Dennis and Maisie, who ran in and out very much as the cats and dogs
did, and always found something to interest and amuse them. If Mrs
Solace were too much occupied in dairy, laundry, or store-room to give
them her attention, they had only to go into the farm-yard to be
surrounded by friends and acquaintances. Some of these, it is true,
disappeared from time to time, but you had hardly missed them before
there was something new to take their place. The great brown
cart-horses, at any rate, were always to be found after their work, and
always ready to bow their huge heads and take apples or sugar gently
with their soft lips. And in summer it was pleasant to be there just at
milking time, and watch the cows saunter slowly home across the fields,
to stand in a long patient row in the shed, to be milked.
Indeed it would be hard to say what time was not pleasant at the farm,
for in such a large family of creatures there was always something
happening of the very deepest interest to the children. In the spring
they were quite as anxious and eager about successful broods of early
ducklings, or the rearing of the turkeys as Mrs Solace was herself, and
she was secure of their heartfelt sympathy when the fox made away with
her poultry.
For unlike Mrs Broadbent, Mrs Solace not only knew all about such
matters, but liked nothing so well as to talk of them.
"When I'm a man," Dennis would say, "I mean to be a farmer."
"So do I," Maisie would answer.
"You couldn't be," Dennis would argue. "How could you go rook-shooting?
You know you scream when a gun goes off; and besides, you're afraid of
the turkey-cock."
"Well, then," Maisie would conclude, deeply conscious that both these
facts were true, "I'll be a farmer's wife, and rear turkeys; that's
quite as hard as shooting rooks, and much usefuller."
"That it is, dearie," Mrs Solace would agree, with her comfortable
laugh. "Puley pingling things they are, and want as much care as
children."
But apart from the animals, there was to Dennis one corner at the Manor
Farm which had special attractions, and that was where the wheelwright
worked. It was a long narrow barn fitted up as a carpenter's shop, with
a bench and a lathe and all manner of tools: full of shavings and
sawdust, planks of wood and half-finished farm implements. Here the
wheelwright stood and worked all day. He made and mended carts,
wheelbarrows, ladders, hay-rakes, and all sorts of things used in the
farm, and had always as much as he could do. Dennis liked nothing
better than a little quiet time with Tuvvy, as he was called, and though
he did not talk much, he eyed all his movements with such earnest
attention that it may be supposed he learned something of carpentering.
Tuvvy's movements were nimble and neat, for he was a clever workman, and
knew what he was about: now and then he would cast a swift glance round
at Dennis out of his bright black eyes, but he never paused in his work
to talk, and there was seldom any sound in the barn but that of the saw
and hammer, or the whirring of the lathe. His skin was so very dark,
and his hair so black and long, that people called him a gypsy, and
Dennis knew that he was a little wild sometimes, because old Sally shook
her head when she mentioned him.
That meant that Tuvvy was not always quite sober, which was a great
pity, because he was so clever, that he could earn a great deal if he
kept steady. In the barn, however, he was as steady and hard-working as
a man could be, and what his conduct was out of it, did not at all
affect Dennis's attachment and admiration. Maisie always knew, if she
missed her brother during one of their visits to the farm, that she
should find him in the barn staring at Tuvvy at his work; and he had
done this so much, that he began to feel as though he had helped to make
Mr Solace's carts and barrows.
All this made him quite ready to agree with Maisie's suggestion, for
although he was not very anxious about the grey kitten's welfare, he
thought there might be a chance of slipping round to see how Tuvvy was
getting on.
"Where shall we go first?" said Maisie, as they started on their
expedition, with Peter, the little rough dog, barking round them. "The
vicarage comes first, and then Dr Price, and then old Sally."
"All right," said Dennis; "that's the best last, and the worst first."
The vicarage stood on a little hill close to the church, looking down on
the village street.
"I don't much think Miss Hurst will want it," said Maisie, as they
turned up the steep lane; "because, you see, she's got such a very pet
cat. Else that would be a very good home."
"She might like it for a kitchen cat," said Dennis, "to catch rats and
mice."
"_Ye-es_," said Maisie. She did not much like the idea of the grey
kitten in such a position. Still, Miss Hurst was so very kind and
gentle, that it was likely even the kitchen cat would be well treated in
her house.
The vicarage reached, however, and the old question put, it turned out
that Maisie had been right. Miss Hurst, who was a meek-faced little
lady with very smooth hair and a kind smile, was afraid she could not
have two cats. It might upset Mopsy. And Mopsy was such an old friend,
that it would not be fair to make him unhappy for the sake of a new one.
She was afraid she must say no. So the grey kitten was again refused,
and when the children set out on their farther journey, Maisie was quite
in low spirits. Nobody wanted the grey kitten.
"We've got two chances left," said Dennis, trying to console her. "And
if _I_ were the kitten, I'd much rather live with Dr Price than at the
vicarage."
"But you're not a kitten--you're a boy," said Maisie despairingly, "and
that makes a great deal of difference."
"Dr Price is splendid, _I_ think," continued Dennis. "Just see how he
can ride, and how he cures people, and how kind he is to them about
their bills."
"Why do you suppose Aunt Katharine has Dr Smith over from Upwell to see
us when we're ill," asked Maisie, "when Dr Price is quite close, and so
clever?"
"Well," said Dennis gravely, "you mustn't say anything, but I
_believe_--that is, I've heard one or two of them say in the village--
that he sometimes--is--like Tuvvy, you know."
"Oh!" said Maisie, with her eyes very wide open.
"And that, you see," went on Dennis instructively, "is very bad for a
doctor, because he may mix up the wrong things together and kill people.
But for all that, they say they'd rather have him, even when he's a
little `nervous,' than any one else, because he's so clever and so kind.
Why, he sat up all night with Widow Hutchins's son, who had sergestion
of the lungs, and then he wouldn't take a penny because she's so poor."
"What a pity he's ever like Tuvvy," said Maisie.
"And then, you see," continued Dennis, who loved to repeat the gossip he
picked up in the village, "he's so dreadfully fond of horses and
hunting, that whenever there's a meet near, he _can't help_ going, and
if he goes, he _has_ to follow, and then he can't leave off. So
sometimes, when there is an accident, or anything, and he's wanted here
very badly, he's quite the other side of the county!"
Maisie nodded her head gravely as she heard of those little weaknesses;
and just then, reaching the foot of the hill which led down from the
vicarage, they came into the village again, and there was Dr Price
himself standing at his gate, facing them.
He was a broad, strongly-built man of about five-and-forty, with a
clean-shaven square face, and very fair hair and eyebrows. These looked
curiously light on his red-brown skin, which was of an even tint all
over, as though used to encounter wind and rough weather. He was so
constantly on horseback, that it seemed strange to see him standing on
his own legs, and more so to see him walk, which, indeed, he did with an
odd movement of the knees, as though it were some difficult exercise.
He wore riding-boots and breeches, and had a short pipe in his mouth.
At his heels were his two white terriers, Snip and Snap.
As Maisie's eye fell on the dogs, she stopped short, and caught hold of
Dennis by the arm.
"Oh!" she exclaimed; "I forgot."
"Forgot what?" he answered, with a pull forward. "Don't be stupid.
Come on."
"Why, Snip and Snap," said Maisie eagerly, still holding back. "It
wouldn't be a good home. They'd chase it. Don't let's speak to Dr
Price about it. It wouldn't be any use."
"We must speak to him now," said Dennis, going steadily on, and dragging
Maisie with him. "Perhaps he'll know of some one, if he can't have it
himself. _You_ ask," he added hurriedly, as they came close to the
doctor.
Dr Price took off his hat, and smiled down very kindly at Maisie, as she
put her question. She spoke hesitatingly, for the sight of Snip and
Snap had reminded her of their habits. On most days their swift white
forms were to be seen scouring over the country in search of rabbits, or
other small defenceless creatures. Dr Price on horseback, and his
terriers on foot, were well known for many miles round Fieldside, and
Maisie could not help thinking them most unsuitable companions for the
grey kitten.
This seemed to strike the doctor himself.
"Well now, that's very kind of you, Miss Maisie," he said, looking
thoughtfully at the bowl of his pipe; "but the fact is I'm not much of a
hand at cats myself. And then--there are the dogs, you see--"
"Would they chase it?" asked Maisie, glancing at them.
"Why, they're thoroughbred, you know," said the doctor apologetically.
"What a pity!" said Maisie, who thought it must be some very bad
quality.
"Well," said the doctor, with a short laugh, "I like them all the better
for it myself; but I'm afraid the kitten wouldn't stand much chance, and
that's a fact."
"Oh, I wouldn't let it come here for _anything_," said Maisie with a
shiver. "Why do you keep such cruel dogs?"
"As to that, you know, Miss Maisie," said the doctor, "it isn't crueller
to hunt a cat than a fox."
"But that's cruel too," said Maisie, "very cruel indeed."
Here Dennis felt it time to interfere.
"Don't be stupid, Maisie," he said; "you're only a girl. You don't
understand. Of course, people must hunt."
So here was another failure, for not only was Dr Price's home out of the
question, but he could not think of any one who wanted a kitten.
Everybody had cats; they seemed to be all over the place. If it was a
puppy now. He cast an admiring glance at Snip and Snap, who stood in
sprightly attitudes, one on each side of the little rough dog Peter,
their eager bodies quivering, their short tails wagging, ready for the
first signs of warfare. But Peter knew better. He was old and he was
wise. He did not like Snip and Snap, but he was not going to be
provoked into a fight in which he was sure to be worsted. So he held
himself stiffly upright, uttered a low growl of contempt, and took no
further notice of them.
"And now," said Maisie, when they had said good-bye to Dr Price, and
were on their way again, with Peter trotting in front, "there's really
only one more chance left."
There were two ways to old Sally's cottage, and Maisie knew Dennis would
be sure to choose the one which led across the rick-yard of the Manor
Farm; indeed, she liked this best herself except for one reason, and
that was the risk of meeting the turkey-cock. It was useless for Dennis
to say, "He won't gobble if you're not frightened of him." She always
_was_ frightened, and he always _did_ gobble, and turned purple with
rage, and swelled out all his feathers, and shook a loose scarlet thing
which hung down from his neck. They met him to-day, marching at the
head of his ladylike wives, who followed him delicately, picking their
way and lifting their feet high. Their small heads and quietly elegant
toilets made them look rather like Aunt Trevor, Maisie thought.
"Now, walk slowly," said Dennis, and she did try to control her fears;
but as usual, the moment the turkey-cock began to gobble, she began to
run, and did not stop until she was safe on the other side of the gate.
From this refuge she watched Dennis, admiring him greatly as he came
slowly on, shaking his stick in the turkey-cock's face, and was quite
ready to agree with him when he called her a coward.
"Only I can't help it," she added.
"But you ought to," was Dennis's reply. "It's silly, even for a girl,
to be afraid of a turkey-cock."
Old Sally's thatched cottage was so near the farm-buildings that it
almost looked like one of them, but a narrow lane really ran between,
and it stood on its own little plot of ground. At its door there was an
immense horse-chestnut, which she could "mind," she said, helping to
plant when she was a girl. She had held it straight in the hole while
old Mr Solace, the grandfather of this young Master Andrew, had filled
in the earth. She was most sorry to think she had done it now, for this
ungrateful tree so shaded her window that it made her cottage dark, and
besides this, choked up her well, by dropping its great leaves into it
in the autumn.
Old Sally could "mind" so many things on account of her age, that she
was a most amusing and instructive person to visit. She had worked for
the Solaces as child, girl, and woman, and now she was pensioned off,
and allowed to live in her cottage rent-free with her one remaining
unmarried daughter, Anne, of whom she always spoke as her "good child."
Anne was over seventy years old, and weakly with bad health and
rheumatism, so that there was nothing very youthful about her. Indeed,
when they sat side by side, both in sunbonnets which they wore indoors
and out, it was difficult to say which was the elder of the two old
women.
Old Sally, in spite of a long life of hard work, was still straight and
wiry, and her brown old face, wrinkled as a withered nut, was lively and
shrewd. There was only one point in which Anne had the advantage, and
that was in hearing, for her mother was very deaf, and obliged to use a
trumpet. This she was always shy of producing, and to-day she allowed
Anne to scream into her ear what the children said for some time; but at
last, seeing a very earnest expression on Maisie's face, she took the
trumpet out with a bashful smile and presented the end to her.
"Do you know any one who wants a kitten?" shouted Maisie.
Old Sally laid down the trumpet and turned to Anne, who as usual sat at
her elbow in her lilac sun-bonnet and coarse apron.
"Warn't our Eliza talking of cats last time she was over?" she asked.
Anne nodded.
"Who's Eliza?" inquired Dennis.
"Why, sure you know our Eliza, Master Dennis," said old Sally. "Her as
married the tinsmith, and went to live in Upwell town. Eliza's my
youngest darter but two. Don't you mind her wedding?"
"Lor, mother!" said Anne, "Master Dennis and Miss Maisie warn't living
at Fieldside then. It's a good twelve years ago.--Mother forgets things
like that," she added aside to the children, "though she's a wonderful
memory for ancient things."
"Would it be a good home, do you think?" said Maisie to Dennis in a low
tone.
"Is your daughter Eliza a kind woman?" shouted Dennis down the trumpet.
Old Sally dropped her trumpet and raised both her withered hands on
high.
"Kind! Master Dennis. Eliza's downright silly about dumb animals. She
always was from a gal."
"We don't want her to be silly," said Dennis, "but we do want her to be
kind, because we've promised Aunt Katharine to find a good home."
Both old Sally and Anne were full of assurances as to Eliza's kindness
and the comforts which would surround the grey kitten in her house.
Certainly it would have to catch mice, but that, they declared, was a
pleasure to a cat, and could not be called hard work. So after a little
consultation it was settled that the kitten should be brought to old
Sally's, and that Eliza should take it back to Upwell the very next time
she came over to see her mother. The grey kitten had a home at last.
This arrangement made, Dennis got up briskly, with a business-like air.
"I'm going to see Tuvvy now," he said. "I'll come back for you
presently, Maisie;" and he was almost out of the door before he was
stopped by a call from Anne.
"You'll not find him to-day, Master Dennis," she said. "He's not at
work."
"Not at work!" repeated Dennis, turning round with a downcast face.
"Why isn't he at work? Is he ill?"
Old Sally had been screwing up her lips and shaking her head solemnly
ever since Tuvvy's name had been mentioned. At Dennis's question her
face looked full of dark meaning.
"Worse nor that," she said. "He's had a bout. He'll do it once too
often, and get sacked. He can't expect Master Andrew to put up with
it."
"But he couldn't ever get such a good wheelwright as Tuvvy again, could
he?" said Dennis eagerly. "Tuvvy can do so many things, and he's so
clever and quick."
"Oh, he's _clever_ enough, and he's _quick_ enough, is Tuvvy," agreed
old Sally: "'tain't that; but he can't keep steady--that's where it is.
He'll go on right enough for a bit, and then he'll have a reg'lar
break-out. It's cruel hard on his wife and children, so it is."
"Why _does_ he do it?" said Dennis mournfully.
Old Sally gave a sort of low chuckle.
"Lor, Master Dennis, the men are made like that. They can't help it."
Dennis usually took all old Sally said for granted, considering that her
knowledge of men and things must be very great, but he hesitated a
little at this sweeping remark.
"They're not _all_ like that," he said; "there's Mr Hurst, and Mr
Solace, and a whole lot more. Do you think Mr Solace will turn Tuvvy
away this time?"
But as to this, neither old Sally nor Anne could give any idea at all.
Mr Solace was a kind man for certain, but then again he was a just man
too, and a man of his word. Anne had heard him say with her own ears
that the next time Tuvvy broke out, he would get the sack. But there
was no telling.
Dennis left the cottage with a weight on his mind which nothing could
lift. One of his greatest pleasures would be gone if there were no
Tuvvy in the barn for the future. A new wheelwright would most likely
be a complete stranger, and not the same thing at all. Why would he be
so silly as to break out? Could nothing be done to stop him?
Maisie, too, was rather sober and silent on the way back, for though a
home for the grey kitten had now been found, she felt that she should
miss it very much, and could not bear the idea of parting with it. It
had such coaxing ways, and was so weak and helpless, that it seemed to
need her more than the others, and to want her help and affection.
She went to pay a last visit to the kittens before she went to bed that
night, and found them all curled up in a soft little heap in their
basket. As usual, the grey kitten was lying underneath the others, who
were sprawling over it, quite regardless of its comfort.
Maisie lifted it out, held it up to her face, and kissed it gently.
"Dear little kitty," she whispered, "you've got a home at last. You're
to go and catch mice for old Sally's Eliza, and I do hope you'll be
happy."
CHAPTER FOUR.
PHILIPPA'S BIRTHDAY.
The three kittens were just a month old on the last day of March, and
this was also Philippa Trevor's birthday. She would have liked her
birthday to be in the summer, because an out-of-doors party was so much
nicer than an indoors one, but even Philippa could not arrange
everything in the world as she wished. So she was obliged to put up
with a birthday which came in the spring, when there were very few
leaves on the trees, and the grass was generally too wet to walk on, and
the sky often cold and grey. Philippa had found that she could get most
things by crying for them, but still there remained some quite beyond
her reach, and unmoved by her tears, and it was just these that she most
wanted and wailed for when she was in a perverse mood. These were times
of discomfort throughout the house, and of great distress to her mother
and Miss Mervyn, for with the best will in the world they could not make
the rain stop nor the sun shine, nor time go quicker. Yet, if Philippa
cried herself ill, as she often did for some such unreasonable whim, it
was so very bad for her.
"We must keep the child cheerful, my dear madam," Dr Smith had said to
Mrs Trevor. "The nerves are delicate. She must be amused without
excitement, and never allowed to work herself into a passion, or to be
violently distressed about anything. It will be well to yield to her,
if possible, rather than to thwart her."
But though he said "we," the doctor went away, and it was those who
lived with Philippa who had to carry out this difficult task. The last
part of it was easy, only it did not seem to produce the desired result.
Philippa was yielded to in everything, but instead of being cheerful
and contented, she became more fretful and dissatisfied, had less
self-control than ever, and flew into passions about the very smallest
trifles. This was the case on the morning of her birthday, when there
were two things which seriously displeased her. One was the weather,
for, instead of being fine and sunshiny, it rained so hard that it
seemed doubtful whether her little friends would come to the party. The
other was, that the musical box which her mother had promised her, and
which was to play twelve tunes, did not arrive as early as she expected.
"It's all as horrid as it can be," she said sulkily when Miss Mervyn
tried to comfort her. "I don't care a bit for the other presents if the
musical box doesn't come.--And it's raining harder than ever.
Everything's horrid."
"It will clear up very likely by the afternoon," said Miss Mervyn.
"But if it does," whined Philippa, "and if they all come, I shan't have
my musical box to show them."
"Perhaps it will come before then," said Miss Mervyn patiently, and at
that minute a small covered hamper was brought into the room.
"A parcel from Fieldside for Miss Philippa," said the servant.
"Then it's _not_ the musical box," said Philippa, who had looked up with
renewed hope.
"I wonder what it can be," said Miss Mervyn. "Something alive, I think.
Come, Philippa, let us open it."
She cut the cord as she spoke, and Philippa advanced languidly to the
table to see what the hamper contained. When the lid was lifted,
however, her expression changed to one of interest and surprise, for
there, on a bed of straw, its fur beautifully clean, and a blue ribbon
round its neck, lay the white kitten. It yawned as the light fell on
it, and looking up at the strange faces, uttered a tiny mew.
"What is that card on its neck?" said Miss Mervyn.
"`From Maisie and Dennis, with love and good wishes,'" read Philippa, in
a pleased and excited voice. For the moment the musical box had quite
gone out of her head.
"I like it best of all the presents I've had yet," she said, and just
then Mrs Trevor came into the room.
"Look, mother!" she exclaimed.
Seizing the kitten, she rushed forward and held it up to Mrs Trevor,
whose gown was trimmed with an elegant ruffle of lace down the front; in
this the kitten's sharp little claws at once entangled themselves.
"Ah, my lace!" she cried. "Take care, my love; it will scratch you.--
Miss Mervyn, pray remove the creature.--Yes, very pretty, my darling.
Who sent it to you?"
"Dennis and Maisie," said Philippa, squeezing the kitten under her arm.
"May I have it to sleep on my bed?"
"Ah no, dear," said Mrs Trevor absently, examining her torn lace with a
slight frown; "that's not the proper place for kittens. Dear me, what
sharp claws the little thing has, to be sure! I must let Briggs mend
this at once."
She went out of the room, leaving the question to be further argued
between Miss Mervyn and Philippa.
"I'm sure Dennis and Maisie don't have kittens to sleep with them," said
the former.
"Then you're just wrong," said Philippa triumphantly, "because Dennis's
dog Peter always sleeps in his room, and that's just the same."
The white kitten had now struggled out of her clutches, and was
wandering sadly round the room in search of its old friends and
relations. It seemed likely to make one more subject for dispute at
Haughton Park, where from the time Philippa got up till she went to bed,
there was already no end to the wrangling. Confused by finding itself
in a strange land where nothing familiar met its eye, it at last took
refuge under a book-case, and when Philippa looked round, it was nowhere
to be seen.
"Oh, my darling little kitten is lost!" she exclaimed.
Miss Mervyn, who did not like cats or any other animals, would not have
been sorry if this had been the case, but Philippa was preparing to shed
a torrent of tears, and this must be avoided at any cost.
"Hush, my dear," she said, folding her gown closely round her; "we will
find it. It cannot have gone far."