It was opened in a moment, and in I popped, purring as loudly as I knew
how to.
"Oh! pussy, pussy," he cried, as he picked me up, "I thought I would
never see you more, and I was quite disconsolate. You went out by the
back and over the tiles, and now you've come in at the front; how did
you find your way round?
"It is instinct, instinct, I suppose," he added. "He who guides the
great fur seals back through the stormy seas, through hundreds of miles
of darkness and mist to their far northern islands in June, He guided
you.
"`Reason raise o'er instinct if we can,
In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis man.'"
Well, Warlock, we left Dublin, and at last found ourselves at Waterloo
Station.
The train was in, and I was in also. I was in a basket, and I didn't
half like it.
I heard my master say to a railway porter, "Take charge of that basket
for a few minutes, porter, till I go and buy some newspapers."
Five minutes after this, when Edgar returned, he met that railway
porter, and he was looking very disconsolate indeed.
His hands were bleeding, and he carried an empty basket.
"Oh! sir," he cried, "your cat has gone. The basket was not securely
fastened, and as soon as you left she wriggled out."
"But why, man, didn't you stick to her?" cried master.
"I tried to all I could, I do assure you, sir; but she bit me and tore
my hands, then jumped down and disappeared in the crowd."
"Well, come along and take my things out of the compartment where we put
them, for I shan't go by this train."
"I'm so sorry, sir. But she's only a cat, sir. You could get another."
"Do as you're told, porter, please," said my master imperiously.
Without another word the porter followed him to the first-class
compartment, and there they found me cosily snuggled up among the rugs!
[This incident occurred just as described, the _dramatis personae_ being
the author and his own far-travelled cat Muffie Two.]
Master was delighted, and gave the porter half-a-sovereign to heal his
wounded dignity, and his still more wounded fingers.
My children, I travelled many and many a thousand miles with master
after that both by sea and by land, but never again did he insult my
_amour propre_ by putting me in a creel.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
At this moment Lizzie and Tom joined the group of old friends on the
lawn. Tom threw himself down on the grass, and began to twine the
garland of gowans he had been making around the neck of Vee-Vee, the
Pomeranian dog.
Vee-Vee was Tom's favourite, and never a night would the boy go to bed
without him.
No, Vee-Vee did not sleep _in_ the bed, but on a couch in the same cosy
little room. He was exceedingly fond of the boy, a proof that love
begets love, and of course the doggie would be always first awake in the
morning, but he would not stir until Tommy did. As soon, however, as
the little lad sighed, his first waking sigh, Vee-Vee jumped joyfully up
on the bed, and his delight was simply wonderful.
How nice to be awakened thus by one who loves you, even if it be but a
dog.
Vee-Vee was quite as rapturous in the welcome with which he used to
greet Tommy's home-coming, if he happened to be away all day.
During the lad's absence the dog would refuse all food, and simply lie
in the hall with eyes open and ears erect until he heard his little
master's voice or footstep; then he would spring up quite beside himself
with joy, his bark having a kind of half hysterical ring in it, as if
tears were hindering its clearer utterance.
Vee-Vee now seemed rejoiced to get the garland of gowans. It was a mark
of favour on the part of Tommy that he acknowledged by licking his hands
and cheek.
Meanwhile Lizzie had brought out a rug to place on the grass, that she
might sit thereon, and so save herself from the damp.
As she was spreading it on the green sward something tumbled out.
That something was Chammy.
"Oh, Chammy, Chammy!" cried Lizzie delighted, "we thought you were dead.
Where _will_ you hide next?"
But Chammy gathered himself slowly up and crawled away, one leg at a
time, to look for a fly.