The Project Gutenberg eBook of Kitty-cat tales
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Kitty-cat tales
Author: Alice Van Leer Carrick
Illustrator: Bertha G. Davidson
Homer Eaton Keyes
Release date: May 28, 2025 [eBook #76176]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co, 1907
Credits: Carla Foust, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KITTY-CAT TALES ***
KITTY-CAT TALES.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: IMPTY CURLED HIMSELF UP CLOSE TO THE PILLOW, AND BEGAN
THE STORY.--_Page 12._]
KITTY-CAT TALES
BY
ALICE VAN LEER CARRICK
ILLUSTRATED BY
HOMER EATON KEYES AND BERTHA G. DAVIDSON
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
PUBLISHED, AUGUST, 1907.
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD COMPANY.
_All Rights Reserved._
KITTY-CAT TALES.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
MARGARET AND JOHN
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE FIRST NIGHT 7
THE WHITE CAT 13
THE SECOND NIGHT 39
THE KING OF THE FIELD-MICE 41
THE THIRD NIGHT 55
THE DISCONTENTED CAT 57
THE FOURTH NIGHT 122
THE CAT WHO MARRIED A MOUSE 123
THE FIFTH NIGHT 139
MOTHER MICHEL AND HER CAT 141
THE SIXTH NIGHT 177
VENUS AND THE CAT 178
THE CAT AND THE FOX 181
THE SEVENTH NIGHT 186
DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS WONDERFUL CAT 189
THE EIGHTH NIGHT 203
THE FUNERAL OF TOM GRIMALKIN 204
THE KING OF THE CATS 210
THE NINTH NIGHT 216
PUSS-IN-BOOTS 218
ILLUSTRATIONS
IMPTY CURLED HIMSELF UP CLOSE TO THE PILLOW, AND
BEGAN THE STORY (Page 12) _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THE PRINCE MOUNTED THE HOBBY-HORSE, AND FOUND
THAT HE HAD NEVER RIDDEN BETTER 20
“KNOW, THEN, THAT I AM THE KING OF ALL THE
FIELD-MICE” 44
THE COUNTESS CAME IN, FOLLOWED BY A LAPDOG 98
“I UNDERSTAND NOW,” SAID THE LITTLE MOUSE, QUITE
GENTLY 136
HE OPENED THE BAG, AND TOSSED MOUMOUTH INTO THE
WATER 150
VENUS TURNED HER AT ONCE INTO A CAT AGAIN 180
SOME BROUGHT ONE THING, SOME ANOTHER, BUT DICK
WHITTINGTON HAD ONLY HIS CAT TO SEND 194
“HAVE YOU ANY SPARE TIME?” ASKED THE OWL 206
“MASTER,” SAID PUSS, “YOU HAVEN’T FARED SO BADLY
AS YOU SEEM TO THINK” 220
THE FIRST NIGHT
Dolly sat up in bed, and stared gravely at the shutters where the last
sunset light was trying to slip through. She was not at all sleepy,
and, because Sandman had not come to shake his magic dust in her eyes,
she had time to think what a lonely and very, very unhappy child she
was. For Dolly’s mother and father had gone away suddenly to her
grandmother, who was ill, and Miss Jane had come to take care of the
little girl until they came home. Miss Jane was good to her--Dolly
knew that--but, then, Miss Jane had never had any little girls of her
own, so she could not know how nice a lump of sugar felt in your hand
at bedtime, nor how a tight, lumpy braid of hair could get down your
back at night, and keep you awake for ever so long. Miss Jane had given
Dolly a drink of water, and heard her say her prayers, and then gone
out.
“She never kissed me good night, nor told me just even one story,” the
little girl said to herself. “And she wouldn’t shut the door loose,
though I said ‘Please,’ ’cause she was afraid Impty would get in. O
dear! How I wish I did have him with me!”
Now Impty was a black, black kitten, with long, thin legs, and a thin,
curved tail that made him look like a witch’s cat--ready to jump on a
broom-stick, and sail off through the air--and he stared solemnly out
of such round, yellow eyes that he seemed to understand everything that
happened about him.
“Dear me! I wish Impty _was_ here!” said Dolly again, and then
something rubbed against her sleeve, and said, “Purr-rr-rr,” a long
purr that slid at last into words, and sounded like this, “Purr-rr-rr,
poor Dolly, poor Dolly! _I’ll_ tell you a story.”
“Why, Impty, dear, I didn’t know you could talk,” the little girl cried.
“You never asked me,” answered the kitten, demurely. “But I _can_ talk,
and I can tell stories, too, for I know all the lore of Cat-Land. When
I sleep I go there in my dreams, and my grandfather, the King of the
Cats, purrs the Kitty-Cat tales in my ear. You have been so kind to us
all your life that you are loved through the whole Cat Kingdom, and so,
one tale each night until your mother comes home, I am permitted by the
King to tell you. But now lie down, and I will purr to you, and then,
if Miss Jane comes in, she can’t do more than say ‘Scat’ and drive me
away, but if she heard me really talking, goodness knows what _would_
happen!”
So Dolly cuddled down with a happy little sigh, and Impty curled
himself up close to the pillow, and began the story of “The White Cat.”
[Illustration:
THE
WHITE CAT
]
Once upon a time there was a King who had three sons, all of whom were
so handsome and good and clever, that he could not decide which should
be the one to reign after him when he was dead and gone. Now this King
was getting old, and as he knew that he must soon make his choice, and
appoint his heir, he called his three sons to him.
“Listen,” he said to them: “I am growing older every day, and soon one
of you must rule the kingdom in my stead. Now, I love you all so well
that I can make no choice, but I will give each of you the chance to
win the crown. Gather together your servants and your horses, set out
upon a journey, and the one of you who shall bring me back the most
beautiful little dog, shall inherit my sceptre. One year will I give
you for the search, and then I will make my decision.”
So the three sons took leave of their father, and started in different
ways, sad at heart at leaving home and each other, for, though they
were rivals, they were devoted brothers. One went north, and one went
south, and both saw many strange sights, but the youngest Prince had
the most wonderful adventures of all. He wandered here and there,
buying dogs of all kinds: dachshunds, spaniels, black and tans, until
he had a large pack of tiny dogs trotting at his heels.
Then, when the year was all gone but a month, and he was thinking of
turning his steps homeward, he wandered from his followers, and lost
his way in a wide, dark forest. After calling out and hallooing in
vain, he noticed a number of lights burning brightly not very far away,
and he turned his steps in their direction. What was his surprise to
come to the gate-ways of a mighty castle, brilliantly lighted, but with
no warders at the doors. Instead of men-at-arms, a number of white
hands appeared in answer to his knock, and ushered him into a spacious,
well-lighted hall. He sat down in a soft arm-chair that the hands had
brought up close to the fire, and, when he was warmed and rested, the
hands drew off gently his travel-stained garments, and dressed him in
a magnificent suit of scarlet satin laced with silver. Then, when he
was ready, and looking as a Prince should look, the hands led him into
the banqueting-hall, and there, under a canopy at one end of the room,
he saw the most beautiful cat he had ever beheld in his life. She was
as white as snow, with long, soft, silky fur, and the prettiest little
face imaginable. Below her were seated cats playing on harps and
lutes, and all about the hall hurried other cats busy on some errand.
His chair was placed beside the White Cat’s; every honor was shown him,
and, because he could not eat the mice and rats that were served up in
all sorts of ways, the hands brought him his favorite dishes. While
they were thus feasting, the Prince happened to look at a bracelet that
the Cat was wearing. What was his surprise to see that it was a band of
gold that held a miniature of himself! He was lost in wonderment, as
well he might have been, for he was sure that never in his life had he
given his picture to a cat of any kind. But when he asked her about it,
she only smiled sadly, and shook her head, refusing to say anything.
After the banquet was over, as he was very tired from tramping all day
long, the hands led him to his chamber, and helped him to bed. The
next morning he was awakened by the baying of hounds, and the cries
of huntsmen under his windows. Jumping up, he quickly looked out, and
saw the whole court ready to set out to the forest. When the hands
had dressed him in a suit of Lincoln green, he joined the White Cat,
who was waiting for him to come and ride by her side to the hunt. She
was mounted on a monkey, and the hands led out a wooden horse for the
Prince to ride. At first he was inclined to be angry at being given
such a clumsy steed, but the White Cat begged him so gently to try it,
that he mounted the hobby-horse, and found that he had never ridden
better in his life.
And so, day after day, the Prince spent his time at the Castle of
the White Cat: feasting, dancing, hunting, and so quickly did the time
go by, that he forgot that his year was nearly spent. He had told the
White Cat of his quest, and how he hoped to be able to take back to
the King, his father, the most beautiful little dog in the world. But
so happy was he that he had forgotten all about it, nor would he have
remembered it at all if the Cat had not called him to her, and said,
“Prince, to-morrow you must leave me, and go back to your own world.”
[Illustration: THE PRINCE MOUNTED THE HOBBY-HORSE, AND FOUND THAT HE
HAD NEVER RIDDEN BETTER.--_Page 20._]
The Prince was heart-broken to think how he had forgotten his promise
to his father, but the White Cat told him not to grieve, and placed in
his hand an acorn, bidding him hold it to his ear. The Prince did so,
and it seemed to him that he heard the bark of a tiny dog.
“Do not open the acorn until you reach the court of the King, and I
promise you that all will be well,” she said.
So the Prince bade good-by to the White Cat sadly enough, and set out
on his homeward journey, riding his awkward hobby-horse, and in far
less time than he had taken to come, he was back again at the Palace.
His brothers had arrived before him, and, as he entered the hall, they
were showing off proudly their delicate, highly bred dogs. But when the
youngest Prince opened the acorn and displayed his beautiful little
dog, all black, resting against a white satin cushion, the whole Court
cried out in admiration that the Kingdom must surely be given to him.
The old King was a little unwilling, however, to give up ruling yet,
and the two other brothers begged so hard to have another chance that
it was finally decided that the Princes should again set out on their
travels; and that, this time, the one who should bring home the finest
piece of linen, long enough to make the king a robe, and delicate
enough to pass through the eye of a needle, should have the Kingdom
as his reward. A second time the three Princes started out, but now
the youngest Prince refused to allow his retinue to accompany him.
Instead, he mounted his old hobby-horse, and rode away to the White
Cat’s Castle. When he reached the gate, the whole Court of Cats ran
to welcome him. The White Cat received him as graciously as before,
and when the Prince told her the search he had again been sent upon,
she smiled, and promised that she would set her cleverest spinners at
work. There, for another year, the Prince stayed, and the time went as
swiftly as happiness always does, and he was amazed when the White Cat
called him to her, and told him that he must go that very night if he
wished to reach his father’s court in time for the test. Then she put
into his hand a walnut, bidding him keep it carefully until he should
reach the King’s Palace.
Just as before, he arrived as his brothers, believing that he would
not come in time, were opening out their webs of linen. Very fine they
were. The web that the eldest brother had brought would slip with ease
through a bodkin; the second son’s piece could be drawn through the eye
of a large darning needle; but the whole Court, remembering what the
youngest Prince had already done, waited to see what he had to show. He
took the walnut from his pocket and cracked it. Inside was a hazel-nut.
This he cracked, too, and, what was his surprise to find a cherry-stone!
When he had broken this in halves he saw inside a grain of wheat, and
in the grain of wheat a millet seed. And then the Prince lost heart,
and thought that the friend he had so believed in had played him some
cruel trick. But as this idea passed through his mind he felt a soft
scratch on his hand to let him know that the White Cat was true. So he
opened the millet seed, and drew forth the finest web of linen in the
world. At the least it was four hundred ells long, and so delicate that
it would slip with ease through the eye of the smallest needle that
could be found.
All the courtiers cried aloud together that the youngest Prince had
once more won the Kingdom, but the elder brothers begged for a third
chance, and as the old King was still unwilling to give up his throne,
he decided that his three sons should again set out, and that the one
who brought home the most beautiful maiden should marry her, and that
as King and Queen they should rule together over his Kingdom.
For the last time the Princes started forth on their quest. The elder
brothers took their own roads, but the youngest, mounting his old
wooden horse, rode straight to the Castle of the White Cat. She was
as happy as ever to see him, and soothed away his disappointment,
promising him all the help in her power. Just as before, the days sped
away in merry-making, and when the year rolled round again, the White
Cat told the Prince that now the time had come when he was to carry
back to his father’s Palace the most beautiful girl in the world.
“But where shall I find her?” cried the Prince, in despair. “I have
delayed too long in your castle, and now I shall never rule over my
father’s Kingdom.”
“Yes, you shall,” replied the White Cat. “If you will do as I bid you,
you shall have the most beautiful Princess in the world for your bride.
Take your sword, cut off my head and tail, and fling me into the fire
that burns in the great hall.”
The Prince angrily refused to do anything so base.
“What! After all your kindness would you have me treat you as your
worst enemy might? No, I would far rather never be King than buy my
inheritance at such a price,” he said.
But the White Cat begged so, telling him, with tears in her eyes, that
it was the greatest favor in the world that could be done her, that, at
last, the Prince consented.
He drew his sword, cut off her head and tail, and flung her into the
fire. In her stead rose up, to his great wonderment, the most beautiful
girl he had ever seen.
She stretched out her hands to him.
“Oh, you have saved me from a horrible enchantment, dear Prince,” she
cried. “If you had not done as I asked, all my life long I should have
remained a cat. I was changed into that shape, and condemned to stay
so until my death, or until the enchantment should be broken, because
I displeased the fairies who brought me up. They declared that I must
marry the hideous little King of the Dwarfs, and when I refused, and
showed them your picture, telling them that you were the only man that
I would ever wed, they threw this spell over me. And now, if you love
me as I do you, and wish to marry me, take me to your father’s Palace,
and the Kingdom shall be yours.”
The Prince, who all this time had been falling deeper and deeper in
love, helped her mount her horse, and followed by her attendants--who
were cats no longer, but men and women like themselves--the Prince and
the beautiful Princess rode back to his home.
The brides of the elder brothers were beautiful to see; the Court
could not decide which was the lovelier, but when the youngest Prince
entered the hall, every courtier declared that he had again been
successful.
The old King rose from his throne.
“My son,” he said, “the Princess you have brought home is the loveliest
lady that these old eyes have ever seen, and though my Kingdom is all
unworthy her rule, it is yours; fairly have you won it.”
But the Princess knelt down beside him, and said:--
“We will not take your crown from you, for I am Queen of five mighty
Kingdoms. Therefore you shall keep yours, and one each will I give
to your elder sons, while my husband and I will reign over the other
three.”
So every one was contented, and as for the Prince and his beautiful
Princess, none ever ruled more wisely, nor were more beloved by their
subjects than they were.
* * * * *
“And so they lived happy for ever and ever afterwards,” murmured Dolly,
contentedly. “All nice fairy tales end that way, Impty.”
But Impty only yawned, and arched his back lazily. Then he jumped down
from the bed.
“I am going to Cat-Land now,” he said, “to get you a story for
to-morrow night. And I am going to sleep under the big arm-chair, near
the door, so that I can slip out when Miss Jane comes in at seven
o’clock. If she sees me, you know she might lock me up in the shed
to-morrow night, and then, what _would_ we do?”
And, in another minute, the little lonely child--not lonely any more,
but very happy--and the black, black kitten were fast asleep.
THE SECOND NIGHT
Miss Jane must have been astonished at the willing way Dolly went to
bed the next night. There never was a child more ready to be undressed;
and although Miss Jane braided her hair in a tighter, lumpier braid
than ever, Dolly never said a word. There was no need for the child to
sit up in bed and stare at the light slanting through the shutters, as
she thought how far away her mother was. Instead, she cuddled into her
pillow contentedly, and as soon as Miss Jane was safely downstairs,
Impty jumped up, and curled himself into a soft, black ball beside her.
“To-night,” he began, “to-night I am going to tell you the tale of ‘The
King of the Field-Mice.’”
[Illustration:
THE KING
OF
THE
FIELD
MICE
]
There was, once upon a time, long, long ago in Japan, a very poor man,
a gardener named Chúgoro Yamakawa, who, with his wife, Ino-yo San,
lived in a little cottage on a small plot of ground. All that they had
to eat they raised in their garden, and their clothes were bought by
the money that the old man made in selling his vegetables and fruits
from door to door. Their only treasure was their cat Tamá, a large,
sleek fellow, and the finest mouser in the whole neighborhood. Every
day, when Chúgoro went to work in his garden, Tamá trotted after him,
and rubbed up against him, as if to say, “My dear Master! How I wish
that I could help you!”
Well, one day, as Chúgoro was digging around his young bamboo trees,
Tamá came bounding through the grass with something in his mouth. The
old man looked down, and saw that it was a pretty little field-mouse,
and, as he was a very kind-hearted man, he took it away from the cat,
who seemed perfectly contented, and trotted off as if his business was
done.
The field-mouse was not dead, only frightened, and as soon as Chúgoro
put it down on the ground again, instead of running away, it sat up on
its hind legs, and said in the tiniest, clear voice: “I owe you many
thanks, Chúgoro Yamakawa, for saving my life. Know, then, that I am the
King of all the Field-Mice, and, if you will meet me to-night at the
door of my Palace, I will bestow great riches upon you.”
The old gardener thanked the little King, and promised to meet him that
evening as soon as his work was done. So, after sunset, leaving Tamá
with Ino-yo San, he walked through the garden until he reached the hole
where the mouse was waiting for him.
“But I cannot enter here,” said Chúgoro, looking at the little hole.
“Oh, yes you can,” answered the King, “for I will touch you with my
paw, and then you will grow small like me, and able to enter my
dwelling.”
[Illustration: “KNOW, THEN, THAT I AM THE KING OF ALL THE FIELD-MICE.”
_Page 43._]
He stretched out his paw, and immediately the old man shrank and shrank
until he was no larger than the King of the Field-Mice himself.
They walked together down a narrow passage-way which, after a little,
widened into a beautiful hall, all glittering with gold and silver. In
the middle was a table richly spread with “o-tsu-yu” and salad and raw
fish, all in gorgeous lacquered bowls, with plenty of “saki” to wash
the viands down. There Chúgoro sat and feasted with the King and the
Queen and the whole Royal Court, and, as they ate, from the kitchens
came the small song of the servant mice, pounding rice for the New
Year. As they pounded, they sang this strange little ditty:--
Ton, ton! Neko sai oraneba
Nezumi no yo zakare. Ton, ton!
(When the cat’s away
The mice will play!)
After the King saw that Chúgoro could eat no more, he led him to the
treasure chamber, and filled his arms with gold and silver and fine
lacquer work; enough to make him a rich man for life. Then he led him
through the winding passage, and bade him good-by. When the old man was
out in the fields again, he found that he was the same height that he
had always been, and he hurried home to share the good news with Ino-yo
San and Tamá.
With his riches he built himself a fine new house, and bought jewels
and silk robes for his wife, and, as for Tamá, he rested at night on a
downy cushion, and lived on everything nice that a cat could wish.
Now, a rich, miserly neighbor of Chúgoro’s, Gizæmon Muratani by name,
seeing the gardener so rich and prosperous where he had always been in
want before, called upon him, and begged to know what had brought him
such wealth.
Chúrgoro, who was very generous, and who wished all the world to be
as fortunate as himself, told the whole story to Gizæmon. Immediately
the miser asked that Tamá should be lent to him, that he might once
more catch the King of the Field-Mice. The gardener willingly agreed,
and Gizæmon took Tamá, and started across the fields, with the cat
trotting at his heels. All of a sudden, Tamá darted swiftly away, and
came bounding back over the grass with something in his mouth. It was
the King of the Field-Mice again! Gizæmon set him free, and--for he was
very ungrateful--drove Tamá harshly away. The mouse thanked the rich
man as he had Chúgoro, and, in the same way, begged him to come that
night to the door of his Palace. The miser’s heart swelled with pride
and vanity.
“Now,” thought he, “I will be richer than my neighbor, for all that the
Field-Mouse gives me, and all that I have myself, will be mine.”
He could hardly wait for the sun to set, he was so anxious to gather up
his riches.
The King met him at the doorway, and touched him with his paw. Like
Chúgoro, he grew smaller and smaller until he could follow the King
down the little winding passage. When the banquet hall was reached,
he was seated at the King’s right hand, and served with all sorts of
delicious food; but the greedy man looked around instead of eating,
and, as he saw how many fine things there were in the room, and, as he
heard the little kitchen mice singing away, as they pounded:--
Ton, ton! Neko sai oraneba,
Nezumi no yo zakare. Ton, ton!
he thought, “What a fine thing it would be for me if I could make
these mice believe that a Cat _was_ here! Then they would run away,
and all these riches would be mine!”
So he called out in a loud voice, “Miaou! Miaou! Miaou!” and the
little, frightened mice fled away in a tremble. Gizæmon was beginning
to gather up the gold and silver dishes, when, all at once, he found he
was growing taller and taller and taller. He ran to the door, but he
was much too large to get out. He dropped all his stolen riches, but he
kept on growing bigger and bigger and bigger until he grew right up in
the field like a potato, and a farmer who was digging there cracked his
head with a hoe.
And so his greediness and ingratitude were rewarded, but as for Chúgoro
Yamakawa and his wife Ino-yo San, they lived with Tamá, their cat,
happy for ever and ever afterwards, as you say.
* * * * *
“But I _do_ think,” Impty added, as he jumped down from the bed, and
went to hide under the arm-chair, “I do _really_ think that Tamá was
a wonderful cat not to have eaten the field-mouse that last time. I’m
afraid _I_ should.”
THE THIRD NIGHT
Impty came dancing out of his hiding-place as soon as the sound of Miss
Jane’s footsteps died away on the stair.
“‘Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, where have you been?’” cried the little girl
gayly.
“Well, I haven’t been _quite_ to London to look at the Queen,” answered
Impty, as he pranced across to Dolly’s pillow, and curled down beside
her. “But I’ve been somewhere that’s very nearly as good, for I’ve
visited the Court of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg,
and heard there the story of ‘The Discontented Cat,’ and I’m going to
tell you to-night the tale of her adventures, and how she was taught to
be happy instead of being always dissatisfied.”
[Illustration:
THE
DISCONTENTED CAT
]
Once upon a time--I can’t say exactly when it was--there stood a neat,
tidy little hut on the borders of a wild forest. A poor old woman dwelt
in this hut. She lived on the whole pretty comfortably; for though
she was poor, she was able to keep a few goats, that supplied her
with milk, and a flock of chickens, that gave her fresh eggs every
morning; and then she had a small garden, which she cultivated with her
own hands, and that supplied her with cabbages and other vegetables,
besides gooseberries and apples for dumplings. Her goats browsed upon
the short grass just outside the garden, and her chickens ran about
everywhere, and picked up everything they could find. There were some
fine old trees which defended the cottage on three sides from the
cold winds, and the front was to the south, so it was very snug and
sheltered. The forest afforded her sticks and young logs for fuel, so
that she was never in want of a fire; and, altogether, she managed to
make out a pretty comfortable life of it, as times went.
The only friend and companion the old woman had was her gray cat. Now,
the cat was a middle-aged cat: she had arrived at a time of life when
people grow reflective; and she sat by the hearth and reflected very
often. What did she reflect about? That is rather a long story. You
must know, then, that a few leagues from the old woman’s hut, at the
other end of the forest, there rose a grand castle, belonging to a very
great baron. And sometimes, on fine summer mornings, as the old woman
and the cat were sitting in the sunshine, by the door, the old woman at
her spinning-wheel, and puss curled up for a nap after her breakfast,
the forest would suddenly ring with the sound of hunting-horns, shouts,
and laughter; and a train of gay ladies and richly dressed gentlemen
would sweep by on horseback, with hawk and hound, and followed by
servants in splendid liveries; for the Baron was fond of hawking and
hunting, and frequently took those diversions in the neighboring
forests. Now, it so happened that in one of the tall trees behind the
cottage there lived a magpie, not by any means an ordinary magpie, but
a bird that had seen a good deal of the world; indeed, at one time
of her life, she had, as she took care to inform everybody, lived
in the service of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg.
How she happened to leave such a grand situation, the magpie never
explained: to be sure, some ill-natured people did say that there had
been an awkward story about the loss of one of the Countess’s diamond
bracelets, which was found one fine morning in the inside of a hollow
tree in the garden; and that Mag was turned away in disgrace directly.
But how the matter really was I cannot say; all I know is, that she
took up her abode halfway up one of the large oaks, behind the old
woman’s hut, a long time before our story begins; and that, being of a
particularly sociable and chatty disposition, she soon established an
ardent friendship with the cat, and they became the greatest cronies
in the world. So when, as I said just now, the Baron’s grand hunting
parties swept past, they afforded the magpie a fine opportunity for
displaying her knowledge of life and the world. And sometimes, too,
she would dwell at great length on the splendor and happiness she had
enjoyed while she lived with the Countess in her Palace, till the
cat’s fur almost stood on end to hear the wonders she related. What a
place that Palace must have been! Very different, indeed, from the old
woman’s cottage.
Now these conversations with the magpie sadly unsettled the mind of the
cat; more particularly when the magpie related to her how daintily the
Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg’s cat always lived,--what
nice bits of chicken she dined upon, what delicious morsels of buttered
crumpet she often had for breakfast, what soft cushions she lay upon,
and a great deal more to the same purpose: all of which made a powerful
impression upon our wondering friend. So she sat and reflected by the
fire, while the good old woman, her mistress, went on spinning the wool
which she sold afterwards at the nearest town, to buy food and clothes.
The more the cat talked to the magpie, the more dissatisfied she became
with her present condition; till, at last, I am sadly afraid that when,
in a morning, the old woman gave her her breakfast of goats’ milk
with some nice brown bread broken into it, she began rather to despise
it, instead of taking it thankfully, as she ought to have done, for
she was very comfortably off in the cottage--having bread and milk
every morning and night, and something for dinner, too; besides what
mice she could catch, to say nothing of a stray sparrow or squirrel
now and then. But, as I said just now, the magpie’s chattering stories
unsettled her; she thought it would be so charming to dine upon bits
of roast chicken, and have buttered crumpets for breakfast, and fine
cushions to lie upon, like the Countess’s cat. All this was very silly,
no doubt; but she wanted experience: she knew nothing of the thousands
and thousands of poor cats who would have thought her life quite
luxurious. It is a very bad thing to get unsettled; it sets people
wishing and doing many foolish things.
One fine bright evening the magpie was perched upon the projecting
bough of her oak, and the cat, who thought the cottage particularly
dull that day, had come out for a little gossip.
“Good evening!” screamed the magpie, as soon as she saw her; “do come
up here and let us chat a little.” So the cat climbed up, and seated
herself on another bough a little below.
“You look out of spirits to-day,” began the magpie, bending down a very
inquisitive eye to her friend’s face. “I am afraid you are not well.
But I am not surprised. That old sparrow I saw you eating for dinner
must have been as tough as leather. It’s no wonder you are ill after
it! You should really be more careful, and only catch the nice tender
young ones.”
“Thank you,” replied the cat, in a rather melancholy tone, “I am
perfectly well.”
“Then what in the world ails you, my dear friend?”
“I don’t know,” answered the cat, “but I believe I am getting rather
tired of staying here all my life.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the magpie, “I know what that is--I feel for you, Puss;
you may well be moped, living in that stupid cottage all day. You are
not like myself, now; _I_ have had such advantages! I declare to you I
can amuse myself the whole day with the recollection of the wonderful
things I have seen when I lived in the great world.”
“There it is,” interrupted the cat. “To think of the difference in
people’s situations! Just compare my condition in this wretched hole of
a hut, with the life you say the Countess’s cat lives. I’m sure I can
hardly eat my sop in the morning for thinking of her buttered crumpets.
It’s a fine thing to be born in a Palace!”
“Indeed,” replied the magpie, “there is a great deal of truth in what
you say; and sometimes I half repent of having retired from her service
myself; but there’s a great charm in liberty--it is pleasant to feel
able to fly about wherever one likes, and have no impertinent questions
asked.”
“Does the Countess’s cat ever do any work?” inquired puss.
“Not a bit,” answered the magpie. “I don’t suppose she ever caught a
mouse in her life. Why should she? She has plenty to eat and drink,
and nothing to do but to sleep or play all day long.”
“What a life!” cried the cat. “And here am I, obliged to take the
trouble to catch birds or anything I can, if I want to make out my
dinner. What a world it is!”
“Your most obedient servant, ladies,” just at that moment hooted an old
owl from a neighboring fir-tree. “A fine evening to you!”
“Dear me, Mr. Owl! How you made me jump!” cried the magpie, quite
crossly, “I nearly tumbled down from the bough!”
To tell the truth, the magpie did not particularly care for the owl’s
company. He was apt to say very rude things sometimes; besides, he
was thought a very sensible bird, and Mag always declared she hated
sensible birds--they were so dreadfully dull, and thought themselves so
much wiser than other people.
But the cat was not sorry to have a chance to tell her woes to any one
who was so generally respected for his wisdom, and she said at once:--
“We were talking, my dear sir, on the wide differences there are in
the world.”
“You may well say that,” answered the owl, giving a blink with his
left eye. “I suppose,” he added, turning to the magpie, “that your
ladyship finds a good deal of difference between your present abode and
the Countess’s grand palace garden. I only wonder how you could bring
yourself to make such a change--at your time of life, too.”
“What a very rude speech,” thought the magpie; she fidgeted upon the
branch, drew herself up, and muttered something about people minding
their own business.
“But you, my dear cat,” went on the owl, “you have every reason to be
satisfied with your lot in life.”
“I am not so sure of that,” said the cat. “I think I have a good many
reasons for being quite the contrary; the Countess’s cat has cream and
buttered crumpets for breakfast, and sleeps on a beautiful soft cushion
all night, and all day, too, if she likes it; and just look what a dull
life of it I lead here! And I have nothing but the hearth to lie upon,
and nothing for breakfast but milk and brown bread!”
“And you ought to be thankful you can get that,” cried the owl, quite
angrily. “I can tell you what, Mrs. Puss, I have seen more of the world
than you have, and I just say this for your comfort--if you could see
how some poor cats live, you would be glad enough of your present
condition.”
“Humph!” muttered the cat, “I really don’t see how _you_ have contrived
to see so much of the world, sitting as you do in a tree all day. I
should think that the magpie ought to know something of life, after
the high society she has lived in; and I _do_ say it’s a shame that one
cat should have buttered crumpets and cream for breakfast, just because
she happens to live in a palace, while another has only brown sop,
because she happens to live in a cottage!”
“But suppose,” replied the owl, “that some other cat, who lives in a
cellar, and never gets anything to eat, except what she can pick up in
the gutters, should take it into her head to say, ‘What a shame it is
that some cats should have nice, snug cottages over their heads, and
warm hearths to sit by, and bread and milk for breakfast, while I am
obliged to live in this horrid, cold cellar, and never know how to get
a mouthful?’”
But the cat could not believe him.
“My dear Mr. Owl,” she said, “you can’t really mean that there are any
such poor cats in the world. I am sure that the magpie, with all her
experience of life, would have told me about it, if it were really so.
You must be mistaken.”
The magpie was, by this time, very tired of such a long silence, and
she broke in with:--
“You will excuse me, my worthy friend, but really you do sit there so,
day after day, blinking in the sun, without a soul to speak to, that I
don’t wonder at your taking very strange fancies into your head. I can
only say that, during the whole of my residence in the Palace of the
Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, my late respected mistress,
I never came in contact with any cat in the condition you are pleased
to mention, and _I_ should know something of the world, I think.”
“Well,” said the owl quietly, “I will not dispute your ladyship’s
knowledge of the world, but I strongly advise our friend, Mrs. Puss, to
remain contented at home, and not try to improve her fortune by going
into the town. People should learn to know when they are well off.”
Just then, patter, patter, patter, came a few large drops through the
leaves; the magpie, making a prodigious chattering, and declaring
that a tremendous storm was coming on, flew down from the bough; and
whispering to the cat not to mind what the owl said,--“a stupid
old bird,”--she hid herself, very snugly, in a hollow place in the
trunk--not at all sorry, to tell the truth, to end the conversation.
The owl nestled himself in a thick bush of ivy that grew near, and the
cat ran into the cottage, to sit by the fire and reflect, for between
her two friends her mind was a little puzzled.
The old woman shut the cottage door, heaped some dry fir logs on the
fire, and sat down to her spinning-wheel. The rain pelted against the
shutters, the wind howled in the tree tops, and roared loudly in the
forest behind the hut; it was a terrible night out of doors, but within
the cottage it was snug enough; the fire was blazing merrily, the old
woman’s wheel turned briskly round, the kettle was singing a low, quiet
song to itself beside the crackling logs, and the cat was sitting
on the hearth looking warm and comfortable. But she was not at all
comfortable in her mind, for discontented people seldom are. It never
entered her head to consider whether there were any poor cats abroad
that night, without a shelter over them. In fact, she could think of
nothing just at this time but the luxuries enjoyed by the fortunate
cats who might happen to be born in grand palaces: so, curled up in
the warmest corner of the hearth, she sat watching the little spouts
of flame that kept flashing up from the pine logs, and wishing for the
hundredth time that day, that she had had the good luck to be a palace
cat. Presently a very strange thing happened.
All of a sudden, she felt something very lightly touch her coat, and
looking round, there stood, close by her, the most beautiful little
thing that anybody ever dreamt of. She was not many inches high, her
robe seemed made of gold and silver threads fine as gossamer, woven
together. On her head she wore a circlet of diamonds, so small and
bright that they looked like sparks of fire, and in her tiny hand she
bore a long and very slight silver wand.
The cat looked at her with astonishment; it was very odd that the old
woman did not seem to see her at all.
The beautiful little lady looked at the cat for a minute or two very
steadily; and then said, “You are wishing for something; what is it?”
By this time the cat had recovered from her fright, and was able to
speak, so she answered, “Please your Majesty, whoever you are, you have
guessed right for once--I _am_ wishing for something. I wish to live in
the Palace of the magpie’s grand Countess!”
Wonderful to relate--the words were no sooner spoken than the fairy
struck her wand upon the floor three times, and lo! and behold!
instantly there appeared a car made of four large scallop-shells joined
together, and lined with rich velvet; the wheels were studded with
the whitest pearls, and it was drawn by eight silver pheasants. The
fairy seated herself inside, and told the cat to step in after her.
Puss obeyed, and in an instant the hut, the old woman, and the little
garden, all had vanished, and she and the fairy were sailing through
the air as fast as the eight pheasants could fly.
“Where in the world are we going, please your Majesty?” said poor puss
in a dreadfully frightened tone, clinging to the sides of the car
with her claws, so that she might not be tossed out. “Hush!” said the
fairy, in a voice so solemn that the cat did not venture to ask another
question.
On, on, on they flew, and the wild heath swelled into mountains and
sank again into plain and valley; and they heard beneath them, like
the distant sea, the rustling of the wind among the clumps of pine
trees. On, on, the birds flew, till at length there appeared far below
them, the glimmering lights and dim outlines of a stately city. On, on,
the birds flew, and the city grew nearer and nearer; turrets and spires
and ancient gables rose in the bright moonlight, and the houses grew
thicker and thicker together.
At length the pheasants flew more slowly, and the cat saw that they
were approaching a marvellous building. How her heart beat, partly
with fright, partly with the rapid motion, partly with hope. Yes, they
were really drawing near a magnificent Palace. It had high towers and
carved gate-ways, that threw strange deep shadows upon the walls, and
the panes of the lattices glittered like diamonds in the moonbeams, and
smoke from the chimneys curled up into the cat’s face, and got down
her throat, and made her sneeze dreadfully--she wondered how the fairy
could bear it. But now, slowly, slowly, slowly, the magic car began
to descend, till it was just on a level with one of the windows, which
happened, very conveniently, to have been left wide open; so in flew
the pheasants, car and all, and alighted on the hearth-rug. “Jump out;
be quick!” cried the fairy. The cat did not wait to be told twice--she
was out in a twinkling; but before she could turn her head round,
car, fairy, and pheasants had vanished, and she was left alone in the
strange room. And what a room it was! It was so large that three or
four huts like her old mistress’s would have stood in it. The floor
was covered with something so thick, so warm, and so beautiful, all
over flowers in bright colors, that she had never seen anything like it
before: in short, everything in the room was so fine or so soft or so
large or so bright, that the cat could not conceive what such strange
things could be meant for.
However, she soon decided that the hearth-rug was the most delightful
bed she had ever rested upon; and stretching out her limbs upon it,
before the huge fire that was burning in the grate, she tried to
collect her scattered ideas before she went any farther in these
unknown regions. Suddenly the door opened.
“Dear me! What a pretty cat!” cried a waiting-maid, entering the room,
“and just when we are wanting another, too. My lady, the Countess, will
be quite pleased.” Then, coming up to the cat, she took her in her
arms, and began stroking her most affectionately. “Pretty Pussy! How
did you ever get into the room? Oh, I see! They left the window open,
and so you wandered in out of the street, poor little cat. It’s really
quite lucky, just as the old one is dead.” So saying, she again stroked
the cat, and carried her away into the inner room, where there sat an
old lady in an easy chair by the fire eating her supper.
“Please, your ladyship,” said the waiting-woman, “here’s a poor cat
come into the house to-night, just as we were wanting one--will your
ladyship be pleased to let it remain here?”
“To be sure,” said the old Countess von
Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg,--for it was she,--“it has come just in
time to supply the place of poor old Finette. Put it into Finette’s bed
to-night, Ermengarde, and give it a good meal first, for I dare say it
is hungry enough, poor creature. Bring it here to me, and let me stroke
it.”
You may imagine how puss purred her very loudest as the Countess patted
her, and called her a pretty cat. She thought herself now the luckiest
cat in the world. How she wished that spiteful old owl could but know
about it. Ermengarde now took her back into the first room she had
entered, and setting her down on the hearth-rug, went out. Presently
she returned, and placed before the cat a dish that held such a supper
as she had never dreamed of. However, she did full justice to it in
time; and then, after some more patting and petting, the maid again
took her up, and placed her by the side of the fire in a very pretty
basket lined with soft cushions.
The next morning the cat was awake early; the sun was shining through
the satin curtains of the splendid room, and everything in it looked
so _very_ beautiful! How different from the old woman’s hut! So the
cat sat up in the basket, and looked about her. After she had amused
herself in this way for some time, Ermengarde opened the door.
“Well, Pussy,” she said, “so you are wide awake, and ready, I dare say,
for your breakfast.”
Now for the buttered crumpets! thought the cat. The maid went out,
and quickly brought back a large saucer of rich milk, with some roll
crumbled into it. No buttered crumpets!
Puss was really disappointed. It was certainly very strange, but
perhaps she should have some another morning. However, she made a
very good breakfast, but she was a little cross all day. Soon after
breakfast the Countess came in, followed by a lapdog--a fat, spoilt,
disagreeable-looking animal--and the cat took a dislike to him at
first sight. And as for the dog, he almost growled out loud when the
Countess stooped down to stroke the cat.
“Now, Viper,” said the old lady, “be good! You know you are my own
darling, that you are; but you must not quarrel with poor pussy. No
fighting, you know, Viper!”
Whereupon Viper struggled down out of his mistress’s arms, for she had
taken him up to kiss him, and giving a short snarl, he mounted upon a
stool before the fire, and sat eying his new acquaintance with such a
fierce look that the poor cat really shook all over, and wished herself
safe out of the Palace again. However, whenever the Countess left
the room, she always called Viper away, too; so they were not left
together at all the first day. After a little the cat began to get used
to Viper’s cross looks, and did not mind him a great deal: and the old
lady petted and made so much of her, that she thought no cat had ever
been so fortunate before.
[Illustration: THE COUNTESS CAME IN, FOLLOWED BY A LAPDOG.--_Page 97._]
One day Viper was to dine with the cat, and Ermengarde brought in two
plates this time, and to work they fell with all their might. Viper had
eaten up nearly all his own dinner, and the cat was saving a beautiful
_merrythought_ for her last titbit when, as ill luck would have it, the
Countess was suddenly called out of the room.
Instantly, with a growl that sounded like thunder in the cat’s ears,
Viper darted right at the _merrythought_, crying:--
“You vile little wretch of a stray cat, do you suppose I shall allow
you to come in here and rob me of my bones?”
“Indeed, my lord,” said the cat, very much frightened, “I did not mean
to take more than my share!”
“And pray, madam,” screamed Viper, “what do you mean by that? Do you
think that I have taken more than mine? Now, Mrs. Puss, just listen to
me, once for all: if you give me any more of your impertinence, I’ll
worry you to death in two minutes!”
Poor puss! She trembled so from head to tail that she could hardly
stand, but just as she was going to beg him not to be angry, the
Countess came in again, and took Viper for his afternoon ride. Poor
puss! She was very sad all evening, and she wished many times that
she had never left her mistress’s cottage. True, she had cream for
breakfast and chicken for dinner, but what was that worth, if every
mouthful she ate she feared that Viper would snatch from her?
Fifty times did she wish herself a hundred leagues off! How careful
she resolved to be to do nothing that could possibly offend the dog.
And so, for the next three or four days, by dint of giving up to him
all her best bones, and always jumping up from her cushion whenever
he wanted to lie upon it, she managed to get on in halfway peace with
his lordship. But unluckily, one morning, puss, finding herself all
alone in the drawing-room, and feeling very sleepy--she had not rested
for nights from very fear--thought she might as well take the chance
of getting a nap. Jumping upon a high footstool near the fire, she was
soon asleep. How long she had napped she could not tell, when she was
awakened by a furious barking, and, opening her eyes, she saw Viper
standing at a little distance, looking as if he were going into fits
with rage.
Poor puss! She recollected all in a moment that she had got upon
Viper’s own footstool! She jumped down before you could count one!
“You audacious little upstart!” cried the dog, as soon as he could
speak from wrath. “Do you think I shall submit to such liberties?”
“Indeed, I humbly beg your lordship’s pardon,” stammered the poor cat,
“but I really quite forgot--”
“Forgot, indeed!” roared Viper, “I’ll teach you to forget, Mrs. Puss!”
and making a tremendous dash at her, he would have finished her in no
time, had not, fortunately, the window been open a little--just enough
for the cat to get through.
She was on the window-seat in an instant, and had scrambled out of the
window before Viper, who was very fat, could come up to her. It was
with some difficulty that he got upon the window-seat, and quite in
vain that he tried to squeeze his fat body through the opening of the
window. How he growled with disappointed rage, as he stood on his hind
legs on the window-seat, stretching his head, as far as his little
short neck would allow, through the opening, to see what had become of
puss.
What _had_ become of her? She had dropped down into the street, and had
crept into the shade of one of the heavy broad-stone carvings beneath
the window, and there she lay, panting with fright, to get her breath
a little, and think what was to be done. To go back to the Palace was
out of the question. But then, where could she go? Poor cat! What a
muddle she was in! She lay snug for the best part of an hour before she
dared venture out of her hiding-place. At last, peeping all about her,
she crept out and ran, with all her speed, down the street, not knowing
in the least where she was flying. She had not gone far before some
ragamuffins caught sight of her. Shouting, whooping, laughing, they
chased her. She ran faster and faster, and darting suddenly down an
alley, was soon out of sight of her pursuers. She heard their screams
and yellings growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and feeling
that the immediate danger was past, she stopped to look, and see where
she was. She found that she was in a little, dirty, miserable court,
open at one end, through which she saw trees and green fields. So she
ran on, and, in a short time, she found that she had left the town
behind her, and was once more in the open country. At last she came to
a small clump of trees which put her in mind of the forest near her old
mistress’s hut. She climbed up in the largest one, knowing that she
would be safe from dogs there at least, and finding a snug place among
the branches in the middle of the tree,--for though it was autumn, yet
the leaves were still pretty thick,--she made up her mind to pass the
night there.
But what was she to do for supper? Her squabble with Viper had taken
place before dinner, and now there was no chance of anything but
what she could get herself. Perhaps she might, with good luck, catch
a bird before night, but that could not take the place of the nice
bits of fowl and saucers of rich milk that Ermengarde gave her every
night. However, she was too glad to be safe and snug up in the tree
to be very fussy. So she made up her mind to lie there till it grew
towards roosting time, and then see what she could find for supper. At
last nightfall came, and the birds flew back to their nests. In a few
minutes she caught a robin, but that was all she had that night, and
weary and hungry the cat climbed back in the tree again, and was soon
asleep. When she woke, she was still hungry, and she ached in every
bone. So three or four days passed, until poor puss began to think she
would never be able to find her way back to her old home in the forest,
and, at last, quite ready to die of cold and hunger, she stretched
herself out on a thick bed of leaves, and cried, “Oh, that I had never
listened to that deceitful, mischievous magpie!”
It was drawing towards sunset; there had been several storms during the
day, but, as the evening came on, the weather had cleared up a little,
and a gleam of sunshine just then shot out from among the black
clouds, and fell upon something glittering beside her.
She lifted her eyes slowly, for she had no strength to be alert now,
and saw the bright and beautiful fairy, with her car drawn by the
silver pheasants.
“Have you learnt yet to be contented with plain fare at home?” asked
the fairy.
“Oh, if you would only take me back to my old mistress,” cried the poor
cat, “I should never, never be discontented again!”
The fairy smiled, and touching her lightly with her silver wand,
bade her close her eyes--another moment, and she bade her open them:
and--most wonderful of all wonderful things that had happened to
her--the trees, the country, the distant city, all were gone! There was
a fine log-fire on the hearth, sparkling and crackling; whirr, whirr,
whirr, went the old woman’s wheel, and there she sat in her chair just
as usual. The wind was blowing and the rain was pelting against the
shutters, exactly as it had done the night puss left the cottage in
such a strange way. In fact, everything looked entirely the same. The
cat rubbed her eyes, but nothing could she see of the fairy, or the
car, or the silver pheasants.
How had she got back, and so quick, too? And the old woman did not
seem at all surprised to see her. It was very odd! She could not make
it out, anyhow; and at last it struck her that perhaps she might have
been dreaming, and never been out of the hut at all. Yet those terrible
growls of Viper’s, and those dismal nights and days in the trees! No,
they must have been real!
But her puzzling was broken into by the cheerful voice of her old
mistress, calling out, “Come, my pussy! It is supper-time!” As she
spoke, she rose from her spinning-wheel, and taking down some eggs and
a cake of brown bread, with a large jug from her corner cupboard, she
broke the eggs into the frying-pan, and they were soon hissing and
sputtering over the fire. Then she placed a large saucer on the table,
and broke some bread into it; and, turning to the fire, she took off
the frying-pan, and emptied the eggs into a dish on the table, and sat
down to her supper. But before she tasted a bit herself, she poured
some nice goat’s milk over the bread, and set it down on the hearth
before the cat.
Now I will venture to say puss never before in her life ate a meal so
thankfully. She made a resolution after every mouthful never to say
one word to that silly, chattering magpie again; and never to wish any
more foolish wishes, but to stay at home, do her duty in catching her
mistress’s mice, and be contented and thankful for the brown bread and
milk, without troubling her head about countesses and buttered crumpets
any more.
She kept her word. She never spoke to the magpie afterwards, but was a
steady friend of the owl until the day of his death; and when he did
die, which was not until he was very old, he left to her, in his will,
his share of the mice that lived in the neighborhood of the cottage.
As to the magpie, finding that her company was no longer wanted in
that part of the world, she very wisely took her flight far away to the
other side of the wood.
Whether she still lives there, and goes on chattering about the
grand things she used to see in the Palace of the Countess von
Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, is more than I can tell you. If you
want to find out, you must go to the northern part of the Duchy of
Kittencorkenstringen; and then you must walk seventeen leagues and
three-quarters still farther north; and then you must turn off to your
right, just where you see the old fir-stump with the rook’s nest in
it; and then you must walk eleven leagues and a quarter more, and then
turn to your left, and after you have kept on for about fifteen leagues
more, you will see the wood where the magpie lives; and then if you
walk quite through it to the other side, you will see the old woman’s
cottage; and, if it should happen to be a fine day, I dare say you will
see her sitting in the sunshine spinning, and, curled round beside
her, the Contented Cat.
* * * * *
“What a nice story, Impty,” said Dolly, as the black kitten purred out
the last word. “And don’t you just love that old owl?”
“I always _did_ like owls myself,” Impty answered. “They seem so much
more like cats than birds. Their feathers are so thick they look like
fur, and then, owls see in the dark as well as cats do, and they eat
mice, and are really _most_ respectable. But good night, now,” he
added, jumping down from the bed, “we’ve had such a long story-time
this evening, that I must go to sleep at once, if I am to have another
tale ready for you to-morrow.”
THE FOURTH NIGHT
“We sat up so disgracefully late last night,” began Impty, yawning,
“that I’m sleepy yet. _I_ had to go to Cat-Land, you know, and although
that’s very pleasant, still, it isn’t much of a rest.”
“What are you going to tell me to-night?” Dolly asked, as she made a
place on the pillow for the black kitten.
“To-night it’s going to be a shorter story,” Impty replied. “They call
it, in Cat-Land, ‘The Cat Who Married a Mouse.’”
[Illustration:
THE CAT WHO MARRIED A
MOUSE
]
Once upon a time, a cat and a mouse made friends, and at last they grew
to love each other very much, for the mouse was a clever little thing,
and puss was as fine a cat as you could hope to see in a day’s journey.
So they decided to marry, and live always in the same house, and be
very comfortable indeed.
One day, during the summer, the cat said to his wife, “My dear, we
must take care to lay in a store for the winter, or we shall die with
hunger; you, little Mousey, cannot venture to go about anywhere for
fear you should be caught in a trap, but I had better go and see about
it.”
This good advice was followed, and in a few days Tom came safely back
with a large jar full of beautiful meat covered with fat, which he
had found. They had a long talk about a place in which to hide this
treasure; but at last Tom said: “I don’t know a better place than the
church. No one ever thinks of robbing a church; so if we place the jar
under the altar, and take care not to touch it, then we shall have
plenty to eat in the winter.”
The jar was carried to church, and put in a place of safety, but the
meat did not stay there long.
Tom kept thinking of what was in the jar, and longing so much for a
taste, that at last he made an excuse to get away from home.
“Mousey,” he said, one day, “I have had an invitation from one of my
cousins to be present at the christening of her little son who was born
a few weeks ago. He is a beautiful kitten, she tells me,--gray, with
black stripes,--and my cousin wishes me to be godfather.”
“Oh, yes! Go, by all means,” replied the mouse. “But when you are
enjoying yourself, think of me, and bring me a drop of the sweet, red
wine if you can.” Tom promised to do as she asked him, and went off as
if he were going to see his cousin. But after all it was not true. Tom
had no cousin, nor had he been asked to be godfather.
No, he went right off to the church, and slipped under the table where
the jar of meat stood, and sat looking at it. He did not look for
long, however, for presently he went close up and began licking and
licking the fat on the top of the jar, till it was nearly all gone.
Then he took a walk on the roofs of the houses in the town, and finally
stretched himself out in the sun, and stroked his whiskers as often
as he thought of the delicious feast he had just had. As soon as the
evening closed in, he returned home.
“Oh! Here you are again,” said the mouse. “Have you spent a pleasant
day?”
“Yes, indeed,” he replied. “Everything passed off very well.”
“And what name did they give the young kitten?” she asked.
“Top-off,” said Tom, quite coolly.
“Top-off!” cried the mouse. “That _is_ a curious and uncommon name! Is
it a family name?”
“It is a very old name in our family,” replied the cat. “And it’s not
worse than Thieves, as your ancestors were called.”
Poor little mousey made no reply, and for a while nothing more was said
about Tom’s cousins.
But Tom could not forget the jar of meat in the church, and the thought
of it made him long so much that he was obliged to make up another
tale of a christening. So he told the little mouse, that a lady-cat,
his aunt, had invited him this time, and that the kitten was a great
beauty, all black, excepting a white ring around its neck, so he could
not refuse to be present.
“For one day, dear Mousey, you will do me this kindness, and keep house
at home alone?” he asked.
The good little mouse willingly agreed, and Tom ran off; but as soon
as he reached the town, he jumped over the churchyard wall, and very
quickly found his way to the place where the jar of meat was hidden.
This time he feasted so greedily, that when he had finished, the jar
was more than half empty.
“It tastes as nice as it smells,” said the cat, after his joyful day’s
work was over and he had taken a nice nap. But as soon as he returned
home, the mouse asked what name had been given to the kitten this time.
Tom was a little puzzled to know what to say, but at last he replied:
“Ah! I remember now. They named it Half-Gone.”
“Half-Gone! Why, Tom, what a queer name! I never heard of it before in
my life, and I am sure it cannot be found in the ‘Register.’”
The cat did not answer, and for a time all went on as usual, till
another longing fit made him rub his whiskers and think of the jar of
meat. “Mousey,” said he, one day, “of all good things there are always
three; do you know I have had a third invitation to be godfather? And
this time the little kitten is quite black, without a single white
hair. Such a thing has not happened in our family for many years, so
you will let me go, won’t you?”
“Top-Off and Half-Gone are such curious names, Tom,” replied the mouse,
“that they are enough to make one suspicious.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said the cat. “What can you know about names, staying
here at home all day long in your gray coat and soft fur, with nothing
to do but catch crickets? You can know very little of what men do in
the world.”
Poor little mousey was silent, and she patiently remained at home
during the absence of the greedy, deceitful cat, who, this time,
feasted himself till he had quite cleaned out the jar and left it empty.
“When all is gone, then one can rest,” said he to himself, as he
returned home at night quite sleek and fat.
“Well, Tom,” said the mouse, as soon as she saw him, “and what is the
name of this third child?”
“I hope you will be pleased at last,” he replied; “it is All-Gone.”
“All-Gone!” cried the mouse, “that is the most suspicious name yet; I
can scarcely believe it. What does it mean?” Then she shook her head,
rolled herself up, and went to sleep.
After this Tom was not invited to any more christenings; but as the
winter came on, and in the night no provisions could be found, the
mouse thought of the careful store they had laid up, and said to the
cat, “Come, Tom, let us fetch the jar of meat from the church; it will
be such a nice relish for us.”
“Ah, yes,” he replied. “It will be a fine relish to you, I dare say,
when you stretch out your little tongue to taste it!” So he took
himself out of the way, and mousey went to the church by herself. But
what was her vexation at finding the jar still standing in the same
place, but quite empty.
Then she returned home, and found Tom looking as if he did not care,
although he was at first rather ashamed to face her.
“I understand now,” said the little mouse, quite gently. “I can see
what has happened. A fine friend you have been to deceive me in this
manner! When you told me you were going to stand godfather to the
three little kittens, you never visited your relations at all; but,
instead of that, you went to the church three times, and ate up all the
meat in the jar. I know, now, what you meant by Top-Off, Half-Gone,--”
[Illustration: “I UNDERSTAND NOW,” SAID THE LITTLE MOUSE, QUITE GENTLY.
_Page 136._ ]
“Will you be quiet?” cried the cat, in a rage. “If you say another
word, I will eat you.”
But the poor little mouse had got the name on the tip of her tongue
when Tom interrupted her, and she could not stop herself. Out it
came--“All-Gone!”
Tom, who only wanted an excuse to eat up his poor little wife, sprang
upon her the minute she uttered the word, broke her back with his paw,
and ate her up!
* * * * *
“Oh, Impty,” cried Dolly, as the story ended, “what a wicked cat! I
hope you would never, never do such a thing! You _wouldn’t_ would you?”
“No,” answered the kitten, yawning again, “I never should. In the first
place, I’d not dream of marrying a mouse. _I_ always eat ’em.”
THE FIFTH NIGHT
“I’m a little late this evening,” purred Impty, as he rubbed up against
Dolly the next night. “But the large yellow cat across the street is
giving a Catnip Tea, and I simply _had_ to stay for one cup.”
“I do hope that you’re going to tell me a pleasanter story this time,”
said the little girl. “I dreamed all night long about that poor mouse.”
“To-night,” said the black kitten, “I am going to tell you of Mother
Michel, and the wonderful adventures of her cat, Moumouth. It is
_very_ exciting, and it turns out beautifully in the end.”
[Illustration:
Mother Michel
And
Her Cat
]
More than a hundred years ago there lived in Paris an old countess,
Madame de la Grenouillière, a widow who had no children and who loved
animals very dearly. But she was quite unfortunate, for none of her
pets, no matter how much she loved or cared for them, ever lived. One
by one they died, and, at last, the Countess decided that she would
have no more. However, one day, as she was riding home in her chariot,
she saw a crowd of children tormenting a poor street-cat. They had tied
a sauce-pan to its tail, and goodness knows what would have happened if
Madame had not put her head out of the window and called to them that
whoever should bring the cat to her would be rewarded with a piece of
gold.
The crowd of children all ran after the cat, not to torment him now,
but to bring him safely to the rich lady and gain the reward; and he
was nearly as much in danger from kindness as he had been from cruelty.
At last he was caught, and brought safely to the Countess. Once she had
him safe in the chariot, she took a good look at him, and then said:
“Poor pussy! What a very ugly little cat you really are!” But when the
cat turned to look reproachfully at her, she exclaimed: “Well, he may
be ugly, but he certainly has very fine eyes. Here,” she added, turning
to her companion, “once more I will have a pet. Let us take this poor
pussy with us, and see what a comfortable, happy life at my fireside
will do for him.”
So saying, she placed him in the arms of her friend, Mother Michel, and
together they all three rode home.
Besides her companion, there was another one of her household upon
whom the Countess greatly relied, and this was her steward, whom the
old lady had nicknamed Lustucru. Now Lustucru was as bad as Mother
Michel was good; he hated all animals as much as the Countess and her
companion loved them; and, when he saw them bringing home another cat,
he was very angry, although he pretended to be pleased, and called the
cat “pretty puss” more than once. And this the cat seemed to know, for
he walked away from Master Lustucru whenever he saw him coming.
At the end of four or five weeks you would never have known Moumouth.
They had given him this name because, so an old scholar told the
Countess, that Moumouth, in Hebrew, meant “saved from the sauce-pans.”
And, in a second month, Moumouth had grown fat, and his fur shone as if
it were satin.
But something, which always does turn up, even in the happiest
cat’s life, came to disturb Moumouth’s peace of mind. Madame de la
Grenouillière was called to Normandy by the sickness of her sister,
and, alas, Moumouth could not go with her because the sick lady did not
like cats.
“Come here, Mother Michel,” said the Countess; “I am going to trust my
precious cat to you. Take care of him well, and if, on my return, he is
alive and thriving, I will leave you a pension of three hundred dollars
a year.”
“But, Madame,” replied her companion, “I will take care of Moumouth
because I love him as if he were my own.”
“I know that,” said the old Countess, “but be very, very careful, and I
will reward your zeal.”
When the steward heard this promise, he was wild with wrath. “Mother
Michel will have everything,” he said, “and there will be nothing left
for me. Well, Moumouth, once the Countess is out of the way, we’ll see
about your precious life.”
The Countess set out on her journey, and Mother Michel, worthy of the
confidence that had been shown her, now took the greatest care of
Moumouth. She petted him, she patted him, and fed him so well that he
grew even handsomer. All this time Lustucru was looking on, waiting
for a chance to kill Moumouth when his faithful guardian should not
be on the watch. One evening, when the cat was asleep before the fire,
Lustucru came to Mother Michel, and begged her to go down and see one
of the servants who was very ill with rheumatism. As soon as she had
left the room, he seized Moumouth, who had not even time to mew, and
threw him head over heels into a large bag. Then the wicked man ran
swiftly across the garden, and out into the street toward the Seine,
and, the river once reached, he opened the bag and tossed Moumouth into
the water. He was in such haste to get home that he did not wait to
see the poor cat struggling for his life in the river; nor did he see,
a moment later, Moumouth crawling to a little ledge just at the foot of
one of the arches of the bridge.
Instead, he ran home quickly, for fear Mother Michel would have
finished her visit, and come to look for Moumouth. He slipped quietly
into bed, and when, in a little while, she came and knocked at his
door, he pretended to have just waked up from a sound sleep.
[Illustration: HE OPENED THE BAG, AND TOSSED MOUMOUTH INTO THE WATER.
_Page 149._]
“Moumouth lost!” he cried, pretending to be very sorry indeed. “Oh,
I’ll get up immediately and help you look for him. Such a fine fellow!
It would be a thousand pities if anything happened to him.” And so,
at the head of all the servants of the house, Lustucru helped Mother
Michel search from garret to cellar.
But was Moumouth shivering all this time just above the cold waters
of the Seine? Oh, no, although there for a number of hours he sat all
huddled up, not daring to take his life in his paws and swim to shore.
But at daybreak, about five o’clock in the morning, two fishermen came
to the bridge to try their luck. What good-fortune for Moumouth! As
soon as the lines were let down he seized them, and the fishermen,
imagining from his weight that he must be some splendid fish, hauled
him quickly in. But when, instead of a fish, a cat bounded off on the
bridge, they stood in astonishment for a moment, and then ran after him
as fast as they could. Moumouth redoubled his speed, and escaped his
pursuers by jumping through the open windows of a bakery. Here he
found some bags of flour, and, tired out, he went to sleep at once. But
he was so hungry that he soon woke up, and remembering his old habit of
catching mice and rats when he was a gutter-cat, he sprang at the first
mouse that popped its head out of a hole. Round and round the room he
chased his prey, and the baker’s boy, seeing the hunt, lifted a broom
to hit him as he passed, but the baker forbade him to strike Moumouth.
“He is a good mouser,” he said; “he shall stay here and rid the bakery
of all the rats and mice that are eating us out of house and home.”
When Moumouth heard these words he grew so frightened--believing that
he would never see Mother Michel again--that he sprang through the
nearest window, and so escaped into the street. Here he wandered among
the back-alleys until nightfall, and then he scurried home as fast
as he could scamper. He hid in the garret and timidly crept behind
some boxes to wait until he should hear Mother Michel moving about
downstairs the next morning.
All this time the household was searching still for Moumouth. The
wicked Lustucru pretended to hear him crying in the garden; then, after
they had vainly searched in every thicket and hedge, he would cry: “No.
I’m sure that I heard him mewing in the cellar.” At last, laughing to
himself, he said, “Do you know, I think he must be in the garret.” Up
the long stairway Mother Michel ran, and who should come out and rub
affectionately against her skirts but Moumouth!
Never was any one so glad to see a cat before; and Lustucru pretended
to be as happy as the old lady herself. After this Mother Michel never
let Moumouth go out of her sight; she petted him nearly to death and
made him sleep in her room. There was no chance for Lustucru to catch
the cat alone again.
“But he shall not escape me,” thought the wicked steward, and keeping
this idea always in his mind, he bought a package of rat-poison,
and, as he hid it safely away, he cried to himself, “This ‘Death to
Rats’ shall soon be ‘Death to Cats!’” The next day, when Mother
Michel brought up Moumouth’s dinner,--good chicken patties,--Lustucru
sprinkled poison all over them. Moumouth, hungry as he was, refused to
eat, and Mother Michel, vexed at last with the whims of her charge,
said: “Well! If you don’t eat those patties, Sir, you’ll get nothing
else for dinner! Why, I’ve a good mind to eat them myself.”
“Oh, don’t!” cried Lustucru, jumping up in alarm. “A Christian should
not eat food that’s been prepared for an animal.”
“Well,” replied Mother Michel, “either the cat eats those patties, or
he goes hungry.”
And hungry poor Moumouth did go, all that day and all the next, living
on scraps which the cook threw to him. But eat the poisoned food
the clever cat would not. So the patties stayed locked up in Mother
Michel’s cupboard, and they were soon forgotten, except by Lustucru. He
had failed so often to kill Moumouth himself, that he knew he must try
some other means.
And Fate, which isn’t always kind to cats, threw just such a chance,
he thought, in his way. One morning, as he was returning early from
market, he saw a little ragged boy gazing hungrily at the open kitchen,
and, no doubt, wishing himself well inside.
“What is your name?” asked Lustucru.
“Faribole, Monsieur,” answered the little boy, making a low bow.
“And what are you doing here, spying in my mistress’s windows? Are you
thinking that you would like to be one of her household?”
“I was, indeed, Monsieur,” answered Faribole. “Could you tell me if
there is any need of a scullion, for I would willingly do any work, I
am so hungry and homeless.”
“I am the steward,” said Monsieur Lustucru, proudly, “and I alone have
the power to engage you. This I will do if you will promise to obey me
in all things.”
“Oh, I will do your bidding in everything,” the little fellow pleaded.
“Then,” said the steward, “follow me, and I will instruct you in your
duties.”
When they were safely in the house, Lustucru turned to Faribole and
said, “Do you see that cat?”--pointing to the sleeping Moumouth. “You
must try to make that creature your friend, for he is the chief pet of
our mistress, Madame de la Grenouillière. Make him love you, make him
your friend, and all will be well.”
For a month Faribole played with Moumouth; he coaxed him, he petted
him, and, at last, completely won the cat’s heart. Moumouth would have
followed him anywhere.
At the end of a month’s time, Lustucru called the boy to him.
“You have done all I told you to,” he said, as if he were very much
pleased.
“And now shall I stay here always, Monsieur?” Faribole asked eagerly.
“That depends upon your being willing to do what I tell you, my lad,”
answered the steward. “You must, to-night, call Moumouth out into the
garden. There you and I will put him into a large sack, and together we
will beat him to death.”
“Never! Never!” cried Faribole, who loved the cat very much. “I could
never do such a dreadful thing as that!”
For answer Lustucru went to the closet where the boy’s ragged garments,
that he had worn upon first entering the house, were hanging.
“Take off the clothes I gave you, and go away instantly in these rags,
if you are not willing to obey me!” said Lustucru, savagely.
In vain poor Faribole wept and begged for Moumouth’s life to be
spared, but the wicked steward refused to listen to another word; and,
at last, Faribole, growing less and less brave as he thought of his
hungry days and wet nights on the pavements of Paris, promised that he
would help Lustucru do this cruel deed.
The next day, as the afternoon was drawing to a close, Mother Michel
called Faribole to her and said: “I am going out on an errand, now, and
I am going to leave Moumouth with you. Be kind to him, and the Countess
will reward your kindness when she returns.”
Alas! No sooner had she started than Faribole, the tears running down
his face, coaxed Moumouth into the garden. There, at the end of a long
alley, stood Lustucru waiting, sack in hand. He seized the cat, thrust
him in the sack, and, in spite of all his struggles, tied the cord in a
tight knot. He raised his club, and was about to strike when back came
Mother Michel, out of breath from running so fast.
“Our dear mistress is returning, Lustucru,” she cried, panting. “Come,
let us go to meet her with all the rest of the household.”
She turned, and was soon out of sight.
“Here!” cried Lustucru, out of patience at the delay. “Here, Faribole!
Take this wretched cat, beat him until he can’t stir, and then throw
him into the Seine.” And he, too, ran away to welcome the Countess home
again. When he returned, there was Faribole, his face all wet with
tears, but no Moumouth!
“Have you done as I told you?” asked the wicked man, and the boy nodded
his head, too sad to speak.
But here they heard the voice of Mother Michel calling Faribole.
“Faribole! Faribole! Come hither! Our mistress, the dear Countess,
wishes you to bring her dear cat to her immediately.”
Faribole went slowly, and with his head hanging.
“Oh, Mother Michel!” he cried, “while Moumouth and I were at play in
the garden, he got frightened by some boys who were passing, and ran
away to hide in the hedge.”
The Countess was very much grieved, and Mother Michel tried to console
her. “Once he was lost for several days, and he came back unharmed,”
she said.
But though they looked everywhere, and offered rewards, no Moumouth was
to be found.
At last Mother Michel decided to go to the fortune-teller around the
corner, hoping that there she might hear some news of her lost pet.
The fortune-teller turned over her pack of cards. “You are looking for
something that is lost,” she said. “Ah, I see by the cards that it is a
cat.” She turned over a few more, “My poor lady,” she said sorrowfully,
“your cat has been sold to a butcher, and eaten for a rabbit!”
Mother Michel was just beginning to wring her hands with grief, when
she heard a violent scratching at the door, and then, right through a
pane of glass bounded Moumouth, and jumped straight into her friendly
lap.
“You wicked woman!” cried Mother Michel, angrily; “first you steal our
cat, and then you pretend that he is dead. Oh, this is a fine tale to
tell my mistress, the Countess. She’ll have you put in prison for this!”
“Mercy! Mercy!” begged the fortune-teller, falling on her knees. “I did
not know the cat was yours. It was brought to me by a little lad named
Faribole, who knew I wanted one. Forgive me! Do not have me punished
for a thing that I did not know was wrong.”
Mother Michel was so happy at finding Moumouth that she readily
forgave the poor woman, and hurried home to show the dear pet to the
Countess. Madame de la Grenouillière was as delighted to see Moumouth
as her companion had been to find him. When they had petted him and
fed him and, at last, left him asleep on a down cushion, they sent for
Faribole, and asked him why he had done so wicked a thing.
“Oh,” cried the poor boy, “I wanted to save him from Monsieur Lustucru,
and that seemed to be the only way. He wanted me to beat him to death.”
No one believed him, of course. The steward indignantly denied such
intentions, and poor Faribole was sent away in disgrace.
But Lustucru’s wickedness could not always remain hidden. Some days
after Moumouth’s return, while looking through her cupboard, Mother
Michel found three dead rats and the remains of the chicken patties
that Moumouth had refused to eat. She carried them to the Countess, and
they sent for the steward.
“Oh, Lustucru,” said his mistress, “the rats are troubling me so in
here that I wanted to know if you had any rat-poison.”
“Certainly, Madame,” he replied, bowing. “Wait one moment, and I will
bring it to you.”
The Countess soon found that the two poisons were exactly the same,
and, besides, there began to be people who said that they had seen
Lustucru throw Moumouth from the bridge into the Seine. The steward,
who feared that he would receive his just reward, ran away suddenly one
night, and took service shortly after on a ship that was wrecked on
the Sandwich Islands. And so all his sins were punished, for it is said
that the cannibals ate him for dinner the next day!
As for Faribole, he was taken again into the Countess’s service,
where, so willingly did he work, and so earnestly did he repent of his
misdoing, that Mother Michel adopted him as her own son. When the old
Countess died, she left in her will, as she had promised, an annuity
of three hundred dollars to Moumouth and Mother Michel, to be shared
between them, and when one died, the other was to receive the whole
legacy. So these three--Mother Michel, Moumouth, and Faribole--lived
together happy and contented all their days. And when Moumouth
died,--for all cats must, you know,--he had a grand funeral, and a fine
monument with the story of his life written on it in Latin, so that all
might know how good and wise a cat he had been.
* * * * *
“There!” purred Impty. “Isn’t that a fine tale? And, you see, it did
turn out well, didn’t it? Why, Moumouth became so famous that people
made a nursery rhyme out of his story. French children sing it to this
day, and know it as well as you do ‘Three Little Kittens.’”
“Oh, Impty! What lovely stories the King of the Cats does tell you! I
wish I could go to Cat-Land some night. Couldn’t I?” Dolly coaxed.
“I’ll see,” said Impty, settling himself for his sleep-journey.
“To-night I’ll ask my grandfather, and _maybe_ he’ll let you come.”
THE SIXTH NIGHT
“Can I go to Cat-Land, Impty dear?” asked Dolly, sitting up eagerly, as
soon as the black kitten jumped on the bed.
“No, you can’t,” Impty answered. “I’m awfully sorry, but my grandfather
says that unless you can change into a cat you can’t go; and people
can’t change into cats, nor cats into people, nowadays. I can’t imagine
wanting to be a human being, but there was a cat once that did. Did you
ever hear of her?”
[Illustration: VENUS AND THE CAT]
There was, once upon a time, a cat who was not at all satisfied with
herself. It was not that she wished to be more beautiful, but, because
she had fallen in love with a young man, she wanted to be changed into
a girl, that he might love her in return. So she prayed before the
altar of Venus, and begged that the goddess would make her a beautiful
maiden. So long and so earnestly did the cat pray, that Venus at last
grew sorry for her, and changed her into one of the loveliest girls
in the world, so beautiful, indeed, that, as soon as he saw her, the
young man begged her to marry him. Everything was going as happily as
possible, when Venus, just to see if she had been able to give the cat
another nature in changing her shape, put a mouse down before her.
Instantly the girl sprang from her seat, and chased the mouse round
and round the room, caught it, and would have eaten it, had not Venus
turned her at once into a cat again, for she saw it was of no use, and
that what was bred in the bone would always stick to the flesh.
[Illustration: VENUS TURNED HER AT ONCE INTO A CAT AGAIN.--_Page 180._]
* * * * *
“Of course it’s a pity she didn’t have more sense,” added Impty,
sagely; “but then, mice are _such_ a temptation! Æsop--my grandfather
says he wrote the fable hundreds and hundreds of years ago--knew just
as much about animals as he did about men. I’m going to tell you his
story of ‘The Cat and the Fox.’”
[Illustration:
THE CAT
AND THE
FOX
]
One day a cat met a fox in the wood. “Ah,” she thought, “he is clever
and sensible, and talked of in the world a good deal; I will speak to
him.” So she said, quite in a friendly manner: “Good morning, dear Mr.
Fox; how are you? And how do things go with you in these hard times?”
The fox, full of pride, looked at the cat from head to foot, and
hardly knew what to say to her for a long time. At last he replied:
“Oh, you poor little whisker-cleaner, you old gray tabby, you hungry
mouse-hunter, what are you thinking about to come to me, and to stand
there and ask me how I am getting on? What do you know, and how many
tricks have you?”
“I only know one trick,” answered the cat, meekly.
“And pray what is that?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, “if the hounds are behind me, I can spring up into a
tree out of their way and save myself.”
“Is that all?” cried the fox. “Why, I am master of a hundred tricks,
and have, over and above all, a sackful of cunning. But I pity you,
Puss, so come with me, and I will teach you how to baffle both men and
hounds.”
At this moment a hunter with four hounds was seen approaching. The
cat sprang nimbly up a tree and seated herself on the highest branch,
where, by the spreading foliage, she was quite hidden.
“Turn out the sack, Master Fox, turn out the sack!” cried the cat; but
the hounds had already seized him, and held him fast.
“Ah, Master Fox,” cried the cat, “your hundred tricks are not of much
use to you. Now, if you had only known one like mine, you would not
have lost your life so quickly.”
* * * * *
“And now I really must go,” said Impty. “I’m sorry not to tell you
more to-night, but our Caterwauling Class meets at eight in the
backyard, and I’m leader. They say I’ve a wonderful voice for so young
a cat. Isn’t it lucky that the shutter doesn’t close quite tight? If
it did I’d never see the fence, nor my friends, either, and, just
as likely as not, they’d elect Tabby Gray in my place out of spite.
Good-by!”
THE SEVENTH NIGHT
Outside it was cold and wet; twilight had come early, and Impty trotted
in shivering and a little cross.
“I almost wish that I wasn’t black,” he growled, as he cuddled up
beside Dolly. “Miss Jane’s airing her furs; _she_ says there’s frost in
the air, and she picked me up just because she thought I was her old
muff. The idea of mixing up a respectable kitten with a monkey muff!”
“What did you do, Impty?” asked Dolly, curiously.
“Oh, I just stuck out my claws, and miaoued a little. _Any_ cat would,
and then she said, ‘There’s that everlasting kitten!’ and shooed me out
of the door, and I got all wet before I could run in again.”
“Poor kitty!” said the little girl, patting him.
“To-night is Hallowe’en,” went on Impty, “and people used to believe
that witches and cats could go where they pleased on that night. They
can’t, really. I wish they could, for then I’d sail off through the
air with Miss Jane’s furs, and never, never bring them back! Or,
perhaps, I’d bite her boa in two like ‘The Cat and the Pudding-Bag
String.’ But it does seem a little odd that, long, long years ago on
this very Eve of All Hallows, Dick Whittington heard the Bow Bells
calling to him, ‘Turn, turn again, Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of
London!’ Do you know the tale of Dick Whittington and his wonderful
Cat? If not, I’m going to tell it to you to-night.”
[Illustration:
Dick Whittington
And His
Wonderful Cat.
]
A long, long time ago there lived in England a little country lad, Dick
Whittington by name. Now Dick’s father was a poor man, a farm-laborer,
working early and late in the fields that his family might be able to
live on even the simplest fare. Sometimes there was very little of
this, and at last Dick made up his mind to go to London and win a
fortune for the whole family. There, so he had heard, the streets were
paved with gold, and any one might become rich for the asking.
So one night, when every one else was fast asleep in his bed, Dick
tied his Sunday clothes together in a bundle and ran away on the wide
high-road that led to London-Town. Many a weary mile he walked; and,
when he was very hungry, and it seemed as if his tired feet could not
take another step, he cheered himself up by thinking of those streets
of gold. At last he came to London, and what was his disappointment
to see only rough cobble-stones, looking just like those in the
market-square near his own home. As he was wandering up and down,
footsore and not knowing where to go, he caught sight of a little
golden-haired girl. It was the only gold he had seen since he came to
London. She stared from the window above at the little ragged fellow,
and then, as if she suddenly thought that he might be hungry, she ran
down and begged the porter to let Dick in.
Now this little girl was Alice Fitzgerald, the daughter of a rich
merchant, his only child, and petted and loved by all who knew her.
Even the cook, crabbed and cross to every one else, could deny her
nothing; and because she asked him so prettily to feed the hungry boy,
he took Dick in, gave him some supper, and, the next day, made him his
scullion.
Dick worked harder than he had ever worked in all his life before.
He never saw Alice except when she went out to walk or ride, for the
kitchens were a long way from the parlors above. The cook was cross,
the work was dull, and, worst of all, the little, chilly garret in
which the boy slept was filled with mice and rats. These worried him
so, running over him at night, waking him from the happy dream that
he was at home again, that he spent his last penny for a cat which a
ragged urchin was carrying through the streets. Soon the mice and the
rats ceased to trouble him, and life seemed easier after all.
Master Fitzgerald, the merchant in whose kitchens Dick worked, was
a kind-hearted man, and whenever he sent out a ship laden with his
goods, he let his servants add some venture of their own, too, upon
which they could make a profit. Soon after puss had driven away all the
rats and the mice in her little master’s garret, the merchant called
together his household, and asked each one what they would send with
his fine new outward-bound ship. Some brought one thing, some another,
but Dick Whittington had only his cat to send. All the servants laughed
at him, and the cook called him a little fool for putting so silly a
thing on his master’s vessel. But the merchant said that if Dick wished
to sell the cat it should go, and pussy was carefully put on board the
ship. After she was gone how Dick did miss her! He had never realized
how fond he was of her until she was so far away that he could not call
her back; and the rats and the mice, as if they knew that there was no
cat lying in wait for them, ran back into the garret again. At last
Dick grew so discouraged that he packed his clothes in a little bundle
and stole out of the house softly one All Hallow’s Eve to run back to
his home. There the skies were blue, and the people kind, and even if
the streets were not paved with gold, all the woods and fields were
yellow with Autumn.
[Illustration: SOME BROUGHT ONE THING, SOME ANOTHER, BUT DICK
WHITTINGTON HAD ONLY HIS CAT TO SEND.--_Page 194._]
But, as he walked quickly along the road that led to the open country,
the great Bells of Bow Church began to ring, and the sound came to Dick
Whittington’s ears like a voice, for it called, “Turn, turn again,
Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London!” The little boy listened,
and said to himself, “Perhaps there’s good luck yet in store for
me!” and once more the Bells of Bow pealed out, “Turn, turn again,
Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London.”
So back to his garret and his work went Dick, resolved to stay a while
longer at least, and give the Bow Bells’ prophecy a chance to come
true. The cook was still cross, the work was as hard as ever, and, as
the mice and rats gnawed and gnawed, Dick missed his furry friend very
much. But he kept on steadily working, and, by and by, his patience
was rewarded. The ship that had sailed so long before with his little
venture on board, returned, and the captain told a marvellous tale.
A favorable wind had brought the vessel quickly to the coast of
Barbary, and there the sailors went ashore, carrying with them some
bales of merchandise to sell to the Sultan, who was so much pleased
with the wonderful things that he bought them all, and bade the captain
and his officers dine at the palace. They went, but, no sooner were
they seated at a long table spread with magnificent gold and silver
dishes, and everything good to eat and drink, than swarms of rats and
mice ran out of the walls, and devoured all the banquet. The captain,
vexed to lose his dinner so, sent the cabin-boy for the cat which
had been left on board the vessel, and, as soon as she came to the
palace-door, and saw the mice and rats, she sprang from the boy’s arms
and chased them all away, just as she had done in Dick’s attic in
far-off London. Then the Sultan of Barbary begged to buy this wonderful
creature, and offered the captain three hundred thousand pounds for
her. So pussy was sold, and a great fortune came in her stead to the
little scullion.
And Dick Whittington was worthy of his good luck, for he sent for all
his family to come to London and live like lords; he even gave presents
to the servants who had laughed at him and his cat.
His master, the wealthy merchant, made him a partner in his ships
and ventures; his fortune yearly increased, and when he had grown to
be a young man, he married Alice Fitzgerald, and, last of all, he was
knighted by the king, became Sir Richard Whittington, and was thrice
Lord Mayor of London, as the Bow Bells had long, long ago chimed in his
ears.
* * * * *
“And the best of it all is,” added Impty, with a wide, red yawn, “that
Sir Richard never forgot what had brought him his good-fortune when
he was only poor little Dick Whittington; for, in all his statues and
pictures, there is a little cat curled down in one corner, in memory of
his own puss.”
“How I wish I could see one of them,” said Dolly, earnestly. “I do love
people to remember things.”
“My grandfather, the King of the Cats, has lots in his palace in
Cat-Land. Now, if I could only take you with me--but I can’t; it’s no
use wishing, so good night!”
THE EIGHTH NIGHT
As Impty settled down into his place the next night, his purr sounded
almost like a laugh.
“Why, Kitty, what _are_ you laughing at?” Dolly asked, for the black
kitten was usually a sober little person.
“I was just thinking of a prank my grandfather played in his young
days, long, long before he ever thought of being the King of the Cats.
If you like, I’ll tell it to you.”
[Illustration:
THE FUNERAL
OF
TOM GRIMALKIN
]
There were once four crows that sat in an ash-tree near an old
farm-house. It wasn’t long before the owl that lived hard by looked out
of his window under the eaves of the loft, and said to them:--
“Good day to you.”
“Good day,” answered the crows.
“Have you any spare time?” asked the owl. “Then I can put you in the
way of earning an honest penny.”
“Indeed, we’d like to,” said the four, for the snow was lying old and
thick over the whole country, and there wasn’t much to be earned.
“My good comrade, Tom Grimalkin, is dead,” said the owl. “Now, I was
thinking you might carry him to his grave. When my old friend was
alive, he often used to say to me: ‘Jan Owl,’ he would say, ‘you must
give me a decent burial. A respectable life deserves a respectable
funeral,’ he used to say, for he was a clever cat. Now, look here! You
four have good black coats on, and are honest people--”
“Come along, then,” said the crows, and crept in through the owl-hole
after him, one by one.
Now it was pretty dark in the loft, and the thatched roof was low, but
they could see Tom Grimalkin where he lay. He was stretched at full
length in the hay, without a move in him. The owl took up his post at
his friend’s head, and the crows hopped along, all askew, just as
they do in windy weather among the young wheat.
[Illustration: “HAVE YOU ANY SPARE TIME?” ASKED THE OWL.--_Page 205._]
“Many’s the mouse we’ve caught in this loft together, Tom,” said the
owl. “We’ve always been good friends, and many’s the spree we’ve had
with one another. But that’s all past and gone now. Oh, Tom! Tom,
old fellow! How you’d rejoice, and what a spring you’d make, if you
were only alive, and I said to you, ‘Tom, four stupid black crows are
standing round you this minute!’”
Then up sprang the Tom-Cat, and there was a crow-hunt, the like of
which you’ve never seen.
* * * * *
“Didn’t I tell you that owls were more like cats than birds? Why, even
that silly song that your uncle sings sometimes, about the owl and the
pussy-cat that went to sea in a pea-green boat, and lived on honey,
says so. I don’t think that any self-respecting cat would eat honey,
but the rest of it’s true enough. This isn’t getting on with my next
story, though, and directly I’m through I’ve got to go to Cat-Land.
There’s to be a grand ball at the Palace to-night, and I’m to open it
with my cousin, the Princess Miaoulina. You never heard, did you, about
the way my grandfather happened to learn that he was King of the Cats?
Well, then, I’ll tell it to you.”
[Illustration:
The King
Of The Cats
]
A number of years ago, a gentleman, who was travelling through the
eastern part of Germany, lost his way at nightfall, and at last found
himself wandering through a large, dense forest. He walked his horse
slowly for some hours among the trees, and finally, as he was getting
very cold and tired, he thought he saw a light about a quarter of a
mile away. He turned his steps toward it, for he hoped to find some
peasant-cottage where he could pass the night, but, when he came
nearer, he saw that the light was streaming through the windows of a
ruined church. Looking over the sill of one of them, he saw a number
of cats gathered round a small grave, into which four of them, crying
bitterly, were lowering a little coffin with a crown and Grimalkin the
Fifteenth engraved upon it. Instead of stopping to ask the way, the
traveller jumped on his horse, and rode off, fortunately finding the
right path at last. His friends had been expecting him for several
hours, and, after they had given him a good dinner, and made him as
comfortable as they could, they asked him why he was so late.
“Well,” said the man, “I lost my way, and wandered for some hours
without knowing where I was, and finally I did strike the right path by
some great good luck. But, while I was lost, I saw the strangest sight
I have ever seen in my life!”
“What was it?” asked his hosts, eagerly.
“Why,” the traveller began, “I saw more cats than I ever beheld in all
my life before; every one sad and crying, as a coffin, with a crown
and Grimalkin the Fifteenth marked upon it, was being lowered into the
ground.”
He had got no farther in his story than that, when the large black cat
who had seemed to be asleep in front of the fire, leaped up and cried:
“What! Grimalkin the Fifteenth dead! Then I’m the King of the Cats!”
and springing up the chimney, he disappeared, and was never seen again!
* * * * *
“The reason he was never seen again,” Impty explained, “was because he
went straight to Cat-Land, and people can’t go there, you know. That
black cat was my grandfather, and he’d never hoped to be King so soon.
But, you see, Grimalkin the Fifteenth lost all his nine lives at once,
and so my grandfather succeeded to the throne immediately. Some day,
perhaps, I’ll be King of the Cats, and if I ever am, I’ll make a new
law so that you can come to Cat-Land just as you are without changing
your shape. Wouldn’t that be nice? Good night!”
THE NINTH NIGHT
Dolly was sitting up in bed when Impty came purring in the next
evening. She looked very happy, and she called out gayly to the black
kitten: “Oh, Impty! Mother is coming home to-morrow! Miss Jane told me
so when she was undressing me.”
“I know,” answered Impty, curling up comfortably. “The cook was talking
about it to Eliza when I was eating my supper in the kitchen. Yes,
this is our last night together, and because it’s the very last time
I shall ever talk to you, I’m going to tell you the finest cat-tale in
the whole world. It’s ‘Puss-In-Boots.’”
[Illustration: PUSS-IN-BOOTS]
Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a little country village, there
lived a miller and his three sons. He was poor, but he had been able to
bring them up respectably, and let them live well enough; though, when
he died, his sons found that all he had left them was his mill, his
donkey, and his cat.
The oldest son took the mill, the second the donkey, and for the
youngest there was left only the pet cat. He was sad indeed when he
thought of his inheritance. “What shall I live on now?” he asked
himself. “My brothers can go into partnership, and so always earn their
living; but when I have eaten my cat, and made myself a muff out of his
fur, all that will be left for me is beggary.”
While he was thus thinking aloud, the cat came and rubbed up against
his legs, purring, and then, to his great surprise, spoke.
“Master,” said Puss, “you haven’t fared so badly as you seem to think.
Just have a pair of boots made for me, and get me a sack, and you’ll
see fine things!”
The young man hardly knew whether to believe he was awake or asleep.
He had never even heard of a cat talking before, but he remembered how
clever Puss had always been about catching mice and rats, hiding in the
grain and playing dead; and he thought it would do no harm to try what
luck his cat would bring him.
So a fine pair of high, yellow leather boots was made for the
cat, and when Puss had slipped them on, and slung the sack over his
shoulder, his master began to have faith in his good-fortune at once.
[Illustration: “MASTER,” SAID PUSS, “YOU HAVEN’T FARED SO BADLY AS YOU
SEEM TO THINK.”--_Page 220._]
The cat hurried straight to the warren, where hundreds of rabbits were
nibbling grass and clover leaves, and lying down, he opened his sack
wide and scattered bran at its mouth. Soon, a silly little rabbit, who
knew nothing of tricks and traps, came and entered the sack the better
to eat the bran. Quick as a flash Puss drew the strings and killed him
without mercy.
Very proud of his prey, he went to the palace of the King, where all
the court wondered at seeing a booted cat who could talk. He was shown
at once into the throne room, and there, after he had made a low bow,
he laid the rabbit at the King’s feet, saying, “Here, Sire, is a
present from my master, the Marquis of Carabas,” for so he had chosen
to call the miller’s son. The King was very much pleased. “Thank the
Marquis, my good fellow,” he said, “for sending me such fine game, and
here’s a piece of gold for you.”
Soon after, Puss caught a brace of partridges, and these, too, he
carried to the palace. The King was as gracious as before; again he
thanked the Marquis, and gave the cat a handsome present. So things
went on; from time to time Puss carried game to the King, who always
showed him the greatest favor. At last, one day, when the cat had
learned that the King and his daughter, the loveliest princess in the
whole world, were to drive through their village that afternoon, he ran
to his master, and cried: “Quick! Quick! Do as I tell you, and your
fortune is made forever. Take off your clothes, jump into the river,
and leave the rest to me.” So saying, he took the young man’s workaday
clothes and hid them under a large rock. Then, as he heard the rumble
of chariot wheels on the high road, he began to cry at the top of his
voice: “Help! Help! My master, the Marquis of Carabas, is drowning!”
The King, hearing these shouts, popped his head out of the coach
window, and seeing the cat who had so many times brought him presents
of game, he commanded his guards to go to the rescue of the Marquis.
“Alas, your Majesty!” cried Puss, “my master’s clothes have been
stolen. While he was bathing, robbers came and carried them away, and
although I cried, ‘Stop, thief! Stop, thief!’ I could not prevent them
from doing this wicked deed. And now he cannot appear before your
Majesty.”
“I will send the groom of my wardrobe for one of my finest suits,” said
the King; and when the suit was brought, and the Marquis of Carabas
had put it on, every one marvelled to see how handsome he was. The King
invited him to get into the coach and drive with them, and, as for his
daughter, the pretty Princess, she fell head over heels in love with
him.
All this time Puss had been busy, too. He ran quickly ahead of the
coach, and, stopping at a fine field, he cried aloud to the peasants
who were mowing it: “Good people! If you do not tell the King, when he
rides by, that this field belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, I will
chop you into mince-meat!”
The peasants were very much frightened at this threat, and, when the
King passed by, and asked them who owned the field, they cried with one
voice, “It belongs to the Marquis of Carabas.”
Puss, who was keeping ahead of the coach, had already come to the next
field, a rich meadow which the laborers were reaping. “Good people,” he
said to them, “when the King rides by, if you do not tell him that this
meadow belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, I will make mince-meat of
you!”
Terrified, the peasants promised, and when the King asked them whose
meadow they were reaping, they answered as one man, “Sire, it belongs
to the Marquis of Carabas.”
“You have some very fine property, Marquis,” said the King, pleased
to find the young man as wealthy as he was handsome. And the Marquis
seemed to grow richer, for Puss had stopped at each field, and the
peasants declared that all the land there-abouts belonged to the
Marquis of Carabas.
At last Puss stopped before the drawbridge of a mighty castle owned by
the richest and most powerful ogre in the whole country-side. The cat
begged that the warder would announce him to the Ogre as one who had
heard so much of his magnificence that he could not pass by without
seeing it. The Ogre, who was very vain, was pleased by this compliment,
and received Puss with the greatest kindness. After a while, the cat
said: “They tell me that you can change yourself into any shape you
please; that, in a moment, you can become a lion or a tiger, or any
tremendous thing you wish to be.”
“So I can,” said the Ogre, “and just to show you, I’ll turn into a
lion.” In the wink of an eye there he was, roaring away, and poor Puss
was so frightened that he ran up to the top of the house, slipping at
each step, for his fine, shiny boots were never made to climb roofs.
“Come down,” cried the Ogre, changing back into his real shape. “I
won’t hurt you! Come down!”
Very much scared, Puss clambered down, and, as soon as his voice came
back to him, he said, “They say, too,--but this I cannot believe,--that
you can take the shape of the tiniest animal, a mouse, for instance.”
“Of course I can,” said the Ogre, proudly. “Just watch me.” He at once
became a little mouse scampering over the floor, and Puss, like a
flash, sprang on him and ate him up!
By this time the coach had drawn up to the gate-ways of the castle, and
Puss, seeing it stop, ran to throw open the doors, crying: “Welcome,
your Majesty! Welcome to the castle of the Marquis of Carabas!”
“Is this yours also, my dear Marquis,” cried the King. “What splendid
battlements, and what a noble gate-way! Come, let us enter, and see if
the interior is as fine, too.”
As he spoke, he walked into the castle, and the Marquis gave his hand
to the pretty Princess, and led her in.
Puss flung wide the doors of the banqueting-hall and showed a long
table covered with a fine repast, for the Ogre had invited friends to
dinner that day, and this feast was prepared for them.
The King, the Marquis, and the pretty Princess ate it in their stead;
and at the close his Majesty said, in great good humor, to the young
man, “It all depends upon you, Marquis, whether or not you’re my
son-in-law.”
The Marquis, who was in love with the Princess quite as much as she
was with him, gladly consented, and that very evening the wedding was
celebrated.
So the poor miller’s son became the heir of a mighty king, and, as for
Puss, who had brought him all this good-fortune, he became a great
lord, and caught rats and mice only for his own amusement.
* * * * *
The last Kitty-Cat Tale was finished.
“Now, good-by, little Mistress; go to sleep,” purred Impty, as he
rubbed up against Dolly’s arm. “I can never, never talk to you again
this way, for once, only, does our King permit a cat to talk to a
mortal. But, sometimes, when you are petting me, please remember the
stories I used to tell you. Now, I’m going to curl up on your pillow,
just because it’s the last time. How surprised Miss Jane will be when
she sees me to-morrow morning! But it won’t make any difference, for
we’ve had our nights, nine of them just like a cat’s lives; and I don’t
mind if she shuts me out now. Good-by! I’m going to Cat-Land again.
They’re having a wedding there to-night.”
“Couldn’t I really ever go to Cat-Land? If you were king, couldn’t
I?” begged Dolly, wistfully. “I’d truly be good, truly, Impty. And how
would I get there?”
“Why,” the black kitten answered, “Cat-Land lies East of the Sun and
West of the Moon, and the road runs all along the edge of Wonder-World.
But it doesn’t take me any time to go because I’m one of the Royal
Family. I just close my eyes, and whisk my tail nine times, and I’m
there. But I promise, by the whiskers and ears of his Majesty, the King
of the Cats, that I’ll take you there if ever I get the chance.” He
held out his paw solemnly, and Dolly shook it just as gravely. “Now,
mind! It’s a bargain,” he said, snuggling down beside her.
“All right! Good-by!” answered the little girl, sleepily, and when the
moon looked in soon after, Impty was off in his dreams to Cat-Land, and
Dolly had gone to the Land of Nod.
_The Dorothy Dainty Series_
_By AMY BROOKS_
LARGE 12mo CLOTH ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR PRICE $1.00 EACH
_Dorothy Dainty_
_Dorothy’s Playmates_
_Dorothy Dainty at School_
_Dorothy Dainty at the Shore_
_Dorothy Dainty in the City_
_Dorothy Dainty at Home_
[Illustration:
DOROTHY DAINTY AT SCHOOL
BY AMY BROOKS
]
“LITTLE DOROTHY DAINTY is one of the most generous-hearted of
children. Selfishness is not at all a trait of hers, and she knows
the value of making sunshine, not alone in her own heart, but for her
neighborhood and friends.”--_Boston Courier._
“DOROTHY DAINTY, a little girl, the only child of wealthy parents, is
an exceedingly interesting character, and her earnest and interesting
life is full of action and suitable adventure.”--_Pittsburg Christian
Advocate._
“No finer little lady than DOROTHY DAINTY was ever placed in a book
for children.”--_Teachers’ Journal, Pittsburg._
“MISS BROOKS is a popular writer for the very little folks who can
read. She has an immense sympathy for the children, and her stories
never fail to be amusing.”--_Rochester_ (_N. Y._) _Herald._
[Illustration:
DAINTY DOROTHY AT THE SHORE
BY AMY BROOKS
]
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
LITTLE BETTY BLEW
Her Strange Experiences and Adventures in Indian Land
BY ANNIE M. BARNES
Illustrated by FRANK T. MERRILL 12mo Cloth with gold and colors 300
pages Price $1.25
[Illustration:
LITTLE BETTY BLEW
ANNIE M. BARNES
]
One of the very best books with which to satisfy a young reader’s
natural desire for an “Indian story” is this one of little Betty
Blew and what she saw and experienced when her family removed from
Dorchester, Mass., two hundred years ago, to their home on the Ashley
River above Charleston, South Carolina. Although Betty is but a small
maid she is so wise and true that she charms all, and there are a
number of characters who will interest boys as well as girls, and old
as well as young.
There are many Indians who figure most importantly in many exciting
scenes, but the book, though a splendid “Indian story,” is far more
than that. It is an unusually entertaining tale of the making of a
portion of our country, with plenty of information as well as incident
to commend it, and the account of a delightful family life in the brave
old times. It is good to notice that this story is to be the first of
a colonial series, which will surely be a favorite with children and
their parents. Mr. Merrill’s illustrations are of unusual excellence,
even for that gifted artist, and the binding is rich and beautiful.
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent prepaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston
_Only Dollie_
By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha Davidson Square 12mo Cloth $1.00
This is a brightly written story of a girl of twelve, who, when the
mystery of her birth is solved, like Cinderella, passes from drudgery
to better circumstances. There is nothing strained or unnatural at any
point. All descriptions or portrayals of character are life-like, and
the book has an indescribable appealing quality which wins sympathy and
secures success.
“It is delightful reading at all times.”--_Cedar Rapids_ (_Ia._)
_Republican._
“It is well written, the story runs smoothly, the idea is good, and
it is handled with ability.”--_Chicago Journal._
[Illustration:
ONLY DOLLIE
NINA RHOADES
]
_The Little Girl Next Door_
By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00
A delightful story of true and genuine friendship between an impulsive
little girl in a fine New York home and a little blind girl in an
apartment next door. The little girl’s determination to cultivate the
acquaintance, begun out of the window during a rainy day, triumphs over
the barriers of caste, and the little blind girl proves to be in every
way a worthy companion. Later a mystery of birth is cleared up, and the
little blind girl proves to be of gentle birth as well as of gentle
manners.
_Winifred’s Neighbors_
By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha G. Davidson Large 12mo Cloth
$1.00
Little Winifred’s efforts to find some children of whom she reads in
a book lead to the acquaintance of a neighbor of the same name, and
this acquaintance proves of the greatest importance to Winifred’s own
family. Through it all she is just such a little girl as other girls
ought to know, and the story will hold the interest of all ages.
[Illustration:
WINIFRED’S NEIGHBORS
NINA RHOADES
]
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
_The Children on the Top Floor_
By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00
In this book little Winifred Hamilton, the child heroine of “Winifred’s
Neighbors,” reappears, living in the second of the four stories of a
New York apartment house. On the top floor are two very interesting
children, Betty, a little older than Winifred, who is now ten, and
Jack, a brave little cripple, who is a year younger. In the end comes
a glad reunion, and also other good-fortune for crippled Jack, and
Winifred’s kind little heart has once more indirectly caused great
happiness to others.
[Illustration:
THE CHILDREN ON THE TOP FLOOR
NINA RHOADES
]
_How Barbara Kept Her Promise_
By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00
Two orphan sisters, Barbara, aged twelve, and little Hazel, who is
“only eight,” are sent from their early home in London to their
mother’s family in New York. Faithful Barbara has promised her father
that she will take care of pretty, petted, mischievous Hazel, and how
she tries to do this, even in the face of great difficulties, forms the
story which has the happy ending which Miss Rhoades wisely gives to all
her stories.
_Little Miss Rosamond_
By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha G. Davidson Large 12mo Cloth
$1.00
Rosamond lives in Richmond, Va., with her big brother, who cannot give
her all the comfort that she needs in the trying hot weather, and she
goes to the seaside cottage of an uncle whose home is in New York. Here
she meets Gladys and Joy, so well known in a previous book, “The Little
Girl Next Door,” and after some complications are straightened out,
bringing Rosamond’s honesty and kindness of heart into prominence, all
are made very happy.
[Illustration:
LITTLE MISS ROSAMOND
NINA RHOADES
]
_For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
A Boy of a Thousand Years Ago
By HARRIET T. COMSTOCK Large 12mo Profusely illustrated with
full-page drawings and chapter headings by GEORGE VARIAN $1.00
[Illustration:
A BOY of a THOUSAND YEARS AGO.
HARREIT T. COMSTOCK
]
It will at once be understood that the “boy” of the story is Alfred the
Great in his youth, but it cannot be understood how delightful a story
this is until it is seen and read. The splendid pictures of George
Varian make this book superior among juveniles.
“Not a boy lives who will not enjoy this book thoroughly. There is a
good deal of first-class historical information woven into the story,
but the best part of it is the splendid impression of times and
manners it gives in old England a thousand years ago.”--_Louisville
Courier-Journal._
“Mrs. Comstock writes very appreciatively of Little Alfred, who was
afterward the Great, and from mighty meagre materials creates a story
that hangs together well. The illustrations for this volume are
especially beautiful.”--_Boston Home Journal._
The Story of Joan of Arc FOR
BOYS AND GIRLS
By KATE E. CARPENTER Illustrated by AMY BROOKS, also from paintings,
and with map Large 12mo Cloth $1.00
The favorite story of Joan of Arc is here treated in a uniquely
attractive way. “Aunt Kate” tells the story of Joan of Arc to Master
Harold, aged 11, and to Misses Bessie and Marjorie, aged 10 and 8,
respectively, to their intense delight. They look up places on the
map, and have a fine time while hearing the thrilling story, told in
such simple language that they can readily understand it all. Parents
and teachers will also be greatly interested in this book from an
educational point of view.
[Illustration:
THE STORY OF
JOAN OF ARC
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
KATE E. CARPENTER
]
“The tale is well told and the children will delight in
it.”--_Chicago Post._
“Told so simply and clearly that young readers cannot fail to be
entertained and instructed.”--_Congregationalist, Boston._
_For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
_CHILDREN OF OTHER LANDS SERIES_
_When I Was a Boy in Japan_
By SAKAE SHIOYA Illustrated from photographs 12 mo Cloth $.75
[Illustration:
WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN
SAKAE SHIOYA
]
The author was born fifty miles from Tokio, and at the age of twelve
began the study of English at a Methodist school. Later he studied
Natural Science in the First Imperial College at Tokio, after which he
taught English and Mathematics. He came to America in 1901, received
the degree of Master of Arts at the University of Chicago, and took a
two years’ post-graduate course at Yale before returning to Japan. No
one could be better qualified to introduce the Japanese to those in
America, and he has done it in a way that will delight both children
and parents.
_When I Was a Girl in Italy_
By MARIETTA AMBROSI 12mo Cloth Illustrated $.75
The author, Marietta Ambrosi, was born in Tyrol, having an
American-born mother of Italian descent, and a Veronese father. Her
entire girlhood was spent in Brescia and other cities of Northern
Italy, and in early womanhood she came with her family to America. Her
story gives a most graphic account of the industries, social customs,
dress, pleasures, and religious observances of the Italian common
people.
_When I Was a Boy in China_
By YAN PHOU LEE 12mo Cloth Illustrated from photographs $.75
New York Independent says: “Yan Phou Lee was one of the young men sent
to this country to be educated here, and finally matriculated at Yale,
where he graduated with honor. ‘When I was a Boy in China’ embodies his
recollections of his native country. It is certainly attractive, with
more room for nature to operate and play in freely than is generally
attributed to Chinese life.”
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
THE FROLICSOME FOUR
by EDITH L. and ARIADNE GILBERT
Illustrated by JOSEPHINE BRUCE Large 12mo Price $1.00
[Illustration:
THE FROLICSOME
FOUR
EDITH L. GILBERT
AND ARIADNE GILBERT
]
The story of two brothers and two sisters who are as noble in character
as they are enthusiastic in play. The authors have drawn wholesome
child-life with remarkable effect, and this book will win a conspicuous
place for that reason. Everyone will be interested in the fine
scholarship of Larry, the jolly spirits of Gwen, and the tenderness of
little Polly. And when finally Billy, well-meaning and awkward Billy,
actually wins a prize in a most unexpected way, the charm of the story
is complete. Miss Bruce has well caught the spirit of the story in her
illustrations, and with its merry-looking cover, large, clear print,
good paper and broad margins, this is exactly the book to choose for
young boys and girls.
“The authors have woven a clever juvenile tale, portraying child-life
with that truth that will appeal to the young reader.”--_Providence
News._
“The story is happily told, and presents a pretty picture of vigorous
and wholesome American child-life.”--_Indianapolis Sentinel._
“The story is a charming one, and the whole ‘get up’ of the book
suits the contents.”--_Episcopal Recorder, Philadelphia._
“The adventures of two brothers and two sisters are happily told.
They are funny, pathetic, and always lead the child reader or hearer
to think of the real happiness of the dutiful and unselfish traits of
character.”--_New York Observer._
“The book is natural and wholesome, and its attractive appearance in
pictures and type will make it a favorite with children.”--_Portland
Express._
_For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers._
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston
_Cordelia’s Pathway Out_
By EDNA A. FOSTER Editor of Children’s Page in the “Youth’s
Companion” Illustrated by Clara E. Atwood 12mo Cloth $1.00
[Illustration:
CORDELIA’S PATHWAY OUT
EDNA A FOSTER
]
In “Cordelia’s Pathway Out” the writer has carried along the brilliant
little Hortense and many of the characters of that story, but has
brought into prominence the quiet Cordelia, whose admiration and love
for Hortense act as an incentive to study and cultivate a desire
for growth. Early in the story she is transplanted from the village
in which we first find her, and comes into larger living and the
bestowal of modest “advantages.” She is a shy country-bred child, but
she observes, imitates and applies the best of her own life and the
exercise of loving and homely qualities brings her to a desirable plane.
“It is a perfect book for children from ten to fifteen years of age,
or even older.”--_Universalist Leader, Boston._
“The book is a good one for growing girls. Would to Heaven there were
more of which one might say the same. It is quite above the level of
the ordinary book of its kind.”--_Cincinnati Times Star._
_Hortense_
By EDNA A. FOSTER Illustrated by Mary Ayer 12mo Cloth $1.00
Miss Foster has here a book of unusual excellence, whether viewed
as a tale of entertainment for a child’s reading or a valuable and
suggestive study for the education of those who have to do with
children. The impulsive little Hortense wins the reader’s sympathy at
once, and the experiences of the well-meaning young lady relative who
attempts to train her up according to set rules for well-regulated
children are very interesting.
[Illustration:
HORTENSE
EDNA A. FOSTER
]
“We would strongly advise all mothers of growing boys and girls
to hasten to procure a copy of this delightful book for the home
library--and, above all, to make a point of reading it carefully
themselves before turning it over to the juveniles.”--_Designer, New
York, N. Y._
“It is a truthful and discerning study of a gifted child, and should
be read by all who have children under their care. It is probably
the best new girl’s book of the year.”--_Springfield_ (_Mass._)
_Republican._
_For sale at all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the publishers_
LOTHROP, LEE, & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON
THE FAMOUS PEPPER BOOKS
BY MARGARET SIDNEY
IN ORDER OF PUBLICATION
=Five Little Peppers and How they Grew.= Cloth, 12mo, illustrated,
$1.50, postpaid.
This was an instantaneous success; it has become a genuine child
classic.
=Five Little Peppers Midway.= Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50,
postpaid.
“A perfect Cheeryble of a book.”--_Boston Herald._
=Five Little Peppers Grown Up.= Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50,
postpaid.
This shows the Five Little Peppers as “grown up,” with all the
struggles and successes of young manhood and womanhood.
=Phronsie Pepper.= Cloth, 12mo, illustrated, $1.50, postpaid.
It is the story of Phronsie, the youngest and dearest of all the
Peppers.
=The Stories Polly Pepper Told.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Jessie
McDermott and Etheldred B. Barry. $1.50, postpaid.
Wherever there exists a child or a “grown-up,” there will be a welcome
for these charming and delightful “Stories Polly Pepper Told.”
=The Adventures of Joel Pepper.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Sears
Gallagher. $1.50, postpaid.
As bright and just as certain to be a child’s favorite as the others in
the famous series. Harum-scarum “Joey” is lovable.
=Five Little Peppers Abroad.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Fanny Y.
Cory. $1.50, postpaid.
The “Peppers Abroad” adds another most delightful book to this famous
series.
=Five Little Peppers at School.= Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated by Hermann
Heyer. Price, $1.50; postpaid.
Of all the fascinating adventures and experiences of the “Peppers,”
none will surpass those contained in this volume.
=Five Little Peppers and Their Friends.= Illustrated by Eugenie M.
Wireman. Cloth, 12mo, $1.50; postpaid.
The friends of the Peppers are legion, and the number will be further
increased by this book.
=Ben Pepper.= Illustrated by Eugenie M. Wireman. Cloth, 12mo, $1.50.
This story centres about Ben, “the quiet, steady-as-a-rock boy,” while
the rest of the Peppers help to make it as bright and pleasing as its
predecessors.
LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY
_SOPHIE MAY’S “LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS_
LITTLE PRUDY
“I have been wanting to say a word about a book for children, perfect
of its kind,--I mean ‘Little Prudy.’ It seems to me the greatest
book of the season for children. The authoress has a genius for
story-telling. Prudy’s letter to Mr. ’Gustus Somebody must be genuine;
if an invention, it shows a genius akin to that of the great masters.
It is a positive kindness to the little ones to remind their parents
that there is such a book as ‘Little Prudy.’”--_Springfield Republican._
LITTLE PRUDY’S SISTER SUSIE
“Every little girl and boy who has made the acquaintance of that funny
‘Little Prudy’ will be eager to read this book, in which she figures
quite as largely as her bigger sister, though the joys and troubles of
poor Susie make a very interesting story.”--_Portland Transcript._
“Certainly one of the most cunning, natural, and witty little books we
ever read.”--_Hartford Press._
LITTLE PRUDY’S CAPTAIN HORACE
“These are such as none but Sophie May can write, and we know not
where to look for two more choice and beautiful volumes--‘Susie’ for
girls and ‘Horace’ for boys. They are not only amusing and wonderfully
entertaining, but teach most effective lessons of patience, kindness,
and truthfulness. Our readers will find a good deal in them about
Prudy, for so many things are always happening to her that the author
finds it impossible to keep her out.”
LITTLE PRUDY’S STORY BOOK
“This story book is a great favorite with the little folks, for it
contains just such stories as they like to hear their aunt and older
sister tell; and learn them by heart and tell them over to one another
as they set out the best infant tea-set, or piece a baby quilt, or
dress dolls, or roll marbles. A book to put on the book-shelf in the
play-room where ‘Susie’ and ‘Prudy,’ ‘Captain Horace,’ ‘Cousin Grace,’
and all the rest of the ‘Little Prudy’ folks are kept.”--_Vermont
Record._
LITTLE PRUDY’S COUSIN GRACE
“An exquisite picture of little-girl life at school and at home, and
gives an entertaining account of a secret society which originated in
the fertile brain of Grace, passed some comical resolutions at first,
but was finally converted into a Soldiers’ Aid Society. Full of life,
and fire, and good advice; the latter sugar-coated, of course, to suit
the taste of little folks.”--_Press._
LITTLE PRUDY’S DOTTY DIMPLE
“Dotty Dimple is the plague of Prudy’s life, and yet she loves her
dearly. Both are rare articles in juvenile literature, as real as Eva
and Topsy of ‘Uncle Tom’ fame. Witty and wise, full of sport and study,
sometimes mixing the two in a confusing way, they run bubbling through
many volumes, and make everybody wish they could never grow up or
change, they are so bright and cute.”
DOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRANDMOTHER’S
“Sophie May’s excellent pen has perhaps never written anything more
pleasing to children, especially little girls, than ‘Dotty Dimple.’
If the little reader follows Dotty through these dozen chapters--from
her visit to her grandmother to the swing under the trees--he or she
will say: ‘It has been a treat to read about Dotty Dimple, she’s so
cunning.’”--_Herald of Gospel Liberty._
DOTTY DIMPLE OUT WEST
“Dotty’s trip was jolly. In the cars, where she saw so many people that
she thought there’d be nobody left in any of the houses, she offers to
hold somebody’s baby, and when it begins to cry she stuffs pop-corn
into its mouth, nearly choking it to death. Afterwards, in pulling a
man’s hair, she is horrified at seeing his wig come off, and gasps
out, ‘Oh, dear, dear, dear, I didn’t know your hair was so tender!’
Altogether, she is the cunningest chick that ever lived.”--_Oxford
Press._
DOTTY DIMPLE AT HOME
“This little book is as full of spice as any of its predecessors,
and well sustains the author’s reputation as the very cleverest of
all writers of this species of children’s books. Were there any
doubt on this point, the matter might be easily tested by inquiry in
half the households in the city, where the book is being revelled
over.”--_Boston Home Journal._
DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL
“Miss Dotty is a peremptory little body, with a great deal of human
nature in her, who wins our hearts by her comic speeches and funny
ways. She complains of being _bewitched_ by people, and the wind ‘blows
her out,’ and she thinks if her comrade dies in the snow-storm she will
be ‘dreadfully ’shamed of it,’ and has rather a lively time with all
her trials in going to school.”--_New York Citizen._
DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY
“‘Charming Dotty Dimple,’ as she is so universally styled, has become
decidedly a favorite with young and old, who are alike pleased with
her funny sayings and doings. ‘Dotty at Play’ will be found very
attractive, and the children, especially the girls, will be delighted
with her adventures.”--_Boston Express._
DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY
“This is the final volume of the ‘Dotty Dimple Series.’ It relates
how little Flyaway provisioned herself with cookies and spectacles
and got lost on a little hill while seeking to mount to heaven,
and what a precious alarm there was until she was found, and the
subsequent joy at her recovery, with lots of quaint speeches and funny
incidents.”--_North American._
“A Little Red Riding-Hoodish story, sprightly and takingly
told.”--_American Farmer._
* * * * *
Transcriber’s note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Italics in
the title of works was standardized, hyphenation was standardized where
appropriate.
The illustration “VENUS TURNED HER AT ONCE INTO A CAT AGAIN.” was
incorrectly placed facing page 152 in the original. It has been moved
to Page 180 to match the List of Illustrations.
Spelling was retained as in the original except for the following
changes:
Page 48: “Chúrgoro, who was very” “Chúgoro, who was very”
Page 243: “Not a boy iives” “Not a boy lives”
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KITTY-CAT TALES ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
