Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Black, White and Grey; a Story of Three Homes, by Amy Walton.
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Some young children, whose parents are working in India, are being
brought up by an aunt in a small English village called Fieldside. The
aunt lets them have a lot of freedom, but there are some "Rules of the
House" which must be obeyed. When the cat has some lovely kittens, one
black, one white, and one grey, they are not allowed to keep them,
because there would then be too many cats than the Rules allowed, but
they are given three weeks in which to find homes for them.
How these homes are found, and what happens then to the kittens, is the
subject of this book. As always with Amy Walton's books, reading them
gives you a feeling for the happy days in our English countryside, now
long past, that existed at the end of the nineteenth century.
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BLACK, WHITE AND GREY; A STORY OF THREE HOMES, BY AMY WALTON.
CHAPTER ONE.
TWO GOOD HOMES.
"It's as black as ink," said Dennis, lifting one of the kittens out of
its warm bed in the hay; "there's not a single white hair upon it."
"Madam's never had a _quite_ black one before, has she?" said his sister
Maisie, who knelt beside him, before the cat and her family.
It was a snug and cosy home Madam had chosen for her children, in a dark
corner of the hayloft, where she had hollowed out a sort of nest in the
side of a truss of hay. Here she might well have fancied herself quite
secure from discovery, for it was so dim and shadowy in the loft that it
needed sharp eyes to see anything but hay and straw.
She had forgotten, however, that it was one of Dennis and Maisie's
favourite play-rooms when it was too wet to be out-of-doors, and it
turned out that in the midst of their games to-day, they had caught
sight of her white coat in her dusky retreat. Though she would rather
not have been found, Madam took the discovery calmly, and made no
difficulty, even when Dennis softly put in his hand and drew out the
black kitten. She knew the children well, and was quite sure they would
do no harm, so she lay lazily blinking her green eyes, and even purred
gently with pleasure to hear her kitten admired.
It was such a very nice kitten. Not only because of its dense
blackness, but its coat was as glossy and thick as that of a little
mole, and its shape unusually stumpy and attractive.
"Isn't it a _beauty_?" said Dennis, in a delighted whisper; "we must
keep it."
"We haven't looked at the others yet," said Maisie cautiously; "don't
let's settle so soon."
The black kitten was accordingly given back to Madam, who at once licked
it all over from top to toe, and the others brought out one by one.
There was a perfectly white one, much smaller than the first, and the
other was a commonplace striped grey.
"I don't care about either," said Dennis; "they're just like lots and
lots of other kittens, and they grow up like lots and lots of other
cats. Now the black's uncommon."
"I can't bear settling which is to be drowned," sighed Maisie. "I
suppose we may really only keep one."
"You're a ninny," said Dennis shortly.
In reality he did not like to doom the kittens any better than his
sister, but he would have thought it womanly to show his feelings.
"I call it unfair," continued Maisie, stroking the white and grey
kittens with her little brown hand, "to drown them just because they're
not pretty. It's not as if they were bad."
"But you _know_ we mustn't keep them all," said Dennis impatiently; "so
what's the good of going on like that? We _must_ choose, and the
black's the best, isn't it?"
"Well, then," said Maisie reluctantly, "I think we ought to cast lots,
so as to give them each a chance."
This appealed to Dennis's sense of justice, and was besides the usual
way of settling differences between his sister and himself. He pulled
out three pieces of hay of different lengths, and holding them tightly
shut in his hand, with the ends sticking out in an even row, said
shortly, "You choose."
"Which is which?" asked Maisie, her face getting pink with excitement.
"The longest's the black, the middling's the white, and the shortest's
the grey," said Dennis, with the calmness of fate.
Maisie gazed at the little yellow ends of hay sticking out between her
brother's stout red fingers, almost with terror. The old cat, with one
paw thrown languidly over the black kitten, watched the proceedings
carelessly.
"I'll have this one!" exclaimed Maisie desperately, tugging at the
middle piece.
"Hurrah!" cried Dennis, as he opened his hand, and he threw up his cap
exultingly; for it was the black kitten that was to live.
"I'm just as sorry as I was before about the others," said Maisie
wistfully; "but of course I _do_ like the black one best, and Madam
seems proud of it too. What shall we call it?"
"Nigger," said Dennis.
Maisie looked doubtful.
"That's not a very nice name," she said slowly. "I should like to call
it Jonah, because, you see, the lot fell upon it."
"Well, but, you silly thing," replied Dennis, "that just _wouldn't_ do,
because Jonah _was_ drowned when the lot fell upon him, and the black
kitten won't be."
"He wasn't _drowned_," said Maisie, in a low impressive voice.
"Well, worse. I'd rather have been drowned," said Dennis shortly;
"anyhow, I don't like the name of Jonah. It ought to have something to
do with its colour."
"Do you think," said Maisie, looking with pity at the white and grey
kittens, "that we need tell Tom to drown them _quite_ directly.
Mightn't we leave them till to-morrow, and hear what Aunt Katharine
says?"
"She won't say anything different," said Dennis, with a decided shake of
the head. "You know she made a rule. But we'll leave them if you
like."
Before the children left the loft, half an hour later, they took a
tender leave of Madam and her family, and Maisie gave an extra caress to
the white and grey kittens, which she felt sure she should never see
again. Nevertheless, at the bottom of her heart, there was a tiny hope
that she might be able to save them, for sometimes, even when she had
made a rule, Aunt Katharine was unexpectedly yielding.
Dennis and Maisie had lived with their aunt, Miss Katharine Chester,
since they had been babies. They had arrived one autumn day at
Fieldside, all the way from India, two little motherless, white-faced
things under the care of strangers, and from that time till now, when
Dennis was a square-shouldered boy of ten, and Maisie a sunburnt little
girl of eight, Aunt Katharine had been everything to them. Certainly
father was in India, and would come home some day, and meanwhile often
sent them letters and parcels, but he was such a complete stranger, that
he did not count for much in their little lives. On mail-days, when
they had to write to him, it was often very hard to think of something
to say, for they did not feel at all sure of his tastes, or what was
likely to interest him: it was like writing to a picture or a shadow,
and not a real person at all.
Now Aunt Katharine was a very real person, though she was also a very
busy one, and if it was sometimes difficult to get hold of her during
the day, there was always the evening. Then she was quite ready to
listen to questions, to hear news, and to go thoroughly into any matters
of interest or difficulty which had been saved for that time. The hour
immediately after breakfast was devoted to lessons, but it was not easy
to talk to Aunt Katharine then, for she had so many things on her mind.
She never shortened the time, but the children knew that the moment ten
o'clock struck, books must be shut, and Aunt Katharine free to begin her
busy round from kitchen to dairy, from garden to poultry-yard and
stables. Every part of her pleasant little kingdom was daily visited by
this active lady, and it repaid her care within and without, for no one
had such good butter, such abundance of fresh eggs, such a well-kept
stable, such luxuriantly blooming flowers, and such fine vegetables. No
one had a pleasanter house, roomy and cheerful, and not too grandly
furnished for children and animals to run about in freely.
And Miss Chester's cares were not confined to her own possessions alone,
for nothing that went on in the village of Fieldside, just outside her
gates, was unknown to her. She was ready to settle disputes, to nurse
sickness, and to relieve distress, and was never known to fail any one
who applied to her for help. Into this life, already so full of varied
business, Dennis and Maisie had brought added responsibilities, and Aunt
Katharine had undertaken them with her usual decision and energy. As
long as the children were babies, somewhat delicate and ailing, she had
bestowed all her thought and care upon them, and given up many outside
interests for their sake.
But now they were babies no longer, but had grown up healthy and strong,
and by degrees she returned to her busy life, and left them a great deal
to themselves. Her married sister, Mrs Trevor, who lived not far off at
Haughton Park, considered her strangely neglectful of their education,
but Miss Chester had her own ideas on that subject, and would not listen
to objections. Nothing, she insisted, was so important to children of
Dennis and Maisie's age as plenty of liberty and fresh air. The time
would soon come when Dennis must go to school, and Maisie must have a
governess; until then, the daily hour in which they learned to read and
write and to do simple sums--for Aunt Katharine was not great at
figures--was quite education enough.
This was decidedly the opinion of the children themselves, and perhaps
they were not the worse for the free life they lived at Fieldside, happy
in the companionship of all the pleasant outdoor things, and dependent
on no one but themselves for amusement. But it was not all freedom.
Aunt Katharine made rules, and the children knew that these must be
obeyed, and were never relaxed unless for some very good reason. One of
these rules applied to the number of pets, which had once threatened to
become overwhelming. Cats especially began to swarm in such multitudes
in the garden and house, that Aunt Katharine was obliged to take severe
measures to reduce them. That done, she made a rule. Madam, the
favourite old cat, was to be kept, but all her kittens, except one out
of each family, must for the future be drowned. It was a dreadful blow
to Maisie in particular, who, being a girl, was not obliged to smother
her feelings; and now, here was another of these miserable occasions--
the white and grey kittens must be sent out of the world almost as soon
as they had entered it!
All the while she was having her frock changed and her hair brushed
before tea, she turned the matter over in her mind. Could she possibly
prevail on Aunt Katharine to spare the kittens this once. It seemed odd
that Aunt Katharine, who was so kind to every one, could bear to let
such poor little helpless things be killed. Maisie supposed it must be
one of those many, many things she had been told she should understand
when she was older. Dennis always said it did not hurt them, but though
she looked up to him a good deal, she did not feel at all sure that he
was right in this case. At any rate, if it did not hurt the kittens, it
must be most painful for Madam to lose two of her children in such a
dreadful way.
Full of those thoughts, she went down to the schoolroom, where Aunt
Katharine always joined the children at tea-time. She found her already
there, listening to Dennis, who was giving an excited account of the
discovery of Madam in the hayloft that afternoon.
"It's _such_ a jolly little kitten we're going to keep, you can't think,
Aunt Katharine," he said; "as black as a coal all over."
"And what does Maisie think?" said Aunt Katharine, turning to the little
girl, who had not joined in her brother's description. "Does she like
it best too?"
Maisie's round face became very pink, and she nervously crumbled up her
cake, but said nothing.
"Would you rather keep the white one or the grey one, dear?" asked her
aunt kindly. "I daresay Dennis would not mind. He shall choose next
time."
"We didn't choose," put in Dennis quickly; "we cast lots, so it's quite
fair. It's only," he continued, lowering his voice confidentially,
"that she doesn't like the others to be drowned."
"Is that it, Maisie?" asked Aunt Katharine.
Maisie nodded. She had meant to say a good deal, but now that the
moment had come, her feelings were rather more than she could manage.
She gazed beseechingly at Aunt Katharine, who could save the kittens by
one word, and still crumbling up her cake with her little brown hands,
murmured, "Just this once."
Aunt Katharine smiled.
"And how about my rule?" she said. "If you keep the kittens `just this
once,' you will want to keep the next, and the next, and we shall soon
have as many cats as there were before. That would never do."
"There were fifteen," said Dennis.--"Pass the cake, please, Maisie."
Maisie gave a little gulp of disappointment. It did not seem to her
that fifteen cats were at all too many for comfort and pleasure, but
Aunt Katharine knew best. So she drew a small handkerchief out of her
pocket, wiped the crumbs from her fingers, and struggled for composure.
Both she and Dennis thought the matter quite ended, for their aunt began
to talk of other things, and after tea she read to them as usual, and
not another word was said about the kittens until bed-time. It was
surprising, therefore, to hear her say as she shut up the book:
"Children, I have something to propose to you about the kittens. You
know I can't let you keep them, because it is against my rule, which I
should not have made unless it had been necessary; but, if you like to
find them two good homes, I will allow you to give them away this time."
"Oh auntie!" exclaimed Maisie, clapping her hands, "how lovely!"
"How long may we have to look out?" asked Dennis.
"The kittens must be sent away from here this day three weeks," said
Aunt Katharine solemnly; "and remember, children, I said `two _good_
homes,' so I trust you to take trouble to find them. It would be really
kinder to drown them at once, than to send them where they might be
starved or ill-treated."
Two good homes! It was indeed a serious responsibility, and their aunt
had said the words so earnestly, that the children were both much
impressed by them. Maisie in particular, in the midst of her rejoicing
that the kittens were saved, felt quite sobered by the burden resting
upon her.
"How ever shall we find two good homes?" she said to Dennis as they went
up-stairs. But Dennis never looked at the troublesome side of life, if
he could avoid it.
"It'll be jolly to keep all three of them for three weeks, won't it?" he
said. "How pleased Madam would be if she knew!"
"We must get up very early to-morrow, and go and tell her," said Maisie.
"It matters most to tell Tom," said Dennis; "because if he finds them in
the loft, he'll drown them straight off in a bucket."
The horror of this suggestion, and the future of the two kittens if they
escaped this danger, kept Maisie awake for a long while that night.
She slept in a tiny room opening out of Aunt Katharine's, and she knew
how dreadfully late it must be, when she heard her aunt moving about,
and saw the light of her candle underneath the door. After that,
however, she soon went to sleep, with the kittens, their homes, and Tom
the stable-boy, all jumbled up together in her head.
CHAPTER TWO.
HAUGHTON PARK.
Before the clock had finished striking six the next morning, Dennis and
Maisie were in the stable-yard. Tom was there, pumping water into a
pail, and Jacko the raven was there, stalking about with gravity, and
uttering a deep croak now and then. Jacko was not a nice character, and
more feared than liked by most people. He was a thief and a bully, and
so cunning that it was impossible to be up to all his tricks. In
mischief he delighted, and nothing pleased him more than to frighten and
tease helpless things, yet, with all these bad qualities, he had been
allowed to march about for many years, unreproved, in Aunt Katharine's
stable-yard. Maisie had been very much afraid of him in the days when
she wore socks, for he had a way of digging at her little bare legs with
his cruel beak whenever he could get near her. She was not frightened
of him now that she was older, especially when Dennis was with her, but
still she did not trust him, and took care this morning not to cross his
path on her way to speak to Tom.
"If Jacko knew about the kittens," remarked Dennis as they passed, "he'd
go and peck out their eyes."
"Oh!" shuddered Maisie; "but," she added in a whisper, for she always
fancied Jacko understood, "their eyes aren't open yet, and besides Madam
would claw and scratch at him."
"He can claw and scratch too," said Dennis. "I expect he could kill
Madam and her kittens easily. And then he'd bury them, just as he does
his food, you know, and then."
Fortunately for Maisie, who was listening with horror to this picture of
cruelty and crime, Dennis stopped at this point, for they were now close
to Tom, who with his back towards them was making a dreadful noise with
a creaking pump handle.
"I say, Tom," he called out. Tom slowly turned his freckled face over
his shoulder, but did not leave off his work. "Madam's kittens are
_not_ to be drowned," shouted Dennis at the top of his voice.
"They're _all_ to be saved," added Maisie in a shriller key.--"Oh
Dennis, I don't believe he has taken it in. Do tell him to leave off
pumping."
But just then, Tom's pails being full, he left off of his own accord,
and proceeded to carry them into the stable.
"You _do_ understand, Tom," said Maisie anxiously, for she had an idea
that Tom rather liked drowning kittens. "_Not_ to be drowned."
Tom's voice having answered indistinctly from one of the stalls, she
turned to follow Dennis, who was already half-way up the steep ladder
which led to the loft. After all, Madam could not be told the good
news, for she had gone out for a stroll, leaving her family in a little
warm furry heap in their bed.
"Just fancy how dreadful it would be for her if she came back and found
only one left," said Maisie, touching the little round heads softly with
her finger. "I _am_ so glad they're not to be drowned."
"I'm tremendously glad we're going to keep the black one ourselves,"
said Dennis. "What do you think of the name of Smut?"
"I don't like it a bit," said Maisie.
They had got no further towards a name by breakfast time. All those
which Maisie liked, Dennis thought silly, and those which Dennis
proposed, Maisie thought ugly, so it promised to be a difficult matter
to settle. As soon as they were seated at breakfast, however, Aunt
Katharine made a suggestion which put the black kitten out of their
heads for the present.
"Children," she said, "I am going to drive over to Haughton Park to
lunch this morning. If you like, you may both go with me and see
Philippa."
There was a moment's pause, and then Dennis asked seriously:
"Shall you go anywhere besides, Aunt Katharine, or just straight there?"
"I shall only stop at Mrs Broadbent's on my way," she replied, "to ask
about so some fowls."
The children looked at each other, but made no answer.
"Well," said their aunt, smiling, "I dare say you'd like to talk it over
together. I shall start at twelve o'clock, and if you decide to go, you
must be ready to the minute, for I shall not wait for you. Do just as
you like about it."
To go or not to go to Haughton was always a matter which required
thought. There were things against it, and things for it. In Maisie's
opinion, there was a great deal to be liked in the visit. There was a
large, beautiful house, much larger than Fieldside, and a park with deer
in it: there were all sorts of dolls and toys and pretty things which
she enjoyed playing with, and--there was Philippa. Philippa was perhaps
a doubtful pleasure, for if she was in a cross mood she was not
agreeable, but there was always the chance that she would be pleasant,
and then she and Maisie got on very well together with their dolls.
Dennis was disposed to be rather scornful about going to Haughton, but
in his case there was the attraction of the drive, when Aunt Katharine
sometimes let him hold the reins, and there was the chance of her
stopping at somewhere interesting on the way. Mrs Broadbent's would be
better than nothing to-day, though it was not his favourite farmhouse.
"I don't think I want to go _much_," he said, as soon as he and Maisie
had reached the play-room. "Aunt Trevor's sure to have a headache, and
then we shall have to be as quiet as mice."
"P'raps she'll let us go out with Philippa," said Maisie.
"Not without Miss Mervyn comes too," said Dennis. "I don't care about
that--it's no fun. She's always saying, `You mustn't do this, or you
mustn't do that.'"
"Well," said Maisie, "should I go with Aunt Katharine then, and you stay
at home?"
But this did not suit Dennis at all. It would never do for Maisie to
come back and describe all manner of enjoyments which he had not shared.
It would be better to go and grumble than to be left at home alone.
"Oh, I'll go," he said, condescendingly. And so it came to pass that
when the ponies, Jack and Jill, came round, the children were both
waiting in the hall, fully prepared for the drive. As she drew on her
driving gloves, Aunt Katharine gave a glance at them to see that they
were warmly wrapped up, for it was a fresh day in early spring.
"Jump in, children, and let Mary tuck you well up; it's rather cold,"
she said.--"Give me the reins, Tom. All right."
Then came a dash down the short avenue, with Tom running before to open
the gate, and then they were in the village street, where Jack and Jill
always thought it right to plunge and shy a little. From their seat at
the back Dennis and Maisie nodded at their various acquaintances as they
passed, for they knew nearly every one. There was Mrs Gill at the
post-office, standing at her open door; there was Mr Couples, who kept
the shop; and there was Dr Price just mounting his horse, with his two
terriers, Snip and Snap, eager to follow. Above this little cluster of
houses stood the church and the vicarage close together, on a gently
rising hill; and the rest of the village, including two or three large
farms, was scattered about here and there, with wide spaces between.
"Why are you going to Mrs Broadbent's, Aunt Katharine?" asked Dennis, as
they turned sharply to the right.
"Because I want to ask her to let me have a setting of Minorcas,"
replied his aunt, "and no one else keeps them."
"And we might ask her, you know," said Maisie, "whether she'd like one
of the kittens. I should _think_ that would be a good home, shouldn't
you?"
"P'raps she doesn't like cats," said Dennis carelessly. "We've got
three weeks, so it really doesn't matter much yet."
The Broadbents' square white house now came in sight. It had a trim
garden, a tennis ground, and a summer-house, and was completely screened
from the farm-buildings by a gloomy row of fir-trees. The children did
not as a rule care to pay visits to Mrs Broadbent, for there were no
animals or interesting things about; but to-day Maisie asked leave to go
in, for she had the kittens on her mind, and felt she must not lose a
chance.
Mrs Broadbent was a thin little widow, who wore smart caps, and had a
general air of fashion about her person. She was sharp and clever, well
up to the business of managing her large farm, and familiar with every
detail of it. Unfortunately she considered this a thing to be ashamed
of, and, much to Miss Chester's annoyance, always pretended ignorance
which did not exist. What she was proud of, and thrust foremost in her
conversation, were the accomplishments of two highly-educated daughters,
who painted on china, and played the violin, and on this subject she
received no encouragement from Aunt Katharine.
"I shouldn't have thought of disturbing you so early, Mrs Broadbent,"
she said briskly, when they were seated in the smart little
drawing-room, "but I've come on business. I want to know if you've a
setting of Minorca fowls to dispose of. I've a fancy to rear some."
Mrs Broadbent simpered a little and put her head on one side.
"I've no doubt we can oblige you, Miss Chester," she said. "I'll speak
to my poultry-man about it, and let you know."
"How many Minorcas have you?" asked Miss Chester.
"Oh, I really couldn't tell you, Miss Chester," replied Mrs Broadbent
with a little laugh. "I never thought of inquiring."
"Not know how many of each sort of fowls you have!" exclaimed Aunt
Katharine. "Why, if I had a farm, I'd know every one of them by sight,
and how many eggs they each laid. I suppose, though," she added, "you
leave that to your daughters. They must be a great help to you."
Mrs Broadbent bridled:
"Emmeline and Lilian are far too much engaged," she said, "with their
studies and their artistic work. Emmeline's quite devoted herself to
art. I've given her a large room at the top of the house for a studio."
"Indeed," said Miss Chester coldly. "And what does she do in it?"
"Just now she's painting some lovely plaques," said Mrs Broadbent, "and
Lilian's quite taken to the new poker-work."
"What is that?" asked her visitor.
"You haven't seen it, Miss Chester? Well, it _is_ quite new, and as I
was saying the other day, in these remote parts we don't see anything,
do we? But Lilian's been staying in London, and she learned it there.
She did that frame."
It seemed that poker-work was intended to have the effect of carving,
which was produced by burning patterns on wood with a red-hot
instrument.
"Well, if you ask my candid opinion," said Aunt Katharine, rising to
look at the frame, "I should like it much better plain; but it's a
harmless amusement, if wasting time is ever harmless.--Come Maisie,
Dennis will be quite tired of waiting.--You'll let me know about the
eggs, Mrs Broadbent, and their price. I shall be much obliged if you
can spare me a setting."
In another moment Aunt Katharine would have swept out of the room, with
her usual activity, but after waiting so long for a pause in the
conversation, Maisie could not give up her purpose.
"Do you want a cat, please?" she said, standing in front of Mrs
Broadbent--"that is, a nice little kitten. One of our cat Madam's."
But Mrs Broadbent was quite certain that she did not want a cat, and
said so with some sharpness, for she was never pleased at Miss Chester's
outspoken opinions, though she was used to them. She had too many cats
about the place now. She supposed as long as there were mice there must
be cats, but to her mind there was not much to choose between them.
"I don't really suppose it would have been a good home," said Maisie,
when she was tucked in again beside Dennis; "Mrs Broadbent doesn't like
cats, and she looked quite cross when I asked her, but I think that was
because Aunt Katharine didn't like Lilian's poker-work frame."
Haughton Park, towards which Jack and Jill were now quickly making their
way, was about four miles from Fieldside, and just outside the little
town of Upwell. It was a large house, standing in a park of some
extent, and was built in what was called the Italian style, with
terraces in front of it, and stone balustrades, and urns and vases
wherever they could be put. Inside, the rooms were very large and
lofty, and there was a great hall with marble pillars, and a huge
staircase with statues in niches all the way up. Perhaps from some
association with the sound of the name, Maisie always thought it was a
proud cold house, which could not stoop to notice any one who came in
and out of its doors, and did not mind whether they went or stayed.
Yet, from its very unlikeness to Fieldside, it had a certain fascination
for her, and she could not help admiring it.
Here, in lonely grandeur, lived Aunt Katharine's widowed sister, Mrs
Trevor, with her daughter Philippa, who was just ten years old. Mrs
Trevor had always wondered why her brother, Captain Chester, had not
sent Dennis and Maisie to Haughton to be educated with Philippa. Surely
nothing could have been more suitable or better for the children!
But by some extraordinary blindness, he had passed over his elder sister
and all her possessions, and chosen Katharine as their guardian until
his return from India. When he did return, thought Mrs Trevor, he would
see what a mistake he had made; even now, if he knew what odd ideas
Katharine had, and how she allowed the children to run wild, and
associate with the villagers, he would regret his choice--but it was no
affair of hers. Nevertheless, it always gave her a sense of injury to
see Dennis and Maisie with their Aunt Katharine. It was not that she
envied her the charge of them, for she was, or fancied she was, somewhat
of an invalid, and would have disliked the trouble. But she felt she
had been slighted when the children were sent to Fieldside, and a slight
was a thing she could not forget.
Mrs Trevor received her visitors this morning in her boudoir, and rose
to greet them languidly from her low chair--a tall elegant figure, in
soft clinging robes. The room was full of the heavy scent of hyacinths,
and warm with the spring sunshine and a bright fire. As Aunt Katharine
entered with her usual alert step, she seemed to bring a great deal of
cold air and life into it from the outside world. The children followed
her rather shyly.
"Here we are, you see," she said, in her loud, cheerful voice. "How are
you, Helen? You look rather white."
"I am suffering from my old enemy to-day," replied Mrs Trevor, with a
forced smile; "my head is very painful."
"Ah," said Aunt Katharine, pulling off her gloves briskly, "a little
fresh air is the best cure for that. To be shut up in this warm room
with all those flowers is enough to poison you. Wouldn't you like a
window open?"
"Pray, Katharine!" exclaimed Mrs Trevor, putting up her hand with a
shudder; "the very idea destroys me. It is an east wind. Warmth and
rest are the only cure." She put up her double eye-glasses, and looked
at Dennis and Maisie. "Did you drive over? How are the children?"
"As jolly as possible," said Aunt Katharine. She stood on the
hearthrug, flapping her gloves against one hand. Maisie always thought
that her aunt wore shorter skirts, rougher tweed dresses, and stouter
boots when she came to Haughton, than at any other time. Also, she
seemed to speak louder, and to look rosier and broader altogether.
Perhaps this only seemed to be so, because Aunt Trevor's skin was so
fair, and her voice so gentle, and because she wore such graceful soft
gowns, and such tiny satin slippers. Maisie was very fond of Aunt
Katharine, but she admired Aunt Trevor's appearance immensely, and
always gazed at her as though she were a picture hanging on the wall.
Dennis did not share in this. He fidgeted about in his chair, fingered
the things in his pockets, hoped it would soon be time for luncheon, and
wondered whether he and Maisie would be allowed to go out first.
"Ah, here is Philippa!" said Aunt Katharine.
A little girl of about Maisie's age--but so much taller and slighter
that she looked a great deal older--came into the room. She had rather
long features, a pointed chin, and a very pure white complexion, with
hardly a tinge of colour; and, as she ran forward to kiss her little
brown-faced cousins, she was a great contrast to them in every way. Her
dress, which was prettily made and fanciful, and her gleaming bronze
shoes added to this; for Dennis and his sister seldom wore anything but
serge or holland, and their boots were of strong country make, which
made their feet look rather clumsy.
"If the children _must_ wear such thick boots, Katharine," Mrs Trevor
often said, "you might at least have them made to fit. It gives them
the air of little clodhoppers."
But Miss Chester went her own way, and Aunt Trevor's objections had no
effect on her arrangements.
"Ask if we may go out!" said Dennis, in an urgent whisper to his cousin,
who at once ran up to her mother, and repeated the request in the midst
of her conversation with Aunt Katharine. Mrs Trevor cast an anxious
glance out the window.
"Well, my darling, as you have a cold and the wind is in the east, I
think you had better play indoors. You can take your cousins into the
long gallery and have a nice game."
Philippa frowned and pushed out her lower lip:
"I want to go out," she murmured.
"But your cough, my dearest," said her mother in a pleading tone.--"What
do you say, Katharine? Would it not be more prudent for her to keep
indoors?"
"I think it would be best for her to do as you wish," said Aunt
Katharine, with a half smile at Philippa's pouting lips.
"I _must_ go out with Dennis and Maisie," said the little girl in a
whining voice.
"Dennis and Maisie will be quite happy indoors," said Mrs Trevor
entreatingly; "you can show them your new violin, you know, and play
them a tune."
"I don't want to," said Philippa, with a rising sob.
Mrs Trevor looked alarmed.
"My darling, don't excite yourself," she said; "we will see--we will ask
Miss Mervyn. Perhaps if you are very warmly wrapped up."
Philippa's brow cleared at once.
"Then we may go?" she said.
"Ask Miss Mervyn to come and speak to me a moment," said her mother.
"Such a difficult, delicate temperament to deal with," she continued, as
the door closed on her daughter. "Not like a commonplace nature," with
a glance at Dennis and Maisie; "so excitable, that it makes her ill to
be thwarted in any way. Indeed the doctor forbids it."
"How bad for her!" said Aunt Katharine bluntly. "Children are never
happy until they learn to obey."
"That sort of system may answer with some children," said Mrs Trevor;
"but my poor delicate Philippa requires infinite tact."
"What do you think, Miss Mervyn," as a thin, careworn-looking lady
entered, "of Philippa going out to-day? She wants to take her cousins
into the garden for a little while."
Miss Mervyn looked anxiously from mother to daughter.
"She _has_ been coughing this morning, and the wind _is_ cold," she
began, when she was interrupted by an angry burst of tears from
Philippa.
"I _must_ go out," she cried between her sobs. "You're a cross thing to
say it's cold. I _will_ go out."
"There, there, my darling," said Mrs Trevor; "do control yourself. You
shall go.--Pray, Miss Mervyn, take care that she is warmly dressed, and
has goloshes and a thick veil. You will, of course, go with the
children, and keep to the sheltered places, and on no account allow
Philippa to run on the grass or to get overheated."
Philippa's tears and sobs ceased at once, and soon muffled up to the
eyes, she was ready to go out with her cousins, followed by the patient
Miss Mervyn, and Mrs Trevor was left at liberty to bestow some attention
on her guest. As soon as they were out of sight of the windows,
Philippa's first action was to tear off the white knitted shawl which
was wrapped round her neck and mouth.
"If you don't keep that on, we must go in again," said Miss Mervyn.
"I won't wear it, and I won't go in," said Philippa. "If you tease
about it, I shall scream, and then I shall be ill; and then it will be
your fault."
Poor Miss Mervyn shook her head, but after a few mild persuasions gave
in, and Philip had her way as usual, not only in this, but in everything
that she wished to do throughout the walk. Dennis and Maisie were used
to seeing this whenever they came to Haughton, but it never ceased to
surprise them, because it was so very different from their unquestioning
obedience to rules at Fieldside. It certainly did not seem to make
Philippa happy or pleasant. Although she did what she liked, she never
appeared to like what she did, and was always wanting something
different, and complaining about everything.
"Let's go back now," she said at last, dragging her feet slowly through
a puddle as she spoke; "my feet are wet."
"I should think they were," sighed Miss Mervyn. "Come, let us make
haste home, so that you may have your boots and stockings changed."
But the perverse Philippa would not hurry. She now lingered behind the
others, and even stood still now and then, causing Miss Mervyn great
misery. "She will certainly take cold," she murmured. "Cannot you
persuade her, my dears, to come on."
"Let's have a race, Philippa, as far as the house," called out Dennis.
Running fast had been forbidden, so it was perhaps on that account
attractive to Philippa, who at once consented to the proposal, and Miss
Mervyn, thinking it the less of two evils, made no objection.
"Maisie must have a start because she's the smallest," said Dennis,
placing his sister a little in front; "now, one, two, three, off!"
The little flying figures sped away towards the house, and Miss Mervyn
following, was pleased to see that Dennis allowed Philippa to win the
race; that would perhaps make her more good-tempered.
"Ha, ha!" exclaimed Philippa, pointing a scornful finger at Maisie as
she came panting up last, with her round cheeks very red. "What a slow
coach! Maisie's too fat to run."
"She's younger than we are," said Dennis, who did not allow any one but
himself to tease his sister.
"There's not much difference," said Philippa, as the children walked up
to the house; "in three weeks it will be my birthday, and I shall be
nine."
"Mine isn't for three more months," said Maisie.
"Any one would think me quite twelve years old," said Philippa, with her
chin in the air, "because I'm tall and slight. Maisie has such a baby
look.--I'm going to have a party on my birthday."
"Are you?" said Maisie with sudden interest.
She gave Dennis's arm a squeeze, to make him understand she had just got
a good idea; but he only stared round at her, and said, "Don't pinch
so," and Philippa continued:
"Yes, I shall have a party, and a birthday cake, and magnificent
presents."
"Can you guess what they will be?" asked Maisie.
"Mother says she won't tell me what hers is," said Philippa; "but I
shall make her."
"How?"
"Oh," said Philippa carelessly, "if I want to know very much, I shall
cry, and then I always get what I want."
Philippa was not in a nice mood to-day, and did not improve at luncheon,
for her wants and whims seemed to engross every one's attention. If
Aunt Katharine tried to turn the conversation to something more
interesting, Philippa's whining voice broke in, and Mrs Trevor at once
ceased to listen to anything else.
It was a relief to the whole party, when, early in the afternoon, Aunt
Katharine and her charges were settled once more in the pony-cart, and
on their way home to Fieldside.
"Don't you know why I poked you just after the race?" said Maisie to her
brother, as they drove out of the lodge gates.
"Because Philippa said such stupid things, I suppose," said Dennis.
"It wasn't that at all," she replied earnestly; "it was because I'd just
thought of a good home for one of the kittens. Wouldn't it be splendid
to give it to Philippa for a birthday present? It will be just three
weeks old."
"H'm," said Dennis doubtfully. He really thought it a capital idea, but
he never liked to encourage Maisie too much.
She looked round at him, her brown eyes bright with excitement.
"It would be a magnificent home," she continued, "_more_ than a good
one. It would have nice things to eat, and soft things to lie on, and a
collar round its neck, and all those beautiful rooms to run about in!"
"I suppose they'd be kind to it," said Dennis. "I don't think _I_
should like to live at Haughton Park."
"Of course not, without Aunt Katharine agreed," said Maisie; "but
supposing Haughton Park was hers, wouldn't you like it better than
Fieldside?"
"No," said Dennis promptly; "not half so well. At Fieldside you've only
to run down the avenue, and there you are in the middle of the village,
and only a short way off the Manor Farm. And at Haughton you have to go
through the Park, where no one lives, and through three gates, and then
you're only in the Upwell road. It's much duller."
"There are the deer," said Maisie.
"But you can't talk to the deer," replied Dennis; "and though they're
tame, they're rather stupid, I think."
"Well," said Maisie, "_I_ like some things at Haughton very much, and I
daresay the kitten will. A cat's quite different from a boy, isn't it?"
"Which shall we give?" asked Dennis, warming a little to the idea.
"The white, _of course_," said Maisie at once.
She spoke so decidedly, that Dennis felt she must have some good reason,
though he could not see why the white should be preferred to the grey.
Maisie could not explain herself, however. She only repeated that _of
course_ the white kitten was the right one to go to Haughton, and though
she generally yielded to Dennis, she remained firm in this, and by the
time they reached home the matter was quite settled. The white kitten
was thus provided with a good home; and though, on thinking it over,
Maisie doubted whether Philippa would consider it a "magnificent
present," she had no misgivings as to its future happiness.
CHAPTER THREE.
OLD SALLY'S ELIZA.
The time soon came when Madam was allowed to bring her kittens into the
play-room, where they lived in a basket near the French window, through
which she could go in and out at her pleasure.
Dennis and Maisie were now able to make their close acquaintance, and to
observe that they were not at all alike either in appearance or
character. The black one continued to be the finest of the three.
There could be no question that his coat was sleeker, his tail more
bushy, his whole shape more substantial, and even at this early age he
showed signs of a bold and daring disposition.
When his mother had disposed herself for a comfortable nap, with her
eyes shut and her paws tucked in, he would suddenly dart from some
ambush, his eyes gleaming with mischief and leap upon her back. Soundly
cuffed for this, he would meekly retreat until Madam had dropped off
again, when he would come dancing up sideways, on the tips of his toes,
with his back hunched, and every hair bristling, and tweak her by the
tail. After these pranks had been repeated many times, the old cat
would rise and wrestle with him, rolling over and over on the ground,
kicking and biting, until he was subdued for a little while. But he was
never good for long, and gave her more trouble than the other two put
together.
The white kitten was of a very different nature. It was decidedly prim
in its ways, and very particular about its appearance, so that it
learned sooner than the others to wash its face, and attend to its
toilet. While the black kitten struggled violently when he was washed,
and had to be held firmly down all the while, the white one seemed to
enjoy licking its fur with its own rough little tongue, and to be quite
vexed if it found a dirty spot on its coat. "It's a good thing it's so
particular," said Maisie, "because it would look so very bad if it
wasn't quite clean." It had rather a meaningless face, a long thin
nose, and mincing, dainty ways of walking and taking its food.
Secretly, Maisie thought it rather like Philippa, for its temper was
somewhat peevish, and it often mewed in a dissatisfied manner for
nothing at all; but she kept this fancy to herself, for she knew that
Dennis would only call her silly if she mentioned it.
As for the grey kitten, it was the smallest and weakest of the three,
the most easily imposed upon, and the most amiable. When the saucer of
milk was put down, the others would thrust their heads greedily into it,
and push the grey kitten aside, so that it could scarcely get any.
Maisie was obliged to keep a close watch at such times, to see that it
had its share, and to correct the conduct of the other two. It was the
same thing in their gambols with their mother, or with a cork at the end
of a string. The grey kitten seemed to be considered as a mere sport
and joke for the other two, who tossed and tumbled it about as if it
were nothing: even Madam did not take its part, and often boxed its ears
for nothing but awkwardness.
All this, however, did not sour its temper in the least, and after the
worst slight or roughest usage it was quite ready to purr and be
pleased. Maisie thought this very nice of it, and she was sure it was
anxious to do well, if it only knew how. It would allow her, with very
few struggles, to dress it in a doll's nightgown and cap, and put it to
sleep in a cradle; which neither of the others would submit to for a
moment. By degrees she became very fond of it, and the more she took
its part and defended it from ill-treatment, the more her affection
increased. It was therefore distressing to remember, as the days went
on, that though the white kitten had a home to look forward to, there
was yet no such prospect for the grey one.
"It's getting dreadfully near the time," she said one morning to Dennis,
who was trying to teach the black kitten to jump through his hands;
"only ten days more, and we haven't got a good home for the grey kitten
yet."
"It's such a common, mean thing," said Dennis, casting a scornful glance
at it. "No one could want to have it."
"It's very affectionate, though," said Maisie, "and it purrs more than
any of them. I believe it might grow pretty when it's older."
"Not it," said Dennis. "Why, there are lots of cats like it in the
village now. Just long, lean, striped things. I don't believe you'd
know it apart from them when it's grown up.--Oh, look, Maisie, look! He
jumped, he really did."
Maisie looked, but the black kitten turned sulky, and refused to do
anything but back away from Dennis's hands with its ears flattened.
"It's quite in a temper," she said. "Now the grey kitten _always_ tries
to do what you tell it."
"Only it's so stupid that it never knows what you want it to do," said
Dennis, as he gave up his efforts and let the kitten scamper back to its
mother.
"Well, at any rate," said Maisie, returning to her subject, "we've got
to find it a home, and we haven't asked every one yet. Who is there
left? Let me see. There's the vicarage, and Dr Price, and, oh Dennis,
perhaps old Sally would like it!"
Dennis shrugged his shoulders, but he was quite ready to agree that old
Sally should be asked, because he was always glad of any excuse to go
near the Manor Farm, which he thought the nicest place in the village or
out of it. It was not only pretty and interesting in itself with its
substantial grey stone outbuildings, and pigeonry and rick-yard, but Mr
and Mrs Andrew Solace lived there, and they were, the children thought,
such very agreeable people. There had always been a Solace at the Manor
Farm within the memory of old Sally, who was very old indeed, but they
felt sure none of them could have been so pleasant as the present one.
"Young Master Andrew," old Sally called him, though he was a stout,
middle-aged man with grizzled hair; but she gave him this name because
she had worked for his father and grandfather, and could "mind" him when
he was a little boy of Dennis's age. For the same reason, she never
could bring herself to think him equal to the management of such a very
large farm, "'undreds of acres," as she said. It was a great
undertaking for "young Master Andrew," and though every one round knew
that there were few better farmers, old Sally always shook her head over
it.
Manor Farm was in every respect just the opposite of the "Green Farm,"
where the Broadbents lived. There was nothing smart or trim or new
about it, and the house and farm-buildings were comfortably mixed up
together, so that the farmer seemed to live in the midst of his barns
and beasts. It was a very old house, with a square flagged hall and a
broad oak staircase. There were beams showing across the low ceilings,
and wide window-seats, which were always full of all sorts of things
flung there "to be handy." Some of the rooms were panelled, and all the
furniture in them was old-fashioned and dark with age. Dogs and cats
walked in and out at their pleasure, and though Mrs Solace sometimes
chased them all out for a few minutes, they soon returned again through
windows and doors, and made themselves quite at home. Mrs Solace was
too busy to trouble herself much about them, and also too good-natured,
so that the animals knew they could do pretty well as they liked.