and we’ll go ask the boys about Weejums.” It was a treat for Eunice to
go out with Franklin, after supper, and they were lucky enough to find
the boy, Boxey, at the end of the block.
“There was two cats,” Boxey said, eagerly, “Yours, and an old tomcat
with a game nose. They was trottin’ along together, an’ when we come
up, he went under a porch, and she run up a tree. He kep’ callin’ to
her, and spittin’ at us, the whole time.”
“P’r’aps he was bringing her home,” Eunice said. “Oh, Franklin, let’s
go find that poor tomcat, and put some vaseline on his nose.”
“It was a lattice-work place, under a porch,” said Boxey, starting
ahead. “I’ll show you.”
“Oh, it isn’t likely he’s there now,” said Franklin, taking Eunice’s
hand; “and if he’s a friend of Weejums, he’ll turn up again, Sis, so
don’t you worry. We’ll go home and put some stuff out in the back yard
for him to eat.”
That evening, Mrs. Wood sat laying some lovely, sunshiny things away in
a little box, and thinking of how like the face of a dandelion Ken’s
dear head used to look.
“Mother’s lost her little baby!” she said to herself, as she slipped
the last one from her finger, and kissed it softly before closing the
box.
“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” said Grandmother, who was pretending to read
the paper. “You’ve got something better.”
But Mrs. Wood knew that Grandmother had just such another box put away
somewhere,—the box that held the curls of him who had been Kenneth’s
father, and Grandmother’s little boy.
“I’m going to give Kenny my rabbits,” said Franklin, the next morning.
“’Twas in the advertisement, and I promised.”
“Oh, but Kenny didn’t see the advertisement,” Mrs. Wood said; “and
Weejums is going to buy him such a nice present this morning. I
wouldn’t give away the rabbits, Franklin dear.”
“Well, but I promised, Mother.”
“Yes, but Kenny is such a little boy, he could never begin to take care
of all Dulcie’s young families. Suppose that you give the new little
bunnies to the children, if you want to give away something. I don’t
believe Kenny himself would want you to part with the rabbits that
you’ve had so long.”
“Well, I’ll think about it,” Franklin replied. And that afternoon it
was announced that Eunice and Kenneth were to have a bunny apiece.
Two wild shrieks of delight were followed by a dash to Weejums’ box,
where the strange-eared visitors lay, cuddled in amongst the kittens.
“I want the one that’s mostly maltese,” said Eunice.
“No, _I_ want the one that’s mostly maltese,” said Kenneth.
“You never thought of it till I spoke.”
“Did _so_. Pig!”
Eunice promptly seized him by the hair, and Mrs. Wood went to the
rescue, saying, “Sister, for shame! _Kenny_! you mustn’t kick
Eunice,—and now that you’re in trousers too!”
“I can kick ever so much better,” Kenneth said.
“I put them on last night and kicked him,” Eunice explained. “I know
you can.”
“Well, you are both very naughty, and I don’t think any rabbits will
be given away to-day. I’ll go explain to Franklin,” and Mrs. Wood
started to leave the room.
But both children rushed after her, calling: “Oh, Mother, I’ll take the
other Bun! I will, Mother!”
“No, Mother, _I’ll_ take the other Bun. I like him. Please, Mother!”
“I think that Kenneth should have first choice,” Mrs. Wood said
patiently; “because he brought Weejums home. So the mostly maltese Bun
can belong to him. But if I hear another word of quarrelling about it,
the rabbits will go back to the farm to-morrow.”
There was a moment of awed silence, and then Eunice said, with a sudden
radiant smile: “I shall call mine Mr. Samuel Blueberry!”
“Mine will be just Bunny Grey,” Kenneth remarked. “Blueberries give me
the stomach-ache.”
“Mother, can’t we have a wedding like Cousin Florence’s, and let the
little bunnies get married? I’ll do it all myself.”
“Don’t you think they’re rather young yet?” asked Mrs. Wood,—“only six
weeks.”
“No, but I heard Auntie say it’s better to be married young, because it
gets you more used to yourself.”
“How many children would you want to invite?” asked Mrs. Wood,
seriously.
“Oh, just Mary and Wyman, and their animals. And Bertha and Annabel,
and Gerald and Myrtie Foster.”
Mary and Wyman Bates were the children’s cousins who lived uptown.
Bertha and Annabel were Kindergarten friends of long standing, and the
Foster children were school companions, whose father kept a fascinating
grocery store. Many were the striped jaw-breakers, and flat “lickrish”
babies, which Myrtie had brought to her friend; while Kenneth could
not help admiring a boy who had a regular house, built of tin cans, in
which he kept potato bugs.
“I suppose you will want them all to stay to supper,” Mrs. Wood said;
“and you know our dining-room is small. Suppose that you don’t ask
Gerald and Myrtie.”
“Oh, Mother!” Eunice exclaimed.
And Kenneth echoed, “Oh, Mother!”
“I could ask them just for the ceremony,” Eunice said. “Lots of people
are asked to the ceremony, who don’t come to the reception.”
“You’ll find that they’ll expect to stay, if they come. But of course
you can do as you like. Perhaps they won’t mind being crowded.”
The invitations were written and sent that night.
“Mr. and Mrs. Overture-to-Zampa Wood request the honor of your
presence, at the marriage of their daughter, Miss Bunny Grey, to Mr.
Samuel Blueberry, Esquire, on Wednesday, September the 8th, at three
o’clock in the afternoon.”
And they were directed to Miss Mary Bates and Kitten; Master Wyman
Bates and Rabbits; Miss Myrtie Foster and Kitten, etc., and all were
accepted with pleasure.
[Illustration: “MR. AND MRS. BLUEBERRY”]
Eunice spent delightful hours in getting up the wedding garments,—little
white satin blankets cut like dog blankets, except with not so much
“yoke,” as rabbits’ heads are screwed so close to their bodies.
Samuel’s dress-suit was trimmed with pink baby-ribbon, laid on plain,
and the bride’s robe with lace; and she wore a white veil, with orange
blossoms, which made her look a lighter shade of maltese than she
really was.
The effect was most beautiful until the groom tried to eat some of
the orange blossoms, and they had to be pried out of his mouth with a
match, and sewed on again. This delayed the final dressing a little;
but when the guests arrived, the bride and groom were—contrary to
custom—awaiting them on the hall table.
Bertha Richmond’s cat was named “Grandmother,” and wore a nice kerchief
and frilled cap, with paper spectacles fastened to the border. Her
presents were a bunch of young turnips, carefully washed and tied with
white ribbon, for the bride, and the same effect in red beets for the
groom.
Annabel Loring’s cat wore a new blanket of pale-blue cashmere, trimmed
with swan’s-down, and brought two bouquets of red and white clover,
done up in tin foil.
Mary and Wyman Bates had started out with lettuce and carrots for their
present, but had been obliged to give most of it to their own rabbits
on the way down, to keep them still. They had had an exciting trip on
the street car, for Mary brought also her two kittens, one attired in a
riding habit, and the other in a Mother Hubbard wrapper and straw hat.
[Illustration: “IN A MOTHER HUBBARD WRAPPER AND A STRAW HAT”]
Myrtie Foster had not been able to bring her cat all the way, but
arrived with a torn apron and scratched thumb, which Mrs. Wood tenderly
bound up, to save Myrtie the trouble of sucking it.
“It was while we was passin’ the drug-store,” the little girl
explained. “Malvina heard the soda-water fizzin’ and thought ’twas
another cat.”
But Gerald had brought his yellow rabbit, together with the crowning
present of all,—a monster cabbage tied with Myrtie’s Sunday hair
ribbon.
Weejums was supposed to help Dulcie and Stamper receive the guests;
but, instead of being cordial, she flew at “Grandmother,” who was the
first to arrive, and clawed the spectacles off her nose, making such
rude remarks that Eunice was obliged to shut her in the china closet,
where she sat and growled through the entire ceremony.
When the wedding procession was ready to start, Mrs. Wood played the
Lohengrin March, and the happy couple entered the parlor in their
squeaking chariot, which was Kenneth’s express cart built up with a
starch-box, and covered with white cheese-cloth. A bunch of daisies at
each corner completed the solemn effect.
“Now put them on the table, Franklin,” Eunice said; “and remember to
bob Sam’s head at the right time.”
“All right,” said Franklin.
“E-ow-wow-fftz-fftz!” called Weejums from the china closet.
“I’m the minister,” Eunice said. “Now, Franklin, if you laugh you
sha’n’t stay.”
“Well, I only meant to smile,” Franklin explained, “but my face
slipped.”
The minister unfolded a much-blotted piece of paper, and began to read
in important tones:
“Children, cats, etc., we are gathered together to celebrate the
wedding of these rabbits, who have got to be married whether they want
to or not. Samuel, do you promise to always give Bun Grey the best of
the clover, to cherish her from all attacks of rats, and never to bite
her tail? (Bob his head, Franklin. No—no! That’s the wrong one; that’s
Bun Grey’s. Now bob Sam’s head. That’s it.)”
“Bun Grey, do you promise to take Sam for your maltese husband, to give
him the best of the celery, and never to kick him in the stomach? (Bob
her head, Franklin; that’s right!)”
A solemn pause, and then in a deeper voice, “Now let the brass ring
pass between you.”
A curtain ring, wound with white ribbon, was pushed up Bunny Grey’s
front leg as far as it would go, and then Eunice said, in the deepest
voice of all: “I now pronounce you rabbit and wife, and let no dog,
mouse, weasel, cat, or guinea-pig ever say it’s not so! Now we will
have supper.”
And the whole company filed out to the woodshed, where an ample repast
was set for rabbit and cat. The menu included oatmeal in an ear-of-corn
mould, with clover sauce; catnip fritters, with cream; stewed potatoes;
and a wedding cake with “B. G. and S.” in red letters on the frosting.
The animals were held up to the table with napkins around their necks,
and ate their share of the feast, while their owners ate the cake. Then
the bride and groom took a wedding trip around the block, drawn in
their white chariot, and, contrary to custom again, escorted by all the
guests.
“Now we must sit for our picture,” Eunice said, as Franklin brought
out his camera, and those of the guests who had gone to sleep during
the wedding tour were shaken awake again. But it was dreadfully hard
to pose them all, so that their clothes and whiskers showed properly,
and just at the last minute the picture was spoiled by Grandmother
Richmond, who had a fit, and ran up the screen door. There were a few
other legs and tails in the picture when it was developed, but it was
mostly Grandmother’s cap and fit; and it seemed such a pity, because
all the other animals had such pleasant expressions, and looked so
charming in the clothes they wore.
Everybody stayed to supper, and the sliced peaches gave out; but they
ended up with canned ones, and nobody seemed to mind.
“It was the nicest party I was ever to,” Myrtie Foster told Mrs. Wood
when she went home; “and I shall tell Malvina what an awful lot she
missed! Our mamma doesn’t have time to make parties for us. She has to
tend store.”
“It was lovely to have you,” said Eunice, warmly; “only I’m sorry
Weejums was so rude. She mort’fied me very much.”
“Don’t you mind the least bit,” said Myrtie, consolingly. “I’ve heard
that somebody always cries at a wedding!”
[Illustration: “WEEJUMS HELPS RECEIVE”]
CHAPTER SIX
UNCLE CYCLONE
Cyclone was a yellow dog of no breeding, that Franklin had begged from
a man in one of the parks.
“He was making horse noises at him,” Franklin said indignantly; “and
a man who doesn’t know any better than to make horse noises at a dog,
doesn’t deserve to own one.”
So Cyclone became a member of the Wood family, and received his name
because of the way that a room looked after he had run through it. He
had his peculiarities from the beginning, and one was not to bow to any
member of the family that he met on the street. He preferred to take
his walks alone, and although Franklin met him in all sorts of places
around town, Cyclone would never recognize him.
Soon after Bridget joined the family, she nearly gave notice because of
Cyclone’s rude behavior.
[Illustration: “CYCLONE”]
“It was comin’ out of church, I was,” she said; “and there he was
waitin’ for me on the shteps as gintlemanly as you plaze. And Father
Malone, who’d been so kind as to pass the time of day wid me as I came
out, says, ‛Shure, Miss Donnahue, is that your little dog?’ and sez I,
‛Faith he is! Just watch and see how swate he looks at me.’ And then if
he didn’t turn his head away, and pretind he was another dog! The shame
of it, mum! And before the praste too! I never lived with folks before
to be so treated.”
But at home Cyclone was quite a different person. He became tenderly
attached to Weejums’ kittens, and allowed them to sharpen their claws
on his legs.
One day when Mrs. Wood was in the kitchen, she saw Cyclone and two
other dogs trot around the house in single file, and enter the
woodshed. Cyclone led his guests to the box where the kittens lay
heaped in a downy pile, with one little pansy face turned upward, and
wagged his tail. Then the two other dogs also wagged their tails, for
they saw that it was the thing to do.
“Did you ever see anything so sweet in all your life?” Cyclone asked.
“No, never,” they replied, and, turning around, they all trotted off
in solemn style.
“Oh, Mother!” said Eunice, flying into the parlor one day, “Clytie got
out of the box, and Cyclone put her back again.”
Clytie was the smartest of Weejums’ family, and the first to stagger
around on the soft little paws that double up so uncomfortably when one
tries to hurry! But the others soon followed, and came along behind
with high continual mews, and trembling tails held straight up in the
air.
Minoose was the black one, and his name was supposed to be the Indian
word for “kitty.” Fan-baby, the third, was remarkable for not knowing
what color she was supposed to be, or how to purr. She never found out
the color, and did not learn how to purr until she was nearly three
months old; then she began to purr, and purred every minute for two
weeks. Strangers passing the house heard her purring on the porch, and
the family was often amused by hearing the purr coming through the
halls after dark.
She adapted it to meal-times, and invented a lovely _tremolo_ purr for
drinking milk, and a fierce _staccato_ purr for meat and other chewed
things. Finally Mrs. Wood grew so tired of Fan-baby’s purr that she
gave her away to a nice little girl who owned a pug dog, and it was the
sight of this dog that first taught Fan-baby how to stop purring.
Cyclone took great care of the kittens when they were young, and
brought them back from all kinds of dangerous places. Minoose would
follow strangers down the street, and then forget how to come home; and
Clytie would scramble up a tree in the back yard, and not know how to
get down. Cyclone would sit under the tree, and bark sympathetically,
while Clytie tried first one front paw and then the other, with no
success, until Weejums would come to the rescue, and explain that, of
course, you have to come down back-to. Cyclone saved Weejums a great
deal of trouble in this way, by letting her know when the children
needed her.
But when they reached the large-eared stage, and their blue eyes
changed to the mature green of older cats, Cyclone’s occupation was
gone. He looked in vain for a kitten to bring home, and one day, after
quite a long search, he found one. It was a maltese kitten, very thin
and absurd-looking, and no one knew where it came from.
“Oh, Mother, can’t we keep it?” Eunice said in delight. “You know you
always said we should have a maltese kitten if anybody gave us one.”
“Yes; but this wasn’t given to us, except by Cyclone. Some little girl
has lost her kitten, and is probably crying over it now. You remember
the way you felt when Weejums was gone.”
“Well, but how’ll we get it back to the little girl? Cyclone won’t tell
where he found it.”
“Perhaps it’ll be advertised,” Mrs. Wood said. “We’ll wait a few days
and see.”
But nobody claimed “Ivanhoe,” as Eunice called him, and presently Mrs.
Wood discovered why he seemed so destitute of connections.
He had fits.
They were fearful maltese fits, and generally took place while the
family was at table, so that they would all have to take up their feet
and sit upon them during the rest of the meal. He was not encouraged
to appear in the dining-room, but, being a very thin cat, it was easy
for him to shoot in between Bridget’s feet when she opened the door.
Franklin called him the slate pencil, and said that he had but one
dimension; and Eunice looked him over very carefully to see if any part
of him was missing. But Mrs. Wood explained that Franklin meant only
that Ivanhoe was a very long cat, and neither wide nor deep. Even his
purr was so long and thin that Franklin said it could have been wound
on a spool like thread. There was none of the baritone richness that
one heard in Minoose’s purr when he was chewing his plush mouse.
Minoose kept this mouse behind the guitar case under the piano, and
would scramble half-way up the portieres with it, switching his tail
at the same time. But Ivanhoe did not admire him for any of these
little boy attempts to show off. Ivanhoe had manners, and won Weejums’
heart because of his gallant ways, and also because his tail was longer
than those of her own children.
But Mrs. Wood decided that he should go, as soon as she could
find some one who was willing to own him; so one day, after the
cabbage-and-lettuce woman had called, Ivanhoe was missing. But much to
everybody’s surprise, Eunice never even mentioned it, and went around
with her usual tranquil expression.
The explanation of this came two days later, when the door-bell rang,
and a strange little girl announced proudly: “I’ve brought back your
kitty. He came to our house. We live out of town.”
“Thank you so much, dear,” Mrs. Wood said, trying to look pleased. “But
how did you know it was our kitty? Have you seen him here in the yard?”
“Oh, I read the direction on his collar. It was ’most rubbed out, but
I read it. I’m in the second grade.” And pulling Ivanhoe’s head around
until he meekly choked, she exhibited some very fine printing on the
frayed orange ribbon that he wore. Mrs. Wood remembered that Ivanhoe
had worn this ribbon, and that she had allowed him to keep it, as a
kind of trousseau, when he went away. But she did not know that the
ribbon said: “Please return to Eunice Wood, 1132 Burnside Ave.”
“Thank you very much for your kindness, dear. But wouldn’t you like to
keep the kitty yourself? We have several more.”
“Oh, so have we! Our old cat’s hid ’em in the barn; but we heard ’em
squealin’. I guess they’ll come out soon.”
Mrs. Wood sighed, but Ivanhoe had already vanished behind the house, so
she allowed the child to depart, with a little cake, and a fresh piece
of that same orange ribbon for her own kitty.
“Eunice, why did you write that address on the collar?” Mrs. Wood
asked, when her daughter came in from school with Ivanhoe under one arm.
“Why, you never told me not to,” Eunice said. “You know you never told
me not to, Mother. I just thought if he happened to run away from
whoever you gave him to, he might’s well come back here.”
Mrs. Wood’s eyes twinkled as they sat down to dinner, but grew grave
again as she heard Ivanhoe plunging down the cellar stairs in his most
maltese fit of all.
“I suppose he ought to be killed,” she thought; “but no cat’s fits are
worth a child’s happiness, and at least, fits aren’t contagious.”
“Biddy,” she said as the door opened, “do you suppose Ivanhoe hurt
himself just now? He made such a noise!”
“Shure, mum, he’s all right now again. He run straight into the ice-box
while I was fixin’ the melon. I tuk him out meself, and the fit was
off him.”
The cats all slept in the cellar, which was nicely warmed by the
furnace; but the rabbits suffered when the cold weather came, and one
morning, after a severe snow-storm, there was nothing to be seen of
their house but the cupola. Franklin dug it out with much anxiety,
fearing to find them frozen to death. But instead of being dead, they
were all piled in one large warm heap on top of each other, like
popcorn balls, and seemed more than ready for their breakfast. Mrs.
Wood thought it was a wonder that they had lived through the night,
and advised Franklin to put them in the cellar while the cold weather
lasted.
So it happened that when Bridget did not close the cellar door at
night, Cyclone, who slept in the kitchen, would be awakened by strange
tweaks and nips at his tail, which called forth yelps of indignation.
But not being a hunting dog, he never attempted to catch the wicked
white heels that went scudding back through the darkness. He had
decided that the rabbits were a new kind of kitten, and had a claim on
his indulgence as uncle to the Wood family.
[Illustration]
One night Mrs. Wood heard a most extraordinary noise in the kitchen,
and, creeping down with her candle, interrupted a grand game of tag
between all the animals,—dog, cats, and rabbits,—who were chasing
each other around the room in a mad circle, accompanied by stamps,
spits, and barks. It was so evidently a game, that Mrs. Wood felt sorry
to have disturbed them, and sat down to watch the fun. But her candle
had broken the spell, and like fairies when the cock crows, they became
once more their daytime selves; indeed, most of them looked very much
ashamed of having been caught at such antics.
“Perhaps they really are fairies,” Mrs. Wood thought, going into the
pantry after crackers, “and have taken these disguises just to play
with my children and me. Very likely, if I’d come down sooner, I might
have seen them in their real forms.”
When she returned, they all gathered around her, and teased for
crackers; while Samuel, the pet of the bunnies, jumped into her lap.
But before all the crackers were gone, the candle burned low and went
out, and only the faint light of the stove kept her from stepping on
any of the little soft paws that followed her to the stairs.
“Fairies, good-night!” she called gently as she left them. But only the
friendly whack, whack of Cyclone’s tail on the floor answered her from
the darkness.
“I think, Biddy,” she said the next morning, “that it might be better
to keep the kitchen door closed at night.”
Soon after this there was a great thaw, and one morning, when Bridget
went down to the ice-box, there were six inches of water in the cellar.
“Oh, the poor animules!” she cried, wringing her hands. And then she
laughed so hard that the children came running into the kitchen to see
what was the matter.
“Coom down! Coom down!” she called. “All the rabbits do be floatin’
’round on boxes!”
Each rabbit was enthroned, sullen and dignified, on a box of its own;
while the cats sat in a disgusted row on top of the coal-bin. It was
such a funny sight that the children laughed even louder than Biddy,
although they were worried for the safety of their pets.
“How’ll we ever get them out?” Eunice asked.
There was a pattering of feet behind them, and Cyclone came down to
join the party.
“Here—I know!” said Franklin, seizing him by the collar. “Look,
Cyclone! Seek—seek! Go fetch ’em in.”
But Cyclone only ran up and down the steps in terrible distress, not
having the slightest idea what Franklin wanted.
“Seek—seek,” Franklin said again, pointing to the rabbits, and, after
barking frantically for a minute, Cyclone plunged into the water.
He reached the first box, and scrambled up beside Dulcie, who, not
appreciating his company in the least, moved over as near as she could
to the edge, and bit him on the leg. Cyclone yelped and leaped down
again; while the boat rocked and swayed dangerously from his final kick.
This seemed to give him an idea; so planting his nose against the box,
he pushed it gently towards the stairs, wagging his dripping tail in
response to the children’s shouts of praise.
“Good old boy,—fetch, fetch!” Franklin said, as Dulcie was safely
landed, and Cyclone struggled back after another.