THE FAMILY TREE
It seemed strange to Sally that as nice a person as Mrs. Conant should
care as much as she did for a creature like Spot. It was all she could
do to listen in silence to a conversation that she had with Miss
Winifred one afternoon in the parlor. The two were sitting on the sofa
while Sally was looking out of the window.
She was watching some birds that were taking a bath in the bird bath.
First a blue jay went in and splashed about, and after he came out, a
robin fluttered down from his perch in a tree.
‘Spot has a good pedigree,’ said Mrs. Conant. ‘His Family Tree is quite
as good in its way as Mr. Conant’s.’
Sally listened while the two ladies talked of these matters, and she
thought of her glorious ancestors. She wished she had a Family Tree
herself, but later, when she talked the matter over with Oxford, he
said it was nonsense.
‘Let us play with our catnip mice,’ he said.
As usual they had a fine time and Sally was so stimulated that she felt
like talking in verse.
I long to have a family tree
And show to all my true descent,
But Oxford says a family tree
Is not a tree for kittens meant.
To know his father is enough,
For he was made of valiant stuff.
But I would like to trace them all,
Back to proud William of great fame,
Who lived, they say, in princely hall,
And bore almost a royal name,
Down to myself, then, all would say,
‘She’s royal, though she’s small and gray.’
There were great singers in my race,
Who sat upon the garden wall,
Tenors, sopranos, and a bass,
Who nightly concerts gave to all,
And mighty hunters were the rule
But Oxford thinks me such a fool.
He says his mind he will not vex
About such matters, that it’s base,
But I am of the other sex
And I delight in pride of race,
But Oxford only says, says he,
Strong paws are more than ancestry.
To catch a mouse is better far
Than grandfathers of high degree,
He loved his friendly grandmamma,
And nothing but a waif was she.
The day is bright, some tree we’ll climb,
To stay indoors would be a crime.
I know if I have children fair,
Some little kittens good to see,
Furry and bright, a lusty pair,
I’d like to have a family tree.
But Oxford said, ‘Let’s have some fun,
The door is open, let us run.’
So to the woods we gayly went
And there we had a lively race,
And such a joyous hour we spent
Chasing each other round the place.
‘If you must have a family tree,
I’ll find one in the woods,’ said he.
Sally was sent up a tree by Spot more than once, and even Oxford had
to fly from him several times, for to stay indoors in the lovely
summer weather was altogether impossible. There came to be a certain
excitement in escaping from their enemy which gave a dash of spice to
their life. And there was one day they would never forget when Spot met
the two of them in the Wild Wood. Oxford had promised to defend Sally,
but all the same, she thought it wiser to scamper up the nearest tree,
for it might happen that her brave brother would get the worst of the
fight. Oxford looked about him to see where Sally was and, finding she
was safe, he thought it better to join her and not to fight Spot, for
Sally would be happier if he were in the tree, too. So the pair sat
there looking down with scorn on their enemy.
‘Who are you, anyway?’ Oxford asked. ‘You low creature not able to
climb like us!’
‘I come of a very fine stock. My mistress looked up my pedigree before
she bought me. It is written on paper.’
‘I thought you seemed like a thing that had been bought with money,’
said Oxford. ‘My sister and I are free, not slaves. No money could buy
us. We could leave our home to-morrow if we liked.’
‘Perhaps you could to-morrow,’ Spot called back. ‘But you don’t seem to
be able to leave now. Not while I am at the foot of this tree.’
Now, only a few days before, Oxford had been scorning musty records,
but to Sally’s surprise he said: ‘If my sister and I chose to take
the trouble, we could have a family tree with an ancestry that would
absolutely astonish you, Spot. We go back to a cat who was named
William the Conqueror, because he always knocked his enemy flat. He
was the first Furbush--I mean we can trace back no farther; of course,
there were others back of him.’
‘Well,’ said Spot, ‘I am sure my ancestors were all so great that every
one was a conqueror, and as for my master, he was one of the first
settlers--his ancestors were, I mean.’
‘That is nothing,’ said Oxford. ‘Miss Winifred is descended from one of
the kings of France.’
‘Indeed!’ said Spot. ‘One wouldn’t think it to look at her.’
‘Not that I care a great deal about such things myself,’ said Oxford.
‘I shouldn’t suppose you would,’ said Spot, ‘for I have heard that your
mother’s mother was just a little waif without home or family.’
This was too much for Oxford. He started to scramble down the tree, and
Sally was afraid that Spot would fly at him and perhaps kill him.
‘Oxford,’ she said, ‘is that a bird’s nest on that upper bough?’
Oxford paused in his descent to look up.
‘I don’t see anything. Where is it?’
‘I saw something very like a bird’s nest,’ she said.
Oxford forgot all about his grandmother in his interest in the nest,
which might be full of young birds.
‘Dogs are very superior to cats,’ Spot was saying. ‘Every one says so.
It is a well-known fact.’
‘Who says so?’ Oxford asked.
‘My master and my mistress, and all the dogs I know.’
‘The people who make their home with us greatly prefer cats, and every
cat I have ever met says cats are much brighter than dogs,’ said Oxford.
‘Prove it,’ Spot said with a loud bark.
‘Can you climb a tree?’ Sally asked.
‘I am so superior that I do not have to climb trees,’ said Spot.
‘Can you catch a mouse?’ Oxford inquired.
‘I don’t care about mice. I can be a true companion for man. Men don’t
climb trees, at least not as a rule, and they can’t catch mice. And
dogs are unselfish. I have heard of many a dog losing his life to save
his master, or dying of grief because his master has died.’
Oxford and Sally were considerably impressed. For once Oxford was at a
loss as to what to reply, but Sally was thinking things out.
‘I would do a great deal for Miss Harvey,’ she said. ‘Maybe some day
I’ll have a chance to save her life, but what good does it ever do to
die of grief if one loses a friend? It seems to me wiser just to be a
good friend to all the friends one has left than to die of grief.’
Sally was astonished at her own words, but she had learned this from
Oxford. And just then who should come along the avenue that led to the
two houses but Mrs. Conant with her husband in their automobile.
‘Spotty, what are you doing here? I didn’t mean you to get out until we
came back,’ said Mrs. Conant. ‘John, you had better get out and take
Spot back with you, and I’ll go on to the house. Spot has treed two
cats.’
As Spot walked off unwillingly with his master, he flung back these
words, ‘I’ll ask Mrs. Conant my exact pedigree and I’ll tell it to you
the next time we meet.’
‘We don’t have to take that trouble,’ Oxford retorted; ‘our family tree
is complete in our heads, beginning with William the Conqueror and
coming down to Martha Furbush-Tailby, our great-great-grandmother, and
then to William Furbush-Tailby, the poet, and then to his daughter, who
married our grandfather Oxford Forepaw Gray; his son was my father,
Oxford Gray, and I am Oxford Gray, Junior.’
‘I know who you are, you are a no-account bragging cat,’ said Spot, as
he vanished into the house.
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