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Title: Mammy Tittleback and Her Family
A True Story of Seventeen Cats
Author: Helen Jackson
Illustrator: Addie Ledyard
Release Date: July 24, 2010 [EBook #33240]
Language: English
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CAT STORIES.
BY
HELEN JACKSON (H. H.),
AUTHOR OF "RAMONA," "NELLY'S SILVER MINE," "BITS OF TALK," ETC.
LETTERS FROM A CAT.
MAMMY TITTLEBACK AND HER
FAMILY.
THE HUNTER CATS OF CONNORLOA.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHER'S.
1886.
MAMMY TITTLEBACK
_AND HER FAMILY_.
[Illustration: "Johnny spent hours and hours reading the letters over to
the kittens."--PAGE 38.]
MAMMY TITTLEBACK
AND
HER FAMILY.
_A TRUE STORY OF SEVENTEEN CATS._
BY H. H.,
AUTHOR OF "BITS OF TALK," "BITS OF TRAVEL," "BITS OF TALK FOR YOUNG
FOLKS," "NELLY'S SILVER MINE," AND "LETTERS FROM A CAT."
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADDIE LEDYARD.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1886.
_Copyright, 1881,_
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
PREFACE.
The Preface is at the end of the book, and nobody must read it till
after reading the book. It will spoil all the fun to read it first.
H. H.
Genealogical Tree
OF
MAMMY TITTLEBACK'S FAMILY.
* * * * *
I.
MAMMY TITTLEBACK.
II.
JUNIPER, } MAMMY TITTLEBACK'S first kittens.
MOUSIEWARY,}
III.
SPITFIRE, }
BLACKY, }
COALEY, } MAMMY TITTLEBACK'S second family
LIMBAB, } of kittens.
LILY, }
GREGORY 2D,}
IV.
TOTTONTAIL, }
TOTTONTAIL'S } MAMMY TITTLEBACK'S adopted kittens.
Brother, }
(sometimes called}
GRANDFATHER,) }
V.
BEAUTY,} MAMMY TITTLEBACK'S first grandkittens,
CLOVER,} being the first kittens of MOUSIEWARY.
[Illustration]
MAMMY TITTLEBACK
AND HER FAMILY.
I.
Mammy Tittleback is a splendid great tortoise-shell cat,--yellow and
black and white; nearly equal parts of each color, except on her tail
and her face. Her tail is all black; and her face is white, with only a
little black and yellow about the ears and eyes. Her face is a very
kind-looking face, but her tail is a fierce one; and when she is angry,
she can swell it up in a minute, till it looks almost as big as her
body.
Nobody knows where Mammy Tittleback was born, or where she came from.
She appeared one morning at Mr. Frank Wellington's, in the town of
Mendon in Pennsylvania. Phil and Fred Wellington, Mr. Frank Wellington's
boys, liked her looks, and invited her to stay; that is, they gave her
all the milk she wanted to drink, and that is the best way to make a cat
understand that you want her to live with you. So she stayed, and Phil
and Fred named her Mammy Tittleback after a cat they had read about in
the "New York Tribune."
Phil and Fred have two cousins who often go to visit them. Their names
are Johnny and Rosy Chapman; and if it had not been for Johnny and Rosy
Chapman, there would never have been this nice story to tell about Mammy
Tittleback: for Phil and Fred are big boys, and do not care very much
about cats; they like to see them around, and to make them comfortable;
but Johnny and Rosy are quite different. Johnny is only eight and Rosy
six, and they love cats and kittens better than anything else in the
world; and when they went to spend this last summer at their Uncle Frank
Wellington's, and found Mammy Tittleback with six little kittens, just
born, they thought such a piece of luck never had happened before to two
children.
Juniper and Mousiewary had been born the year before. Phil named these.
Juniper was a splendid great fellow, nearly all white. At first he was
called "Junior," but they changed it afterward to "Juniper," because, as
Phil said, they didn't know what his father's name was, and there wasn't
any sense in calling him "Junior," and, besides, "Juniper" sounded
better.
Mousiewary was white, with a black and yellow head. Phil called her
"Mousiewary" because she would lie still so long watching for a mouse.
She was a year and a half old when Johnny and Rosy went to their Uncle
Frank's for this visit, and she had two little kittens of her own that
could just run about. They were wild little things, and very fierce, so
Phil had called them the Imps. But Johnny and Rosy soon got them so tame
that this name did not suit them any longer, and then they named them
over again "Beauty" and "Clover."
Mammy Tittleback's second family of kittens were born in the barn, on
the hay. After a while she moved them into an old wagon that was not
used. This was very clever of her, because they could not get out of the
wagon and run away. But pretty soon she moved them again, to a place
which the children did not approve of at all; it was a sort of hollow in
the ground, under a great pile of fence rails that were lying near the
cowshed.
[Illustration: "After a while she moved them into an old wagon that was
not used."--PAGE 14.]
This did not seem a nice place, and the children could not imagine why
she moved them there. I think, myself, she moved them to try and hide
them away from the children. I don't believe she thought it was good for
the kittens to be picked up so many times a day, and handled, and
kissed, and talked to. I dare say she thought they'd never have a chance
to grow if she couldn't hide them away from Johnny and Rosy for a few
weeks. You see, Johnny and Rosy never left them alone for half a day.
They were always carrying them about. When people came to the house to
see their Aunt Mary, the children would cry, "Don't you want to see our
six kittens? We'll bring them in to you." Then they would run out to the
barn, take a basket, fill it half full of hay, and very gently lay all
the kittens in it, and Johnny would take one handle and Rosy the other,
and bring it to the house. They always put Mammy Tittleback in too; but
before they had carried her far, she generally jumped out, and walked
the rest of the way by their side. She would never leave them a minute
till they had carried the kittens safe back again to their nest. She did
not try to prevent their taking them, for she knew that neither Johnny
nor Rosy would hurt one of them any more than she would; but I have no
doubt in her heart she disliked to have the kittens touched.
[Illustration: "Johnny would take one handle, and Rosy the other, and
bring it to the house."--PAGE 16.]
The children worried a great deal about this last place that Mammy
Tittleback had selected for her nursery. They thought it was damp; and
they were afraid the rails would fall down some day and crush the poor
little kittens to death; and what was worst of all, very often when they
went there to look at them, they could not get any good sight of them at
all, they would be so far in among the rails.
At last a bright idea struck Johnny. He said he would build a nice house
for them.
"You can't," said Rosy.
"I can too," said Johnny. "'Twon't be a house such as folks live in,
but it'll do for cats."
"Will it be as nice as a dog's house, Johnny?" asked Rosy.
"Nicer," said Johnny; "that is, it'll be prettier. 'Twon't be so close.
Cats don't need it so close; but it'll be prettier. It's going to have
flags on it."
"Flags! O Johnny!" exclaimed Rosy. "That'll be splendid; but we haven't
got any flags."
"I know where I can get as many as I want," said Johnny,--"down to the
club-room. They give flags to boys there."
"What for, Johnny?" asked Rosy.
"Oh, just to carry," replied Johnny proudly. "They like to have boys
carrying their flags round."
"Do you suppose they'll like to have them on a cat's house?" asked Rosy.
"Why not?" said Johnny; and Rosy did not know what to say.
Very hard Johnny worked on the house; and it was a queer-looking house
when it was done, but it was the only one I ever heard of that was built
on purpose for cats. It was about eight feet square; the central support
of it was an old saw-horse turned up endwise, with a mason's trestle on
top; the roof was made of old rails, and had two slopes to it, like
real houses' roofs; the sides were uneven, because on one side the rails
rested on an old pig-trough, and on the other on a wooden trestle which
was higher than the trough. This unevenness troubled Johnny, but it
really made the house prettier. The space under this roof was divided by
rows of small stakes into three compartments,--one large one for Mammy
Tittleback and her six youngest kittens; Mousiewary and her two kittens
in another smaller room; and the adopted kittens and Juniper in a third.
I haven't told you yet about the adopted kittens, but I will presently.
These three rooms had each a tin pan set in the middle, and fixed firm
in its place by small stakes driven into the ground around it. Johnny
was determined to teach the cats to keep in their own rooms, and that
each family must eat by itself. It wasn't so hard to bring this about as
you would have supposed, because Johnny and Rosy spent nearly all their
time with the cats, and every time any cat or kitten stepped over the
little wall of stakes into the apartment of another family, it was very
gently lifted up and put back again into its own room, and stroked and
told in gentle voice,--
"Stay in your own room, kitty."
And at meal-times there was very little trouble, after the first few
days, with anybody but Juniper. All the rest learned very soon which
milk-pan belonged to them, and would run straight to it, as soon as
Johnny called them. But Juniper was an independent cat; and he persisted
in walking about from room to room, pretty much as he pleased. You see
he was the only unemployed cat in the set. Mammy Tittleback had her
hands full,--I suppose you ought to say paws full when you are speaking
of cats,--with six kittens of her own and two adopted ones; and
Mousiewary was just as busy with her two kittens as if she had had ten;
but Juniper had nobody to look after except himself. He was a lazy cat
too. He always used to walk slowly to his meals. The rest would all be
running and jumping in their hurry to get to the house when Johnny and
Rosy called them; but Juniper would come marching along as slowly as if
he were in no sort of hurry, in fact, as if he didn't care whether he
had anything to eat or not. But once he got to the pan he would drink
fully his share, and more too.
[Illustration]
II.
Now I must tell you about the adopted kittens. They belonged to a wild
cat who lived in the garden. Nobody knew anything about this cat. She
was a kind of a beggar and thief cat, Johnny said. She wouldn't let you
take care of her, or get near her; and the only reason she took up her
abode in the garden with her kittens was so as to be near the
milk-house, and have a chance now and then to steal milk out of the
great kettles. One day the children found the poor thing dead in the
chicken yard. What killed her there was nothing to show, but dead she
was, and no mistake; so the children carried her away and buried her,
and then went to look for her little kittens. There were four of them,
and the poor little things were half dead from hunger. Their mother must
have been dead some time before the children found her. They were too
young to be fed, and the only chance for saving their lives was to get
Mammy Tittleback to adopt them.
"She's got an awful big family now," said Phil, "but we might try her."
"She won't know but they're her own, if we don't let them all suck at
once," said Johnny; "but it wouldn't be fair to cheat her that way."
"Won't know!" said Phil. "That's all you know about cats! She'll know
they ain't hers as quick as she sees them."
It was a very droll sight to see Mammy Tittleback when the strange
kittens were put down by her side. She was half asleep, and some of her
own kittens had gone to sleep sucking their dinners; but the instant
these poor famished little things were put down by her, two of them
began to suck as if they had never had anything to eat before, since
they were born. Mammy Tittleback opened her eyes, and jumped up so quick
she knocked all the kittens head over heels into a heap. Then she began
smelling at kitten after kitten, and licking her own as she smelled
them, till she came to the strangers, when she growled a little, and
sniffed and sniffed; if cats could turn up their noses, she'd have
turned up hers, but as she couldn't she only growled and pushed them
with her paw, and looked at them, all the time sniffing contemptuously.
Johnny and Rosy were nearly ready to cry.
"Is she 'dopting 'em?" whispered Rosy.
"Keep still, can't you!" said Phil; "don't interrupt her. Let her do as
she wants to."
The children held their breaths and watched. It looked very
discouraging. Mammy Tittleback walked round and round, looking much
perplexed and not at all pleased. One minute she would stand still and
stare at the pile of kittens, as if she did not know what to make of it;
then she would fall to smelling and licking her own. At last, by
mistake perhaps, she gave a little lick to one of the orphans.
[Illustration: "Mammy Tittleback walked round and round, looking much
perplexed and not at all pleased."--PAGE 28.]
"Oh, oh," screamed Johnny, "she's going to, she's licked it;" at which
Phil gave Johnny a great shake, and told him to be quiet or he'd spoil
everything. Presently Mammy Tittleback lay down again and stretched
herself out, and in less than a minute all six of her own kittens and
the two strongest of the strangers were sucking away as hard as ever
they could.
The children jumped for joy; but their joy was dampened by the sight of
the other two feeble little kittens, who lay quite still and did not try
to crowd in among the rest.
"Are they dead?" asked Rosy.
"No," said Johnny, picking them up,--"no; but I guess they will die
pretty soon, they don't maow." And he laid them down very gently close
in between Mammy Tittleback's hind legs.
"Well, they might as well," remarked Phil. "Eight kittens are enough.
Mammy Tittleback can't bring up all the kittens in the town, you needn't
think. She's a real old brick of a cat to take these two. I hope the
others will die anyhow."
"O Phil," said Rosy, "couldn't we find some other cat to 'dopt these
two?" Rosy's tender heart ached as hard at the thought of these
motherless little kittens as if they had been a motherless little boy
and girl.
"No," said Phil, "I don't know any other cat round here that's got
kittens."
"But, Phil," persisted Rosy, "isn't there some cat that hasn't got any
kittens that would like some?"
Phil looked at Rosy for a minute without speaking, then he burst out
laughing and said to Johnny, "Come on; what's the use talking?"
Then Rosy looked very much hurt, and ran into the house to ask her Aunt
Mary if she didn't know of any cat that would adopt the two poor little
kittens that Mammy Tittleback wouldn't take.
The next morning, when the children went out to visit their cats, the
two feeble little kittens were dead, so that put an end to all trouble
on that score, and left only thirteen cats for the children to take care
of.
It is wonderful how fast young cats grow. It seemed only a few days
before all eight of these little kittens were big enough to run around,
and a very pretty sight it was to see them following Johnny and Rosy
wherever they went.
Spitfire was Johnny's favorite from the beginning. He was a sharp, spry
fellow, not very good-natured to anybody but Johnny. Rosy was really
afraid of him, even while he was little; but Johnny made him his chief
pet, and told him everything that happened.
Mammy Tittleback had divided her own colors among her kittens very
oddly. "Spitfire" was all yellow and white; "Coaley" was black as a
coal, and that was why he was called "Coaley." "Blacky" was black and
white; "Limbab," white with gray spots; "Gregory Second," gray with
white spots; and "Lily" was as white as snow, for which reason she got
her pretty name. Rosy wanted her called "White Lily," but the boys
thought it too long. Where there were so many cats, they said, none of
the names ought to be more than two syllables long, if you could help
it. "Gregory" had to be called "Gregory Second," because there was
another Gregory already, an old cat over at Grandma Jameson's, and it
was for him that this kitten was named; and "Tottontail" had to be
called "Tottontail," because he was all over gray, with just a little
bit of white at the tip of his tail, like a cottontail rabbit. And his
brother was exactly like him, only a little bit less white on his tail,
so it seemed best to call him "Tottontail's Brother;" and he had such a
funny way of putting his ears back, it made him look like an old man; so
sometimes they could not help calling him "Grandfather." Altogether
there seemed to be a very good reason for every name in the whole
family, and I think there was just as good a reason for calling "Lily"
"White Lily." However, as Phil said, "anybody could see she was white;
and nobody ever heard of a black lily anyhow, and it saved time to say
just 'Lily.'"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
III.
Mr. Frank Wellington's house was an old-fashioned square wooden house,
with a wide hall running straight through it from front to back; at the
back was a broad piazza with a railing around it, and steps leading down
into the back yard. Grape-vines grew on the sides of this piazza, and a
splendid great polonia-tree, which had heart-shaped leaves as big as
dinner-plates, grew close enough to it to shade it. This was where
Mrs. Wellington used to sit with her sewing on summer afternoons; and
she often thought that there couldn't be a prettier sight in all the
world than Rosy Chapman running among the verbena beds with her long
yellow curls flying behind, her little bare white feet glancing up and
down among the bright blossoms, and half a dozen kittens racing after
her. Rosy loved to race with them better than anything else; though
sometimes she would sit down in her little rocking-chair, holding her
lap full of them, and rocking them to sleep. But Johnny made a more
serious business of it. Johnny wanted to teach them. He had read about
learned pigs and trained fleas, and he was sure these kittens were a
great deal brighter than either pigs or fleas could possibly be; so what
do you think Johnny did? He printed the alphabet in large letters on a
sheet of white pasteboard, nailed it up on the inside of the largest
room in the cats' house, and spent hours and hours reading the letters
over to the kittens. He had a scheme of putting the letters on separate
square bits of pasteboard or paper pasted on wood, and teaching the
kittens to pick them out; but before he did that, he wanted to be sure
that they knew them by sight on the paper he had nailed up, and he never
became sure enough of that to go on any farther in his teaching. In
fact, he never got any farther than to succeed in keeping them still for
a few minutes while he read the letters aloud. The cat that kept still
the longest, he said, was the best scholar that day; he put their names
down in a little book, and gave them good and bad marks according as
they behaved, just as he and Rosy used to get marks in school.
[Illustration: "Rosy Chapman running among the Verbena beds, and half a
dozen kittens racing after her."--PAGE 37.]
After Johnny got all his flags up, the cats' house looked very pretty.
It had four flags on it; one was a big one with the stars and stripes,
and "Our Republic" in big letters on it; one was a "Garfield and Arthur"
flag, which had been given to Johnny by the Garfield Club in Mendon;
underneath this was a small white one Johnny made himself, with "Hurrah
for Both" on it in rather uneven letters; then at two of the corners of
the house were small red, white, and blue flags of the common sort. But
the glory of all was a big flag on a flagstaff twenty feet high, which
Uncle Frank put up for the boys. This also was a "Garfield and Arthur"
flag, and a very fine one it was too. The kittens used to look up
longingly at all these bright flags blowing in the wind above their
house; but Johnny had taken care to put them high enough to be beyond
their reach even when they climbed up to the ridgepole. They would have
made tatters of them all in five seconds if they could have ever got
their claws into them.
As soon as the kittens were big enough to enjoy playing with a mouse,
or, perhaps, taking a bite of one, Mammy Tittleback returned to her old
habits of mouse-catching. There had never been such a mouser as she on
the farm. It is really true that she had several times been known to
catch six mice in five minutes by Mr. Frank Wellington's watch; and once
she did a thing even more wonderful than that. This Phil described to me
himself; and Phil is one of the most exact and truthful boys, and never
makes any story out bigger than it is.
The place where they used to have the best fun seeing Mammy Tittleback
catch mice was in the cornhouse. The floor of the cornhouse was half
covered with cobs from which the corn had been shelled; in one corner
these were piled up half as high as the wall. The mice used to hide
among these, and in the cracks in the walls; the boys would take long
sticks, push the cobs about, and roll them from side to side. This would
frighten the mice and make them run out. Mammy Tittleback stood in the
middle of the floor ready to spring for them the minute they appeared.
One day the boys were doing this, and two mice ran out almost at the
same minute and the same way. Mammy Tittleback caught the first one in
her mouth; they thought she would lose the second one. Not a bit of it.
Quick as a flash she pounced on that one too, and, without letting go
of the one she already had in her teeth, she actually caught the second
one! Two live mice at once in her mouth! They were not alive many
seconds, though; one craunch of Mammy Tittleback's teeth killed them
both, and she dropped them on the floor, and was all ready to catch the
next ones. Did anybody ever hear of such a mouser as that?
Another story also Phil told me about the kittens which I should have
found it hard to believe if I had read it in a book; but which I know
must be true, because Phil told it. One day, after the kittens had grown
so big that they used to go everywhere, the children went off for a
long walk in the fields, and four of the kittens went with them. When
the children climbed fences the kittens crawled through, and they had no
trouble till they came to a brook. The children just tucked up their
trousers and waded through, first putting the kittens all down together
in a hollow at the roots of a tree, and telling them to stay still there
till they came back. They hadn't gone many steps on the other side when
they heard first one splash, then two, then three; and, looking round,
what should they see but three of those little kittens swimming for
dear life across the brook, their poor little noses hardly above the
water? It was as much as ever they got across; but they did, and
scrambled out on the other side looking like drowned rats. These were
Spitfire and Gregory Second and Blacky; Tottontail was the fourth. He
did not appear, and he was not to be seen, either, where they had put
him down on the other side. At last they spied him racing up stream as
hard as he could go. He ran till he came to a place where the brook was
only a little thread of water in the grass, and there he very sensibly
stepped across; the only one of the whole party, cats or children,
who got over without wet feet. Now who can help believing that
Tottontail thought it all out in his head, just as a boy or a girl would
who had never learned to swim? It was very wonderful that Spitfire and
Gregory and Blacky should have plunged in to swim across, when they had
never done such a thing before in all their lives, and of course must
have hated the very touch of water, as all cats do; but I think it was
still more wonderful in Tottontail to have reasoned that if he ran along
the stream for a little distance, he might possibly come to a place
where he could get over by an easier way than swimming, and without
wetting his feet.
[Illustration: The kittens swimming for dear life across the
brook.--PAGE 46.]
The summer was gone before the children felt as if it had fairly begun.
Each of them had had a flower-bed of his own, and ever so many of the
flowers had gone to seed before the children had finished their first
weeding. The little cats had enjoyed the gardens as much as the children
had. When the beds were first planted, and the green plants were just
peeping up, the kittens were very often scolded, and sometimes had their
ears gently boxed, to keep them from walking on the beds; but by August,
when the weeds and the flowers were all up high and strong together,
they raced in and out among them as much as they pleased, and had fine
frolics under the poppies and climbing hollyhock stems.
When the time of Johnny's and Rosy's visit drew near its end, Johnny
felt very sad at the thought of leaving his kittens. They were "just at
the prettiest age," he said; "just beginning to be some comfort," after
all the pains he had taken to train them; and he was very much afraid
they would not be so well taken care of after he had gone. Fred was
going away to school for the winter, and Phil, he thought, would never
have patience to feed thirteen cats each day. However, he did all that
he could to make them comfortable for the winter. He boarded up the
sides of their house snug and warm, so that they need not suffer from
cold; and he made his Aunt Mary promise to give them plenty of milk
twice a day. Then, when the time came, he bade them all good-by one by
one, and had a long farewell talk with his favorite Spitfire. Rosy, too,
felt very sad at leaving them, but not so sad as Johnny.
[Illustration: "Johnny and Rosy bade them good-by, one by one."--PAGE
50.]
Johnny and Rosy and their mother were to spend the winter at their
Grandma Jameson's, in the town of Burnet, only twelve miles from
Mendon, and Johnny said to Spitfire,--
"It isn't as if we were going so far off, we couldn't ever come to see
you. We'll be back some day before Christmas."
"Maow," said Spitfire.
"I'm perfectly sure he understands all I say," said Johnny. "Don't you,
Spitfire?"
"Maow, maow," replied Spitfire.
"There!" said Johnny triumphantly; "I knew he did."
It was the middle of October when Johnny and Rosy left their Aunt
Mary's and went to Grandma Jameson's. Much to their delight, they found
four cats there.
"A good deal better than none," said Johnny.
"Yes," said Rosy, "but they're all old. They won't play tag. They're
real old cats."
"Anyhow, they're better than none," replied Johnny resolutely. "They're
good to hold, and Snowball's a splendid mouser."
These cats' names were "Snowball," "Lappit," "Stonepile," and "Gregory."
This was the old "Gregory" after whom the kitten "Gregory Second" over
at Mendon had been named. "Gregory" had been in the Jameson family a
good many years.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IV.
There was another character who had been in the Jameson family a good
many years, about whom I must tell you, because he will come in
presently in connection with this history of the cats. In fact, he has
more to do with the next part of the history than even Johnny and Rosy
have. This is an old colored man who takes care of Grandma Jameson's
farm for her. He is as good an old man as "Uncle Tom" was, in "Uncle
Tom's Cabin," and I'm sure he must be as black. He lives in a little
house in a grove of chestnut and oak trees, just across the meadow from
Grandma Jameson's; and, summer and winter, rain or shine, he is to be
seen every morning at daylight coming up the lane ready for his day's
work. His name is Jerry; he is well known all over Burnet, and he is one
of the old men that nobody ever passes by without speaking. "Hullo,
Jerry!" "How de do, Jerry?" "Is that you, Jerry?" are to be heard on all
sides as Jerry goes through the street.
There is a mule, too, that Jerry drives, which is almost as well known
as Jerry. There is a horse also on the farm; but the horse is so fat he
can't go as fast as the mule does. So the mule and the horse have
gradually changed places in their duties; the horse does the farm work
and the mule goes to town on errands; and there is no more familiar
sight in all the town of Burnet than the Jameson Rockaway drawn by the
mule Nelly, with old Jerry sitting sidewise on the low front seat,
driving. There isn't a week in the year that Jerry doesn't go down to
the railway station at least once, and sometimes several times, in this
way, to bring some of Grandma Jameson's children or grandchildren or
nieces or nephews or friends to come and make her a visit. Her house is
one of the houses that never seems to be so full it can't hold more. You
know there are some such houses; the more people come, the merrier, and
there is always room made somehow for everybody to sleep at night.
You wouldn't think to look at the house that it could hold many people;
it is not large. In truth, I cannot myself imagine, often as I have
stayed in the dear old place, where all the people have slept when I
have known twelve or more to come down to breakfast of a morning, all
looking as if they had had a capital night's rest. Jerry is always glad
as anybody in the house when visitors come; yet it makes him no end of
work, carrying them and their luggage back and forth to town, with all
the rest of the errands he has to do. Nelly is pretty old, and the
Rockaway is small, and many a time Jerry has to make two trips to get
one party of people up to the house, with all that belongs to them in
the way of trunks and bags and bundles; but he likes it. He pulls off
his old drab felt hat, and bows, and holds out both hands, and
everybody who comes shakes hands with Jerry, first of all, at the
station.
One day, late in last October, Jerry was at the post-office waiting for
the mail; when it came in, there was a postal card from Mendon for Mrs.
Jameson, and as the postmistress is Mrs. Jameson's own niece, she
thought she would look at the message on the card, and see if all were
well at Mr. Frank Wellington's. This was what she found written on the
card,--
"Meet company at the three o'clock train."
That was the train which had just come in and brought the mail.
"Oh, dear!" said she. "Jerry, it is well I looked at this card. It is
from Mr. Wellington, and he says there will be company down by the three
o'clock train, to go to Grandma's. You must turn round and go right to
the station; they will be waiting, and wondering why nobody's there to
meet them."
"That's a fact," said Jerry; "they've done sure, wonderin' by this time;
'spect they've walked up; but I'll go down 'n' see."
So Jerry made as quick time as he could coax out of the mule, down to
the railway station. The train had been gone more than half an hour,
and the station was quiet and deserted by all except the station-master,
who was waiting for the up-train, which would be along in an hour.
"Been anybody here to go up to our house?" asked Jerry. "We got a
postal, sayin' there'd be company down on the three o'clock."
"Well," replied the station-master, looking curiously at Jerry, "there
was some company came on that train for your folks."
"What became on 'em?" said Jerry. "Hev they walked?"
"Well, no; they hain't walked; they're in the Freight Depot," said the
man rather shortly.
Jerry thought this was the queerest thing he ever heard of.
"In the Freight Depot!" exclaimed he. "What'd they go there for? Who be
they?"
"You'll find 'em there," replied the man, and turned on his heel.
Still more bewildered, Jerry hurried to the Freight Depot, which was on
the opposite side of the railroad track, a little farther down. Now I am
wondering if any of you children will guess who the "company" were that
had come from Mendon by the three o'clock train to go to Grandma
Jameson's. It makes me laugh so to think of it, that I can hardly write
the words. I don't believe I shall ever get to be so old that it won't
make me laugh to think about this batch of visitors to Grandma
Jameson's.
It was nothing more nor less than all Johnny Chapman's cats! Yes, all of
them,--Mammy Tittleback, Juniper, Mousiewary, Spitfire, Blacky, Coaley,
Limbab, Lily, Gregory Second, Tottontail, Tottontail's Brother, Beauty,
Clover. There they all were, large as life, and maowing enough to make
you deaf. Poor things! it wasn't that they were uncomfortable, for they
were in a very large box, with three sides made of slats, so they had
plenty of room and plenty of air; but of course they were frightened
almost to death. The box was addressed in very large letters to
CAPTAIN JOHNNY CHAPMAN
AND
FIRST LIEUTENANT ROSE CHAPMAN.
Above this was printed in still bigger letters,
THE GARFIELD CLUB.
Some of the men who were at the station when the box came, were made
very angry by this. They did not know anything about the history of the
cats; and of course they could not see that the thing had any meaning
at all, except as an insult to the Garfield Club in Burnet. It was just
before Election, you see, and at that time all men in the United States
are so excited they become very touchy on the subject of politics; and
all the Garfield men who saw this great box of mewing cats labelled the
"Garfield Club" thought the thing had been done by some Democrat to play
off a joke on the Republicans. So they went to a paint-shop, and got
some black paint, and painted, on the other side of the box, "Hancock
Serenaders." That was the only thing they could think of to pay off the
Democrats whom they suspected of the joke.
Jerry knew what it meant as soon as he saw the box. He had heard from
Johnny and Rosy all about their wonderful cats over at Uncle Frank's,
and how terribly they missed them; but it had never crossed anybody's
mind that Uncle Frank would send them after the children. Poor Jerry
didn't much like the prospect of his ride from the station to the house;
however, he put the box into the Rockaway, got home with it as quickly
as possible, and took it immediately to the barn.
Then he went into the house with the mail, as if nothing had happened.
Jerry was something of a wag in his way, as well as Mr. Frank
Wellington; so he handed the letters to Mrs. Chapman without a word, and
stood waiting while she looked them over. As soon as she read the postal
she exclaimed,--
"Oh, Jerry, this is too bad. There's company down at the station; came
by the three o'clock train. You'll have to go right back and get them. I
wonder who it can be."
"They've come, ma'am," said Jerry quietly.
"Come!" exclaimed Mrs. Chapman; "come? Why, where are they?" and she
ran out on the piazza. Jerry stopped her, and coming nearer said, in a
low, mysterious tone,--
"They're in the barn, ma'am!"
"Jerry! In the barn! What do you mean?" exclaimed Mrs. Chapman. And she
looked so puzzled and frightened that Jerry could not keep it up any
longer.
"It's the cats, ma'am," he said; "them cats of Johnny's from Mr.
Wellington's: all of 'em. The men to the station said there was forty;
but I don't think there's more 'n twenty; mebbe not so many 's that;
they're rowin' round so, you can't count 'em very well."
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" said Mrs. Chapman. "What won't Frank Wellington do
next!" Then she found her mother, and told her, and they both went out
to the barn to look at the cats. Jerry lifted up one of the slats so
that he could put in a pail of milk for them; and as soon as they saw
friendly faces, and heard gentle voices, and saw the milk, they calmed
down a little, but they were still terribly frightened. Grandma Jameson
could not help laughing, but she was not at all pleased.
"I think Frank Wellington might have been in better business," she said.
"We do not want any more cats here; the winter is coming, when they
must be housed. What is to be done with the poor beasts?"
"Oh, we'll give most of them away, mother," said Mrs. Chapman. "They're
all splendid kittens; anybody'll be glad of them."
"I do not think thee will find any dearth of cats in the village; it
seems to be something most families are supplied with: but thee can do
what thee likes with them; they can't be kept here, that is certain,"
replied Mrs. Jameson placidly, and went into the house.
Mrs. Chapman and Jerry decided that the cats should be left in the box
till morning, and the children should not be told until then of their
arrival.
When Mrs. Chapman was putting Johnny and Rosy to bed, she said,--
"Johnny, if Uncle Frank should send your cats over here, you would have
to make up your mind to give some of them away. You know, Grandma
couldn't keep them all!"
"What makes you think he'll send them over?" cried Johnny. "He didn't
say he would."
"No," replied Mrs. Chapman, "I know he didn't; but I think it is very
likely he found them more trouble, after you went away, than he thought
they would be."
"I got them fixed real comfortable for the winter," said Johnny. "Their
house is all boarded up, so 't will be warm; but I'd give anything to
have them here. There's plenty of room in the barn. They needn't even
come into the house."
It took a good deal of reasoning and persuading to bring Johnny to
consent to the giving away of any of his beloved cats, in case they were
sent over from Mendon; but at last he did, and he and Rosy fell asleep
while they were trying to decide which ones they would keep, and which
ones they would give away, in case they had to make the choice.
[Illustration]
V.
In the morning, after breakfast, the news was told them, that the cats
had arrived the night before and were in the barn. Almost before the
words were out of their mother's mouth they were off like lightning to
see them. Jerry was on hand ready to open the box, and the whole family
gathered to see the prisoners set free. What a scene it was! As soon as
the slats were broken enough to give room, out the cats sprang, like
wild creatures, heads over heels, heels over heads, the whole thirteen
in one tumbling mass. They ran in all directions as fast as they could
run, poor Rosy and Johnny in vain trying to catch so much as one of
them.
"They're crazy like," said Jerry; "they've been scared enough to kill
'em; but they'll come back fast enough. Ye needn't be afeard," he added
kindly to Johnny, who was ready to burst out crying, to see even his
beloved Spitfire darting away like a strange wildcat of the woods. Sure
enough, very soon the little ones began to stick their heads out from
behind beams and out of corners, and to take cautious steps towards
Johnny, whose dear voice they recognized as he kept saying, pityingly,--
"Poor kitties, poor kitties, come here to me; poor kitties, don't you
know me?" In a few minutes he had Spitfire in his arms, and Rosy had
Blacky, the one she had always loved best. Mammy Tittleback, Juniper,
and Mousiewary had escaped out of the barn, and disappeared in the woods
along the mill-race. They were much more frightened than the kittens,
and had reason to be, for they knew very well that it was an
extraordinary thing which had happened to them, whereas the little ones
did not know but it often happened to cats to be packed up in boxes and
take journeys in railway trains, and now that they saw Johnny and Rosy,
they thought everything was all right.
In the mean time the cats of the house, Snowball, Gregory, Stonepile,
and Lappit, hearing the commotion and caterwauling in the barn, had come
out to see what was going on. On the threshold they all stopped, stock
still, set up their backs, and began to growl. The little kittens began
to sneak off again towards hiding-places. Snowball came forward, and
looked as if she would make fight, but Johnny drove her back, and said
very sharply, "Scat! scat! we don't want you here." On hearing these
words, Gregory and the others turned round and walked scornfully away,
as if they would not take any more notice of such young cats; but
Snowball was very angry, and continued to hang about the barn, every now
and then looking in, and growling, and swelling up her tail, and she
never would, to the last, make friends with one of the new-comers.
Release had come too late for poor Gregory Second and Lily. They had
never been strong as the others, and the fright of the journey was too
much for them. Early on the morning after their arrival, Gregory Second
was found dead in the barn. The children gave him a grand funeral, and
buried him in the meadow behind the house. There were staying now at
Mrs. Jameson's two other grandchildren of hers, Johnny and Katy Wells;
and the two Johnnies and Katy and Rosy went out, in a solemn procession,
into the field to bury Gregory. Each child carried a cat in its arms,
and the rest of the cats followed on, and stood still, very serious,
while Gregory was laid in the ground. The boys filled up the grave,
made a good-sized mound over it, and planted a little evergreen-tree
at one end. They also set very firmly, on the top of the mound, what
Johnny called "a kind of marble monument." It was the marble bottom of
an old kerosene lamp. When this was all done, the children sang a hymn,
which they had learned in their school.
[Illustration: "The children gave him a grand funeral. Each carried a
cat in its arms, and the rest of the cats followed on."--PAGE 78.]
THE OLD BLACK CAT.
Who so full of fun and glee,
Happy as a cat can be?
Polished sides so nice and fat,
Oh, how I love the old black cat!
Poor kitty! O poor kitty!
Sitting so cozy under the stove.
CHORUS.
Pleasant, purring, pretty pussy,
Frisky, full of fun and fussy?
Mortal foe of mouse and rat,
Oh, I love the old black cat!
Yes, I do!
Some will like the tortoise-shell;
Others love the white so well;
Let them choose of this or that,
But give to me the old black cat.
Poor kitty! O poor kitty!
Sitting so cozy under the stove.
CHORUS.
Pleasant, purring, pretty pussy, etc.
When the boys, to make her run,
Call the dogs and set them on,
Quickly I put on my hat,
And fly to save the old black cat.
Poor kitty! O poor kitty!
Sitting so cozy under the stove.
CHORUS.
Pleasant, purring, pretty pussy, etc.
This song had come to Burnet years before, in a magazine. There was no
other printed copy of the song; but, year after year, the Burnet
children had sung it at school, and every child in town knew it by
heart.
It cannot be said to be exactly a funeral hymn, and Gregory was a gray
cat and not a black one, which made it still less appropriate; but it
was the only song they knew about cats, so they sang it slow, and made
it do. Just as they were finishing it a big dog came darting down from
the other side of the mill-race, leaped over the race, barking loud, and
sprang in among them.
This gave the relatives a great scare. All those that were standing on
the ground scrambled up the nearest trees as fast as they could; and
even those that were being held in the children's arms scratched and
fought to get down, that they might run away too. So the funeral ended
very suddenly in great disorder, and with altogether more laughing than
seemed proper at a funeral.
The next day Lily died and was buried by the side of Gregory, but with
less ceremony than had been used the day before. Over her grave was put
a high glass monument, which made much more show than the one of marble
on Gregory's grave. That was only a flat slab, which lay on the grass;
but Lily's was a glass lamp which had by some accident got a little
broken. This, set bottom side up, pressed down firmly into the earth,
made a fine show, and could be seen a good way off, "the way a monument
ought to be," Johnny said; and he searched diligently to find something
equally high and imposing for Gregory's grave, but could not find it.
In the course of a few days the remaining kittens and cats were all
given away, except Mammy Tittleback and Blacky. They were selected as
being on the whole the best ones to keep. Mammy Tittleback is so good a
mouser that she would be a useful member of any family, and Blacky bids
fair to grow up as good a mouser as she. What became of Juniper and
Mousiewary was never known. They were seen now and then in the
neighborhood of the house, but never stayed long, and finally
disappeared altogether.
Mammy Tittleback, I am sorry to say, did not take the loss of her
family in the least to heart; after the first week or two she seemed as
contented and as much at home in her new quarters as if she had lived
there all her life. What she has thought about it all, there is no
knowing; but as she and Blacky lie asleep under the stove, of an
evening, you'd never suspect, to look at them, that they had had such a
fine summer house to live in last year, or had ever belonged to a
"Garfield Club," and taken a railway journey.
[Illustration]
THE OLD BLACK CAT.
1. Who so full of fun and glee, Hap-py as a cat can be?
Polished sides so nice and fat--Oh, how I love the old black cat.
2. Some will like the tortoise shell, Others love the white so well;
Let them choose of this or that, But give to me the old black cat.
3. When the boys, to make her run, Call the dogs and set them on,
Quickly I put on my hat And fly to save the old black cat.
_Affetuoso._
Poor kit-ty! O, poor kit-ty!
Sit-ting so co-zy un-der the stove.
Pleasant, purring, pretty pussy, Frisky, full of fun and fussy,
Mortal foe of mouse and rat,
O, I love the old black cat. Yes, I do.
[From the "Schoolday Magazine," March, 1873.]
PREFACE.
This story of Mammy Tittleback and her family was told to me last
winter, at Christmas time, in Grandma Jameson's house, by Johnny and
Rosy Chapman and their mother, and by Phil Wellington and his mother,
and by Johnny and Katy Wells, and by Grandma Jameson herself, and by
"Aunt Maggie" Jameson, Grandma Jameson's daughter, and by "Aunt Hannah,"
Grandma Jameson's sister, and by "Cousin Fanny," the postmistress who
had the first sight of the postal card, and by Jerry, who had the worst
of the whole business, bringing the box of cats from the railway-station
up to the house.
I don't mean that each of these persons told me the whole story from
beginning to end. I was not at Grandma Jameson's long enough for that; I
was there only Christmas day and the day after. But I mean that all
these people told me parts of the story, and every time the subject was
mentioned somebody would remember something new about it, and the longer
we talked about it the more funny things kept coming up to the very
last, and I don't doubt that when I go there again next summer, Phil and
Johnny will begin where they left off and tell me still more things as
droll as these. The story about the little kittens swimming over the
brook I did not hear until the morning I was coming away. Just as I was
busy packing Phil came running up to my room, saying, "There's one more
thing we forgot the cats did," and then he told me the story of the
swimming. Then I said, "Tell me some more, Phil; I don't believe you've
told me half yet."
"Well," he said, "you see, they were doing things all the time, and we
didn't think much about 'em. That's the reason we can't remember," which
remark of Phil's has a good lesson in it when you come to look at it
closely. It would make a good text for a little sermon to preach to
children that very often have to say, "I forgot," about something they
ought to have done.
Things that we think very much about we never forget, any more than we
do persons that we love very dearly and think very much of. So "I
forgot" is not very much of an excuse for not having done a thing; it is
only another way of saying "I didn't attend to it enough to make it stay
in my mind," or, "I didn't care enough about it to remember it."
I heard the greater part of this story on Christmas night. Johnny and
Rosy and Phil and Katy had a great frolic telling it. In the midst of it
Johnny exclaimed, "Don't you want to see Mammy Tittleback?"
"Indeed I do," I replied. So he ran out to the barn and brought her in
in his arms. Snowball was already there. She was lying on the hearth
when Mammy Tittleback was brought in, and I began to praise her, saying
what a beauty she was, and how handsome the yellow, black, and white
colors in her fur were. Snowball got up, and began to walk about
uneasily and to rub up against us, as if she wanted to be noticed also.
"Snowball's a nice cat too," said Phil, picking her up, "'most as good
as Mammy Tittleback."
"Blacky's the nicest," said Rosy, who was rocking in her rocking-chair,
and hugging Blacky up close to her face. "Blacky's the nicest of them
all." Upon which everybody fell to telling what a tyrant Blacky had
become; how she would be held in somebody's lap all the time, and that
even Aunt Hannah had had to give up to Blacky. Even Aunt Hannah, whom
nobody in the house, not even Grandma Jameson herself, ever thinks of
going against in the smallest thing, because she is such a beautiful and
venerable old lady,--even Aunt Hannah had had to give up to Blacky.
Aunt Hannah is over eighty years old but she is never idle. She never
has time to hold cats in her lap; and, besides, I do not think she loves
cats so well as the rest of her family do. As often as Blacky jumped up
in her lap, Aunt Hannah would very gently set her on the floor; but in
five minutes Blacky would be up again. At last, when she found Aunt
Hannah really would not hold her in her lap, she took it in her head to
lie in Aunt Hannah's work-basket, close by her side; and just as often
as Aunt Hannah put her out of her lap she would spring into the
work-basket, and curl herself up like a little puff-ball of fur among
the spools. This was even worse to Aunt Hannah than to have her on her
knees, and she would take her out of the work-basket less gently than
she lifted her out of her lap, and set her on the floor. Then Blacky
would jump right up on her lap again, and so they had it,--Aunt Hannah
and Blacky,--first lap, and then work-basket, till poor Aunt Hannah got
as nearly out of patience as a lovely old lady of the Society of
Friends ever allows herself to be. She got so out of patience that she
made a very nice, soft, round cushion stuffed with feathers, and kept it
always at hand for Blacky to lie on. Then when Blacky jumped on her
knees, she laid her on the cushion; instantly Blacky would spring into
the work-basket, and when she took her out of that, right up in her lap
again. On that cushion she would not lie. At last Aunt Hannah was heard
to say, "I believe it is of no use, I'll have to give up to thee, little
cat;" and now Blacky lies in Aunt Hannah's work-basket whenever she
feels like lying there instead of in Rosy's little chair or in
somebody's lap; and I dare say by the time I go to Burnet again, I shall
find that Aunt Hannah has given up in the matter of the lap also, and
is holding Blacky on her knees as many hours a day as anybody else in
the house.
[Illustration: "Now Blacky lies in Aunt Hannah's work-basket whenever
she feels like lying there."--PAGE 96.]
There was a great deal of discussion among the children as to the places
where the little kittens were living now, and as to which ones were
given away, and which ones had run away.
I suppose when Jerry had a half-dozen kittens to give away all at once,
he couldn't stop to select them very carefully, or to sort them out by
name, or recollect where each one went.
"I know where Spitfire is," said Johnny; "I saw him yesterday."
"Where?" said Phil.
"I won't tell," said Johnny, "but I know."
"Juniper, he ran away. He'll take care of himself. He used to come back
once in a while. We'd see him round the barn. Mousiewary, she comes
sometimes now; I saw her the other day. She's real smart."
"Well, old Mammy Tittleback's the best of 'em all," said Phil, catching
her up and trying to make her snuggle down in his lap. But Mammy
Tittleback did not like to be held. She wriggled away, jumped down, and
walked restlessly toward the kitchen door. Phil followed, opened the
door, and let her go out. "She won't let you pet her," he said; "she's a
real business cat, she always was. She likes to stay in the barn and
hunt rats better than anything in the world, except when it's so cold
she can't."
"She used to let me hold her sometimes in the summer," said Rosy.
"Oh, that was different. She had to be staying round then, doing
nothing, to look after the kittens," replied Phil. "She wasn't wasting
any time then being held, but she won't let you hold her now more 'n two
or three minutes at a time. She jumps right down, and goes off as if she
was sent for."
After the children had gone to bed, Mrs. Chapman told us a very droll
part of the history of the cats' journey,--what might be called the
sequel to it. The Democrats were not the only people in the village who
took offence at the sight of the cats. There is a Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals in Burnet, and some of the people who
belonged to this society, when they heard of the affair, took it into
their heads that Mr. Frank Wellington had done a very cruel thing in
shutting so many cats up in a box together. It was a very good
illustration of the way stories grow big in many times telling, the way
the number of those cats went on growing bigger and bigger every time
the story was told. At last they got it up as high as forty-five; and
there really were some people in town who believed that forty-five cats
had come from Mendon to Burnet in that box. "Jerry says they haven't
ever had it lower than twenty-five," said Mrs. Chapman. "It runs all the
way from forty-five to twenty-five, but twenty-five is the lowest, and
there was one man in the town who really did threaten pretty seriously
to enter a complaint against Frank Wellington with the society, but I
guess he was laughed out of it. It is almost a pity he didn't do it, it
would have been such a joke all round."
This is all I have to tell you about Mammy Tittleback and her family
now. When I go back to Burnet next summer, I hope I shall find her with
six more little kittens, and Johnny and Rosy as happy with them as they
were with Spitfire, Blacky, Coaley, Limbab, Lily, and Gregory Second.
THE END.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation has been standardised.
Page 7, changed "Limbat" to "Limbab" on Genealogical Tree
Page 7, changed "Lilly" to "Lily" on Genealogical Tree
Illustration following Page 96, changed "Blackie" to "Blacky" (Now
Blacky lies)
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