"I tell my story to you, Shireen, though you are only a cat. But I must
speak to some one who loves me, else I soon would die."
Here her tears fell faster and faster.
"And oh, Shireen, I have not told you the worst.
"It is this, Shireen. Those beautiful English books tell me that in
England a man has someone to love and care for him, someone whose lot in
life is the same as his; that someone is his life. But here in Persia--
oh! Shireen, Shireen--if one is as I am, the daughter of a noble, and
if she is beautiful and clever, her lot is indeed a hard one. She is
sold--yes, sold is the right name, to the Shah.
"My father is cold-hearted and cruel. I seldom see him. He is ever,
ever at Court, and when in the hunting season he brings a party to this
lovely castle I am hidden away. And why, think you, Shireen? It is
because when I grow older and cleverer in a few years' time I shall go
in state to the Shah. My prince will never come, as he always does, in
beautiful English books; he will never come to bear me away. I shall be
but one of a thousand, and spend a life like a bulbul in a golden cage.
"I have no one that loves me but you, Shireen. And now, lest they take
you from me, I am going to mark you. Oh, my beautiful cat, it will not
hurt. The magician himself will insert a tiny ruby in one of your
teeth, Shireen; then if they take you away because I love you so, and
bring me another cat like you, I can say, `No, no, this is not Shireen;
give me back Shireen.' And no peace will they have until you are
restored."
Well, children, the magician took me from Beebee, and he put me into a
deep trance, and in one of my teeth he drilled a hole and inserted a
tiny ruby.
That ruby is there now, and ever will remain.
"Just look at that happy group, Mrs Clarkson," said Uncle Ben, "and
that wonderful cat in the midst of them. Wouldn't you think she had
been, or _is_ talking to them?"
"Well," said Mrs Clarkson, "I shouldn't really wonder if animals that
are so much together day after day as these are, have a sort of language
of their own."
"A kind of animal Volapuk," said the Colonel laughing. "Well, it may
be, you know, but I am of opinion, and have long been so, that animals
have souls. Oh, surely God never meant affection and love such as
theirs, and truth and faithfulness to rot in the ground."
"Well, I can't say, you know," said Uncle Ben.
"There is my cockatoo here."
"Oh, pardon me for interrupting you, my sailor friend, but a cockatoo
hasn't half the sense and sagacity a cat has."
"Poor Cockie wants to go to bed!"--This from the bird on Ben's shoulder.
"Hear that?" cried Ben laughing.
"When you can make your cat give utterances to such a sensible remark as
that, I'll--but, my dear soldier, it is eleven o'clock, and Tom and
Lizzie, poor little dears, have both dropped off to sleep. Good night!"
"Good-night! Good-night!" shrieked the cockatoo in a voice that waked
the children at once. "Good-night. Cockie's off. Cockie's off."
And away went the sailor.
But next morning Shireen had an adventure that very nearly put a stop to
her story-telling for ever.
She had gone off after breakfast for a ramble in the green fields and
through the village. It happened to be Saturday, so there was no school
to-day, and just as she was coming out of the cottage where the sick
child was, and promising herself a nap in Uncle Ben's hammock, who
should she see coming up the street with her little brother in a tall
perambulator, but her favourite schoolgirl, Emily Stoddart.
Up marched Shireen with her tail in the air.
"Oh, you dear lovely pussy!" cried Emily, lifting her up and placing her
in the perambulator, when she at once commenced to sing, greatly to the
delight of the child.
And away went Emily wheeling them both.
"Oh, dear, what shall we do, Shireen?" cried Emily next moment, trying
to hide pussy with a shawl. "Here comes the butcher's awful dog."
The bull-terrier made straight for the perambulator.
"Come down out o' there at once," he seemed to cry. "I've got you now.
You'll be a dead 'un in half-a-minute more."
"You won't? Then here goes."
The bull-terrier--and he was no small weight either--made a spring for
the perambulator. Emily made a spring to save the child. Danger had no
intention, however, of harming a hair in that child's head. It was the
cat Shireen he was after; the cat, the cat, and no one else.
The child swayed to one side to save himself, and next moment down went
his carriage. Down went cat and carriage, the child and Emily, and the
bull-terrier, all mixed up in one confused heap.
Shireen was the first to extricate herself and to bolt for her life, but
Danger was the next, and it did not seem that poor pussy's span of
existence was at that moment worth an hour's purchase.
For a cat to permit herself to be caught by a dog while running away is
the worst possible policy for the cat, because the pursuer gets her by
the brick and the spine is broken. Shireen knew this, and she also knew
there was no way of escape handy, no railing to run through, no doorway
to enter, no tree to climb, so she determined to sell her life dearly.
Round she turned, and the blow she caught that dog staggered him for a
little, and the blood ran over his face.
All in vain though. He came on now with redoubled ferocity, and down
went poor Shireen.
Emily screamed and flew to her assistance.
But in two seconds more a true hero came to the rescue. This was none
other save Cracker himself, the large Airedale terrier.
"Here, lad!" cried Cracker, or seemed to cry in good broad honest
Yorkshire English. "What's tha' doin' wi' t'ould cat?"
He did not give the butcher's dog time to reply, but, seizing him by the
back of the neck, shook him as if he had been a rat.
Never in his life before had Danger received so severe a chastisement.
In three minutes' time he was running down the street on three legs, and
all covered with blood and dust.
Shireen quietly reseated herself in the baby's carriage, and Emily
didn't know what to do with perfect joy. She got Cracker round the neck
and positively hugged him.
"Oh, you dear good noble dog," she cried. "Here, you must have a drop
of milk."
She took the child's bottle, poured a little into her hand, and held it
out to Cracker.
But Cracker only shook his head.
"Na, lass, na," he said. "I'll come and see thee now and then, but--
I'll no drink the little 'un's milk."
A rougher-looking and more unkempt tyke than Cracker you might have
wandered a long way without meeting. Yet he hid under that towsy
exterior of his a kind and generous heart. And from that day Emily, he,
and Shireen were the best of friends.
Cracker would meet the girl in the street and walk up, laughing all over
apparently, and shaking his thick stub of a docked tail till it seemed
to retaliate and shake the dog.
"How's things this mornin', Emily?" he seemed to say. "And how's the
little 'un? You haven't got t'ould cat to-day then. Well, good-bye.
I'm just off."
And away he would trot.