at the train by Eunice and Kenneth, each wearing a look of great
excitement, and carrying a little rabbit. She knew that Dulcie had a
hidden nest somewhere; but these rabbits were too old to be Dulcie’s
babies, so she concluded that some one had been sending the children
presents.
“Mother!” began Eunice, in breathless tones.
“Oh, Mother!” interrupted Kenneth.
“Mother!” they both said together.
“Yes, dears, they’re perfectly lovely. But where did they come from?”
“Mother—” began Eunice again.
“But, Mother—” broke in Kenneth.
“Oh, Mother!” exclaimed both children together, “they’re Sam’s!”
CHAPTER NINE
AT THE LAKE
It was true that Samuel had taken the family by surprise; but no one
thought any the less of him for it,—indeed he now commanded even more
admiration than before, although his name was speedily changed to
Luella-Marie.
“You see, all the animals behave so differently at the lake from what
they do at home,” Eunice explained to a visitor, “that it’s not at all
surprising about Sam.”
The three little bunnies were named Vaseline, Oliver Optic, and
Sweetest Skipperty. Vaseline was maltese, with the most wonderful soft
fur, and soft maltese eyes. Oliver was black and white, and Skipperty
a small copy of his mother, as she had been at his age. Oliver was
Kenneth’s rabbit, as Eunice had generously given him first choice of
the three, and Kenneth took Oliver because he looked the strongest.
Franklin had advised him to choose this one, as, being homely, it would
be likely to live.
“I wonder what will happen next!” Mrs. Wood thought. “So far, John
Alden is the only member of the family who has preserved his usual
dignity.”
She spoke of him to Mrs. Lane one day, saying, “Do you know our rooster
is so good, he hasn’t made me a bit of trouble since we came out here.
He’s even stopped crowing in the morning, because he found it annoyed
us.”
A peculiar expression upon her neighbor’s face caused her to ask
quickly: “Why, do _you_ ever hear him?”
“Well,—yes,” admitted Mrs. Lane, with a smile. “He’s in the habit of
crowing under our windows on the other side of the house, from four to
six every morning.”
“Good gracious!” Mrs. Wood exclaimed. “Why didn’t you mention it
before? It would have been so easy to shut him up at night. This is
really dreadful!”
“Well, I didn’t exactly like to complain. And we generally go to sleep
afterwards.”
“Dear me!” said Mrs. Wood, “Franklin and I will build him a little
house this afternoon.”
The house was a very simple affair,—only a little pointed coop,
like those made for hens with chickens; but it was not so simple to
get Johnny into it at night. Franklin would softly approach on his
blind side, and put out one hand very softly until it nearly touched
him, when the surprised fowl would give a wild skip of terror, and
scurry across the yard. Then he would recover his dignity, remark,
“And-a-_cut_-cut-cut,” flap his wing, wink his eye, and apparently
forget the matter.
This would be repeated until Franklin weaned of attacks by stealth,
and bore down upon him in open battle, assisted by the whole family.
They would chase him round and round the house, going in different
directions to head him off; but when finally cornered, he would duck
and hop with great screeches of wrath, and slip from under their very
hands.
After a few of these bed-time races, his tail feathers passed away,
leaving him a fowl of unclad and forbidding appearance. People passing
the house asked, “What kind of a bird is that?” But nobody seemed to
know.
“Poor Johnny!” Mrs. Wood said, “why is it, Franklin, that you always
catch him by the tail?”
“Why, Mother, you must remember that his tail is the last chance I ever
get!”
The kittens liked to chase him in the daytime, so altogether he took
plenty of exercise, and, it is to be hoped, rested well at night.
One evening, during the pursuit, he plunged headlong into a neighbor’s
cesspool, and swam out a smaller bird than when he had entered. But
nobody tried to catch him that night, and his crow was so hoarse the
next morning that the Lanes thought he must have taken cold. The
experience may have taught him something, for the next time that the
family went out to catch him, he was nowhere to be found. And it was
not until Franklin happened to fall over the chicken-coop, on his
return to the house, that a mottled sob from within revealed Johnny’s
whereabouts. He had given up the fight, and gone to bed by himself!
Flossy, the bantam, also developed strange ideas in her new
surroundings, and persisted in going to roost every night on Mrs.
Wood’s foot. Her mornings she spent in playing with the rabbits, and
laying a great many little white eggs.
Because of her small size, Samuel’s baby bunnies took her for one of
themselves, and invited her to join in all their games, while Skipperty
became her dearest friend, and would dig holes for her with his strong
little front paws. She would hunt through one hole carefully for bugs,
and then start scratching in a new place, calling Skipperty, with
enticing hen-noises, to come and dig for her. The two wandered all over
the cottage together,—sometimes appearing upstairs, where Eunice, kept
certain cigar boxes in which she was raising beans and bananas. At
least bananas had been planted, but they never came up, and something
else was usually planted on top of them. One day it was carrots, and
the loveliest little fuzz of green had begun to show above the earth;
but that same night it was gone, and Eunice said, “It makes me feel as
if I’d pretended the whole thing. Biddy, where do you s’pose it went
to?”
“Well, I’m not sayin’ where it wint,” Biddy replied, “but I’m thinkin’
it’s loikly to shtay there.”
“Kenny, you didn’t touch it, did you?”
Kenneth regarded her with a scorn almost too deep for words.
“_I_ touch your fool old spinach? You better ask Floss and Skip about
it. I saw ’em hopping downstairs this afternoon.”
“It was carrots,” Eunice explained.
“Well, it ain’t _now_,” grumbled Kenneth. “You blame me for everything.”
When Eunice went out to feed the bunnies, she would call, “Finny-fin,
fin, fin, fin, FIN-ny!” (the “rabbit yell”), and then there
would come a leaping and jumping of white tails, from every direction.
Little ears would stand up suddenly from the grass, like swift-opening
flowers, and the ferns would tremble as with the rushing of many
winds. John Alden always hurried to the scene, hoping every time that
he might pass for a rabbit; but Eunice addressed him with contempt,
as “Johnny-that-rooster-hum,” and drove him off, heedless of his
reproachful squawks.
But Flossy and Skip ate together, for it was quite useless to try and
separate them.
“That’s a curious friendship,” Mrs. Wood said; “I never heard of a case
like it before.”
“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Franklin said. “She respects him
because he can dig, and he admires her because she can lay eggs. I’ve
known lots of fellows who hadn’t half as much reason for friendship as
that.”
But the greatest proof of their affection for each other came at the
time of the big storm. Storms about Lake Minnetaska are sometimes
terribly severe, and one day, when the heat had been intense and the
darkening sky took on a green tinge, Mrs. Wood told the children to
run for the cyclone cellar. This was a little cave, built under the
cottage, where the family could be safe in case the cottage was blown
away. In ordinary weather it served as a cool place for the milk.
The children were taught to watch for a funnel-shaped cloud, and a
regular cyclone drill was arranged, so that each should do his part,
and not be frightened in case the cyclone came. For Mrs. Wood said,
“Being ready for an emergency doesn’t make it come any sooner.” And
when at last it did come, the family was able to reach the cellar in
the very shortest possible time.
Mrs. Wood took the family heirlooms, Biddy, her best bonnet, and
Franklin, the dog; while Eunice and Kenneth had been cautioned not to
try and save anything but themselves. Their mother had told them that
the cats could stick their claws into trees, or lie down so flat that
the storm would not even see them, and the rabbits would run into their
holes.
When the storm broke, not a cat was in sight, but the kind-hearted
Biddy found Mustard and Elijah sleeping in a box near the back door,
and scooped them into her apron as she ran.
It was quite dreadful waiting there in the dark, with the shrieking of
the wind above them, and crash after crash coming as things were blown
down and swept away. Their cottage was not taken; but another one was,
and the roof was ripped off the hotel. The piazza chairs spun by them,
and were hurled over the tops of falling trees into a neighboring lot.
Johnny’s house, with Johnny in it,—he had thought it was night, and
gone to bed,—executed a dance before the cellar door, and then blew
into the lake. Kenneth wept, and sat down in a pan of milk. It was
terrible.
But Johnny’s house was afterwards fished out from under the dock, and
Johnny himself was found roosting in a tree near the bank, for his
house having no floor, he had been able to grasp this branch with his
firm yellow legs, and allow his roof to take a swim without him.
“I think he meant to stay there always,” Franklin said, as he climbed
the tree and brought him down. “He didn’t seem to be making any plans.”
Clytie and Ivanhoe turned up towards night, with eyes quite black
from excitement, and, strange to say, Ivanhoe never had another fit
after that experience. Franklin said, “I suppose the cyclone was so
much bigger a fit than he could ever hope to have, that it kind of
discouraged him!”
The children nearly stood on their heads trying to see into the
rabbit-holes, and, diving into one of them, Franklin pulled out two
struggling balls of fur, that kicked mud in every direction.
“Oh, the dear, dirty things!” said Eunice, embracing Vaseline and
Oliver, until her face was well spattered from their indignant heels.
“Stamper’s all right,” said Franklin, peering into the dark passage;
“I saw his nose wiggle. And there’s another one in there behind him. I
guess it’s Dulcie. She’d naturally be with the youngsters.”
“Oh, Franklin, let’s hunt for Sam and Skip! They must be here,
somewhere.”
“I couldn’t see anything in Sam’s hole,” Franklin said, going to the
other burrow.
“Put your arm in. It can’t get any muddier than it is.”
Franklin thrust in his arm, and drew it out again with a great start.
“Snakes?” asked Eunice, turning pale.
“I don’t know. Something bit me.”
“Bit you! Oh, where?”
“I can’t find the place,” said Franklin, after examining his hand. “The
mud’s too thick!”
“Then the snake must have bitten mud instead of you. But probably it’ll
soak through.”
“I’m not sure ’twas a snake, anyhow. There aren’t any poisonous snakes
around here.”
“Poke it,” said Eunice. “Here’s a stick. Perhaps it’ll run out.”
Franklin poked; and from the hole came the outraged, but familiar
squawk of Flossy the bantam.
“How in thunder did she get in there!” Franklin exclaimed, hauling
her out in spite of her angry pecks. But his question was immediately
answered by Skipperty, who followed devotedly in the wake of his
friend. Luella-Marie’s head followed Skip’s tail, and now the whole
rabbit family was accounted for.
“I think they’d have come out before,” said Franklin, “if Flossy hadn’t
stopped up the hole.”
“Do you suppose Skip took her in there?”
“He must have. She’d never have thought of it herself.”
“Franklin, why do you suppose Weejums doesn’t come home?”
“Scared of the noise, I guess. She probably heard the storm hammering
around, and took it for carpenters!”
“But the noise is all over now.”
“Then she’s likely to be home for supper.”
But Weejums did not come home for supper, and she did not come home
that night.
“Mother,” said Franklin, after the younger children were in bed, “the
‛Worry’ ’s gone.”
“What,—not sunk, Franklin?”
“No, just gone,—cleared, off the landscape. I’m afraid she’s stolen.
Some one must have taken her right after the storm, when we were all
getting our breath back.”
“But you’ll be sure to find her,—you and Fred between you. We can
advertise.”
“Yes, I suppose we can. There are quite a lot of things to do.”
But it was not a happy night for any one in the cottage. Eunice was
wakeful on account of Weejums; while Kenneth dreamed of sitting in
cold milk-pans, and shivered in his sleep.
Biddy dreamed that her best bonnet had been blown into the lake, with a
kitten tied to each string, and woke Mrs. Wood with a whoop. Everybody
was glad when morning came. And after breakfast Franklin made a strange
discovery.
Two boatmen who knew the boys, stopped to say that they were passing
just as the storm broke, and seeing the “Worry” being thrown against
the dock, knew that she would be dashed to pieces before the storm was
over. So they very courageously ran down and cut her loose, before
seeking shelter for themselves. But as she was washed out into the
lake, they were much astonished to see a cat creep out of the locker
and run around the boat in great distress.
“Weejums, by gracious!” said Franklin. “Say, Fred, did you hear that?”
“I yelled out, ‛You’d better go below!’” said the boatman; “and Joe,
he put up his hands like this, and called, ‛Reef that tail or you’ll
capsize!’ But we had to run for our lives then, and I couldn’t see what
the cat did next.”
“I bet you she’s safe,” said “Joe,” as Eunice hid her face on
Franklin’s arm. “You won’t catch any feline getting her paws wet, when
she’s got a dry locker to crawl into!”
“The first thing is to find the boat,” said Franklin, patting Eunice’s
curls. “That’s a brave girl, Sis, not to cry.”
“P’r’aps she’s wrecked,” said Fred Lane, who could think about such
trifles as boats, because he had never known Weejums.
“No, she ain’t!” said Franklin, fiercely. “See here, Sis, we’ll borrow
a horse and ride along the shore to see if she’s beached anywhere.”
“And we’ll tell all the steamboat captains to look out for her,” added
Joe.
“And me an’ Joe’ll do a little cruising around, ourselves,” said the
other boatman.
“Say, you’re mighty good,” said Franklin, offering them his hand.
“We’ll never forget what you did for her,” said Fred, meaning the boat.
“You will find her, won’t you?” said Eunice, meaning the cat.
“And now for our noble steed,” said Franklin. “We’ll be lucky if it
isn’t a goat.”
They hunted for some time, but at last succeeded in borrowing an
ancient mule, which they both mounted, and set forth on their quest.
“Have you seen a stray boat with a cat in it?” they asked, in agonized
tones, of every one whom they met, and could not understand why so many
people laughed at the question.
“Was there an owl aboard too?” somebody asked, “and was the boat
pea-green?”
But no one had seen or heard anything of the “Worry,” and it was not
until that night, when the “Belle of Minnetaska” was due with her load
of passengers, that Joe, the boatman, rushed up to the cottage in
breathless haste.
“Skinner’s steam launch ‛Mehitable’ just put in next dock. Spoke ‛Belle
of Minnetaska.’ Says picked up boat with cat in it. Boat in tow. Cat in
ladies’ cabin.”
Even as he spoke, the nose of the great steamer rounded the point, and
through the opera-glasses they could distinctly see a small, dark speck
dancing along in her wake.
“To the wharf,—to the wharf!” shouted Franklin. And Mrs. Wood and
Eunice and Kenneth and Biddy all tore down the road to the big hotel
dock, just as the “Belle of Minnetaska,” with band playing, and flags
streaming, came in.
Eunice wished to go aboard at once, but had to wait until the
passengers were off; and just as she was beginning to feel that she
could not stand it another minute, down the gangplank came the Captain
himself, with Weejums in his arms.
“Where’s the little girl that’s lost her cat?” he asked. And all the
passengers and deck hands crowded around to see Weejums restored to her
family. Then “Three cheers for the little girl!” some one called, and
the cheers were given with deafening enthusiasm.
“Three cheers for the Captain of the ‛Belle of Minnetaska!’” And the
Captain had to bow, and take off his hat to every one.
“Three cheers for the cat!” And these were the loudest cheers
of all,—so loud, indeed, that Weejums’ tail swelled out of all
proportion. But nobody saw it, for, before the last cheer was over,
Eunice was running swiftly towards home, with the dear lost pussy
clasped tight to her little heart.
“The water took the color out of her ribbon,” she announced at supper
that night; “but she’s goin’ to have a new one.”
CHAPTER TEN
ON THE FARM
Weejums had not only one new ribbon, but many; for the story of
her rescue came out in the papers, and a number of people sent her
presents. Gifts arrived also from several of the passengers on the
“Belle of Minnetaska” who had made her acquaintance in the ladies’
cabin.
There were blue ribbons and pink ribbons and Nile-green ribbons,
and one whole bolt of yellow-and-white striped ribbon with little
red flowers in the stripes. It sounds dreadful, but was really most
artistic; and Weejums had on a large bow of it the day when she met the
polecat. No one saw the encounter; but when she came home, the striped
ribbon had to be pulled off over her head with a pair of tongs, while
even her own kittens fled at her approach.
[Illustration: “WEEJUMS HAD NOT ONLY ONE NEW RIBBON, BUT MANY”]
“What on earth shall we do with her?” Mrs. Wood said in despair. “She
can’t come into the house for a month,—for a year!”
“What would you do, if it was me?” asked Eunice, reproachfully.
“If it was you? I’d take you out into the grove, and undress you, and
bury your clothes, and wash you in twenty waters with carbolic soap and
lavender water, and tie you up in a laundry-bag for a week.”
“Well, I can do some of that to Weejums,” Eunice replied. “I’ll go bury
her, right away.”
“My dear child, don’t you know that it would kill the poor cat?”
“I’m not a baby!” said Eunice, with dignity. And Mrs. Wood went out to
see what she was planning to do.
First she dug a Weejums-shaped hole in a sunny spot with the
coal-shovel; then pounced upon the unhappy cat, gathering her up in
an old flour sack. Weejums was rather pleased than otherwise by the
attention, as of late her most friendly advances had been repulsed. But
when Eunice laid her in the hole, and covered her very carefully with
earth,—all but the head,—her look of rage was something comical. It
was not that she was uncomfortable, but seemed to feel the implied
insult, and growled like a little earthquake all the time. Her only
comfort was that Torn-nose was not there to witness it.
Eunice poured a little earth over her head and forehead without getting
it in her eyes, and when she was finally dug out, no one would suspect
that she had ever heard of a skunk. But Mustard and Elijah distrusted
her for some time.
Grandmother had taken a great fancy to Mustard when she came out on
a visit, because he spit at her bare feet the first time that he met
them. This was in the middle of the night, when she went down to the
kitchen after a drink of water, and Mustard took her feet for white,
clipped poodle-dogs, and fought them until they carried Grandmother out
of the room before she intended to go.
“I like that cat,” she told Eunice the next morning. “You must give him
to me, without fail. Bring him up when you and Kenneth come to the farm
next month.”
“I was going to bring Weejums,” Eunice said. “Just for a change of air.”
“Well, bring them both then. Any change in Weejums would be desirable.”
This was because Weejums had refused to roll in the catnip Grandmother
brought her, and had sneered at Clytie and Ivanhoe when they rolled.
“I hope she’ll like the new house,” Eunice said.
The family was to move uptown that fall, and Eunice and Kenneth were
to go with Grandmother to the farm until things were a little settled.
When the day came, they took luncheon with the Bateses, while Weejums
chased Mary’s cats out of their own kitchen, and ate their chicken
bones. Then she cuffed Mustard for not being Elijah, whom she greatly
preferred, and Mustard lamented all the way down to the station. People
in the street-cars tried to imitate his voice, but failed.
“Now stay here while I see about the trunk,” said Grandmother, as they
reached the waiting-room. And the children stood admiring the bunch
of bananas that hung over the news-stand, and the oranges piled in an
open-work wire dish.
“Wouldn’t it be fun to buy the whole bunch?” whispered Eunice.
“I bet you it costs as much as a dollar,” said Kenneth.
“I’d like to go up and say, ‛Just give me a dollar’s worth of bananas.’”
“Well, I wouldn’t, I’d say, ‛How much for the bunch?’ and he’d say, ‛A
dollar,’ and I’d say, ‛I’ll take ’em.’”
Just then there came a terrible outcry from the cat-basket; Weejums
burst open the cover and, with one parting spit at Mustard, shot
through the station door. Eunice dashed after her, and Kenneth made a
grab at Mustard, who dived under one of the seats and began dabbing at
the swinging legs of a child. The infant did not understand that this
was only play and roared with fright; its mother scolded, and just at
this moment Grandmother appeared. “Where’s Eunice?” she asked, looking
around.
“Weejums!” said Kenneth, pointing to the door.
“What’s all this commotion about?”
“Mustard!” answered Kenneth, briefly.
“You stay here till I come back. And take that kitten, or the woman’ll
throw him at us.”
The baby’s mother had dragged Mustard out from under the seat through a
cloud of peanut-shells, and was holding him at arm’s length by the back
of the neck. His eyes were closed, his tail curled meekly upward, and
his mouth was drawn back in a forced smile. Kenneth stuffed him hastily
into the basket, just as Grandmother returned, leading Eunice by the
hand.
“No, we can’t wait over another train, and there’s no time to look
anywhere else. I’ll telegraph Mrs. Teechout to let us know when Weejums
comes home, and Mother will go down and get her.”
“But she won’t know the w-a-y,” said Eunice, her voice vanishing upward
in a squeak of misery. “She was lost before, and couldn’t find the way
h-o-me.”
“That was because she was young, and didn’t know the city. She’ll get
back this time, don’t you be afraid. Now wait here while I send the
telegram.”
When they were in the train, Grandmother told Eunice all the stories
that she could remember, about cats who had been lost or otherwise
disposed of, and who reached home long before the people that disposed
of them. And Eunice was so tired that she presently fell asleep on
Grandmother’s shoulder, and dreamed that some one was saying, in a
far-off voice, “Plague take the cat, anyhow, it’s more bother than it’s
worth!”
Then she heard the regular click, click of hoofs, like music through
her sleep, and opened her eyes on a sweep of golden prairie dipping to
meet the sky.
“Most ready for supper?” asked Cousin David, laughing, as she
struggled to sit up in his lap.
“Oh, David, let me drive!” she said, “I didn’t know I was here.”
Cousin David lived with Grandmother at the farm, and had driven in,
twenty miles, to meet them.
“What’s the matter with Chucklehead’s tail?” asked Grandmother,
severely. “It never looked like that before!”
“Just a little baldness, Auntie. You know that tail’s seen a heap of
service, and he’s an old horse.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Grandmother. But Kenneth thought that there
were tears in her eyes.
“Can’t we ride Ole after supper to-night?” he asked.
“Yes, if Jansen’s willing, and you’re not too tired.”
Ole was the herder’s pony, and the children were allowed to ride him
evenings, after the cattle had been brought home.
When they reached the farm, the cattle had just gone into the corral,
and Jansen, the herder, was holding a nervous young cow by the nose,
while somebody tried to milk her.
“Why, that’s my Ellen!” said Grandmother, letting down the bars. “Poor
Ellen! let go of her, Jansen, and see if she knows me.” She went
fearlessly in through the crowd of horns, and made her way to where
Ellen stood, spluttering in the herder’s grasp. Every eye of every cow
was fixed on her as she soothed and petted the excited creature, until
Ellen’s glance became genial, and she rested her head on Grandmother’s
shoulder.