After leaving the car, the way for Harold and Mabel led through a
quiet, shady street, where old houses stood each side the road, and the
children were rather inclined to think it a more pleasant place than
where they lived.
“The reason I like it,” said Harold, “is because there was a battle
fought here; my father told me all about it, and he showed me the house
where the fight was the hardest, and there are bullets buried in the
walls; it is called the old Chew house.”
“Was it William Penn that fought the battle?” asked Mabel, with a
desire to appear interested.
“No-o,” returned Harold, in a tone of disgust; “of course, it was not.
It was General Washington. William Penn didn’t fight. Why, don’t you
know, he was a Quaker? You remember how he loved peace, and made the
treaty with the Indians.”
“Oh, yes; I do remember now,” replied Mabel. “I’m awfully stupid about
history. I never remember who did things. Oh, Harold! see that old
woman limping along there; she looks like a Quaker; but she is so wild
and queer looking. I believe she is crazy; I am afraid of her.”
“Sho! There’s nothing the matter with her; she is just looking for
someone. Hear her call: ‘Bobby, Bobby.’ Don’t you hear her?” In
truth, the old woman, hobbling along with a crutch, did look somewhat
distracted, for her cap was awry, and her shawl dragged on the ground.
She paused, however, at sight of the children.
“You didn’t see anything of a big grey cat, with a collar on, as you
come along, did you?” she asked.
The children shook their heads.
“Dear, dear; I’m afraid he’s so scared that he’ll never come back. I
caught sight of some boys setting their dog on him two or three hours
ago, and I’ve been tramping about hunting for him ever since. I’m
nearly distracted, and I can’t walk another step with my lame hip.”
The children looked at each other. If they stopped now they would,
maybe, miss the sale; but Mabel spoke her thought.
“I don’t care, I’m going to hunt up that poor, frightened kitty. Which
way did he go?” She turned to the old woman.
“Down the lane, in that direction.”
“We’ll look for him, and if we find him, we’ll come back and tell you.
I don’t suppose we could catch him, for he wouldn’t know us.”
“Thank thee, child. Thee is very good to turn aside for an old woman,”
was the answer Mabel received.
Up and down the two children trudged; the afternoon grew shorter and
shorter, and at last, up in a tree Mabel caught sight of pussy, and
back they went to where the old woman still sat on her steps waiting
for them.
“We’ve found him!” cried Harold. “He’s up a tree. Mabel saw him first.
Now, what shall we do to get him down?”
“Thee has brought good news, and I’m very thankful,” said the old
woman. “He’s all I’ve got, and we’ve kept house together for fifteen
years. He’s old, for a cat, but is still spry; he can’t bite much, but
he can scratch, and I’m afraid he might be hurt somewhere, and couldn’t
get home, and would die off there alone. Let me see, what is the best
thing to be done. I’m afraid my lameness will prevent me from walking
any further.”
“I can climb the tree,” said Harold, “but how will I get him down?”
“I’ll get thee a net bag, and maybe thee can manage to get him into
that by throwing it over him and drawing the strings; then he’ll be
safe enough, and so will thee, too. Thee is sure thee is not afraid?”
“I’ll try my best to get him,” said Harold, sturdily. And off the
children started to find Bobby still up in the tree.
Harold began to climb toward him, but the higher he went, the higher
did pussy go, till Mabel, in alarm, called: “You’ll fall, Harold;
the branches are getting so little. You’d better come down.” Harold,
sitting astride a limb, looked down at her.
“What’s up, sis?” said someone from the road.
Mabel turned, and saw a man sitting in a cart. “A cat,” she replied.
The man laughed, and climbed down from his seat.
“Your’n?” he asked.
“No, an old lady’s up the street; and we promised to try and get the
cat down for her. It was chased by some dogs and boys.”
“Pretty high up, ain’t she?” returned the man. “Your brother, there?”
“No; at least, he’s just like my brother; he lives at our house.”
The man stood rubbing his chin, and looking up in the tree.
“You had better come down, bub,” he called to Harold. “That there
cat’ll stay up there as long as you do. I’ll find a way to get her.”
And Harold began, slowly, to descend. “You just keep an eye on my horse
for a minute, and don’t let nobody run off with him, and I’ll find a
way to get your cat,” said the man, smiling down at Mabel.
He crossed the street, and entered a small butcher shop, coming out
presently with a bit of meat in his hand, and a long pole.
By this time, Harold had reached the ground, and both children were
calling, coaxingly, “Pussy, pussy, pussy;” but Bobby did not move. He
was away out on a slender limb, to which he clung steadfastly.
“It’ll most take a hook and ladder company to bring her down,” said
the man, “but I’ll try this before we call out the force.” He tied the
meat on the end of the pole, led his horse over so the cart would
stand under the tree; then he climbed up on the seat, and, by so doing,
could just reach the limb with his pole. Slowly he moved it along till
it dangled under the cat’s nose. This was too much for Bobby, and he
moved toward the tidbit, which the man drew slowly along till Bobby had
reached the trunk of the tree in trying to reach the meat. But here he
hesitated, and looked wildly around, fearing to go further.
“Here, sis, come take the pole,” the man called to Mabel, and she
obeyed.
“You can rest it agen the tree,” he said, “and just ease it down as
the cat follows. You and me has got to git out of the way,” he said to
Harold, “the crittur’s used to petticoats, and ain’t goin’ to trust
herself among men and boys.” He led his cart and horse away, bidding
Harold to follow, and the two kept out of sight, till Bobby, seeing the
coast clear of all but one little girl, began to descend. When he was
safely within catching distance the man rushed from behind the tree
where he had been hiding, grabbed Bobby, and thrust him into the bag
which Harold held.
“There you are!” said the man. “No, no! I don’t want no thanks; I ain’t
had such fun in a coon’s age. Here, take along this piece of meat; he’d
ought to have it; ’taint right to tempt critturs that way and then
disappint ’em.” And, giving them a good-natured nod as he mounted his
cart, he drove away.
“What an awfully good, kind man,” exclaimed Mabel, watching him depart.
“I couldn’t have believed anyone so rough, and in such coarse, dirty
clothes could be so nice.”
“He is a brick,” pronounced Harold. “Come, Mabel, we must hurry;
it’s getting awfully late, and I expect we shall miss the auction
altogether.”
“I don’t care, as long as we saved the kitty. Maybe the dogs would
have caught him, if he had tried to come down when we were not there.
Anyhow, the old Quaker lady was awfully distressed about him.”
“Yes, and do you know, I believe those fellows were just waiting
around, for I saw two or three peep out from the corner of a house, and
they were snickering and whispering; I believe they were the very ones.”
Although Bobby struggled and squirmed, he could not escape from the
bag, and was safely brought home, Harold not loosing his hold till he
had landed his charge within doors.
They were greeted joyfully by the old lady, who led them into a neat
sitting room. “Now, sit down here, my dears,” she said. “My name is
Deborah Knight, and I want to give thee a taste of my old-fashioned
cinnamon-bun. I don’t think there is any better made in Philadelphia
and I never ate it anywhere else. I am going to take Bobby upstairs in
my room, and give him a saucer of milk; so, wait here till I come back.”
Left to themselves, the children looked around the room, which was cosy
and filled with old-fashioned furniture. Mabel’s eyes wandered over the
various articles on the mantel, and the tables, but Harold’s attention
was attracted by an old bookcase filled with books. He tip-toed over
to it, and began to read the titles. “We might find the book here,”
said Harold; “See, there are some real old ones here, and this is an
old house; the furniture is, I know, and so are those portraits in the
queer frames.”
The two children knelt before the shelves, and eagerly read each title
as best they could, but the book they so desired was not among them.
Mrs. Knight entering the room, found them thus occupied. “What do you
find there, children?” she asked. “Does thee like books, Harold? I’ll
show thee one with some pretty pictures in it. But here now, help
thyself and thee too, Mabel,” and she set a plate of toothsome bun and
two glasses of milk before them. “Bobby’s all right,” she told them.
“No one knows how I felt about him. When one doesn’t have anyone much
but a cat to care for, it becomes a matter of deep concern if anything
happens to him. Some persons set store by old furniture and houses and
books, but my cat is worth more to me than all such things.”
“Mabel’s father just loves old books,” Harold informed her, “and we’ve
been hunting for a very special one for him, but we can’t find it;
we’ve been to all the old book-stores in the city.”
“Indeed, that is too bad,” returned Mrs. Knight. “I wish I might be
able to help thee.” She considered the subject for a moment and then
went on: “I have a pile of old books up in the garret, but I fear it
would not be much use to examine them. I was intending to sell them to
the junk man; they are of no use to me, and I am getting ready to go
into the country, where I can live secure from dogs and bad boys.”
At the mention of the old books, Mabel became too excited to help
herself to the tempting food before her, and began breathlessly:
“Those books, I wonder if you would let us see them before you do the
junk man. It is a very old book that we have been hunting for, and you
know, it might happen to be among those you have.”
“Of course, I’ll let thee see them, and welcome,” returned Mrs. Knight;
“it isn’t quite dark yet, and the garret is a light one for it faces
the west and gets the last rays of the sun. Eat thy bun, and then I’ll
let thee look at whatever I have.”
At this, the children hastily dispatched their treat, declaring nothing
ever could be better, and then they followed Mrs. Knight up the queer,
narrow stairs which led to the garret.