I.

Kittykin played a part in the war which has never been recorded. Her

name does not appear in the list of any battle; nor is she mentioned

in any history as having saved a life, or as having done anything

remarkable one way or the other. Yet, in fact, she played a most

important part: she prevented a battle which was just going to begin,

and brought about a truce between the skirmish lines of the Union and

the Confederate troops near her home which lasted several weeks, and

probably saved many lives.

There never was a kitten more highly prized than Kittykin, for Evelyn

had long wanted a kitten, and the way she found her was so delightfully

unexpected.

It was during the war, when everything was very scarce down in the

South where Evelyn lived. “We don’t have any coffee, or any kittens,

or _any_thing,” Evelyn said one day to some soldiers who had come to

her home from their camp, which was a mile or so away. You would have

thought from the way she put them together that kittens, like coffee,

were something to have on the table; but she had heard her mamma

wishing for coffee at breakfast that morning, and she herself had long

been wanting a kitten. Indeed, she used to ask for one in her prayers.

Evelyn had no fancy for anything that, in her own words, “was not

live.” A thing that had life was of more value in her eyes than all

the toys that were ever given her. A young bird which, too fat to

fly, had fallen from the nest, or a broken-legged chicken, which was

too lame to keep up with its mother, had her tenderest care; a little

mouse slipping along the wainscot or playing on the carpet excited her

liveliest interest; but a kitten, a “real live kittykin,” she had never

possessed, though for a long time she had set her heart on having one.

One day, however, she was out walking with her mammy in the “big road,”

when she met several small negro children coming along, and one of them

had a little bit of a white kitten squeezed up in his arm. It looked

very scared, and every now and then it cried “Mew, mew.”

“Oh, mammy, look at that dear little kittykin!” cried Evelyn, running

up to the children and stroking the little mite tenderly.

“What you children gwine do wid dat little cat?” asked mammy, severely.

“We gwine _loss_ it,” said the boy who had it, promptly.

“Oh, mammy, don’t let them do that! Don’t let them hurt it!” pleaded

Evelyn, turning to her mammy. “It would get so hungry.”

A sudden thought struck her, and she sprang over toward the boy, and

took the kitten from him, which instantly curled up in her arms just as

close to her as it could get. There was no resisting her appeal, and

a minute later she was running home far ahead of her mammy, with the

kitten hugged tight in her arms. Her mamma was busy in the sitting-room

when Evelyn came rushing in.

“Oh, mamma, see what I have! A dear little kittykin! Can’t I have it?

They were just going to throw it away, and lose it all by itself;” and

she began to jump up and down and rub the kitten against her little

pink cheek, till her mother had to take hold of her to quiet her

excitement.

Kittykin (for that was the name she had received) must have

misunderstood the action, and have supposed she was going to take her

from her young mistress, for she suddenly bunched herself up into a

little white ball, and gave such a spit at Evelyn’s mamma that the lady

jumped back nearly a yard, after which Kittykin quietly curled herself

up again in Evelyn’s arm. The next thing was to give her some warm

milk, which she drank as if she had not had a mouthful all day; and

then she was put to sleep in a basket of wool, where Evelyn looked at

her a hundred times to see how she was coming on.

Evelyn never doubted after that that if she prayed for a thing she

would get it; for she had been praying all the time for a “little

white kitten,” and not only was Kittykin as white as snow, but she was,

to use Evelyn’s words, “even littler” than she had expected. There

could not, to her mind, be stronger proof.

As Kittykin grew a little she developed a temper entirely out of

proportion to her size; when she got mad, she got mad all over. If

anything offended her she would suddenly back up into a corner, her

tail would get about twice as large as usual, and she would spit like

a little fury. However, she never fought her little mistress, and even

in her worst moments she would allow Evelyn to take her and lay her on

her back in the little cradle she had, or carry her by the neck, or

the legs, or almost any way except by the tail. To pull her tail was a

liberty she never would allow even Evelyn to take. If she was held by

the tail her little pink claws flew out as quick as a wink and as sharp

as needles. Evelyn was very kind to Kittykin, however, and was careful

not to provoke her, for she had been told that getting angry and

kicking on the floor, as she herself sometimes did when mammy wanted to

comb her curly hair, would make an ugly little girl, and of course it

would have the same effect on a kitten.

Fierce, however, as Kittykin was, it soon appeared that she was the

greatest little coward in the world. A worm in the walk or a little

beetle running across the floor would set her to jumping as if she had

a fit, and the first time she ever saw a mouse she was far more afraid

of it than it was of her. If it had been a rat, I am sure that she

would have died.

One day Evelyn was sitting on the floor in her mother’s chamber sewing

a little blue bag, which she said was her work-bag, when a tiny mouse

ran, like a little gray shadow, across the hearth. Kittykin was at the

moment busily engaged in rolling about a ball of yarn almost as white

as herself, and the first thing Evelyn knew she gave a jump like a

trap-ball, and slid up the side of the bureau like a little shaft of

light, where she stood with all four feet close together, her small

back roached up in an arch, her tail all fuzzed up over it, and her

mouth wide open and spitting like a little demon. She looked so funny

that Evelyn dropped her sewing, and the mouse, frightened half out of

its little wits, took advantage of her consternation to make a rush

back to its hole under the wainscoting, into which it dived like a

little duck. After holding her lofty position for some time, Kittykin

let her hairs fall and lowered her back, but every now and then she

would raise them again at the bare thought of the awful animal which

had so terrified her. At length she decided that she might go down; but

how was she to do it? Smooth though the mahogany was, she had, under

excitement, gone up like a streak of lightning; but now when she was

cool she was afraid to jump down. It was so high that it made her head

swim; so, after walking timidly around and peeping over at the floor,

she began to cry for some one to take her down, just as Evelyn would

have done under the same circumstances.

Evelyn tried to coax her down, but she would not come; so finally she

had to drag a chair up to the bureau and get up on it to reach her.

Perhaps it was the fright she experienced when she found herself up

so high that caused Kittykin to revenge herself on the little mouse

shortly afterward, or perhaps it was only her cat instinct developing;

but it was only a short time after this that Kittykin did an act which

grieved her little mistress dreadfully. The little mouse had lived

under the wainscot since long before Kittykin had come, and it and

Evelyn were on very good terms. It would come out and dash along by the

wall to the wardrobe, under which it would disappear, and after staying

there some time it would hurry back. This Evelyn used to call “paying

visits;” and she often wondered what mice talked about when they got

together under the wardrobe. Or sometimes it would slip out and frisk

around on the floor--“just playing,” as Evelyn said. There was a

perfect understanding between them: Evelyn was not to hurt the mouse

nor let mammy set a trap for it, and the mouse was not to bite Evelyn’s

clothes--but if it had to cut at all, was to confine itself to her

mamma’s. After Kittykin came, however, the mouse appeared to be much

less sociable than formerly; and after the occasion when it alarmed

Kittykin so, it did not come out again for a long time. Evelyn used to

wonder if its mamma was keeping it in.

One day, however, Evelyn was sewing, and Kittykin was lying by, when

she suddenly seemed to get tired of doing nothing, and began to walk

about.

“Lie down, Kittykin,” said her mistress; but Kittykin did not appear

to hear. She just lowered her head, and peeped under the bureau, with

her eyes set in a curious way. Presently she stooped very low, and slid

along the floor without making the slightest noise, every now and then

stopping perfectly still. Evelyn watched her closely, for she had never

seen her act so before. Suddenly, however, Kittykin gave a spring, and

disappeared under the bureau. Evelyn heard a little squeak, and the

next minute Kittykin walked out with a little mouse in her mouth, over

which she was growling like a little tigress. Evelyn was jumping up to

take it away from her when Kittykin, who had gone out into the middle

of the room, turned it loose herself, and quietly walking away, lay

down as if she were going to sleep. Then Evelyn saw that she did not

mean to hurt it, so she sat and watched the mouse, which remained quite

still for some time.

After a while it moved a little, to see if Kittykin was really asleep.

Kittykin did not stir. Her eyes were fast shut, and the mouse seemed

satisfied; so, after waiting a bit, it made a little dash toward the

bureau. In a single bound Kittykin was right over it, and had laid her

white paw on it. She did not, however, appear to intend it any injury,

but began to play with it just as Evelyn would have liked to do; and,

lying down, she rolled over and over, holding it up and tossing it

gently, quite as Evelyn sometimes did her, or patting it and admiring

it as if it had been the sweetest little mouse in the world. The mouse,

too, appeared not to mind it the least bit; and Evelyn was just

thinking how nice it was that Kittykin and it had become such friends,

and was planning nice games with them, when there was a faint little

squeak, and she saw Kittykin, who had just been petting the little

creature, suddenly drive her sharp white teeth into its neck.

Evelyn rushed at her.

“Oh, you wicked Kittykin! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she cried,

catching her up by the tail and shaking her well, as the best way to

punish her.

Just then her mamma entered. “Oh, Evelyn, why are you treating kitty

so?” she asked.

“Because she’s so mean,” said Evelyn, severely. “She’s a murderer.”

Her mamma tried to explain that killing the mouse was Kittykin’s

nature; but Evelyn could not see that this made it any the less

painful, and she was quite cool to Kittykin for some time.

The little mouse was buried that evening in a matchbox under a

rose-bush in the garden; and Kittykin, in a black rag which was tied

around her as a dress, was compelled, evidently much against her will,

to do penance by acting as chief mourner.