
their keen noses, made to smell out all kinds of the micest secrets,
they had no trouble in finding poor little Nugget. There he lay on the
bank, hardly beyond the reach of the water, wet, cold, too exhausted to
mew again, although he could hear with his failing senses the voices of
the Purrers come to secure him.
Kiku-san saw him first, and gently pointed him out to Bidelia, afraid as
he did so that they had come too late, that Nugget was already dead. The
delicate legs hung limp, the head had fallen forward, the eyes, still
half-blue in colour, were glazed, and the mouth that had called them was
open.
Bidelia stiffened with dread as she saw her kitten, but instantly darted
forward, calling: “M-m-m-mmmmm!” That coaxing mother-note in which all
cats call their kittens so lovingly. As she cooed to Nugget, she bent
over him, nosing him, licking him frantically, yet with the wisest,
strongest strokes, for, young as she was, and without having taken a
course of First Aids to the Injured, her mother-love taught her how best
to bring Nugget back.
[Illustration:
“Licking him frantically.”]
Her friends stood by watching the little mother, herself scarcely more
than a kitten, anxiously hoping that she would warm Nugget into life.
And she did. Though a few minutes longer delay and the rescuers would
have come too late, Nugget was still on the right side of the line
between life and death when he was found, and he rewarded his mother’s
rapid work on his limp little body by moving a paw and uttering another
plaintive little mew.
“Let us help you,” cried Daisy Bell and Mrs. Blotch, while the other
cats heaved a sigh of relief, well knowing that if Nugget turned to come
back to them the battle was as good as won. Daisy Bell and Mrs. Blotch,
experienced in the care of kittens, fell to licking with Bidelia, and
did it with so much good-will that the soft, wet little form rocked back
and forth on the grass, and the kitten soon opened both eyes as the
grateful warmth of the busy tongues dried his yellow fur and set his
chilled blood in motion.
Bidelia licked around the kitten’s face, and Nugget put both paws around
her neck.
“I’m dreadful sorry, mamma,” he whispered, so sincerely that he forgot
to speak like Tommy Traddles’s best grammar scholar.
“Yes, dear, but I’m only glad just now that you are safe,” Bidelia
whispered back.
“Scamp coaxed me to go fishing with him; I didn’t want to, but he said I
was ’fraid-cat, so I went,” Nugget continued. “He was ugly after he got
me here, and I mewed, so he pushed me into the water, and ran away. I
kept up, and kept swimming—I don’t see how I swam; nobody taught me.”
“Oh, everybody knows how to swim without teaching, everybody except
human beings,” said Bidelia. “Go on, dearest.”
“I swam, but I could not get to shore,” sobbed Nugget. “Not for the
longest, longest time! And I felt so weak, and I was so frightened, and
it was so dark, and there were you and Dolly and Puttel all safe at
home, and I thought I was never going to see you—” Nugget broke off,
sobbing with all his might.
“There, there, dear, darling little Nugget, don’t talk about it, don’t
tell me any more now!” said Bidelia, soothing him by the softest kisses
and pats. “I know all about it. At last you did get to the bank, and
crawled up, and lay there dying, when you heard the good Purrers singing
to you, and gathered strength for just one tiny mew; just enough, dear,
to save you. And now you’re going to get well fast, and we are going to
take you home where Mrs. Brindle has warm milk for you, and never, never
again are you going to be a naughty kitten, and disobey your little
mother. Isn’t that it, my poor little Nugget?”
Nugget cuddled down close into Bidelia’s soft neck. “That’s right,
mamma,” he said.
Bidelia gave a few quick purrs of happiness. It really was worth
Nugget’s suffering and her own misery to have her kitten freed for ever
from the bad influence of Scamp. She turned to her friends with a bright
smile. “How shall we get this poor, naughty kitten home, dear Purrers?
He is far too weak to walk.”
“We’ll make a cat’s-cradle,” said Ban-Ban, promptly.
Now a cat’s-cradle is not what most of us understand it to be. The real
cat’s-cradle, from which the one we make with strings got its name, is
made in this manner: an equal number of cats form themselves into two
lines, walking abreast, one line behind the other. The rear line gently
takes into its mouths the tips of the tails in the front line, which
thus form, as one can easily see, a sort of hammock upon which a kitten,
or any not too great weight, may be carried.
In this case ten cats made a line abreast, and ten more, in another line
abreast, took the tips of the ten preceding tails into their mouths, and
Nugget was laid on the cradle thus made, whereon he swung as easily as a
Baltimore oriole in its nest, and slept peacefully while his kind
protectors bore him home.
Madam Laura, with Dolly Varden and Puttel, were at the door of the
apartment-house, eagerly watching for the return of the search-party. It
was the shriek of glad mews which they raised that woke Nugget from his
sleep of exhaustion, and told him that he was once more with his
sisters, whose qualities as “mere girl kittens” he no longer despised,
since they had been good, while he had been both foolish and naughty.
Bidelia, Laura, Ban-Ban, and Wutz-Butz took Nugget at once to Mrs.
Brindle’s house to get her to give the poor kitten some warm milk.
As soon as she saw them the cow uttered a long moo of welcome. “I
thought you would never get here to-night,” she said when they were
within hearing. “I have news for you that I could hardly wait to tell
you.”
“Nugget has been lost and nearly drowned,” said Ban-Ban. “We were out
hunting for him. Will you please let down some milk for him while you
are telling us your news?”
“I was out walking to-day over at the other side of the woods,” Brindle
began at once, as she obligingly let down her foaming milk into the pan
Ban-Ban offered her. Cows never waste time beating around the bush when
they have anything to say. “I came upon something there that shocked me.
Purrington is in danger.”
“In danger from what?” demanded Ban-Ban, who was always the one with
whom Brindle preferred to talk, as he was her first friend among the
Purrers.
“There is a settlement of dogs over there,” said Brindle, gravely. “The
place is called Dog Corners. I heard the dogs talking. They were saying
that they had just learned of the existence of Purrington, and that they
meant to attack the city, destroy it, and capture or kill all the cats
in it.
“They never dreamed that I, a cow, was one of the people of Purrington,”
she added, nodding her head up and down as a low growl of indignant
horror arose from her hearers; even Nugget stopped drinking to join in
it. “The dogs talked freely, although they saw me standing there. I
half-shut my eyes, and pretended to be interested in nothing but my cud.
But you may be sure I listened to every word, and I have been nervous
ever since because no one came near me to be warned of the danger.”
Wutz-Butz stood with his feet braced, and every separate hair bristling
with fury. “It may come to-night,” he growled very low, and Ban-Ban,
Laura, and Bidelia understood that he meant the dogs’ attack on
Purrington, and thrilled at his words.
“There isn’t a moment to lose. We must consult the others, and arrange
for meeting this attack,” cried Ban-Ban. “Bidelia and Madam Laura,
Wutz-Butz and I must leave you to bring Nugget home when you are ready.
Mrs. Brindle, you are a cow in a thousand. You are full of the milk of
human kindness and fidelity to your friends. We will do something to
prove how we appreciate you when this danger is past. Wutz-Butz, come
on!” And Ban-Ban flew like a streak of quick-silver—he was about the
same colour—down the street, and Wutz-Butz flew after him as fast as his
greater weight allowed.
The big bell in the town hall had never been rung. When it was hung
Doctor Traddles had given a lecture in the hall on an incident in
Scottish history, when one of the lords had asked in council who would
bell the cat. Doctor Traddles pointed out that they, being cats, would
reverse the order of the question, and ask: Who will bell the
council-room? It was considered a most happy allusion, and Tommy
Traddles’s wit was still quoted. But the bell had never, till this day,
been rung. Now it pealed forth, calling together all the Purrers of
Purrington for a council of war.
Wutz-Butz, as the most experienced soldier, was in the chair, presiding
over the meeting. The cats looked very serious. An attack on their city
by dogs was not a thing to be regarded lightly.
“Gentlemen,” said Wutz-Butz, after a hasty whispered consultation with
Tommy Traddles as to the proper way to proceed with the meeting, “I
should be glad to hear from you what you consider the best way to meet
the attack which Mrs. Brindle has warned us that the dogs of Dog Corners
intend to make upon us.”
There were a great many good fighters in Purrington now, thanks to the
number of cats who had joined the first settlers, and who had spent
their days fighting for their lives in the human city’s streets; but
they were better fighters than talkers, and no one responded to
Wutz-Butz’s request for advice as to the best method of meeting the
danger threatening them.
Finally Ban-Ban arose, looking around at the council. “I am not a
fighting cat,” he said, “but since those who are seem shy about
addressing us, let me state my opinion and offer my advice on the matter
before us. We all know that those who attack are better placed than
those who are attacked. They have but themselves to take care of, while
the attacked have to consider their wives and children, and suffer the
loss of their homes if the attack is at all successful. Hence I propose
that, instead of waiting in Purrington for the dogs to attack us, we
march on Dog Corners and wipe it off the map. We will send Brindle to
find out when the dogs will be away, because, if they are free dogs,
they must go off on long runs—even pet dogs do that. When we find out
that most of the fighting dogs are absent, we will fall on their
settlement and put to flight every puppy in it. It is right for us to do
this, because as long as there is a dog village so near Purrington we
shall never be safe.”
This speech, plain and to the point, was received with great applause.
It was moved, seconded, and carried that the Purrers of Purrington
should make war upon Dog Corners on the first day possible. Wutz-Butz
was appointed Commander of the Cats, with ’Clipsy second in command, and
Tommy Traddles and Ban-Ban staff-officers, for consultation.
A city guard was appointed for that night to patrol the streets and
alarm the Purrers should the attack be made at once. Then the meeting
broke up, but not until the cats had sung, to the air of “Hail
Columbia:”
“Let the wild dogs now beware,
We are bristling up our hair;
We have now unsheathed our claws,
We have made our martial laws,
And, when dogs shall dare attack,
With growls and spits we’ll drive them back!
For Purrington we’ll make a fight,
Strong, because our cause is right.
Liberty! our countersign;
You for yours, but I for mine!
_Chorus:_ “Like one cat we’ll meet the foe;
Like one paw we’ll lay him low.
Courage, then, Cat Heroes! Draw
Claws, and strike with heart in paw!”
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