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Title: Tabby's travels
or the holiday adventures of a kitten
Author: Lucy Ellen Guernsey
Release date: November 11, 2025 [eBook #77220]
Language: English
Original publication: Edinburgh: Andrew Elliot, 1864
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TABBY'S TRAVELS ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: Frontispiece.]
TABBY'S TRAVELS
OR
The Holiday Adventures of a Kitten.
BY LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY.
[Illustration: "Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat, where have you been?"]
EDINBURGH:
ANDREW ELLIOT, PRINCES STREET.
1864.
EDINBURGH: T. CONSTABLE,
PRINTER TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY.
CONTENTS.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER FIRST.
TABBY'S ESCAPE
CHAPTER SECOND.
THE WARRINGTON FAMILY
CHAPTER THIRD.
THE PARTY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
CHAPTER FOURTH.
AGNES'S REWARD
CHAPTER FIFTH.
THE HARD ROAD
CHAPTER SIXTH.
THE RIVER
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
THE POLICE OFFICE
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
CONCLUSION
[Illustration: TABBY'S TRAVELS.]
TABBY'S TRAVELS
[Illustration]
CHAPTER FIRST.
TABBY'S ESCAPE.
I SUPPOSE a pleasanter kitchen was hardly ever seen than the one in
which my story commences. It was not one of those under-ground places,
with little square windows close to the low ceiling, and on a level
with the street, or shut in by a grim area-wall, in which so many girls
spend all their working time, without being able to see so much as
a square foot of sky, except by twisting their heads half off their
shoulders. No, it was a high, light room, with two large windows,
which let in so much light and air that the geraniums and verbenas on
the window seats flourished as if they had been in a green-house; and
looking out upon a square yard, small to be sure, but kept so nicely,
and in summer so filled with flowers that it was a pleasure to look
into it. There were no flowers or other growing things to be seen,
however, at the time our story commences, for the ground was frozen
hard, and covered with a light snow, which a cold wind was driving here
and there, and twirling high up into the air, till the flakes caught
the sunbeams and glittered like showers of diamonds.
It might be cold out of doors, but it was warm enough in the kitchen,
where a good fire was burning in the stove, making the tea-kettle
send out clouds of steam, and the cover of the boiler pop up and down
as if there were something alive under it which wanted to get out.
Dorothy the cook, and Anne the housemaid, had gone into the dining-room
to family prayers, and three cats—that is to say, a cat and two
kittens—were the only inmates of the kitchen.
The old cat was sitting up in Dorothy's patchwork cushioned chair,
washing her face very demurely and sedately, at the same time keeping
her eye on the kittens, that they might not get into any mischief, and
be whipped by the cook when she came down stairs—an event which, I
am sorry to say, had happened more than once. The two kittens, whose
names were Tody and Tabby, were frolicking round the floor, chasing
their own and each other's tails, and twisting round and over the rungs
of the chairs, till any one might have thought they would certainly
have broken their necks. Tody was black and white. His breast, paws,
and the tips of his ears and tail were as white as snow, while all
the rest of his body was jet black, and shone like satin. He was a
very pretty kitten indeed, but not so pretty as Tabby, who was a true
tortoise-shell. Her face and paws were also white, but the rest of
her body was curiously mottled with yellow, black, and grey, disposed
in spots and stripes, while her tail was regularly ringed with black
and yellow down to the tip, which was white. She was a very beautiful
kitten indeed, but not so neat as Tody, for her fore-paws were
blackened, and there was a great black mark on the side of her face.
"Miaw!" said Tody presently. "Don't bite so hard, Tabby, you hurt me!"
"You always think you are killed, if any one touches you," said Tabby,
pettishly. "You have bitten me a great deal harder than that many a
time, and I did not mew at all. However, I am not going to play with
you if you are going to quarrel all the time." And with these words,
Tabby went and sat down by the fire in a very dignified manner.
Tody looked rather sorry, but he did not say anything. He got up in the
chair, by the side of his mother, and began licking her face and head,
now and then playfully biting her ears and pulling her tail.
"I should think mother could wash her own face without any of Tody's
help," said Tabby, after watching them a few minutes discontentedly.
"I should think mother could govern her own kittens without any of
Tabby's help," returned the old cat good-naturedly, straightening
herself up in the chair, and rolling Tody over with her paw. "And, by
the way, talking of washing, what makes your paws so black?"
"I don't know, I am sure," said Tabby, hastily sitting down, and
folding her paws under her. "I must have got them dirty playing about
the fire, I suppose."
The old cat jumped down from the chair, and going up to Tabby, pulled
her paws from under her breast, looked at them, smelt them, and then
said, in a tone of grave displeasure: "Tabby, you have been playing
among the coals again!"
Tabby did not attempt to deny it. She hung down her head, and looked
very much ashamed.
"You have been playing in the coal-box again, though you know I forbade
you to go near it," pursued her mother, very seriously; "and worse than
that, you have been running over the cook's baskets, and have left the
marks of your black paws upon her clean napkins, which were folded and
sprinkled, ready for ironing. I should not wonder if she should whip
you, and make you go without your breakfast, and I should not blame her
if she did.
"I really don't know what will become of you, Tabby, if you are such a
naughty kitten. Only the day before yesterday you pulled the raw turkey
off on the floor, and ate half of its neck. And last Sunday morning you
jumped upon the breakfast table, and turned a cup of coffee all over
the clean cloth. You will surely come to a bad end, my daughter, if
you are so heedless and disobedient. Once I knew of a kitten who would
persist in getting on the table and into the pantry, and one day the
coachman tied her in a bag, with a stone round her neck, and threw her
off the railway-bridge. The river was very high, and she was carried
over the falls and drowned."
At the thought of his dear little sister going over the falls in a bag
with a stone tied round her neck, Tody turned quite cold all over. He
jumped down from the chair where he had been sitting, and came to his
mother.
"Dear mother, pray don't say such dreadful things as that," said he,
with tears in his eyes. "I am sure Tabby will be a good kitten, and do
as you tell her—won't you, Tabby, dear?"
But Tabby made no answer, and went on licking her paws, trying to look
as though she did not care, and the old cat, seeing how sulky she was,
called Tody away to sit up among the plants in the sunshine, leaving
Tabby to her own thoughts by the side of the fire.
Tabby felt very naughty indeed. It was not the first time nor the
second that she had been in mischief that week, and she had been twice
whipped, once by the cook, for pulling down the turkey, and once
by Miss Sophia, in the drawing-room, for jumping upon the commode,
and knocking down a little china cup. It was very pretty and round,
and Tabby thought she should like to roll it about the floor. She
was frightened enough when she saw it break all to pieces, for she
knew how much the family valued this cup, which had been sent home
by Mr. Edward, all the way from Japan, whither his ship had gone:
so terrified, indeed, was she that she forgot to run away, and so
Miss Sophia caught her, and gave her a good whipping with her little
whalebone riding-whip which hung in the hall.
The worst of it was that no one was sorry for her but Tody; even her
mother, though she licked her all over and did what she could to
comfort her, told her that she was served right for going where she
had no business, and Tabby, instead of confessing that she had been a
naughty pussy, and resolving to do better in future, thought herself
a very ill-used cat. She made up her mind that nobody loved her, and
that all the world had a spite against her, so that when Tody came to
console her, and brought her a little mouse which the stable-boy had
caught and given him, she snatched it up growling, and carried it off
without so much as saying "Thank you."
She had often been told that she must not play among the coals, and
it was difficult to see why she was so fond of doing so, but all her
mother's admonitions and cuffs did no good. This very morning she had
jumped into the bin after a feather which she saw there, and had chased
it up and down among the coals, till all the under part of her body was
as black as the coal itself. She had succeeded in getting rid of most
of it, but her paws were too dirty to be cleaned with one washing, and
she had kept out of the way, hoping her mother would not observe them
till the tell-tale colour had worn off.
Presently the cook and housemaid came down from prayers bringing the
breakfast dishes with them, and Dorothy, scraping the contents of the
plates together upon a large dish, and pouring some milk into a bowl,
called all the cats into the outer kitchen, and set the provision
down before them. There were well-buttered rolls, some pieces of cold
ham and chicken, and quite a quantity of hash, enough to satisfy any
reasonable cat, one would think. But Tabby was not in the humour to be
pleased with anything.
"I should think they might have fresh fish for breakfast, sometimes,"
she said peevishly, turning over the contents of the plate with her
paw. "We have not had a bit of fish since I can remember."
"It is not the season for fish," said her mother, "but there is a piece
of cold chicken for you. I should think that was a very nice breakfast
for a kitten."
Tabby murmured something about being sick of chicken, but took the
offered piece nevertheless, and ate it all herself without offering
to divide with Tody, who was very contentedly munching his cakes and
hash. She ate so greedily, indeed, that she almost choked herself, and
was reproved by her mother for her ill manners. This filled up the cup
of her discontent, and she felt as though she would like to do almost
anything that was naughty.
All the morning she sat sullenly by the side of the fire, resisting all
the attempts of Tody to entice her into a game of play, and brooding
over her fancied wrongs, till she really convinced herself that she
was the most ill-used kitten in the whole world. She would not even go
up stairs when little Ella and Marian called them all into the nursery
for a frolic, and she ran and hid behind the boiler in the cellar, when
Ella came after her the second time.
"Go along then, you contrary little thing," said Ella, after she had
coaxed and called in vain, till her patience was exhausted. "I never
saw such a kitten in my life. I don't see, for my part, how such a
little cross-patch ever came to be Tody's sister." And away she ran,
leaving Tabby to come out when she got ready, which she did with her
paws blacker than ever, and a great smudge on her side, where she had
rubbed against the pots.
"O Tabby! Why didn't you come up stairs?" said Tody, when he came into
the kitchen some time afterward. "You don't know what a nice time we
had. Miss Ella rolled her glass balls and marbles all over the floor
for us to play with, and gave mother and me each a piece of pound-cake."
"I suppose you would not have saved any for me for the world," said
Tabby scornfully.
"I was going to bring you part of mine," said Tody, "but mother
wouldn't let me. She said you ought to come when you were called, and
if you did not, you must take the consequences."
"Mother thinks I am the very worst kitten that ever lived in the
world," said Tabby, tears of vexation coming into her eyes, as she
thought of the pound-cake and the pretty glass balls, her favourite
playthings, all lost by her own perversity. "I do believe she would be
glad if I were dead and out of the way. But never mind," she continued,
not heeding Tody's exclamation of horror at this wicked and undutiful
speech; "I shall not be in her way very long. I am not going to stay
where I am abused all the days of my life."
In fact, Tabby had thought over her imagined wrongs, till all her
musings and broodings had resulted in a settled purpose. She had made
up her mind to run away! Yes, to such a pitch had her perversity
arrived that she had determined to leave the kind mother and brother
who loved her so dearly, and the friends who had fed and petted her
ever since she was born, and go out into the world to seek her fortune.
Now, what the world was like, she had no idea. She had never been
outside the garden-walls, except when her mother had once or twice
taken her and Tody to a neighbour's barn to give them a lesson in
mousing, and the only persons she had ever seen besides Mrs. Merriam's
family, were the little girls who sometimes came to see Miss Ella and
Miss Marian, and the butcher's boy who now and then gave her a piece of
meat out of his basket.
Tabby was a self-willed kitten. She had a great deal of perseverance
too, and would never give up anything she attempted till she had tried
every way to attain the object of her wishes. She knew very well that
she should have no trouble in accomplishing her ends this time, for her
mother was accustomed to go out for a walk every afternoon, leaving
her and Tody to take care of themselves. Tody usually took a nap in
the window seat, and nothing would be easier than, while he was fast
asleep, for her to slip out of the kitchen when the door was opened,
run along the garden-wall to the neighbouring house, which was on the
corner, and then jump into the street and go where she pleased.
Having thus made up her mind to escape from what she considered the
evils of her lot, and seeing clearly how to bring it about, she was
inclined to be very good-natured, and was so playful and pleasant the
rest of the morning that her mother thought she was sorry for her
perverseness, and had made up her mind to be good; and very glad she
was to see it, for whatever Tabby might imagine in her naughtiness, if
her mother made any difference between her kittens, she loved Tabby the
best.
Tody was naturally of a very placid and cheerful disposition, and had
given her very little trouble. He had also a strong constitution, and
had never seen a sick day, while Tabby was delicate from her birth, and
for some days her mother had considered it doubtful whether she would
ever live to get her eyes open. Then she had had two very bad fits in
her infancy, and she was almost two months old before she began to grow
strong and hearty. This circumstance induced not only her mother, but
all the family, to bear with her infirmities of temper, and treat her
with great indulgence, and she had been allowed to do many things which
would have insured a sentence of banishment against any other cat. She
was exceedingly handsome, and very playful when in a good humour, and
the children were quite as fond of her as of Tody, who was never out of
temper, and always ready for a game of romps.
But all this had no influence upon Tabby. She had been so mischievous
lately that it had been absolutely necessary to punish her more than
once. But instead of seeing that it was her own fault and amending her
ways, she had made up her mind that she was a very ill-used cat, and
would be better off almost anywhere else than at home. This feeling had
been brewing in her mind for some time, and the events of the day had
brought it to such a point that she was determined to act upon it. How
she did so, and what adventures she met with, we shall see hereafter.
As Tabby sat down to her excellent dinner of bread and meat, she could
not help having some misgivings, when she reflected that she did not
know where she was to get her supper, nor whether she were likely to
have any, but she had made up her mind, and she was not a kitten to be
easily frightened. So she made a hearty meal, and took a good drink
of milk and water as a provision for her journey, and then began to
put her fur in order, watching impatiently for the time when she might
leave all her troubles behind her and escape to that unknown future
which her fancy pictured to her in such gay and attractive colours.
She had not to wait long. As if to favour her designs, her mother went
out earlier than usual, telling the kittens that she might be gone till
after tea, and giving them a great charge not to get into any mischief.
It was the day but one before Christmas. The cook was busy baking
mince-pies, stuffing her turkey, and getting all things ready for the
Christmas feast. The young ladies of the family, Miss Sophia and Miss
Fanny, were finishing up their presents, frosting cakes, and making
preparations for the children's party on Christmas eve, and the little
girls, Ella and Marian, were too happy in being allowed to help to care
anything about playing with the kittens.
It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. The sun was shining
brightly and it looked very pleasant out of doors, but in the house it
was necessary to keep up large fires to make the rooms comfortable.
Tabby watched her opportunity when the cook went out into the yard,
and slipped out after her, hiding behind the rose-bushes till she
went into the house and the door was shut. Then she jumped up on the
wall, skipped along the top till she came to where it joined the
back-wall of her next neighbour, and was just about to jump over,
when, to her consternation, she beheld her mother sitting below under
some grape-vines, in company with two or three other cats of the
neighbourhood. She drew back in haste, afraid lest her mother might
have seen her, and sat for some moments hardly daring to breathe.
Presently she ventured upon another peep. The mother had not stirred,
but was busily engaged in conversation with her friends, and Tabby took
courage. Instead of crossing directly into the next street, however, as
she had at first intended, she jumped over into the garden which joined
the back of Mr. Merriam's, crept along under the wall, then jumped over
into the next and the next, nor did she look round till she had put at
least half a dozen gardens, and quite a long street, between herself
and her fond mother and happy home.
She was now in quite an extensive garden, much larger than any she had
passed through, and planted with a variety of evergreens, and other
trees and shrubs, such as she had never seen before. Among them was one
covered with large bunches of crimson berries, and around this were
gathered many robins, some of which were perched on the branches, while
others perched on the snow, picking up the berries which had fallen on
the ground. Tabby wagged her tail and chattered her teeth with pleasure
at the sight.
"Now for a famous supper," she said to herself, as she crept softly
forward in the shadow of a large cedar tree. "If I can get one of these
nice large birds, and I am almost certain I can, I need not envy Tody
his supper of milk and cold toast. I think cold toast is miserable
stuff myself. Now for it!" said she, as, crouching close to the ground,
and wriggling her body, she prepared for a spring, already tasting the
game in anticipation.
But a bird in the bush is not the same as a bird in the hand, as Tabby
learned to her cost. She sprung with all her force, and alighted
exactly where she intended, but the bird which she had intended for
her supper was quicker than herself. He saw her as she sprang, and was
safely perched upon the top branches of the tree before she reached the
place where he had been. All the other robins took the alarm, and when
she looked around, after assuring herself that she had missed her aim,
every bird had disappeared.
The sun had set, and the piercing wind penetrated her fur, and made her
shiver all over. It was getting late; she had had no supper, and she
did not know where to turn to find any. Gladly would she have eaten
a piece of the cold toast she had so lately despised, or even one of
the buck-wheat cakes, which she would never condescend to touch. She
looked around her, and considered what was best to be done, and at last
determined to go boldly up to the house and ask for something to eat.
"It is such a grand house," she reflected, "that I am sure they must
have much nicer meals than we used to get at home."
Poor Tabby! She had yet to learn that the comforts of housekeeping are
not always proportioned to the size of the house by any means.
She stole gently along toward the kitchen, intending to watch her
opportunity and slip in when the door was opened, but she had not
reached it by a good many yards, when she heard a savage bark which
made her hair stand on end, and in another instant a fierce dog made a
dash at her. It was a fortunate thing for Tabby that a tree was close
at hand, or my story would have had a sudden termination. Terror lent
her wings, and in a moment she was safe among the branches, wondering
at her own escape, and feeling almost as if the bull-dog's teeth were
already in her back.
She was safe, however, for this time, but what to do next? The dog
was at the foot of the tree, barking savagely, and every now and then
leaping up as if to catch her. It was quite dark; she was chilled
through, and ready to faint from hunger. This was very different
certainly from the bright future she had portrayed to herself, sitting
by the fire in the nursery, and she began to wish she had stayed at
home. But it was too late now; she must drink as she had brewed, and
the beverage did not seem likely to be very much to her taste.
CHAPTER SECOND.
THE WARRINGTON FAMILY.
TABBY kept hoping that the dog would go away, so as to allow her to
come down, but he showed no signs of any intention to do so, keeping
watch at the foot of the tree, as though he had made up his mind to
have her for his supper at any cost; so Tabby thought at least, for she
did not know that dogs never ate cats.
The night grew colder and colder, the wind pierced through her fur,
and so benumbed her limbs that she could hardly retain her hold on
the branch. She was more hungry than she had ever been in all her
life before, and as she thought of her mother and Tody, snug and warm
in their nest under the back-room stairs, sleeping soundly after a
comfortable supper, she could hardly help mewing aloud.
"Oh!" said she to herself. "How foolish I was! If ever I get back
again, I shall know when I am well off. I daresay they are both sound
asleep, never thinking or caring what becomes of me."
Tabby knew better in her own mind, but her conscience accused her for
her undutiful conduct, and she felt as though it would be a relief to
blame somebody beside herself. If she had seen her dear mother hunting
for her up stairs and down and all over the neighbourhood, calling her
lost child in the most pitiful tones, her hard heart might have been
touched. But at present she thought of nothing but her own discomfort
and danger. At last, after what seemed an age to the poor kitten, the
gate opened, and some one came in whistling to the dog, who started up
and ran to meet the new-comer, and then ran back to the tree, looking
up at the kitten and then at his master, saying as plainly as a dog
could say it: "There is a strange cat up in this tree."
"Why, Carlo, old dog, what are you barking at?" said the young
gentleman, looking up into the tree. "Some unlucky cat, I suppose?"
"Miaw," ventured Tabby, thinking he looked very good-natured, and
resolved on making an appeal to his sympathies. "Miau—au! Miew!"
The result of this experiment proved that she had not been mistaken in
her estimate of character.
"Down, Carlo, down, old dog," said he to Carlo, and the old fellow
immediately crouched down, looking on, however, with much interest to
see what his young master was going to do.
"If I had minded my dear mother as well as that, I should not have
been in this scrape," was Tabby's passing reflection, as she ventured
to descend from the tree at the repeated invitations of the young
gentleman, still, however, keeping a watchful eye upon the dog, and
ready to betake herself to her place of refuge the moment he showed
signs of another attack. No sooner did she come within reach, however,
than Mr. Warrington seized her, and despite her struggles, for she was
now almost as much afraid of him as of the dog, he carried her into the
house, and introduced her into a warm and light room, where the family
were assembled at supper.
"See here, girls," said he, as he held her out by the back of the neck,
"here is some company for you."
"Another cat! I do think you are out of you senses, George!" said a
young lady who was seated at the table. "You know the children will
torment its life out, and a kitten is a nuisance in the house, at any
rate."
"We shan't either. That is just like you, Barbara!" said a little girl
about the age of Ella Merriam. "Always meddling. Do give her to me,
George!"
"No, give her to me," exclaimed a younger girl and a boy both together.
"Don't give her to Aggy, give her to me. Aggy has got the parrot now."
"And Dora has got the gold-fish. I think you might give her to me,
George."
"I have not said I should give her to anybody yet," said George,
stroking Tabby, who began to think she had got among a queer set of
people.
"I think, if I make a present to any one, it will be to Tessy, who has
not asked for it at all."
The eyes of the little girl who sat at the end of the table began to
sparkle, and she said gratefully, "Thank you, George. I shall like it
so much. I have always wanted a tortoise-shell kitten."
"Tessy gets everything," said Agnes, her pretty face flushing with ill
temper. "I wish I was lame, and then perhaps I might get something done
for me."
"For shame, Agnes!" said Barbara. "How can you speak so of your cousin,
as though she would be lame if she could help it? I think you have made
a wise choice, George, though I am afraid the poor cat will not fare
the better for it."
"I won't have any quarrelling about it, children," said Mrs.
Warrington, who had hitherto kept silence. "I wish you had not brought
her in at all, George, but since you have, you had better let her go
into the kitchen and get something to eat."
"O mother! Do let us feed her here," exclaimed Dora and Charley
together. "Let us give her some milk under the table."
"You know I do not like to have cats fed at the table," Mrs. Warrington
began, but her voice was overborne in a torrent of remonstrance.
"Yes, mother! What harm will it do? Old Brindle always ate up here. Do
give us some milk for her."
"Well," said Mrs. Warrington resignedly, giving way as usual, "only
don't spill the milk on the carpet."
"I think the kitchen is the best place for her, for my part, if she is
to stay at all," said Agnes. "A little dirty thing; she is not half as
pretty as old Brindle was."
"Agnes thinks the grapes are sour," said Dora, as she set down a china
saucer half full of milk. "She thought it was a beautiful kitten till
George gave it to Tessy."
"Dora!" said her mother reprovingly.
"Well, she did, mother, you know she did."
"I wonder what Mrs. Merriam would say if Miss Ella or Miss Marian were
to speak to her or to each other in that way?" thought Tabby to herself.
She drank the milk eagerly, and then looked up expecting something
more, but nobody offered her anything, though there was cold meat on
the table, and she would have been very glad even of a piece of dry
bread. At last, the little girl called Tessy took a crust from her
plate and offered it to her, but she had hardly seized it, before Agnes
and Charley both exclaimed: "There, mother, Theresa is feeding her off
her plate!"
"I am surprised at you, Theresa," said Mrs. Warrington severely. "You
know I have forbidden the cats to be fed in the dining-room."
"She looked so hungry," said Tessy in excuse, her pale face flushing at
the rebuke.
"Never mind how she looked. I told you once, and that was enough. I
shall not let her stay here at all, if that is the way you are going to
do."
"I don't see why it was any worse for Tessy than for Dora and Charley,"
said Barbara half aside to George. "But, poor girl, she has to take all
the governing for the whole concern."
If Mrs. Warrington heard this speech, she did not see fit to notice it,
and the whole party rose from the table, leaving Tabby alone in the
dining-room, though Tessy looked longingly at her, as though she would
have liked to carry her along.
"What children!" said Tabby to herself. "And what a cross woman! I am
sure I never heard such goings-on at our tea-table, and I think it is a
great deal pleasanter than this, though our dishes and tea-pots are not
half so handsome. I think they might have offered me a bit of that cold
meat; I am half-starved. I mean to have a piece at any rate."
So saying, she mounted upon a chair and was just reaching out her paw
to the dish, when the door opened suddenly, and Agnes came in. Tabby
made a hasty jump, and in her confusion, not seeing where she was
going, she knocked a cup off the table, and broke it in two, besides
spilling the tea all over the cloth.
"Oh! Ho! Miss Kitty! So that is the way you behave, is it?" said Agnes,
seizing upon her as she tried to make her escape under the sideboard.
"We shall see what mother will say to that!" And despite Tabby's
efforts, she was carried off a prisoner to the drawing-room.
"Here is your beautiful tortoise-shell kitten, Miss Tessy! She has
been up on the table, eaten all the cold meat, and broken two or three
cups and saucers!" Such was Agnes's announcement, made in a tone
of ill-natured triumph, as she entered the drawing-room with Tabby
squeezed under her arm.
"Oh! What a story!" thought Tabby, as she struggled to escape from the
pressure of Agnes's elbow. "I never touched the cold meat, and I only
broke one cup."
"So much for bringing a strange cat into the house," said Mrs.
Warrington in displeasure, and looking at Theresa as if she were the
cause of all the mischief. "I will have her sent off or put out of the
way to-morrow."
"Stop, mother. Remember she is my cat," said George. "I am not sure
about having her disposed of so summarily. It was not right to leave
her alone in the room with the meat. I daresay she was half-starved,
poor thing."
"If you had given her to Agnes, she would not have been so ready to
tell of her," said Dora. "Tabby is not the first who has taken things
off the table." Tabby was quite surprised to hear herself called by her
name, not knowing that it was one commonly applied to tortoise-shell
cats.
"It is no worse to take things off the table than out of the cupboard,"
retorted Agnes.
"You need not squeeze the poor thing so, at any rate," said Charley,
trying to pull Tabby away.
But Agnes held her fast, and the poor kitten began to think she would
be torn in pieces between them. She uttered such a pitiful cry that
Tessy started from her chair, and exclaimed, as her eyes filled with
tears: "Oh! Don't hurt her so, poor little thing! Give her to me,
please, Charley," she added imploringly, as Charley succeeded in
gaining possession of her.
Charley hesitated, but he saw his elder brother's eye fixed upon him,
and he had his reasons for not caring to disoblige George so near to
Christmas time. "Take her then," he said rather sullenly, holding her
out to Theresa, who took her and began smoothing her fur, ruffled by
the violence of the children, "but I don't believe mother will let you
keep her—will you, mother?"
"I certainly shall not have her about, if she gets on the table," said
Mrs. Warrington with decision. "I think if people must have a cat,
the barn is the best place for her. You had better take her out now,
Charley, before she does any more mischief."
"Wait till Tessy goes to bed, mother," interposed Barbara, who had left
the room a few minutes before, and now came back in time to hear her
mother's last words. "The kitten has not done much harm after all. She
has only broken that cup which has been cracked for a long time, and
the meat is quite untouched. I would learn to tell a story straight, if
I were Agnes."
"I would learn to mind my own affairs if I were Barbara," retorted
Agnes, vexed that her sister should expose her exaggerations.
"Hush, Agnes," said her mother. "I am glad it was no worse. That cup
has been unfit to be seen this long time, and so I have told Jane, but
she would always set it out. I am really glad it is out of the way. You
can keep the kitten till bed-time, Tessy, if you like, but don't let
her get on any of the tables here."
Tabby had not the least inclination to get out of the lap of her kind
little protectress, who stroked her so softly, and allowed her to lie
quietly and recover her breath, after the rough treatment to which
she had been subjected. By and by Tabby began to regain her spirits,
to wash herself and to purr in answer to Tessy's gentle caresses. She
had hardly ever been willing to lie in Ella Merriam's lap, though her
little mistress never punished her in her life, but she was beginning
to know a little of the value of kindness.
The children took very little more notice of her, but busied themselves
with some games and puzzles, quarrelling and snapping at each other
every few minutes. George and Barbara played chess and talked to each
other, and Mrs. Warrington sat at a little table under the gas-light,
and busied herself with some very curious-looking knitting. Tessy had
her knitting to, but she spent most of her time patting and talking to
Tabby, who now began to show off some of her accomplishments in the
line of playing. At last Tessy's ball rolled out of her lap, and Tabby
jumped after it, and brought it back in her mouth, as Marian had taught
her to do. Tessy clapped her hands with delight.
"See, aunt—see, George! She has brought my ball back to me. What a dear
little kitty!"
"I don't believe she did it on purpose," said Charley. "Try her again,
Tessy."
Tessy rolled the ball and Tabby sprang after it, bringing it in her
mouth as before, and jumping up into Tessy's lap.
"She is a cunning little thing," said Mrs. Warrington, after the
experiment had been successfully repeated a number of times. "I never
saw a cat do as much as that."
Tabby was delighted to see the effect of the favourable impression she
had made, and tried the effect of her other grand feats, sitting up
very straight on her hind legs, and putting her paws over her nose, as
she had seen her mother do when begging for something to eat. She even
went so far as to lie down on her back and roll over, a feat she had
always been very unwilling to perform for Miss Ella, but she felt the
necessity of making herself agreeable in her new situation.
Every one, even Agnes, agreed that she was a very pretty kitten, and
wonderfully clever, but no one talked of getting her anything to eat,
as she had hoped they would do. And when bed-time came, Mrs. Warrington
gave her to Charley, and ordered him to give her to Jem to be carried
out to the barn.
"Won't Carlo kill her if she is put out in the barn?" Tessy
remonstrated.
"Oh! She can get up on the beams out of his way," replied Mrs.
Warrington carelessly.
Tessy still looked very unhappy, and George remarking it, took the
kitten from Charley's hands, saying to Tessy, "I will carry her out
myself, and give Carlo a lesson on the subject. I will engage that he
shall not touch her if I tell him not to do so. They will be the best
friends in the world in a week's time."
"Friends with that horrible great dog! That I am sure I never shall,"
said Tabby to herself. "O my dear mother! What would you say if you
knew that I was going to be put into such a place?" And for the first
time Tabby began to wish she had been a better kitten.
George carried her out to the barn, and setting her down, called Carlo
to him, who came out of his nest rather unwillingly. His eyes glistened
when he saw the kitten, and he licked his great jaws in a way that made
poor Tabby feel as though she were already devoured. Mr. George sat
down on a box, and placing the kitten on his knee, he called Carlo up
to him.
"See here, Carlo," said he, as Carlo came slowly along, "I want to show
you this kitten. This is 'my' kitten, and you must not hurt her. Do you
hear?"
Carlo turned his head round as far as he could, so as not to see Tabby,
but Mr. George forced him to look at her.
"Now remember!" said he, as he set the kitten down on the floor under
his nose. "You must not hurt her yourself, nor let any other dog meddle
with her. You must take good care of her."
Carlo looked at the kitten and then at his master, wagged his tail, and
nodded his head, as much as to say, "I will do as you tell me."
And George, satisfied that he would keep his word, took up the lantern
and went out of the barn, shutting the door after him. No sooner was
he gone than Tabby bounced up to the top of the manger, spitting and
spreading out her tail, and making a tremendous fuss, as though she
were going to eat somebody up in a moment. But Carlo only grinned
good-naturedly, and went off to his bed in the straw, leaving Tabby to
settle herself for the night as she pleased.
She did not feel like settling at all, for she had never slept away
from her mother and Tody before, and besides she was very hungry,
having had nothing since dinner except the milk the children had given
her. Tabby had never caught a mouse in her life, though she had eaten
two or three, and liked them very much; and she now began to speculate
on the possibility of procuring one for her supper. She looked about a
little, and seeing a very promising-looking hole under the manger, she
settled herself to watch, as she had seen her mother do. She had not
been long on the look-out, before a sharp nose and a pair of whiskers
peeped out of the hole followed by a head and part of a body.
If Tabby had considered a moment, she would have seen that the head was
much too large for that of a mouse, but she thought of nothing but her
supper, and springing at the intruder, she seized him by the ears. In a
moment she felt a sharp pain in her face, and discovered that she was
caught in her turn by an enormous rat, very nearly as large as herself.
In vain did she struggle and scratch; the rat held on, and presently
another brown head was seen peering from the same hole.
Poor Tabby now gave herself up for lost, but at that moment she
received efficient aid from a very unexpected quarter. Carlo had come
out of his nest on hearing the scuffle, and seeing the state of the
case, he bounced in among the combatants. The rats quickly retreated to
their holes, leaving Tabby ready to faint from fear and fatigue.
"That rat had very nearly finished you, little kitty," said Carlo,
after he had hunted through the straw, and smelt at the hole, to make
sure that the enemy had left the field. "If I had not come in just as I
did, he would have killed you as sure as a gun."
"I am sure I am very much obliged to you, Carlo," said poor Tabby, as
soon as she could find breath. "I thought it was all over with me when
I saw the second rat coming. Just see how he has bitten my face!"
"It is too bad!" said Carlo, giving the little face a compassionate
lick with his great red tongue. "You should not try to catch rats yet,
Tabby, you are quite too little. I should think a mouse would be quite
as much as you could manage."
"I wish I could catch a mouse, any way," said Tabby with her eyes full
of tears, as she licked the blood off her paws and breast. "I am so
hungry I don't know what to do. O my dear mother! If I ever get back to
you, I will be a better kitten than I have been."
"How did you come to leave your mother?" asked Carlo. "Did some one
steal you, or did your people give you away?"
"I ran away," said Tabby, feeling very much ashamed as she made the
confession. "I thought they did not use me well at home, and that it
would be a very fine thing to seek my fortune. But if all the world is
like what I have seen since dinner-time, I don't want to know any more
about it. I am sure I never saw Miss Ella and Miss Merriam quarrel as
the children here do." And then Tabby stopped, all at once, remembering
how she had quarrelled with Tody that very morning.
"The world is a large place, and there are a great many different sorts
of people in it," said Carlo thoughtfully. "I think if one has even a
tolerably good home, it is best to stay in it while one can, and not
try to improve one's condition by running away, one doesn't know where.
But if you want to catch a mouse, there are plenty in this barn. I will
show you where to watch, and I have no doubt you will find one very
soon. Just call me if the rats trouble you again. Good-night."
Carlo showed Tabby a proper place to watch, and then lay down to sleep,
but it was not till after two hours of patient waiting, and one or
two disappointments, that she succeeded in catching a tolerably-sized
mouse. Nothing that she had eaten in her life ever tasted half so good
to her as this mouse; she only wished it had been twice as large; and
having eaten all but the tail, she washed her face and paws, as her
mother had taught her to do after meals, and then went and curled down
in the straw close to Carlo, feeling as though his presence would be a
protection, for she felt very friendless and lonely. Her face pained
her very much at first, but it grew easier by degrees, and at last she
fell asleep, and slept soundly till morning.
She was roused by the entrance of the stable-boy, who was very much
surprised to see a kitten lying asleep between Carlo's paws. It was not
long before a little lame step and the sound of a crutch was heard upon
the brick walk outside, and Tabby, guessing by instinct to whom they
belonged, ran to the door, and met Theresa, who had come out to seek
her as soon as she was dressed.
"Oh! My dear little kitty! How glad I am to see you," she exclaimed,
resting her crutch against the stable-door, and taking Tabby up in her
arms. "But how did you hurt your poor little face so badly? Carlo, you
naughty dog, did you bite my poor pussy?"
"I don't believe it was Carlo, Miss Theresa," said Jem; "I rather think
a rat did that. I found her and Carlo sleeping on the straw together,
as good friends as you please."
If it had been in Tabby's power, she would have told Tessy how Carlo
had taken her part against the rats, and showed her how to catch a
mouse for her supper. But she could not make her little mistress
understand such a long story, so she had to content herself with
rubbing her head against the old dog's legs, and looking up in his
face to show that they were good friends. Tessy was very much pleased
at this exhibition of good feeling between her two favourites; and
taking Tabby in her arms, and followed by Carlo, she was soon at the
kitchen-door, begging the cook to give her some cold meat for their
breakfast.
Now Tessy, even in the short time she had been in her aunt's family,
had become a great favourite with all the servants, from her kindness
and her obliging manners, and they were all ready to do anything in
their power for the little lame girl, who took such good care of her
things and never gave them any unnecessary trouble. So as soon as
Martha heard what it was that Tessy wanted, she went into the pantry
and soon returned with a plateful of bits of cold meat and potatoes,
bread-crumbs, and other scraps, which she set down before the hungry
animals.
Tabby ate her share very thankfully, and did not grumble when Carlo
took a large part of the meat for his share, leaving her the cold
potatoes and crumbs. Could this be the same kitten who only twenty-four
hours before had turned up her nose so scornfully at the cold hash,
and would hardly condescend to eat a bit of chicken? Yes, but Tabby
had learned more wisdom in that twenty-four hours than in all her
life before; for she had learned to know when she was well off, and
to appreciate the goodness of her kind mother and brother. She almost
choked over her breakfast as she thought of Tody, and imagined how
lonely he must be with nobody to play with; and she resolved that as
soon as the weather moderated a little, she would find her way home,
tell her mother how sorry she was, and endeavour to make amends for
giving her so much trouble.
As Tessy stood leaning on her crutch watching Tabby and Carlo, some one
called her from the top of the stairs, and looking up at the sound, she
saw her cousin Barbara.
"What are you doing in the kitchen so early, Tessy?" asked Miss
Warrington.
"I am feeding my kitten," said Tessy. "The rats have bitten her
terribly; at least Jem says it is the rats, and I don't like to have
her stay in the barn, but I don't know what to do with her."
"Why don't you take her into the play-room?" asked Barbara.
"I would," replied Tessy, "but—" she hesitated, and Barbara seemed to
understand her.
"I know, but never mind, Tessy, try to keep the peace as long as you
stay. Remember we shall go away after the holidays, and I am sure
you will like being at school. You can take the kitten into my room,
and play with her there in peace, for the children are all going out
directly after breakfast. I know they are troublesome little torments,
but it cannot be helped."
Theresa felt very grateful for the permission, but as she picked up
Tabby and followed her cousin up stairs to her own room, she could not
help thinking that Barbara did not always take the best way to help it,
and that she might do a good deal to improve matters if she went to
work in the right way.
Tessy had been used to a very different state of things. Her father
and mother had been dead a long time, and she and her two little
brothers had resided with an aunt, who took care of them. Tessy could
not recollect having quarrelled with her brothers but twice in her
life, and both times when they were all very little children. She well
remembered how sorry and ashamed she had felt, and how glad they had
all been to kiss and be friends again. When her good aunt died, and her
brothers were placed in situations proper for them, she had been in
some degree consoled for the distress of parting by the idea that in
her cousins she should have companions of her own age, and little girls
too.
But she had not been long in her aunt's family before she discovered
that it was very possible for "children of one family" to be anything
but pleasant companions. Agnes, Dora, and Charley quarrelled from
morning till night. If Dora particularly liked any of her schoolmates,
it was reason enough for Agnes to dislike her; and she never failed
to take every opportunity of displaying her feelings. Dora, in her
turn, hated all Agnes's pets, declaring that Madge, the parrot, was
a perfect nuisance, and Mary Parker, Agnes's favourite playmate, the
most disagreeable girl she had ever seen in her life. Charley was his
mother's pet, and, secure in her favour, he teased every one in the
house, except his brother George, of whom he stood considerably in awe.
Mrs. Warrington was an indolent woman who loved her children in a
passive way, especially when they were small, but she could never take
the trouble to teach, much less to govern them. The only approach she
ever made to the latter, was to threaten to send them to bed if they
quarrelled. But as she never put her threat into execution, it had
very little effect in stopping their contentions. Barbara and George
were only her stepchildren. They were about eight years old when she
married Mr. Warrington, and had been kept at school almost ever since,
meeting only in the holidays. They were twins, extremely fond of each
other, and caring very little for any other society when together;
they were, in a measure, independent of the circle at home, even of
their step-mother, who, however, always treated them very kindly in her
passive way, and to whom they were generally respectful.
Barbara had very little influence with her brothers and sisters, and
did not act in a way to increase it, for she did not take pains to
conceal her opinion that they were as she expressed it, "troublesome
little torments." George had more, and used it more wisely, and he did
now and then succeed in putting a stop to their endless contentions.
Agnes was sometimes induced to give up her own way, and Dora to
cease her sarcastic speeches, and even Charley to restrain his fit
of passion, when his older brother's calm eye was fixed upon him,
especially about Christmas time; for George was abundantly supplied
with pocket-money, and made a very wise as well as a very generous use
of it.
It was into such a family as this that Tessy was introduced to spend
the remainder of her life, at least till she should have a home of her
own. It may be easily believed that she did not find it very pleasant.
She was, as one of the servants expressed it, like a cat without claws
in the midst of her young cousins, and most thankful she was when her
aunt and her guardian decided that she should go to boarding-school
with Barbara after the Christmas holidays.
She looked forward to the beginning of school as to a haven of rest,
and meantime devoted all her powers to the endeavour to keep the
peace, and gain some influence with Agnes and Dora, which might be to
their advantage. She was three years older than Agnes, the eldest,
and wonderfully skilful with her needle, and in a hundred little arts
interesting to children, such as cutting out and painting paper dolls
and birds, making little boxes and baskets of all sorts of materials,
dressing dolls, etc., all of which she turned to good account.
Sometimes, it is true, Agnes and Dora united their forces against her,
and then she fared badly, for her aunt never would believe but that she
was the person most to blame. But generally, she filled the not very
enviable position of mutual friend in the family.
Dora and Agnes often came to her with their complaints of each other,
of their teachers and schoolmates, and even of their mother, for whom,
as may well be imagined, they had no very deep respect. In all these
cases, Tessy smoothed away and softened down and did her best to
reconcile the contending parties, it must be confessed with varying
success. She had been from the first a great favourite with George
and Barbara, who took her part upon all occasions, somewhat to the
displeasure of their mother, who could seldom see that her own children
were to blame, and a good deal to the jealousy of Agnes and Dora.
Tessy followed her cousin up stairs to her own pleasant and nicely
furnished bedroom, where the children were only allowed to come on
particular invitation. No sooner was Tabby released, than, according
to the custom of cats, she began an examination of every piece of
furniture in the room.
"I wonder why cats always do that when they are taken into a strange
place?" said Tessy.
"I suppose they want to make themselves acquainted with their
surroundings," replied Barbara; "just as you and I should do if we were
taken into a strange house to live. She is a wonderfully pretty kitten,
I must allow. I daresay somebody is sorry enough to lose her."
"Perhaps she was sent away," observed Tessy. "I have known of people
losing kittens on purpose, when they want to get rid of them."
"I think that is a very cruel thing to do," replied Barbara. "I should
rather have one killed at once than subject it to the chances of being
starved or frozen to death. And beside that, I never can get over the
fancy that such animals have enough of human feeling about them to be
distressed and hurt at ill treatment. But come, there is the breakfast
bell!"
Tessy and Barbara accordingly went down stairs, leaving Tabby in
possession of the luxurious apartment and the bright coal fire, all of
which seemed doubly pleasant to her after her night in the barn.
"What a beautiful room!" she said to herself, as she took possession of
a velvet-covered ottoman by the fire, and began cleaning her face and
paws, which still bore traces of her yesterday's adventure. "There is
not a room in our house so handsomely furnished, and the carpet is just
like velvet; but for all that, I like our house the best. Miss Ella
and Miss Marian do not wear as handsome frocks as Agnes and Dora, but
they are a great deal prettier, and I am sure there is no comparison as
to behaviour. But I need not say anything about that, after being so
naughty myself. O my dear Tody! If I once get back to you, I will never
quarrel with you again."
Tabby was deeply sunk in these and similar reflections when she
imagined she heard a familiar mew, and she jumped down and ran to the
window. It was shut, and the blinds closed, but as she listened she
heard the sound again. It was beyond question her mother's voice! She
had come to look for her kitten—her lost kitten, who, shut up in this
splendid prison, had no means of rejoining, or even of communicating
with her.
Tabby was almost distracted. She ran to the other window. The blinds
of this were only partly closed, and through the space between the
slats she saw her mother carefully looking about under the roses and
evergreens, and now and then calling her in tones that went to her very
heart.
Poor Tabby! She mewed as loud as she could in answer, but the room was
in the third story, and the glass in the window was too thick for her
voice to penetrate. She scratched at the door like a mad creature, and
even tried to break the window with the desperate intention of jumping
down at all hazards, but in vain.
All the time she saw her mother seeking her in every corner, and even
looking up at the very window where she was. What was her horror,
when she saw Carlo, who was lying on the back piazza, suddenly arouse
himself, and make a furious dash at her beloved parent!
Tabby gave a shriek which might have been heard even out to the garden,
and shut her eyes in terror. But when she opened them again, and dared
to peep out, her mother was nowhere to be seen, and Carlo was walking
back towards the house, looking decidedly crest-fallen, and with three
great scratches on his nose.
This relieved her mind of a little of its anxiety, for she thought if
her mother had been killed, her body would be seen, but the next moment
she was conscious of a sickening sense of disappointment. She had
intended carefully to watch her mother's motions and mark which way she
went, and as soon as she should be at liberty, follow in her footsteps,
hoping thus to find her way home again. This hope was now frustrated,
and she was as much at a loss as ever. So after satisfying herself that
her mother was nowhere to be seen, she went slowly and sorrowfully back
to her seat by the side of the fire, and endeavoured to forget her
troubles in sleep.
Meantime, the party down stairs were busily talking over their plans
for the day. Agnes and Dora were going out shopping together to
buy their Christmas presents. Barbara intended to do the same by
herself, and Charley also had a plan of his own. None of the children
asked Theresa what she was going to do, and she was not sorry to be
overlooked. She intended to spend the morning in Barbara's room,
finishing some scarfs she had been knitting for George and Charley, and
putting the last touches to a toilet-cushion for her aunt.
The breakfast hour was much pleasanter than usual, for the thought of
the day's enjoyment kept Agnes and Dora in a good humour, and Charley
was restrained from any of his ordinary outbreaks of temper by the fear
of losing his Christmas present from George.
In the midst of the breakfast the door-bell was rung, and the servant
brought in two notes, one directed to the Misses Warrington, and the
other more particularly to Miss Barbara Warrington. The first proved
to be an invitation from Mrs. Merriam to the Misses Warrington for
Christmas eve—the other was a note from Fanny Merriam to Barbara,
asking her to come over with the children, and help to entertain the
little party.
"What have you to wear, Tessy?" asked Barbara, as the other girls
were discussing their dresses with their mother, and proving, beyond
dispute, that it was absolutely necessary for them to have new sashes
and shoes.
Before Tessy could reply, Agnes answered for her.
"Why, Barbara, Tessy isn't invited. It says 'the Misses Warrington.'"
"Well, and is not Tessy Miss Warrington?"
"I don't believe Mrs. Merriam meant to ask her, any way," persisted
Agnes. "Why should she? She has never seen her, and Tessy doesn't know
Ella and Marian at all. Do you think she did, mother?"
"I don't know, I am sure," replied Mrs. Warrington absently, her
attention being again absorbed by the newspaper she was reading between
her sips of coffee.
"I know, mother," said Barbara decidedly. "Fanny says in her note to
me: 'Be sure and bring your cousin Theresa, for the girls are very
anxious to make her acquaintance.' So you see that settles it."
Agnes had one of those amiable tempers which always resents as an
insult the being proved to be mistaken, even in the most trifling
matter. Moreover, she remembered what she had said to Ella, about
Tessy's being a poor relation, dependent upon her mother's bounty,
though she knew very well that it was untrue. In fact, these very
remarks had been the cause of the particular invitation given to Tessy,
Mrs. Merriam concluding from what she knew of the family, that a
dependant must have an unpleasant life among them.
"Well, I suppose Tessy will do as she likes, she always does, but I
should not think she would want to go."
"I won't go, if you don't want me, Agnes," said Tessy with more spirit
than she usually showed.
"Nonsense! You shall go too," said Barbara. "I want you to take care of
me and keep me out of mischief. Come up stairs, and let me look at your
frocks, and see what is best for you to wear."
She drew Tessy out of the breakfast room as she spoke, but not so
quickly as to prevent her hearing Agnes's observation: "Well, if I
were wearing as deep mourning as Tessy is, I should not want to go to
parties, I am sure."
"Never mind what Agnes says," said Barbara, seeing Tessy's eyes filled
with tears. "You know she cannot bear to be contradicted about the
least thing. I want you very much to be acquainted with Ella and
Marian, who are two of the sweetest little girls I know. I am sure
you will enjoy yourself, and it would not be civil to Mrs. Merriam to
refuse such a particular invitation, unless you had some very good
reason."
Tessy yielded to the force of this last argument, and they went up
stairs together to inspect the frocks. The best bombazine was, after a
critical examination, pronounced in perfect order, and just the thing
with short sleeves and cambric ruffles, and Barbara only decided that
her own present to Tessy should be a jet necklace. These all-important
matters settled, Tessy returned to her cousin's room, rejoicing in
the prospect of spending a quiet and happy morning with her work, her
books, and Tabby, to whom she was already much attached.
CHAPTER THIRD.
THE PARTY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
WHEN Tessy came back to her room, she found Tabby looking very sad
and unhappy indeed. She recovered her spirits, however, by degrees,
under Tessy's petting and coaxing; for the hearts of kittens are very
light by nature, and before long she was in the midst of a very great
frolic, running after a ball and bringing it in her mouth, chasing her
tail, and doing everything in her power to make herself agreeable. She
did not forget what she had lately beheld, and every now and then she
jumped upon the window seat to try if she could see anything more of
her mother, but no traces of her appeared, and she concluded that she
had gone home to Tody.
It was not till after dinner that Tabby found an opportunity of
slipping out of the house unperceived, when she found to her great
regret that it was snowing furiously and drifting so that she could
not see two yards before her. Tabby was not a kitten to be daunted
by trifles, but the short excursion from the backsteps to the barn
convinced her that it would be utter madness to attempt to find her
way home in such a storm, and she reluctantly put off her journey till
better weather.
"Well, Tabby," said old Carlo, as she entered the stable, "this is hard
weather, isn't it? Enough to freeze your little toes off."
"O Carlo!" exclaimed Tabby, unheeding the remark. "How could you chase
my dear mother so? I shall never like you again—never!"
"Was that your mother?" asked Carlo, looking very much concerned. "I
am sure I would not have chased her if I had known that. I suppose she
came to look for you?"
"She did—she did!" exclaimed poor Tabby, almost choked by the violence
of her feelings. "And I was shut up in the third story in Miss
Barbara's room, and could not even make her hear me. Oh! What shall I
do?"
Carlo felt very much grieved to see his little friend in such a state,
and did his best to comfort her, but in vain.
"You did not hurt her, did you, Carlo?" asked Tabby as soon as she
could speak.
"No, indeed!" replied Carlo, looking rather ashamed. "I was the one
that got hurt in that instance. I never saw such a cat in my life.
Instead of running away as they usually do, she flew right at my face,
and almost scratched my eyes out. I was glad enough to let her get away
as she liked. I did not see which way she went, but I rather think she
jumped over the wall by the great grape-vine. Was that the way you
came?"
"No, I believe I came over by the tall cedar in the other corner, but
you frightened me so chasing me up in the tree that I don't exactly
remember. But what made you do it? What is the use of always hunting
cats?"
"Why, you see," replied Carlo, "my general orders are to drive away
all strange animals from the yard and garden, whether they are cats or
cows. But I do assure you, Tabby, if I had known it was your mother
come to look for you, I would not have meddled with her on any account,
so I hope you won't be angry."
Tabby could not be angry with her good friend Carlo who had saved her
from the rats and given her part of his breakfast. So she rubbed her
head against his legs in token of forgiveness, and then consulted him
on the best course to take to find her way home again.
Carlo thought that as soon as the storm ceased, she had better go to
the corner where she thought she first came over and try to remember
which way she had come.
"That is, if you are determined upon going, Tabby," he concluded.
"For my own part, I would advise you to stay where you are. You are
tolerably well off here—to be sure, the children are not very pleasant,
especially when Miss Barbara and Mr. George are away, but, after all,
one can get on reasonably well with a little management: there is
enough to eat and drink, and if it is not pleasant in the house, you
can always come to the stable. If you start to go home, you are not
sure of finding your house after all, and there is no telling to what
dangers you may be exposed by the way, from strange dogs, and boys,
and even old cats, who often treat kittens very roughly. I would make
myself contented if I were you, and I promise you, you shall never want
a friend while I am here."
Tabby shook her head.
"You are very kind, Carlo, but you don't know how I feel about it. I
would run any risk for the sake of finding my dear mother, if it were
only to tell her how sorry I am for being so naughty, and giving her so
much trouble."
Carlo saw it was useless to argue with Tabby, and wisely refrained from
saying any more to dissuade her, but he exacted a promise from her that
she would not stir till the weather became warmer, thinking that by
that time she might become more contented.
Tabby readily gave the required pledge, and then set herself to
exploring the barn. She had become quite fearless from her adventures,
and did not hesitate to run up the partition between the stalls,
and over the heads of the great grey carriage horses, who looked
good-naturedly at their little visitor as they champed their oats.
Tabby had the curiosity to nibble a little at the hay, but she thought
it very poor food, and wondered that such large animals could subsist
upon such diet. She did not know that oats and hay were as good to them
as meat and milk to herself. "But after all," she considered, "it is an
excellent thing that they do like it, for I am sure there would never
be meat enough in the world to keep them alive."
Then she explored the hay-lofts, where she caught two mice, one of
which she offered to Carlo, not without a pang of regret, as she
thought how ungrateful she had been for those her kind mother had
provided for her.
Carlo thanked her politely, but declined the dainty. He did not like
mice, he told her, so she had a fine feast.
She could not but allow that a dinner earned by her own exertions
tasted sweeter than one provided by other hands, however kind, and
resolved that she would keep up her industrious habits after she
returned home. Then she had a great frolic with a ball of string which
she found in one corner, while Carlo and the horses looked on, amused
by her gambols. And finally finding out a soft bed on a wolf-skin robe,
she lay down and went to sleep.
The snow storm raged fiercely all the afternoon and evening, but it did
not prevent the large party of invited guests from assembling at Mrs.
Merriam's, where the warm fires and bright lights seemed all the warmer
and brighter from their contrast to the darkness and cold without.
Barbara and her party were the first to arrive, Fanny Merriam having
expressly desired her friend to come early. All the children looked
very pretty in their gay dresses, bare arms, and curls—Tessy among
the prettiest. Her frock was of plain bombazine with crape trimmings,
for she was wearing very deep mourning for her aunt, but it was neat
and unwrinkled, and the crimped cambric ruffles around her shoulders
and arms were as white and fresh as a lily. Her usually pale face was
lighted up with the glow and smile of pleasure, and her little crutch
seemed to be no hindrance to her movements, as she joined in the active
games of her companions. Mrs. Merriam thought she had never seen a more
attractive girl, and Ella and Marian felt themselves particularly drawn
towards her, remembering a time, not very long past, when they had
themselves worn mourning for a dear little baby brother.
At last, in a pause of the games, Ella exclaimed:
"Only think, Miss Barbara, we have lost our beautiful tortoise-shell
kitten. She went away the day before yesterday, and we cannot find
out what has become of her, though we have hunted all round the
neighbourhood. The old cat mourns for her from morning till night, and
spends all her time looking for her, and poor Tody is so lonely, he
will scarcely play at all."
Agnes and Dora looked at each other, and Agnes made her cousin a signal
for silence, but Theresa disregarded it, and exclaimed—
"Why, there was a tortoise-shell kitten came to our house
yesterday—perhaps it is the very same."
"I don't believe it is the same," said Agnes, looking angrily at
Theresa. "How should your kitten come over to our house?"
"She might," said Ella, "if she had wandered away and got lost. What
sort of a kitten was it, Theresa?"
Theresa gave a minute and animated description of her pet, which was
found to agree point by point with that of the missing Tabby.
"I am sure it must be our kitten," said Marian, clapping her hands.
"Oh! How glad am I that she is found! You will keep her for us, won't
you, Theresa, and we will come for her as soon as we can."
"To be sure," said Theresa, suppressing a little sigh at the thought of
losing her pet, and then brightening up, as she reflected how soon she
was going away herself. "I am glad she has found her home again. She is
the cunningest little kitten I ever saw, and so good-natured."
"She must have improved in that respect since she left home," said
Ella, laughing. "We always thought her very cross, but perhaps that was
only because Tody is so remarkably amiable."
"You must come after her pretty soon, if you want her, Ella," observed
Agnes, vexed at her cousin, and unable entirely to conceal her habitual
disposition. "She is such a thief, and so troublesome that mother
thinks she will have to send her away. She gets upon the table, and
breaks dishes, and does all sorts of bad things."
"Oh! Don't send her away, please!" exclaimed Ella and Marian both
together. "Let her stay in the barn or somewhere till we can come for
her."
"Of course she shall," said Barbara, who had been listening to the
latter part of the conversation. "Agnes rather exaggerated her offence,
Ella. She only jumped upon the table once, and the cup she broke was of
no value. I will see that she is safely kept for you."
"Maybe you will, and maybe you won't," said Agnes to herself. "There
are two words to that bargain, Miss Barbara."
"Miss Fanny," said a little girl, "are not cats a kind of tiger?"
Two or three of the children laughed rather rudely at this question,
but the little girl was not abashed.
"I am sure I have read some such thing in one of my books," said she.
"I do not see what there is to laugh at."
"Nor I," said Miss Fanny. "It is a very sensible question, Minnie,
though it would be more correct to say that tigers are a species of
cat. Lions and tigers, with leopards, panthers, lynxes, and all the
smaller varieties, belong to one great family, which naturalists call
the genus 'felis,' or the cat tribe."
"Then our little kittens are cousins to lions and tigers," observed
Ella. "How funny! But, sister, why do they put so many animals together
in one class, and all so unlike?"
"Because, unlike as they appear to you, there are more points of
likeness than of difference," replied Miss Fanny, "as you would see if
you were to examine them closely."
"I know lions have a good many of the actions of cats," said Tessy,
"and so have panthers. Once I saw an old panther and two cubs in a
large cage together, and they played with their mother and each other,
and washed their faces and paws, exactly like great kittens."
"There are many other points of resemblance," said Miss Fanny. "You
have all observed how peculiar the cat's paw is. Feel it when she is at
rest or good-natured, and it is like velvet; you would not think she
had any claws: but tease her, or give her something to eat, and you
will soon see her talons. All the cat tribe have these 'retractile'
claws as they are called—that is, their claws when not in use are
drawn back into a sheath, which covers them, and keeps them from being
blunted by walking. All the family have also the same number and kind
of teeth; they have all smooth, short fur and long whiskers, and are
very cleanly in their habits. They all seize their prey in the same
way, by stratagem or surprise, and prefer to hunt in the night."
"Cats can see in the night as well as in the day-time," said the little
girl who had spoken first.
"Yes, as well or better; and their eyes are beautifully contrived for
the purpose. Look at a cat's eyes by a strong light, and you will
see the pupil—that is to say, the dark hole in the middle of the
eye—contracted to a narrow line, so as to let in but a few of the rays
at once. But carry the animal into a dark room, and you will see the
pupil expand so as to cover almost the whole eye. This is more or less
true of all eyes belonging to the higher orders of animals, but all
have not that great sensibility which enables the cat to see perfectly
well in what is pitch darkness to us. Observe, too, their slender
forms, and delicate yet muscular limbs, which enable them to walk
without making the slightest noise, or to spring with crushing force
upon their prey, and you will admit that they are admirably adapted to
the kind of life they are intended to lead."
"It must have taken a great deal of sense to contrive a cat!" said
little Minnie very seriously.
"You may say the same of any animal, my dear Minnie," replied Miss
Fanny, "and the more you study natural history, which means the study
of all things in nature, the more you will be struck with the care with
which all species, not only of animals but of plants, are adapted to
the stations they are intended to fill."
"Why do people say that cats have nine lives, Miss Fanny?" asked Dora.
"Because they are very tenacious of life," replied Miss Fanny. "A fall
which would kill almost any other small animal instantly, will be
sustained by a cat without apparent injury. You know it is a common
saying that cats always fall on their feet, which I suppose is the
reason they are not often hurt. Nevertheless I have known a cat killed
by a very moderate fall."
"Did not some of the ancients worship cats?" asked Tessy.
"The Egyptians considered them sacred," replied Miss Fanny, "though
I do not know that they actually worshipped them. They treated them
always with much consideration when living, and embalmed their dead
bodies with great care. These cat-mummies are now found in great
numbers in Egypt, along with those of the Ibis, a kind of bird, and of
the bull. It is now believed that a kind of wild cat found in Upper
Egypt, and called by naturalists Felis Mamlata, is the original stock
of the domestic cat."
"They are curious creatures," said Barbara. "I do not wonder that
people used always to associate them with witches."
"Did they?" asked Dora.
"Yes, they play a prominent part in all the witch-stories of the last
two or three centuries, and a great many tales were told of witches
appearing in the form of cats to the persons they afflicted. The poor
unfortunate wretches who were tried for witchcraft, when forced by
abuse and torture to confess deeds which they never committed, almost
always clothed their familiar imp in the form of a cat, usually a black
one. And it must be confessed that there is something mysterious and
almost alarming in the appearance of a large and well-fed coal-black
cat. Then their property of emitting electrical sparks in cold
weather—a property which they possess in a greater degree than almost
any other animal, their great sagacity which is united to a degree of
independence or wilfulness which makes it very difficult to train them,
and the horrible and surprising noises in which they are accustomed to
indulge at their nightly meetings, all combine to render them a terror
to ignorant people whose resource it is to call everything witchcraft
which appears mysterious to their minds."
"I don't like cats!" said Agnes. "I think they are treacherous,
deceitful creatures. You never know what they are going to do. You may
be playing with them as peaceably as possible, and the first thing you
know up comes a paw, and you get a great scratch."
"I do not blame any cat for scratching you, Agnes," said Dora. "You are
always teasing them."
"They are often teased unintentionally by those who play with them,"
said Miss Fanny. "Cats are nervous creatures, and are frequently
annoyed by having their fur stroked the wrong way, and their ears
pulled. You may have observed with regard to yourself, that turning
your hair in a new direction will often make your head very sore and
uncomfortable."
"I have," murmured a little girl, whose long and thick hair was very
elaborately curled and braided. "I have often wished I hadn't any."
"Then you may appreciate the feelings of a cat under the same
circumstances, Adeline," replied Miss Fanny, smiling.
"I have often rubbed up our cat's fur to see the sparks fly out, but
I never thought of its hurting her," said Minnie. "I remember now he
never seemed to like it much, though he never scratched in his life.
And, Miss Fanny, he can open any door in the house, even one with
a round handle. He always comes up and opens mother's door in the
morning, and then goes down to breakfast with her."
"Aunt had a more knowing cat than that," remarked Tessy. "She used to
catch fish in the lake, and bring them up to the house. She once caught
a pike that weighed two pounds. She used to lie on a stone a little way
out from the bank to watch, and when she saw a fish coming, she would
knock it out of the water with her paw. At first we thought she must
steal them somewhere, but after a while we watched her, and saw how she
managed."
"She was a clever cat," said Miss Fanny. "It was the more remarkable,
as cats have usually such a great dislike to wetting their feet. We
had a cat, when we lived in the country, that used to go out shooting.
I do not mean that she actually used the gun with her own paws,"
she hastened to add, anticipating the exclamations of her auditors,
"but she used to accompany my brother, and seemed to enjoy the sport
amazingly. We had a great abundance of early cherries, and were in
consequence very much annoyed by the legions of cherry-birds, which
made their appearance with the first May Dukes, and never left a
perfect cherry on the tree. Scarecrows, bells, and other devices
were tried to no effect, and at last it became necessary to shoot
them. The slaughter was very great for two or three days. Lupa soon
comprehended the use of the gun, and as soon as my brother took up his
fowling-piece, she was on the alert. She would follow close behind him,
and stop when he did, crouching to the ground. The moment he fired, she
would spring forward, and she almost invariably caught the bird before
it came to the earth. As the game was abundant and my brother a capital
marksman, Lupa soon became very fat, and grew indifferent to this kind
of fare, after which she would amuse herself by dragging the dead birds
together and piling them up in heaps. This same old cat would drink
wine and even brandy, and was very fond of strong coffee, but she
disliked milk, and would take cold water in preference."
"Tody likes tea," said Marian; "mother gives him some almost every
night after she has finished her own, but Tabby never would touch
it. Oh, I am so glad we have found out what has become of Tabby! But
perhaps you would like to keep her, Theresa?" she added, seeing or
fancying a shade upon Tessy's countenance.
"Oh no!" replied Tessy. "You know I am going to school after New Year,
and I would rather you had her than not, since she belonged to you in
the first place."
The children's conversation was here interrupted by a call to supper,
which was bountiful and excellent, of course. Among the other beauties
of the table was a basket of nicely frosted cakes, each ornamented with
coloured sugar-plums, disposed in the form of a letter, there being one
for each little guest. Thus there was an "M" for Minnie, an "E" for
Emily, and a "T" for Theresa, and so on through the whole list. Now it
so happened that by some mistake there was only one "A" among them,
and the basket being passed first to Adeline, she took it as a matter
of course, so that when Agnes Warrington's turn came there was none
for her. Miss Fanny was very sorry, and looked again and again, but no
other "A" was to be found. Agnes looked very much displeased indeed,
and her anger would have found vent in something besides words if no
older persons had been present, but Mrs. Merriam and the young ladies
were in the room, and she did not exactly like to give way to her
temper before them.
"I will give Agnes mine," said little Virginia Haskall, Ella's cousin.
"If you turn the 'V' upside down, it will do very well for an 'A,' and
cousin Fanny will make me one some other time."
Fanny looked at Agnes, expecting to see her at once decline the offer,
but Agnes did nothing of the kind. She simply accepted it as a matter
of course, and soon disposed of it, without even thanking the generous
donor.
"Well, I would be ashamed to do that, any way!" said Adeline to her
next neighbour. "She might have had mine and welcome, only I wanted
to carry it to my little brother Albert, who has broken his leg, you
know. I thought it would please him, but I would rather have given it
to Agnes than have had dear little Virginia robbed of hers. I never
heard anything so mean—a little thing not six years old, and Agnes is
thirteen."
Adeline spoke in a whisper, but Agnes overheard her, and her already
ruffled temper was still farther provoked. She would not join in any
of the games after supper, objecting to everything proposed, and
conducting herself so rudely that Tessy and Barbara were extremely
mortified, and the latter resolved she would never go out with her
again.
"Well, girls, have you had a pleasant party?" asked Mrs. Warrington,
who was sitting in the parlour when they arrived at home.
"No," replied Agnes, snatching at the first word. "It was the dullest,
stupidest thing I ever saw, and the supper was miserable. There was not
half enough to go round."
"O Agnes!" exclaimed Tessy and Dora together, and Dora continued: "You
only say that because you did not get one of the lettered cakes, though
you did too, for Virginia gave you hers. I should have been ashamed to
take it if I had been you."
"And only think, mother," continued Agnes, unheeding her sister's
words, "that kitten is Ella Merriam's, and she is going to send for
it. She told Tessy she might keep it if she liked, but Miss Tessy said
she would rather they had it again as she was going to school, and she
could not trust it with any of us."
This was no careless exaggeration on Agnes's part, but a deliberate
lie. She knew perfectly well what her cousin had said, but she was very
angry with her for disregarding her signals for silence when the kitten
was first mentioned, and she was determined to have her revenge.
Mrs. Warrington turned to Theresa with a look of great displeasure, but
Barbara interposed before she had time to speak.
"That is not true, mother! Ella asked Theresa if she would like to
keep the kitten though they were plainly very anxious to have her back
again, and she answered that as she was going to school after the
holidays, she would rather the kitten were back at her own home. The
word 'trust' was neither spoken nor implied, and Agnes has drawn upon
her imagination for her facts. All the other children seemed to enjoy
the evening very much, and so I think would Agnes have done, if she had
taken the pains to behave like a lady."
She then informed her mother of Agnes's conduct. Mrs. Warrington was
for once seriously angry. She knew from experience that Barbara's
account was perfectly to be relied on, and she was very much annoyed
that Agnes should have made such a display in the house of Mrs.
Merriam, whom she respected more than almost any other friend she had.
Almost for the first time in her life, she reproved Agnes severely,
and declared she would not suffer her to go to another party during
the holidays. Agnes went away crying, very angry at her sister, and
determined to be revenged upon Theresa, whom she most unjustly regarded
as the cause of her disgrace.
The next day was bright and clear, though cold, and as usual all the
family went to church, except Agnes, who declared she had such a
headache that she could hardly keep her eyes open. Mrs. Warrington
admitted the excuse the more readily as she was quite hoarse, and
seemed to have symptoms of a severe cold. So she was left at home on
the sofa in the drawing-room with Tabby for company, and a pile of new
books for amusement, her mother charging her upon no account to expose
herself to the cold air.
[Illustration: She threw her into the snow.]
No sooner had the bells stopped ringing than Agnes turned her feet
off the sofa where she had been lying, and opening the parlour door,
looked out into the hall and listened. She saw no one, and heard
nothing except a distant sound of beating eggs and pounding down in
the kitchen. All the servants had gone to church, except the cook and
her assistant, who were busily engaged in the preparations for the
Christmas dinner. The time was a favourable one for accomplishing her
purpose.
In another moment, Tabby, who was lying peacefully before the fire,
washing her face and paws and thinking of home, felt herself rudely
snatched up and wrapped in an apron. Without stopping to put on bonnet
or overshoes, Agnes ran down stairs, out of the back door, and down a
lane, which led past the back of the barn. She went on through the deep
snow, without heeding the cold wind, till she came to a large piece of
unenclosed ground at some distance from the house, when, thinking she
had gone far enough, she unrolled her apron, and taking poor frightened
Tabby by the back of the neck, she hurled her from her as far as she
could into the snow. Then without stopping to see what had become of
the poor kitten, she ran home again as fast as she could go and slipped
into the house, congratulating herself upon having accomplished her
purpose unseen.
CHAPTER FOURTH.
AGNES'S REWARD.
AGNES had been so excited that she had not bestowed a thought on the
severity of the weather, but when she was once more in the parlour,
she found herself shivering violently. The snow had found its way into
her boots and clung to the hems of her skirt so that they were wet
through. And instead of changing them at once, as she should have done,
she contented herself with standing before the fire, till she felt
tolerably warm again, when she was glad to resume her place upon the
sofa, for the excitement had increased her headache, and she felt very
unwell.
Now that it was over, she began to feel rather frightened at what
she had done, for she knew how much her mother regarded Mr. and Mrs.
Merriam, and how angry she would be at any affront offered to them
or their children, and she almost wished she had allowed matters to
take their course. She was not altogether void of conscience, though
she seldom permitted the voice of that inward monitor to be heard, or
listened to her when she did speak. But now, as she lay on the sofa
with her head aching too much to allow her to fix her thoughts upon her
books, the still small voice made itself audible.
"Agnes Warrington," it said, "you have been guilty of a very
treacherous, wicked, and cruel action; treacherous and unkind toward
your cousin who never injured you and whose kindness and forbearance
have been unvaried towards you, since the first moment that she came a
guest into your mother's house; and cruel to a harmless and defenceless
little animal, as well as to the little girls who were joyfully looking
forward to the recovery of their pet kitten. All this you have been
guilty of, and you are now contemplating the telling of several lies to
conceal your fault!"
This and much more did conscience whisper into the ear of Agnes
Warrington on that Christmas morning, while she lay on the sofa—while
thousands of God's people, all over the land, were gathered in His
courts to praise Him for the gift of His dear Son, sent us on that day
for the salvation of the world—born of a woman, and coming in the shape
of a little child, that children might realize how the Son of God could
feel for the peculiar trials of children.
When Mrs. Warrington came home from church, she found Agnes very unwell
indeed, and suffering greatly both from headache and oppression of the
lungs. Agnes herself tried to make light of it, and assured her mother
that it was only a little cold and that her headache was caused by
something she had eaten the night before.
"Some of the cake was very rich," remarked Barbara, "and I rather think
Agnes ate a good deal."
"Perhaps it was Virginia's cake that disagreed with her," said Dora in
a half-whisper to Theresa; "I should think it would."
Tessy took no notice of the unkind remark, but Agnes heard it, and gave
her sister a look which told of anything but sisterly feelings.
"I think it is very wrong to give such rich cake to children," said
Mrs. Warrington, "but I do not believe it is that which now troubles
Agnes. She seems to have taken a severe cold, and I am really afraid it
will make her sick. Had you not better go to bed, Aggy, and not try to
sit up to dinner?"
"Oh no, mother, I would rather not. I think I shall feel better by and
by." Agnes exerted herself to sit up as she said this, and began to
talk quite gaily with her cousin and sisters about the party and the
presents they had received, though her contracted brow and now and then
a deep sigh, showed how much it cost her.
"Oh! And by the way!" exclaimed Tessy. "We saw Ella and Marian going
into church, and they said they would call for the kitten this
afternoon, when they came from their grandmother's, where they were
going after church. Do you know where Tabby is, Agnes?"
"No," replied Agnes, putting her hand to her head, "I have not seen her
since you went away."
"You had better find her and feed her, Tessy," said Mrs. Warrington, as
she gathered up her bonnet and furs. "I should not like Mrs. Merriam
think that we starved her while she was here."
Tessy hunted the house and barn all over, calling "Kitty! Kitty!" and
seeking in vain for her favourite.
"Isn't it queer, Agnes?" she said, returning to the parlour where her
cousin was now lying on the sofa, with her face turned away from the
light. "I cannot find Tabby anywhere. I have called her all over the
house and in the barn, and looked in the cellar and every place for
her. I wonder where she can be. She was lying here, I thought, when we
went away."
"She wanted to go out a little while ago," said Agnes, "and I got up
and opened the door for her. She went out towards the barn, and I
daresay she is curled up on the hay somewhere, or watching for a mouse."
If Tessy had suspected anything wrong, her suspicions might have been
strengthened by two circumstances, first, from her cousin's very
confused and hesitating manner, and secondly, from the fact that her
two statements contradicted each other, for Agnes had declared in the
first place that she had not seen Tabby. Thinking no evil, however, she
attributed her cousin's manner to her obviously increasing illness, and
went out to take another look for the missing kitten.
Not so Barbara. Accustomed to her sister's manner, she perceived that
something was wrong, and guessed at once that Agnes was concerned in
the kitten's disappearance. She said nothing, however, till she had
herself looked all over the house and grounds, satisfying herself that
Tabby was not upon the premises.
"How sorry I am!" said Tessy, as they were all assembled in the
parlour, waiting for the bell to ring for dinner. "How disappointed
Ella and Marian will be! I wish they had come for her this morning."
"It is very strange," remarked Mrs. Warrington. "The kitten seemed so
happy and contented here, I should hardly think she would have gone
away of her own accord."
"She has never gone away without hands, I am certain, mother," remarked
Barbara emphatically.
"What nonsense!" said Agnes peevishly. "Who do you suppose would
trouble themselves to put her out of the way?"
"Whoever it is, will be found out sooner or later," replied Barbara;
"you may depend upon that." She was about to add more, but was
interrupted by a ring at the door-bell.
"There is Ella now," said Dora, looking out of the window. "I see Fanny
and Sophia in the carriage."
"Miss Fanny and Miss Sophia," corrected her mother.
"How often shall I tell you, Dora, not to speak in that familiar way of
ladies older than yourself? Ask the little girls to come in, Tessy."
"Don't bring them up here, I beg of you," said Agnes. "My head aches
so, their chattering will drive me crazy."
But she spoke too late, and in a moment Ella and Marian were ushered
into the room. Like well-bred little girls as they were, they replied
politely to Mrs. Warrington's greeting, and repeated a message from
their mamma to her, but their eyes were wandering about the room in
search of their favourite.
Mrs. Warrington remarked it, and said kindly:
"You are looking for Tabby, my dears, and I wish she were here to
greet you, but I am sorry to say she is not to be found. She was here
at church time, apparently perfectly contented and happy, but she has
disappeared in the most mysterious manner, and I am afraid she has run
away."
The girls' eyes filled with tears. They had so confidently counted on
seeing their dear little Tabby again, that they could hardly keep from
crying at the disappointment. They asked about the circumstances, and
Agnes again repeated her story, but with such slight variations as more
and more to convince Barbara that her suspicions were well founded.
"Well, never mind," said Ella, after they had heard all that was to
be said on the subject of Tabby's disappearance, and Mrs. Warrington
had exhausted her praises of Tabby's beauty and docility. "I am sure
we are all very much obliged to you, for taking such good care of her
while she was here. If I only knew that she had a good home somewhere,
I should not care so much, but I cannot bear to think of her being lost
in the snow, and perhaps—" But Ella's voice failed her, and the eyes of
both sisters filled with tears, as they pictured to themselves their
little petted favourite starved to death, or lying frozen stiff and
stark under some fence or deserted building.
Agnes turned suddenly, as if stung with pain, and almost groaned aloud.
"Is your head so very bad, dear?" asked Marian, diverted at once from
her own grief by the thought of another's suffering. "How sorry I am! I
hope you are not going to be sick."
She put her hand into her little muff as she spoke, and after
exchanging a look with her sister, she pulled out a very large and
beautiful orange—a welcome sight at Christmas time.
"Please take this orange, Aggy," said she. "Perhaps it will do your
throat good. Aunt Hastings gave it to us, but I am sure she would
rather you had it. Such things taste so good when one is feverish."
She laid the orange down by Agnes, who uttered some indistinct words in
reply, and then repeating their thanks to Mrs. Warrington, they took
their leave.
"Well, I will say, Agnes, notwithstanding what you say about them, I do
think they are two of the sweetest girls in town," exclaimed Dora, as
soon as the door was shut.
"Wasn't it kind in them, mother, to give Aggy their orange?"
"Very kind indeed," replied Mrs. Warrington, with more than usual
animation. "I perfectly agree with you, Dora, and only wish you and
Aggy would imitate them. I am afraid neither of you would have been
willing to do the same, if the case had been yours."
"I shouldn't, I know," said Dora, who was much more straightforward
than her sister. "Not unless any one was very sick indeed, I mean."
Mrs. Warrington sighed, as she thought of the difference between her
children and those of her friend, and wondered what could be the cause
of it; for that it was in any degree owing to her she never imagined.
Perhaps if she had considered longer, she might have come to some
correct conclusion upon the subject, but it was always a great deal of
trouble for Mrs. Warrington to think, and besides, she was interrupted
by a call to dinner.
Agnes went down with the rest though her head was giddy, and she had
such a sharp pain in her chest, that she could hardly breathe without
crying out. But she was determined not to confess herself sick if
she could help it. Pain was too much for her, however; she could eat
nothing, and before dinner was over, she burst into tears and declared
she could sit up no longer.
Nothing had power to rouse Mrs. Warrington so effectually as the
illness of any of her children. She hastened to put Agnes to bed,
and sent off an express for the doctor. While helping her sister to
undress, Barbara chanced to feel the hem of her petticoat, which was
still quite wet.
"Why, Aggy," she exclaimed, "how wet all your clothes are, and your
stockings and boots are quite wet through! Where have you been to get
them into such a state?"
"I am sure I don't know," said Agnes, now really speaking with
difficulty. "Perhaps I got snow on them when I opened the door for the
kitten. I wish you would not talk, Barbara, it hurts my head so."
Barbara said no more, but her suspicions were now fully confirmed. It
was some time before the doctor arrived, and when he did come, Agnes
was so much worse that her mother was very much alarmed about her, nor
did the doctor's opinion tend to soothe her. He pronounced the disorder
to be a violent attack of inflammation of the lungs, requiring the most
active treatment. Agnes was bled, which somewhat relieved the pain and
oppression at her chest, but they returned with redoubled violence
in the evening, and it seemed almost doubtful whether she would live
through the night. Her head was very much disturbed, and her mind
wandered at times, but though she was very anxious to talk, they could
not understand what she said.
At last Tessy, who was sitting by her, distinguished the words, "Throw
away the kitten."
"There is no kitten here, dear Aggy," she said soothingly, thinking
that Agnes imagined the kitten to be on the bed. "That is only a fancy
of yours; the kitten is not here."
But Agnes was not satisfied, and kept trying to make herself
understood, repeating the word "kitten" again and again, with painful
emphasis.
"She must not talk so," said Barbara. "The doctor said she must not
speak a word. Never mind, Aggy," she added, answering to the thought
she believed to be in her sister's mind. "Don't talk about it now, I
daresay we can find the kitten in the morning, and then it shall be
sent home directly."
"And tell Ella I am sorry," said Agnes, more calmly.
"Yes, we will tell her so. Now do try to go to sleep like a good girl."
For a little time Agnes seemed more composed, but soon her delirium
returned, and she kept begging Theresa and Barbara to go and find the
kitten before it froze to death in the snow. She got no rest till
nearly daylight, when she fell into a troubled slumber, and George
coming in, sent the girls up stairs to take some rest.
"What made you speak so to Agnes?" asked Theresa, as they parted at
the top of the stairs. "Do you think she knows anything about Tabby's
disappearance?"
"I am quite sure of it," said Barbara. "Her stories about it did not
agree at all, and her manner was very confused, which led me to suspect
something wrong. And when I came to undress her, I found her clothes
all wet round the bottom, as though she had been out in the snow. Poor
child! I am afraid she will pay dearly for her malice. The doctor
admitted to me that he thought her in great danger."
Barbara kissed Theresa, and turned into her own room, while Theresa
went on to the apartment which she occupied together with her cousins.
Her entrance aroused Dora.
"Why, Tessy, are you up already?" said she, sitting up and rubbing her
eyes. "It must be ever so early."
"Half-past five," said Tessy, setting down her candle. "I am up because
I have not been in bed; I have been sitting up with Aggy."
"Sitting up!" said Dora, rousing herself. "She is not very sick, is
she? I thought it was only a cold."
"She is very sick, indeed, and the doctor says she has inflammation of
the lungs," replied Theresa. "I am afraid—" She could not finish the
sentence.
Dora sprang up, and began to dress herself.
"What are you going to do?" asked Tessy.
"I am going to Agnes," was the reply. "You ought to have called me
before."
"If you go down, Dora, you must be very still," said Theresa, stopping
her cousin, whose trembling hands showed her excitement, as she vainly
endeavoured to fasten her frock. "You must be composed, and not speak
one word to Agnes, nor let her talk to you. It is as much as her life
is worth."
Dora promised, and went hastily down stairs.
Agnes was still in a troubled sleep, and George allowed her to come
in and look at her sister, whose countenance was already very much
changed. Dora thought she should hardly have known her.
"Can I do anything for her, George?" she asked in a choked whisper.
"I don't know that you can," replied George. "Nurse is here, and I
shall stay till the doctor comes. But you can run and get what is
wanted," he added kindly, seeing how distressed Dora looked. "I am
afraid it won't do for you to stay in the room much, for Aggy begins to
talk as soon as any one comes near her."
The event proved that George was right, for the moment Agnes waked
and saw Dora, she began to talk again; sometimes about the kitten,
sometimes going over the events of the party, and accusing her of
unkindness about the cake. It was too much for Dora's fortitude; she
left the room hastily, and burst into tears when she got into the
passage. George followed her out, and shut the door.
"You must be very quiet, my dear Dora, if you want to be of use to Aggy
or any one," he said kindly but firmly. "You can be of much service if
you can control yourself, for there is a great deal to be done. Mother
is down with nervous headache, and Tessy and Barbara were up all night."
"Do you think Aggy will die, George?" asked Dora, making a great effort
to restrain her sobs.
"I don't know," replied George, turning away his face. "She is very
ill, and nobody can tell how it may turn out, but we will hope and pray
for the best. Will you go up to mother's door very quietly, and see if
she is awake and wants anything?"
Dora glided up stairs, and listened at her mother's door, but all was
still; so she went down again, and took her seat on the stairs to
be ready if she should be wanted in the sickroom. It was yet early
morning—the gaslights were burning in the hall, and the servants were
just beginning to set about their duties. It seemed an age afterwards
to Dora that she sat meditating upon the top of the stairs. Her head
was bent down, and rested on her hands, and she sat so still that one
might have thought her asleep, but it was not so. She was going over
and over her past life and conversations with the sister who was now to
all appearance fast passing away—where?
Dora did not like to think of that. How mean and little did all their
quarrels appear to her now—how every malicious ill-tempered word and
action appeared in their true colours! The very last words to her
sister had been words of unkindness, and they had parted in anger.
Now, Agnes did not even know her, and perhaps would never speak to her
again—would go away into that other unknown world, where Dora felt they
might never meet, and she would never have the opportunity of making
it up—never, never see her any more. She did not cry now. She was too
miserable for tears. She did not know where to look for comfort and
support, and help to do better, for Dora was not a religious child. It
is true she had been taught to say her prayers as soon as she could
speak, and she had always been to church and to Sunday-school, but
she had never thought of religion as anything that concerned herself
personally. She had thought there would be time enough for that when
she was grown up.
So had Barbara always thought, and now that she was grown up, she found
less time than ever. George and Tessy were the only persons in the
family who really made Christian principles the rule of their lives,
and that sympathy was a bond of union between them, stronger even than
Tessy's helplessness, and George's thoughtful kindness of disposition.
All that dreary day, Dora wandered about the house restless and
miserable, finding her only comfort in running up and down stairs, and
waiting upon her mother, who was almost prostrated by one of the severe
attacks of nervous headache, to which she was subject.
Renewed search was made for the kitten, as Agnes still continued very
anxious about it, but no trace of her was to be found.
Agnes continued to grow worse. And at night-fall, the doctor had almost
given up the hope of saving her life.
Just before dark, Ella Merriam came in to inquire for her. Dora burst
into tears as Ella came in, and in answer to her questions, could only
shake her head and sob. Ella cried in sympathy.
"She will never get well, Ella—the doctor says so. Oh! What shall I do
when she is dead?"
"I don't know what I should do if Marian were to die," said Ella.
"You would not feel so bad as I do," replied Dora, "because you and
Ella never quarrel. I don't believe you ever struck one another in your
lives."
"No, indeed!" said Ella, shocked at the very idea. "We have not
quarrelled for ever so long—not since we were little children. Nobody
could quarrel with Marian, she is so sweet tempered. But is Aggy very
ill?"
"The doctor says he has very little hope of saving her," replied Dora
sadly, "but it seems to me as though she must be better, because she is
not crazy as she was this morning. She seems to know everything now."
The little girls were talking in the hall, when the door of Agnes's
room was opened for a moment, and she caught the sound of their voices.
"Is not that Ella Merriam's voice?" she asked of Barbara, who was with
her. "Do let her come in a moment; I want to see her so much. Oh, do
please!"
She pleaded so earnestly that Barbara was afraid to oppose her, and
called Ella in, giving her a caution to be very quiet. The two girls
came in together, and stood by the bedside. Ella was terrified by the
change in her playmate's appearance. She had never seen any one so sick
before, and as Agnes struggled for breath, she almost expected to see
her expire before her eyes. She stooped and kissed her, but did not
speak. Agnes held her hands fast.
"I want to tell you about the kitten," she began, but Barbara
interposed.
"You must not talk, Agnes. I will tell Ella."
"But you don't know, Barbara."
"I know you did something to the kitten to put her away."
"Threw her away in the snow in the meadow," Agnes explained. "It was
very wicked—I am so sorry. Won't you—"
Her voice failed, but she still held Ella's hand tightly, and looked
earnestly in her face.
Ella did not think at first what she meant to say, till Theresa
whispered to her, "She wants you to forgive her, Ella."
"Yes, yes," was all Agnes could say, fixing her eyes upon those of her
companion, as though she would read her very soul. At such a time no
one could be angry, and it was hard for Ella at any time. She stooped
and kissed Agnes, saying earnestly, "I do forgive you, Aggy; and so I
am sure will Marian, and I hope God will forgive you too. Yes, if you
are sorry, He will. Mother says so, and it is in the Bible, I know.
Don't you remember what the minister reads in church:
"'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our
sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.'"
Barbara was afraid to have the little girls remain longer, and took
them out of the room while Theresa stayed with Agnes. They were afraid
the excitement might have injured her, but on the contrary, she seemed
more quiet and composed than she had done before since the commencement
of her illness. She had almost a comfortable night, and when the doctor
called in the morning, he announced that there was a slight, but
decided improvement in all her symptoms.
When Ella turned to go home, she could not help going round by the
meadow to see if she could find any trace of poor Tabby. But it had
snowed all the morning, and the common was all one sheet of unbroken
white. Ella thought of the poor kitty lying stiff and cold under the
drifted snow, and her tears started afresh, as she turned slowly away,
convinced that search was hopeless. She did not feel quite so much like
forgiving Agnes then as she had done when standing by her bedside, and
holding her feverish hand, but she knew that the feeling was wrong, and
struggled against it.
"After all, if poor dear Tabby is dead, that is the last of her," she
said to herself. "She will never suffer any more, and she has had a
very happy life of it so far—but for Agnes and Dora! Oh! How glad I
am that Marian and I have never quarrelled, though I am sure it is no
thanks to me that we have not."
Then she remembered an instance that very morning, when they were
putting their room in order, in which she had insisted on having her
own way, and Marian had quietly given up to her, and how only the day
before she had been angry at sister Sophia, for showing her that she
had not wiped the tea-cups dry. She felt very much ashamed as she
recalled these and similar instances of unkind temper and feelings, and
it no longer seemed so hard for her to forgive Aggy.
When Ella and Marian said their prayers that night, they did not omit
to remember Agnes and Dora, nor did they forget to ask that they might
always live as little children should, in peace and unity.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER FIFTH.
THE HARD ROAD.
WE must now return to Tabby, of whom we have almost lost sight. She was
at first so stunned and amazed by her sudden change of circumstances,
as hardly to understand what had happened to her. But by degrees she
collected her senses, and shaking the snow from her eyes, she raised
herself on her hind legs and looked about her. She was almost in the
midst of a wild lonesome common, which was covered with snow, now about
a foot deep, but not frozen sufficiently hard to allow of travelling on
the crust.
At one side of this piece of ground lay a street or alley, and on the
other some barns and several small houses. It was towards these, after
some consideration, that Tabby directed her course. She thought it
probable that she might find some sort of a home in one of the houses,
and if not, she believed she should be able to make her living in a
barn, as she had lately acquired some experience in mousing.
The snow was deep and powdery, and the bleak wind sweeping over it
whirled it into the face and eyes of the poor kitten. Her little paws
ached with the cold, and her ears felt as though they were being burned
off, but still she toiled painfully along, directing her course towards
the best-looking of the houses. She had just got into something like
a path, made by some one who had crossed a little before, and was
congratulating herself on finding easier travelling, when she heard a
voice exclaim:
"Look, Fred! What is that over in the snow?" And looking up she saw two
lads watching her from the window of a barn not very far off.
"It is a cat," replied the other. "See how neatly I'll fetch her over."
And taking aim at poor Tabby, he threw with all his force a hard apple
which he held in his hand. His aim was only too true. The missile
struck her on the side, and laid her breathless on the ground.
"There now, you have killed the poor thing, I hope you feel better,"
said the other boy. "I do wonder what pleasure any fellow finds in
tormenting everything that comes within his reach."
"Oh, nonsense!" returned the other, looking rather ashamed. "It is
not so easy to kill a cat, I can tell you. I daresay she is only
pretending, and if she is dead, there are more cats in the world. Come,
I am going into the house. It is cold enough to freeze a dog out here."
"And I am going home," said the boy who had spoken for Tabby; "I have
got my lessons to prepare yet."
"I haven't any lessons to prepare, thank you," said Fred.
"Maybe it would be better for you if you had," returned his companion.
"But I must get mine done; so, good-night."
Tabby was not killed, but it was some minutes before she recovered her
senses, and still longer before she was able to walk or even stand.
The hard apple had hurt her cruelly, and it was with difficulty that
she pursued her way, drawing her breath with increased difficulty at
every step she made. More than once she felt as though she must give up
the attempt, and lie down and die where she was, but as we have said
before, she had a remarkable amount of perseverance, and besides, she
had not quite given up the hope of finding her way home again, though
her chances of doing so were growing smaller and smaller every day.
She was often obliged to stop and rest, and the short day was drawing
to a close by the time that she found herself close behind one of the
houses she had been approaching. She made several attempts before
she was able to jump over the low wall at the back of the yard, but
succeeding at last, she went slowly up the walk, and ascended the
steps. There was a smell of cooking perceptible, and a clatter of
plates and knives told Tabby that some one was engaged in setting a
table.
[Illustration: "Only see how she begs."]
"The servants are getting their dinner 'at home,'" she thought, "and
dear mother and Tody are having theirs. O dear! If I had only stayed
with them. I would not mind anything if I could only see them, and tell
them how much I love them, but, O dear! I am afraid I never shall."
With these thoughts passing through her mind, it is no wonder that
her modest mew for admittance took a very piteous tone. A little girl
opened the door.
"It is a little cat," said she, speaking to some one within. "Shall I
let her in?"
"Oh! No, child," replied the woman's voice. "We don't want any cats
around the house. Shut the door, it is as cold as Greenland."
"It looks very cold and hungry," said the little girl compassionately,
"and it is a real pretty kitten. Just come and look at it, mother!"
The woman came to the door accordingly, and as soon as Tabby saw her,
she stood on her hind legs and put her paws over her nose, as Ella had
taught her to do when she wanted anything.
"Only see how she begs," said the little girl. "Do let her come in,
mother, just for a little while."
Seeing the effect produced, Tabby lay down and rolled over, and then
sneezed, which exhausted the list of her accomplishments. "O dear!" she
said to herself, as she performed these feats: "How I do wish I had
learned more of the other things Miss Ella used to try so hard to teach
me. But it is too late now."
At this moment the cry of a baby was heard from the inner room, and
the woman turned away without making any reply to the little girl,
who, profiting by the implied permission, allowed Tabby to slip in,
and then shutting the door, went on in haste with her occupation of
setting the table. Tabby found herself in a kitchen, small but neat and
comfortable. There was a cooking stove with a good coal fire, enough
of plain furniture, and a general air of respectability. The next room
was handsomely furnished for a parlour, and through the open door of
a pantry Tabby could perceive a handsome set of china with nice glass
dishes and other matters, such as she had been accustomed to see in
daily use at home. But the dishes which her little friend was putting
on the table were very different, being coarse, mismatched, and scanty,
with bits broken out here and there, and an abundance of cracks.
The little girl, whose name she discovered was Polly, was clothed in a
forlorn old merino dress which had once been handsome, with a good many
patches and darns, and need of more, and her hair was tucked up behind
with a broken horn comb. Her face was not very pretty, nor even very
amiable in its expression, and yet there was something about it that
Tabby liked.
She made all these observations as she was warming herself under the
stove. Presently the woman made her appearance from the other room with
a baby of ten months old, which she set down upon the floor, and then
proceeded in her preparations for supper. She placed upon the table
a moderate supply of bread and butter, the latter of very doubtful
quality, some brown sugar in a bowl, and a small pitcher full of bluish
milk. Then she put a very little black tea into a small tin teapot,
which looked as if it might have seen service since the time of the
last war, and having filled it up to the top with water, she set it
on the stove. Hungry as she was, Tabby did not think the meal very
inviting in its appearance, and Polly seemed to be of the same opinion.
"Father will want some cold meat," she said as her mother turned round.
"He had nothing but bread and milk for his dinner."
"He cannot have what is not in the house," was the short reply.
"There is the dried beef, at any rate," persisted Polly, "and the
smoked halibut that father brought home on Monday night. We haven't had
a bit of that."
"I want that for tea to-morrow night," replied Mrs. Webster. "I am
going to have company to tea, and I want something decent."
"And then I suppose we shall have down the china cups and all the rest,
and make a grand display," muttered Polly to herself, as her mother
went into the other room for something. "For my part, I should like to
have something comfortable for ourselves once in a while. I don't see
the use of keeping everything for company. Here comes father, mother,"
she added in a louder tone as the door opened. "Shall I put the tea on
the table?"
Mr. Webster, a tall, thin, rather amiable-looking man, apparently
several years younger than his wife, made his appearance as Polly
spoke, with his dinner-pail in one hand, and several bundles in the
other.
"Here, Polly, there's something for you," said he good-naturedly, as he
chucked a good-sized bundle at her, which she caught with dexterity.
"So don't say I didn't give you a Christmas present at last."
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Webster coming out of the bedroom, and looking
on as Polly proceeded to unfold the parcel, and display to view a very
pretty piece of dark calico. "Now, Mr. Webster, what in the world did
you go and get that child a calico dress for? She doesn't want it the
least in the world, and she does want a nice dress to wear to church
and dancing-school. I meant to get her a silk dress this time, and
her old frocks do well enough to wear about home. And what is the use
of all those new school-books?" as another paper displayed several
neat-looking volumes, at sight of which Polly's eyes sparkled. "She has
more books now than she ever studies. I do wish you would let me spend
the money. I can make it go twice as far as you do."
"Why, yes," replied Mr. Webster, unwinding his comforter and taking off
his great-coat, "you make it go rather too far, quite out of sight, in
fact. Now I like to see the girl look pretty about home, even if she is
not quite so smart abroad, hey, Polly?"
"Yes, indeed," said Polly heartily. "Sarah Ann Bond never had a silk
frock in her life, but she has real nice calico ones for every day, and
always looks fit to be seen, and so does Mrs. Bond. She has not to run
and change her dress if she sees any one coming. And I am sure I needed
the new school-books. I have used Sarah Ann's till I am ashamed, and
Miss Parker says we must all have books of our own after this."
"Well, well, that will do," said Mrs. Webster, not in the best humour.
"I wish you would not be always quoting the Bonds, as if they were the
eighth wonder of the world. I think you might find some other models
than a policeman's wife and daughter."
"I don't care whose daughter she is," returned Polly. "She is the
nicest girl I know, and the best scholar in our school. What else have
you got, father?"
"There is some beefsteak—I should like a bit of that cooked for my
supper, and there are the coffee and the sugar, and baby's dress. I
believe that is all, wife. They will send the flour in the morning."
"You did not get the goblets then?" said his wife, a deep shade of
disappointment coming over her face.
"Why, no, I could not buy them and Polly's things too, and still have
the money to meet my payments. I think our glasses are good enough—too
good for use, it appears," he added, looking at the cracked ones on the
table.
"Mrs. Cox had beautiful goblets the last time I was there to tea,"
replied Mrs. Webster. "I should not have asked her here to-morrow, if I
had not supposed I should have things as good as she had at home."
"Come, come, don't fret, wife: your friends, since you call them so,
will take us as they find us, or leave us alone. When I get as good a
salary as Cox, it will be time enough for you to spend as much as his
wife. In the meantime, I want you to cook my steak, or let Polly do it.
Oh! Come, take a good big piece," as his wife cut off what was a scanty
allowance for one. "Enough for all round. I daresay Polly will be glad
of a bit."
"Beefsteak is a very genteel dish for tea, isn't it?"
"Who cares for gentility? Not you, I think, considering the table
furniture you use every day. Give the cat a bit too—here, puss, where
did you come from?"
"Now, Mr. Webster, I won't have that," interposed Mrs. Webster. "I'll
feed her after supper, if there is any left. Take up the baby if you
can't find anything else to do. Polly, get the gridiron."
Mr. Webster was a printer, and earned good wages in the office of a
daily paper. He had, when very young, married a young woman several
years older than himself, with one child—the little girl to whom we
have just been introduced. He was an industrious, easy, good-tempered
man, very steady, and fond of his wife and children, especially of
Polly, who, on her part, worshipped her step-father, and fully believed
him to be the very best man in the world.
Mrs. Webster was an active, stirring woman, strong, neat, and
economical, and they might have been one of the happiest families
in the world, but for one circumstance. That circumstance was Mrs.
Webster's intense desire to be fashionable—to make as much display on
her husband's moderate salary as her friend and model, Mrs. Cox, did
upon twice the sum. To this end, she pinched herself and her family in
everything that did not make an outside show.
Mr. Webster loved his comfort, and would have enough to eat, such as
it was, but Mrs. Webster "took it out," upon herself and Polly, who
was kept at the lowest point, both of provisions and clothes when at
home that she might go to church, Sunday-school, and dancing-school,
in a silk frock, fine shoes, and worked skirts and drawers, and, as
her mother expressed it, "look as if she was somebody." Now Polly
cared nothing at all for worked skirts or silk frocks, and very little
for dancing-school, but she did love books, both story-books and
school-books, and she liked to be neat every day. She could not help
feeling very much ashamed when her dear friend, Sarah Ann Bond, came
in to see her of a morning before school, to be caught in a dirty old
merino frock, worn and faded, and patched to the last degree, and shoes
down at heels.
Sarah Ann had no silk dress. Her very best frock was a plaid merino,
which cost two shillings and sixpence a yard: but she always wore
nice calico frocks and white aprons every day, and subscribed for the
'Children's Magazine' and the 'Penny Gazette,' and she had a convenient
satchel in which to carry her books to and from school. She had a
nice collection of story-books, which Polly would have given all her
nice frocks to possess, and she had a canary bird and a cat, and a
play-house which her father had made for her out of an old cupboard.
When Polly asked for any of these things, her mother always said,
either that it was too much trouble, or that she could not afford it.
But she could afford to buy an expensive set of china, and a dozen of
cut-glass tumblers, and a set of fine knives and forks, all of which
were quite too good for family use, and never made their appearance
except when she had company. And now she was out of conceit with her
tumblers, because Mrs. Cox had goblets, and dissatisfied with her
ivory-handled forks, because Mrs. Cox had silver ones; and she had
been straining every nerve to accomplish the purchase of those very
essential articles, when Mr. Webster disappointed all her calculations
by subscribing for a daily paper, and buying two new frocks and a set
of new and expensive school-books for Polly.
The first of these items she did not mind so much—it sounded genteel
to take a daily paper, and Mrs. Cox had two, but the latter seemed
perfectly useless to her mind, and she thought herself entitled to
indulge in at least a week of sulkiness in consequence. Accordingly,
she never spoke one word during supper except to reprove Polly, first
for taking so much butter, and then for sharing her bit of steak with
poor Tabby, who gratefully accepted her piece, small and gristly
though it was, and purred over it as she had never done over her nice
breakfasts and dinners at home.
"What a disagreeable woman," she thought to herself. "I don't see how
such a nice man came to marry her." And then she remembered how often
she had been sullen at home, when things did not go to please her, and
how, the very day she came away, she had refused to play with dear
little Miss Ella, who had always been so kind to her. And now she was
far away from them all, and they would never know how much she loved
them, though she had been so naughty. All her cheerfulness vanished as
these thoughts passed through her mind; moreover, she was very tired
and sleepy, and her side still gave her a good deal of pain; so she
went and sat down under the stove, and was soon asleep.
But she was not destined to sleep long. The baby, who had been set down
on the floor to amuse himself as he best could during supper-time,
spied her place of refuge, and crawling to a convenient distance,
he stretched out his little hand, and, grasping Tabby by the tail,
attempted to pull her towards him. Suddenly aroused by this rough
treatment, and by the pain it gave to her sore side, Tabby forgot both
prudence and good temper, and thought only of defending herself; and
extending her too-ready claws, she gave the little fellow a severe
scratch on the hand. Baby screamed of course, and his mother hastened
to take him up, and examine the extent of the mischief.
"There, Miss Polly, see what your fine new pet has done—scratched
poor baby's hand almost off: that is always the way with cats—nasty,
treacherous creatures, you can never tell when they are going to
scratch. Scat, you hateful, cross thing." And opening the door, she
took the broom and drove poor Tabby out into the snow, which was now
falling fast, giving her a slap with the broom as a parting present.
Polly remonstrated, but her objections were met by a box on the ear,
and a command to go to bed if she could not behave herself. Polly knew
by experience there was no use in opposing her mother while in such a
mood as this. So she washed up the dishes in silence, and then, taking
a new book which Sarah Ann had lent her, she sat down to read, but was
informed that there was enough to be done without wasting time over
nonsensical story-books, and commanded to take her sewing till eight
o'clock, when she was sent to bed in the dark.
Poor Tabby, meanwhile, after spending some time in vainly mewing at
the door for admittance, began to look about her for some place of
shelter for the night from the blinding snow and the keen north wind,
which seemed to pierce her through and through. At last, after much
searching, she found a hole in the wall under a barn, and was just
crawling into it, when she was made aware that the place had another
occupant, by hearing a growl, and the words, "Who's there?" from the
farthest corner.
"It is only a kitten," answered Tabby, trembling both from cold and
fear. "Please, do let me come in! I am so very cold."
"Come in, and welcome," said the cat who had spoken, rising and
stretching himself. "There is room enough, and we can help to keep each
other warm."
Tabby gladly availed herself of the permission, and snugged down by
the side of her new acquaintance, who proved to be a very large and
powerful Maltese cat, fat, and in good condition, but bearing the marks
of more than one battle, in his scarred nose and ragged ears.
"Why, what a little thing you are!" said the big cat compassionately.
"You are only a kitten, in good earnest, and you don't look like a wild
one either. I should think your folks might have let you sleep in the
house in such a bitter night as this."
"I only came to this house to-night," said Tabby. "At my own house,
they would never have turned me out, but that is a very different place
from this. I am afraid there are not many such people in the world."
"How did you come to leave your house if it was such a good one?"
naturally inquired the grey cat.
"Because I was a discontented little fool, and did not know when I was
well off," replied Tabby.
And in answer to some further questions, she proceeded to relate her
whole history to her new friend, greatly cheered by his sympathy, and
by his beginning to lick her all over as her own mother used to do.
"And what are you going to do now?" asked the grey cat, as he concluded.
"I am sure I don't know," replied Tabby, mournfully. "I have all the
while been hoping to get home again, but I am afraid there is not much
chance of it now. I suppose I must look-out for some place where I can
have a home and be well-treated. I have learned to catch mice since I
came from home, and I would do my best to be useful."
"I suppose it would be the best way for you," said the grey cat
thoughtfully. "You are hardly old enough or strong enough to get your
living in a barn. I prefer that way of life to any other, now that I am
used to it; though I confess, on such a night as this, I cannot help
longing for my old cushion by the fire."
"So you have not always lived in a barn!" remarked Tabby, in an
inquiring tone.
"Oh! No, I was brought up in the house, and very much petted, till I
was two years old and more. I used to have a cushion by the parlour
fire, and another in the kitchen, and stayed where I pleased, and I
always had a plate set down on the floor-cloth for me after dinner,
besides what the cook gave me. Everybody was kind to me, and nobody
could be happier than I was for those two years. Then the house was
sold, and the family moved away, and there was the end of my comfort
for a while."
"But I should have thought they would have taken you with them!" said
Tabby. "Why didn't they?"
"Just on account of the silliest nonsense in the world," replied the
grey cat. "My mistress was what is called a superstitious woman—that
is, she believed in all sorts of stuff about signs, and things being
lucky and unlucky—and some one as foolish as herself persuaded her that
it was unlucky to move a cat. So she went away, and left me to take
care of myself or to starve, whichever I liked best. I stayed about a
good while, but the people that bought the place did not like cats, and
drove me out whenever I attempted to make my way into the house. So at
last, in despair, I took to the barns, and now that I am used to it and
have learned to provide for myself, I like it very well."
"I do not think I should ever like to live in a barn," said Tabby.
"No, I daresay not. It 'is' pretty hard, especially as one has to fight
one's way among the other cats, and some of them are very ugly. I think
the best way for you will be to find a place in some nice family, where
they want a cat to pet. How do you like the look of things here?"
"Not at all!" returned Tabby, and she described the views she had
witnessed since her arrival.
"That is just the idea I had of her," said the Maltese cat, whose name,
he told Tabby, was Bold. "She has such a sharp voice. Mr. Webster
seems a nice man enough. I wonder why he doesn't make his wife behave
herself."
"Perhaps he can't!" suggested Tabby.
"Very likely," returned the grey cat, yawning. "It is not so easy
always to make people behave themselves, especially when they have not
much sense to begin with. But come, Tabby, since that is your name,
curl down here by me, and let us see if we can keep each other warm for
the night."
Tabby was only too glad to obey, and soon forgot all her troubles and
perplexities in sleep.
CHAPTER SIXTH.
THE RIVER.
THE next morning Tabby was awakened early by the cold, and at first
could hardly remember where she was, but the stinging of her ears and
paws soon brought her to her senses. Her companion had left her side,
and on going to the entrance of the hole where she had passed the
night, she saw by the footprints in the new-fallen snow that he had
gone to a large barn at some distance, where he was probably engaged
in catching his breakfast. At first she thought she would follow him,
but she reflected that she might easily miss him, and fall in with some
of those evil-disposed cats of which he had spoken the night before.
At another time, perhaps, this idea would not have deterred her, but
she felt weak and dispirited from the fatigues of the day before, and
thought she would make one more effort to ingratiate herself with the
mistress of the house, at least so far as to get some breakfast, after
which she thought she might feel more like resuming her travels.
She reached the house-door accordingly, and congratulating herself on
finding it ajar, she slipped in quietly, and took her seat on the floor
under the stove, taking care to retreat into the farthest corner, out
of reach of the baby. Having established herself safely, as she hoped,
she looked eagerly round for some signs of breakfast, but none were to
be seen except the dirty dishes, which Polly, with the signs of recent
tears on her face, was washing up at the sink. Mrs. Webster herself was
in the pantry, engaged in some cooking operations, to judge from the
sound of stirring and beating of eggs which issued from the open door.
"Come, Polly, have you almost finished those dishes?" said she, coming
into the kitchen with a dish in her hand. "You have been long enough
about them to wash every dish in the house. I want you to go up to
Martin's, and get some cinnamon and some essence of lemon."
"Father said he didn't want me to go to Martin's," said Polly.
"Never mind that," returned her mother. "You are my girl and not his,
and you have got to do as I say: so make haste!"
This was one of Mrs. Webster's favourite modes of "aggravation," as
Polly called it. Whenever she was particularly bent upon venting
her ill-humour upon the child, she reminded her that she was not
the father's own daughter. The fact was, though perhaps she hardly
confessed it to herself, that she was exceedingly jealous of Polly's
affection for her step-father, and thought it exceedingly unnatural
in the child to like him better than herself. This was one of her
"peculiar trials," as she was wont to say in her confidential
conversations with her dear friend, Mrs. Cox. According to her own
account, Mrs. Webster had a great many peculiar trials, and no one
could say that she was not extremely liberal in sharing them with her
friends.
"Come, make haste," repeated Mrs. Webster impatiently. "You get lazier
and lazier every day. I have a great mind to keep you at home from
school the rest of the winter, and try to teach you to work. You will
never be good for anything at the rate you go on."
Polly wiped the suds from her hands, and put on her bonnet without
replying to this threat, which she knew to be a vain one, as her father
would never consent to her being kept out of school.
"You are not going in that old frock!" exclaimed her mother. "What if
Mrs. Cox should see you? Put on your green dress."
"I thought you were in such a hurry," began Polly.
But her mother cut short her answer by a smart slap on the shoulder,
and an injunction not to be impudent. The fact was, Mrs. Webster was
in a thoroughly bad humour. She expected her friend and model, Mrs.
Cox, to tea in the evening, and had been bent upon surprising her with
the elegance of her entertainment, which she had intended should be
fully equal to anything Mrs. Cox ever had at home. And now not only
had her husband expended the money she had destined for plated forks
and goblets in clothes and school-books, but that very morning he
had absolutely refused to let her have a few shillings to purchase
materials for plum-cake and macaroons, declaring that the times were
too hard for poor people to indulge in such luxuries, and that he must
put by every halfpenny he could spare from absolute necessaries to make
the payments on his house and lot. In vain she had talked and reasoned,
and even cried. Mr. Webster would not be convinced, but departed with
his money folded in a paper with his savings-bank book, ready to be
deposited at noon.
But more annoyance was in store for her. Polly presently returned with
her hands empty. "Martin says that father told him not to let any one
get things there unless they brought the money."
"Your father is enough to provoke a saint," said Mrs. Webster. "I
declare, if I could contrive any decent excuse, I would send to tell
Mrs. Cox not to come. We shall not have anything fit to be seen—nothing
but plain pound-cake and sponge-cake, without a bit of seasoning, and
no preserves but raspberry jam. I would not have done it for anything,
if I had not supposed we could have things decent. Mrs. Cox is so
observing, too, she is sure to see everything. As for Mrs. Randall, she
never seems to know what she eats."
Tears of vexation actually stood in Mrs. Webster's eyes. Polly tried to
console her.
"Why, mother, I was up at Miss Augusta's one night, and went into the
dining-room just before tea. They had only then bread and butter, and
sponge-cake, and a little dried beef on the table—no plum-cake or
preserves at all; and they had company to tea, too, I know, for I saw
the ladies in the parlour; and you know Mrs. Cox herself says they are
the most elegant people in town."
"To be sure," said Mrs. Webster, a little comforted, "they ought to
know what's what as well as anybody, and they are as rich as Jews too.
But I suppose they had very handsome table furniture."
"It was just what they use every day," persisted Polly, "for I have
been there before at meal-times."
"Well, they are queer folks, those Fords," said Mrs. Webster. "I don't
pretend to understand them. Everybody looks up to them, and thinks them
the grandest people in town, and yet they never seem to care a bit
about style or fashion, or any such thing. They are very different from
the Lambs; 'they' do make a dash worth while."
"Yes, and who thinks any more of them for it?" interrupted Polly. "Mr.
Lamb is not half so much of a gentleman as father or Mr. Bond, and
Mrs. Lamb does not look like a lady, with all her fine clothes; and as
for manners, the Miss Lambs laugh and talk so loud on the street that
people turn round to look at them. I would rather be Miss Augusta Ford
than Miss Lamb, any day."
"Oh! You think Miss Augusta is perfect because she is your
Sunday-school teacher. I must allow, though, that she has much manners,
but I cannot understand how she can run about on foot to see all sorts
of people as she does. I should not think her mother would let her."
"Her mother does just so," replied Polly. "So I would not mind about
the cake, mother. I daresay everything will be nice enough, and Mrs.
Cox knows that father does not get as high wages as her husband."
"Don't say wages—salary sounds far better. And another thing, Polly,
while I think of it, I was quite ashamed the other afternoon, when
Mr. Larned asked you your name, to hear you answer 'Polly Anne' so
loud that every one in the church might hear you. Why didn't you say
Marianne, as I told you?"
"Because you told me yourself that I was christened Polly Anne after
grandma, and I didn't want to tell a lie in the church."
"Don't be impudent!" said her mother sharply. "Come, be smart now, and
clean up the fireside before you sweep, and then I want you to put down
the floor-cloth."
"Hadn't I better leave the fireside till after dinner?" asked Polly.
"I am not going to get any dinner," was the reply. "Your father has
taken his, and it is not worth while to cook anything just for us
two.—Turn that cat out! I am not going to have her near the fire."
"It is so cold," said Polly, pityingly. "Can't I put her down stairs?
There is a rat down there, I heard him the other day, and he has gnawed
some potatoes."
"Well, I don't care if you do, but I won't have her here. Come, be
smart now; we shan't be through to-day."
Tabby was accordingly turned out of her warm corner, where she had
been trying to forget that she was hungry, and soon found herself in a
damp cold cellar in company with a heap of potatoes, and a coal-box.
This last object renewed her home-sick longing, which seemed to grow
stronger and stronger as the chance of reaching home grew more remote.
"O mother, mother!" she said to herself. "Shall I ever see you and dear
Tody again, and do you ever think of poor, naughty Tabby?"
Overcome by these sad reflections, she sat down upon the lower stair,
and cried a long time, and then, somewhat relieved by having given free
vent to her sorrows, she set herself seriously about finding something
to eat. But hour after hour of patient watching was all in vain.
Neither rat nor mouse made its appearance, nor, though she searched in
every corner, could she find so much as a dry crust of bread to satisfy
the cravings of her appetite. What would she not now have given,
even for some of the cold potatoes she used to disdain? She returned
again and again to the only rat-hole she could find, but it was of no
use; and faint with hunger and misery, she could not even forget her
troubles in sleep. The cellar-door was opened once or twice, but it was
always shut again so quickly that she had no chance of escape, and the
windows were all tightly fastened.
She had finally fallen into a doze, and was just dreaming that she was
at home with her mother and Tody, eating cold chicken off a plate under
the dining-room table, when she was awakened once more by the opening
of the door.
"Dear me!" she said peevishly. "It seems I am not even to sleep in
peace."
But as she spoke, she looked up and saw by the light of a candle,
which shot through the chink, that the door had been left ajar. She
hastened up the stairs, and gently pawing against it, she succeeded
in noiselessly pushing it open, and found herself again in the same
kitchen, which had undergone such a change that she hardly knew it
again. The grate had been blacked and polished, till it shone like the
ebony shelves in Miss Sophia's cabinet; full white muslin curtains were
up at the windows, and a handsome green and red floor-cloth covered
the dingy rag carpet. The table was set with a fine damask cloth and
handsome china, and furnished with an abundance of cakes, preserves,
and dried beef, which looked so tempting to Tabby's hungry eyes that
she could hardly keep her paws off them. There was no one in the room
but Polly, who was tending the baby and keeping an eye on the biscuits,
which were baking in the oven. The door was half-opened into the
parlour, and lights and voices proclaimed that Mrs. Webster's company
had arrived.
"Oh!" thought Tabby. "If I could only have a little bit of that cake or
some of that beef, or even a scrap of bread!"
This was not a very good thought for a hungry kitten to cherish in
sight of a well-furnished table; and the said table being left for
the moment without any guard, she mounted upon a chair and carefully
abstracted a small piece of beef, which she thought would not be
missed. She had hardly jumped down with her prize, and secreted herself
behind the closet-door, before Mrs. Webster entered the room. Tabby
shrunk into the smallest possible compass, and was careful not to make
the least particle of noise in devouring her morsel, which seemed, from
its smallness, to increase her hunger, as it certainly did her thirst.
Mrs. Webster cast a vigilant eye upon the table, altered the
arrangement of things a little, and then proceeded to take the biscuits
out of the oven and to make tea. This done, she washed her hands,
settled her very handsome silk dress and head-dress a little, and
invited the ladies who were her guests to sit down. Polly did not
make her appearance, but stayed in the bedroom to tend the baby, and
Mr. Webster had not come in. Indeed, he rather avoided his wife's
tea-parties, for he did not particularly like her fine friends, and
could not help thinking that they sometimes amused themselves at her
attempts to be genteel, in which conjecture he was perfectly right, at
least so far as regarded Mrs. Cox.
"I had a call from one of your neighbours the other day, Mrs. Webster,"
said Mrs. Cox, as she was buttering her biscuit.
"From one of my neighbours?" repeated Mrs. Webster. "Who could it be? I
did not know that there was any one here who visited you."
"Neither more nor less than Mrs. Bond, the policeman's lady," replied
Mrs. Cox, laughing heartily. "Only think how honoured I felt!"
"You don't mean to say that woman actually came to call on you!" said
Mrs. Webster, in a tone intended to express the utmost surprise at the
said woman's audacity.
"She certainly did. I thought she came on an errand at first, of
course, and waited patiently to find out what she wanted, not dreaming,
of course, that she intended a visit. I did not even ask her to sit
down, but she helped herself to a chair, and sat talking as freely as
you please. Presently there was a ring at the door, and in walked Mrs.
Lamb. I felt ashamed enough, I can tell you, especially as Mrs. Bond
never offered to go, but sat talking in her calico frock and hood, as
composedly as if she were the grandest lady in the land. However, I
took care to tell Mrs. Lamb, after she had gone, that she was only a
poor person who had come on an errand."
"I suppose you will hardly return her visit," said Mrs. Webster, and
both the "ladies" laughed, as though the idea was a very ridiculous
one. "She is always running in here," continued Mrs. Webster, "and, I
am sorry to say, my Marianne has got up a wonderful intimacy with her
oldest daughter. I have tried to break it up, but find it difficult, as
they go to school together, and are in the same class in Sunday-school.
I think it has a very unfavourable effect upon Marianne's manners."
"I never allow 'my' children to associate with 'common' children,"
said Mrs. Cox, drawing herself up. "There are only two families in the
street that I permit them to play with at all. I should not think I was
performing the duties of a parent if I allowed them to form improper
associations."
"I saw your Fred out in the barn with Tom Bond the other day," said the
other lady, who had hitherto been rather silent. "They were amusing
themselves with stoning a kitten that was making its way through the
snow—at least Fred was, for I did not see Tom throw anything. I think
the Bond children very nice well-trained little things, for my part."
"I think you must be mistaken, Mrs. Randall," said Mrs. Cox, colouring,
and looking extremely offended. "My Frederick is too obedient to
his parents' commands to form improper associations, and he and his
brothers have been particularly enjoined to avoid any intimacy with the
Bonds."
"I think I shall take some more decided steps to break off Marianne's
intimacy with them," remarked Mrs. Webster; "and I certainly shall
discourage Mrs. Bond's running in here as often as she does. It is very
disagreeable."
"What a mean woman!" thought Tabby. "Just as if I did not hear her send
Polly over there to borrow things, at least three times this morning."
But if even Tabby's indignation was roused, we may be sure Polly's was
to the boiling-point. She could only find relief by talking to herself.
"Yes, it is all very well to talk about breaking off with the Bonds. I
wonder who went over to Mrs. Bond's yesterday to get her to cut out a
cap for Tommy, and stayed all the morning, though Mrs. Bond's baby was
sick, and she was just as busy as she could be washing? And who sends
to her for all sorts of things every day in the week? I should think
they would be ashamed."
But Mrs. Cox was again holding forth in her oratorical tones:
"Yes, we always dine late—at four o'clock. I would not dine a moment
earlier on any account. Mr. Cox comes home from the counting-house at
that time, and I always intend to have my dinner ready, and of the best
quality. We usually have soup. Mr. Cox is exceedingly fond of soup and
dessert;" which Mrs. Cox pronounced "desert," as though she had meant
a sandy waste. "Mr. Cox says he enjoys his dessert more than all the
rest of his dinner. Mrs. Lamb dines at six o'clock, but as Mr. Cox is
obliged at present to return to the counting-house at five, that hour
is not convenient for him."
"There she goes!" said Polly. "I never saw Mrs. Cox in the world that
she did not say something about dinner. I must say, I don't think it is
very genteel to talk so much about eating and drinking."
Mrs. Webster now offered her guests a bit of the smoked halibut which
she had been reserving for this grand occasion. Mrs. Randall accepted
it, and expressed herself fond of it, but Mrs. Cox declined.
"I never eat such things at tea," she said in her emphatic and decided
manner. "Relishes for tea are entirely out of fashion, quite out of
date in fact, and so are warm biscuits. They are considered by many
very unwholesome, and Mr. Cox never eats them at tea. This bread and
butter is all the go," she concluded elegantly. "Mrs. Lamb has this
bread and butter."
"Well, I call that polite!" thought Tabby. "Just after she has been
eating them!"
Poor Mrs. Webster! The want of the goblets and silver forks was nothing
to this. After she had taken such pains to provide nice light biscuits,
and had cut her dried beef so thin, and cooked her halibut to a turn,
to be told upon a Mrs. Lamb's high authority, indorsed by a Mrs. Cox,
that relishes were out of fashion, and that nobody ate hot rolls! She
felt herself reduced to the level of a nobody at once.
"Indeed, I think the biscuits are very nice," said quiet Mrs. Randall,
helping herself to another, "and so is the fish. What signifies whether
things are fashionable or not, so long as they are good and convenient?"
But Mrs. Webster was not to be consoled by one who held such views as
these, and applied herself to Mrs. Cox with the intention of gaining
such further information as should prevent her making such fatal
mistakes in future.
"And for breakfast, Mrs. Cox? What do you think about breakfast?"
"Oh! Hot rolls for breakfast by all means, and toast and eggs."
"I like that woman," said Tabby to herself. "I wish I knew where she
lived, and I would go there to-morrow. As for that other woman, she is
just fit to be the mother of that hateful boy who threw the apple at
me."
"Much she knows about gentility!" was Polly's comment. "Mrs. Bond is
as good as she is, any day, and ten times as much of a lady. I should
like to know why she should not call on Mrs. Cox if she wants to do so,
though why she should I can't imagine. And for mother to talk so about
her, when she is for ever sending there for things, and getting Mrs.
Bond to do things for her, and to help her about her work! I would not
ask favours of people that I was ashamed of associating with, for my
part."
Polly's soliloquy was interrupted by a call to supper, and having at
last succeeded in getting the baby to sleep, she laid him on the bed,
sitting by him a few moments to pat and hush him; for she loved her
little brother dearly, and never grudged the time she spent in tending
him.
Meanwhile Tabby was left alone in the kitchen. The table was still
standing, with its attractive-looking plates of meat and cakes, and
the cellar-door was open. The temptation was too much for Tabby. She
sprang upon the table, and Mrs. Webster, coming in from the other room,
was just in time to see Tabby finish a drink out of the cream-jug, and
seize the piece of fish in her mouth. She sprang forward, but the four
feet were too nimble for her two, and puss and fish vanished through
the cellar-door.
"What a naughty kitten!" some of my young readers will doubtless
exclaim. "I don't care what becomes of such a little thief."
It is doubtless very naughty to steal, but let me ask you one question:
Were you ever in all your life very hungry? I daresay you have been
hungry enough to have your dinner or supper taste very good to you,
but did you ever go without food till your head turned round with
giddiness, and ached as though it would split, and your limbs trembled,
and your eyes seemed full of black and green spots, and there was a
pain in your stomach as though a rat was gnawing through it? Unless you
have experienced a sensation like this, you can hardly form a correct
estimate of the temptation presented to poor Tabby, who had been almost
entirely without food for thirty-six hours. Suppose you had eaten
nothing since yesterday morning at breakfast, and had been more than
half that time out of doors, with the thermometer below zero! And then
suppose that, under such circumstances, you had been left alone in the
room with a piece of cake, what do you suppose would become of the cake?
I am not saying that it was not wrong for Tabby to steal. It was very
wrong, and very short-sighted besides; for Polly had fully intended
to divide her supper with the kitten, in which case not only would
she have fared better, but she would have escaped the consequences
of her theft, which, as we shall see, very nearly cost her her life.
Some misgivings, indeed, passed through Tabby's own mind, as she was
devouring her prize behind the pork-barrel, whither she had fled for
safety.
"I know mother would say I ought not to have taken it," she said to
herself, "but I was so hungry, it seemed as though I could not wait
another minute. Well, they will not do anything to me to-night, because
of the company, and to-morrow I will surely find some way of escape."
But Tabby reckoned without her host. Mrs. Cox and Mrs. Randall took
their leave about half-past seven; and no sooner were they gone, than
Mrs. Webster went down to the cellar, armed with broom and candle,
drove Tabby from her place of refuge, and after more than once chasing
her round the cellar, seized her by the back of the neck, and despite
her struggles and scratches, bore her to the upper air. Tabby mewed
piteously, and Polly cried and expostulated, but all in vain.
Mrs. Webster carried her to the fence, and shouted "David!"
A rough-looking man, with a pipe in his mouth, made his appearance from
the next house, which was not much more than a hut.
"Here, I want you to take this cat, and throw her over the bridge. I
will give you an old bag to tie her in, and be sure you put a good
heavy stone in it. Do it directly, and I will give you sixpence."
The bag was produced and handed to David, who promised to execute
the command, and poor Tabby soon found herself enveloped in a warm,
ill-smelling old bag, and going she knew not whither, or rather,
alas she knew too well. In all her previous adventures, she had
never given up the expectation of reaching home, and seeing all her
dear friends again, but now hope itself seemed to forsake her. Her
head whirled round. All sorts of confused thoughts and images passed
through her mind: the happy home she had deserted so wilfully; the
kind and self-sacrificing mother whom she had rewarded with such base
ingratitude, though she had so carefully tended her, and never thought
she could do too much for her; the dear little brother, who loved her
in spite of her unkindness to him.
She seemed to see herself a little helpless being, unable to move a
limb in her own defence, or even to get her eyes wide open, and her
good mother watching and guarding her with the tenderest solicitude.
Then when she began to creep out of her basket, and play about with
Tody, how careful her mother was to keep her out of danger, and how
many hours she had spent in amusing her, and teaching her the use of
her limbs; how she had always given her the best morsels on their
common plate, and how much pains she had taken to teach her to catch
mice for herself. Remembrances of Ella and Marian and all their
kindness, of Tessy's affection and Agnes Warrington's cruelty, mingled
with these reflections, and all seemed confusedly mixed up with Carlo's
bark and the neighing of horses, with the conversation she had lately
heard, and the sobs and entreaties of Polly, interceding with her
hard-hearted mother for the life of her favourite. In the midst of it
all, she heard a rushing sound—knew that the river was near—felt a
sudden shock, and a swift descent, and lost all consciousness as the
cold waters closed over her head, apparently for ever.
CHAPTER SEVENTH.
THE POLICE OFFICE.
IN a few moments Tabby recovered her senses, astonished to find herself
still alive. Alive she certainly was, though thoroughly wet and cold,
and entirely in the dark. She heard the water rushing around her, and
at first she thought she was floating down the stream, but a minute
or two of observation convinced her that she must be stationary, and,
with her usual energy of character, she began to make some desperate
struggles to get out. After much fruitless scratching and biting, she
at last succeeded in making a hole, through which she thrust first her
paws, then her head, and finally her whole body. As soon as she was
out of her prison, she looked around, and discovered to what she owed
her preservation. David, who as usual was more than half-tipsy, had
forgotten to put a stone in the bag, which had consequently floated
instead of sinking, and being swept down by the rapid current, had
lodged upon a long tongue of ice which projected from the shore.
But Tabby did not spend much time in observation, for she felt that
her situation was a very precarious one; and miserable as she was,
the instinct of self-preservation was strong within her. After two or
three ineffectual attempts, she got upon her feet, and began slowly
and cautiously to make her way toward the land. The ice was wet and
slippery, and perhaps no other animal than a cat could have kept
footing upon it; even Tabby found some difficulty in doing so, and had
several falls, at each of which she gave herself up for lost, till,
finding that she was not in the water, a renewed effort was made again
to struggle on. She had almost reached the shore, when a terrible crack
and a violent concussion caused great alarm, and the piece of ice
slowly separated from the bank, and floated down the stream. Tabby made
one more effort for life. Collecting all her little strength, she made
a desperate spring, and, much to her astonishment, found herself safely
on dry land, while the ice which had been the means of saving her life
went rapidly down with the current.
"Well done, little pussy!" said a not unkind voice near her. "That
wasn't a bad jump. A moment more, and it would have been all over with
you."
Tabby looked up in amazement.
The speaker was a boy of twelve or thirteen years old, very poorly
dressed in ragged and coarse clothes, and with an indescribable forlorn
air about him. He was sitting on a log by the river side, and seemed
to have been employed in watching her efforts, for he added: "I didn't
think, when I first spied you out there, that you would ever get safe
to land. Come here and let me dry you off, or you'll freeze to death.
Poor little toad! It isn't so nice to be out in a winter's night with
nothing to eat, and no place to go to—is it, pussy?"
[Illustration: Jack Webster.]
Rough-looking subject as the boy was, his tone of sympathy attracted
Tabby at once. She crept up to him with some difficulty, for she was
growing very cold and stiff, and made a feeble attempt to jump up on
his knee. He took her up tenderly enough, and after rubbing her as dry
as he could with a very ragged handkerchief, he put her in his breast,
and buttoned his loose jacket over her. His kindness and the genial
warmth revived poor Tabby's fast-failing strength, and as the chill
passed off her benumbed limbs, she began feebly to purr her thanks.
"I daresay you are as hungry as I am," said the boy, patting her head,
which she was rubbing against his chin: "but I have nothing to give
you, pussy. But never mind, I guess we can stand it till morning, and
then if I get anything to eat, you shall go shares. Hallo!"
At this moment a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and looking up, he
saw a policeman standing behind him. He rose rather hastily, and Tabby
shrank into her place of concealment.
"Now, my lad, what are you doing here?" was the policeman's first
question.
"Nothing!" was the short answer.
"You have chosen a cold place to do it in, seems to me. Why don't you
go home?"
"For the best reason in the world: because I have no home to go to."
"That's bad, certainly," said Mr. Bond, not unkindly. "But haven't you
any place where you stay?"
"No," was the answer, in a voice which trembled a little. "I don't know
a living soul in this place."
"How did you come here, then?" was the natural question.
"I came here from Buffalo yesterday. My father and mother are dead, and
I haven't got any one to take care of me, or teach me anything, and I
want—" he paused a little, and then went on more firmly—"I want to go
to the House of Refuge."
"To the House of Refuge," repeated the policeman, rather taken aback.
"Well, I have taken a good many boys to the House of Refuge in my time,
but I don't remember of any one's wanting to go of his own accord. But
you know that's where they take the bad boys—you're not a bad boy, are
you?"
"I suppose I am," said the child, without looking up. "Everybody says
so, and when I come to think about it, I guess they are about right."
"You come along with me," said Mr. Bond, "and we'll see what can be
done for you. You can't stay out all night, that's certain, because
you'll freeze to death, and we can't have people freezing to death in
our streets."
"So you want to get an education, do you?" said he, as they trudged
along together, the boy having some trouble to keep up with the long
strides of his tall companion. "Well, an education is a first-rate
thing, there's no doubt about that; I tell my boys and girls so when
they get a little tired of going to school. If I had had the chance
that you have, says I, I should have been glad enough of it."
"If I had had any one to send me to school, I don't think I should ever
have been tired of it," said the boy rather sadly.
"Oh! Well, cheer up. Maybe there's better days coming. It never rains
always, you know, and I'll tell you what—what did you say your name
was?"
"Jack Fletcher," was the answer.
"Well, Jack, it's half the battle with a boy, or a man either, for that
matter, to make a good resolution. You say you're not a good boy,—eh?"
"No," replied Jack. "I haven't had much chance to be good. My father
and mother both drank," he continued, after a little pause, and
lowering his voice, "and one day my mother drank so much that she got
crazy and killed herself. Then my father was taken up for murdering
her, and put in jail, and there he took sick and died. He was sober
then, of course, and when I went to see him, he—he told me to go off to
some place where I wasn't known, and try to make an honest living. I
knew a boy who had been to the House of Refuge, and he told me how they
learned trades there, and what kind of times they had, and I thought
that would be just the place for me. So I begged a passage on a waggon,
and got here yesterday."
"But suppose you could get a place to learn a trade without going
there, wouldn't you like that better?" asked Mr. Bond.
"I don't know about that," replied Jack thoughtfully. "I am afraid I
should not be steady. You see I have been brought up to run in the
street all day long, and it's not easy to settle down to work, unless
one must. It is likely I should get into some scrape, and do something
bad, and so have to be put there, and I would rather go of my own
accord."
"That's very sensible, too," replied Mr. Bond. "Well, here we are at
the police office, and I daresay you won't be sorry to get warm. It is
a bitter night."
"Hallo, Bond, what have you got there?" was the salutation that greeted
them as they entered the room, where the gas-light and coal fire
gave out an amount of light and warmth which seemed little short of
miraculous to Tabby, who had all the time remained close under Jack's
arm. "He doesn't look like a very dangerous customer."
"It's a boy that says he wants to go to the House of Refuge," said
Mr. Bond, setting a stool by the side of the fire as he spoke. "Here,
Jack, sit down and get warm. You must be about frozen through, I should
think."
Jack was glad to sit down, for his knees trembled, and he felt a
strange sensation creeping over him which was not exactly sleepiness or
fatigue. He had been seated only a moment, when the lights seemed to
grow dim and the voices indistinct—his head dropped on his bosom, and
one of the men sprang forward and caught him just in time to prevent
his falling on the floor. The boy had fainted away. They laid him
on a seat that stood at a distance from the fire, brought water and
sprinkled his face, and one of them unbuttoned his jacket.
"Hallo, here's two of them," said he, as poor Tabby became visible,
vainly trying to shrink out of sight. "He's got his cat here.
Whittington and his cat. Well, I've seen lots of cats out at nights,
but this is the first time I ever heard of one being taken up for a
vagrant."
"Don't hurt her, please," feebly pleaded Jack, who was now recovering
his senses.
"Don't you be frightened! Who wants to hurt her? But I say, Bond,
you'll make a great figure in the report to-morrow. Officer Bond
arrested a tortoise-shell kitten on a charge of vagrancy. The kitten
was accompanied by a small boy—how do you feel now, Jack?"
"Better," said Jack faintly, but he could not raise his head without
turning giddy.
Mr. Bond and his companion exchanged glances.
"Have you had any supper, Jack?"
"No, sir."
"Nor dinner either, perhaps?"
"No, nor breakfast either," said Jack, exerting himself to speak. "I
haven't had anything to eat since yesterday noon, when a lady gave me
some bread and butter."
"You just hand me that pan behind you, Foster. My wife put me up some
soup for my supper, and it will be just the thing for him." He set the
pan on the fire, and proceeded to break some sticks into it. "But why
didn't you go in somewhere, and ask for something to eat? Almost any
one would have given you a dinner."
"I didn't want to beg if I could help it," said Jack rather shortly. "I
have had enough of that way of living."
"That's a good principle, too," said Mr. Bond, taking his cookery from
the fire and tasting it. "Now see if you can sit up and eat something."
"May I feed the kitten?" asked Jack, after he had taken a couple of
mouthfuls of the savoury soup. "I expect she is as hungry as I am."
"You eat your supper and I'll take care of the cat," said Mr. Foster,
taking down his own dish, and apparently greatly amused by the whole
affair—"Here, Puss, Puss!"
Tabby had been sadly frightened at first on finding herself in the
police office, a place which she had learned to connect with all manner
of harm, but she had by this time made up her mind that police officers
were very kind-hearted people, and worthy of confidence. She came forth
from her hiding-place under Jack's arm, and sat up on her hind legs to
beg, greatly to the amusement of the two men, who fed her with bread
and cold meat till she could eat no more. She then set seriously about
the task of washing herself, and having put her fur in as neat order
as she could, proceeded to make herself as agreeable as she knew how,
playing off for the entertainment of her hosts all the antics that her
mother and the children had taught her, till finally, wearied out by
her adventures, she crept up to the side of Jack, who was now snoring
on the sofa, and was soon fast asleep.
"O my dear mother!" was her last waking reflection. "What would you say
if you knew that your daughter was spending the night in the police
office?"
"Well, Jack, have you had your sleep out?" asked Mr. Bond, about
half-past six the next morning. "If you have, I think you had better
come home with me, and get some breakfast, and then we will see what is
to be done with you. Never mind your clothes," he added, seeing Jack
carefully surveying his torn and ragged garments. "We will find a way
to set that to rights before long."
"May I take the cat?" asked Jack, looking wistfully at Tabby, who
sat purring by the stove. "I don't like to leave her. When I saw her
crawling over the ice last night, trying to make her way to land, I
thought she was a good deal like myself, trying to make a living, and
when she made that last jump from the water and got safe to shore, I
felt encouraged, as though things would go right with me yet."
"Oh! Yes, bring her along," said Mr. Bond, who seemed all once to have
got something in the corner of his eye. "My children like nothing
better than a kitten. Children have got to play with something, and I
have a notion that it makes them tender-hearted to have animals about."
"Unless they abuse them," remarked Jack as he once more fastened Tabby
under his jacket. "Some young ones are so awful cruel to cats and dogs."
"Not mine!" said Mr. Bond emphatically. "I never would let any child
abuse an animal if I could help it. But my children are pretty good
children, though I say it."
Jack thought within himself that they had no excuse for being
otherwise, and intimated as much.
"Well, I don't know about that. There is a wonderful deal in bringing
up, no doubt, but there are many children who have good and kind
mothers and fathers, and yet turn out anything but well. We have had
young chaps brought to the office as drunk as beasts, whose parents are
some of the first as well as the best people in this town."
"They must be great fools," said Jack.
"That they are, and worse than fools. Some of them reform and make
pretty decent sort of men, after all, but the chances are very much
against it. A great many go to swift destruction, and even if they seem
to do well for a time, they easily fall into bad courses again. We hear
a good deal about young fellows sowing their wild oats. I have seen too
much of that kind of farming, and I can tell you, that folks that sow
wild oats have got to reap wild oats, and a bitter harvest it is too.
A reformed drunkard is never safe. The first temptation overcomes him,
and there are plenty of rascals who want no better fun."
"I know that," said Jack. "My father broke off drinking several times,
and was as steady as any one for two or three months. Then we did
pretty well, for he was an excellent workman, and could always have
plenty to do. But sooner or later his old cronies would get hold of
him, and coax or force him to drink, and the moment he tasted a drop,
he was gone. I think he might have done better, if things had been
different at home, but there was not much encouragement, when all he
earned was wasted, and worse. Many's the time I've wished there was not
a drop of spirits in the world."
"Many a one has wished that besides you," said Mr. Bond. "But here we
are at home in good time. I smell the coffee and fried pork even here."
Mr. Bond, as he spoke, stopped at the gate of a neat little white
house, with green blinds, and a garden in front, every inch of which
seemed to be under cultivation. Three or four little heads were visible
at the front windows, all of which disappeared on the instant, each one
trying to be first to tell mother that father had come, and a strange
boy with him. Mrs. Bond met them at the door, and the first glance at
her kind motherly face reassured poor Jack, who had had many misgivings
as to the reception he was likely to meet with. Mr. Bond spoke a few
words to her in a low tone, and then turning to Jack invited him to
enter.
"Yes, come in, boy, and get some breakfast," said Mrs. Bond heartily.
"You'd like to wash yourself first, I daresay—well, come in here,"
opening, as she spoke, the door of a small bedroom, already put in neat
order for the day. "I'll give you some hot water and soap directly.
Tom, get that suit of clothes I mended up the other day. I think they
will fit him."
Washed and combed, and dressed in a suit of old but neatly patched
clothes, Jack was a very different-looking boy from the forlorn vagrant
who had been brought to the police office the night before. The
consciousness of having found friends, and being treated with kindness,
had brought a light to his eye and a different expression to his mouth,
and Mr. Bond felt his first impression confirmed, that he was a very
good-looking boy.
"You see," he had just been saying to his wife, "I have had a good deal
of experience with these subjects, and I think I can tell pretty well
when a boy is telling the truth, and when he is not. Now, I took a
liking to this fellow from the first, and I did not think any the worse
of him for his kindness to the kitten. Come, Jack, if you are ready;
put the cat down for the present."
All the children were seated in the neat kitchen, where the breakfast
table was already set, each with a New Testament in his hand, and the
large family Bible was laid open on the table, ready for the father's
use.
"You can look on with Tom," said Mrs. Bond, pointing Jack to a seat
next a boy of about his own age. "Never mind," she added, seeing a
flush rise to Jack's face, and guessing at once that he could not read,
"you can listen to the rest."
Each of the children read a verse in turn from the Gospel of St.
Matthew, and their father finished the chapter. Then all together sang
a couple of verses from a hymn to a familiar tune, and all kneeled down
while Mr. Bond prayed, every little voice joining in the Lord's Prayer
at the last. It was the first time Jack had ever seen family worship,
though he had heard of such a thing; and when in the course of the
prayer he heard himself alluded to in terms that he could not mistake,
his eyes filled, and he had hard work to keep from sobbing aloud.
"Come now, Sarah Anne, let's have breakfast," said Mrs. Bond, in the
same cheerful tones, after prayers were over. "I am rather behind, for
I was over at Mrs. Cox's till about three o'clock, and I slept too long
this morning."
"What took you over to Mrs. Cox's?" asked Mr. Bond. "I thought you said
you would never go into the house again."
"Neither I would, to visit," said Mrs. Bond, busily turning her cakes,
"because the last time I was there she showed me plainly that she
didn't want me, and of course I wouldn't visit where it was considered
an intrusion. But one of her children was taken with the croup, and she
thought he was going to die directly. So she sent the girl over for me,
and of course, under such circumstances, I went."
"Taking the bottle of goose-grease?" interrupted her husband, laughing.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Bond, laughing in her turn. "That's my cure for
the croup, you know, and it answered a good purpose, for the boy was
relieved very soon. But she was so frightened, and so helpless, that I
did not like to leave her alone with him, till he seemed entirely out
of danger. You would be surprised to see how little presence of mind
she had. She did nothing but talk, and cry, and wring her hands, till I
was out of patience with her."
"I should not be surprised at all," replied Mr. Bond. "I should not
expect her to be good for much. She is too grand a talker for that.
But I am glad you were able to be of use to her. Now let us have our
breakfast, if it is ready."
There was much merry chat at the table between the children and their
parents, the uplifted finger of the mother serving as a check if any of
the little ones seemed likely to become too noisy.
Meantime, Tabby, seated near the fire, made her observations upon the
family, and compared them in her own mind with other groups of children
she had seen in her travels. They were all nicely but plainly dressed,
the girls in dark woollen or calico frocks, with white aprons, the
boys in coarse grey cloth, with here and there a patch on knee or
elbow. Mrs. Bond herself was as nice as any lady Tabby had ever seen,
in her dark calico frock, muslin cap, and plain white linen collar.
No slip-shod shoes, or stockings out at the heel, had a place in her
morning toilet; as she expressed it, she liked to be always fit to be
seen. Her table furniture was all cheap, but neat and well-matched, and
the brown cloth was without a stain.
Tabby thought of the Warringtons, where the beautiful French china and
shining silver of the breakfast table were surrounded by cross faces
and angry voices, and again of Mrs. Webster, with her cracked tea-cups
and battered tin-ware for her own family, and the fine china and glass
for company. And she decided that if she could not go home, she would
rather live here than in any family she had seen in her wanderings.
When breakfast was over, each child set about his or her several tasks,
with an alacrity and cheerfulness that showed they did not consider
work any hardship. The mother took up the baby, and dressed her by the
fire; Sarah Anne and Jenny put on their long checked pinafores, pinned
up their sleeves, and washed the dishes; Samuel cleaned the knives and
swept the front steps and side-walk, and Tom set himself about sawing
wood. A plate was set down for Tabby, who made a hearty breakfast, and
then began, after the custom of cats, to explore her new abode.
"Can't I help you to do that?" said Jack, going into the shed where Tom
was at work. "I know how to saw wood. Suppose you let me saw while you
split."
"You may do so," returned Tom, resigning the saw and taking up the axe.
"I should like to get it all done to-day if I can, for school begins
again to-morrow, and then I shall not have so much time."
"Do you go to school?" said Jack. "I wish 'I' did."
When two boys are at work together, it does not generally take them
very long to become acquainted. Before the wood was finished and piled
up, and the chips disposed of, they had learned all of each other's
history from first to last, and made their own reflections thereon.
Jack had made up his mind to be a good boy at any rate, and try to get
such an education as should enable him to make his way in the world;
while Tom secretly came to the conclusion that he had not valued his
advantages as highly as they deserved, and resolved that he would never
again complain of being kept in school all the term, and not allowed to
be in the street of an evening, which he had sometimes thought rather a
hard case.
Meantime, Mr. Bond had been holding a consultation with his wife,
as to what was to be done with Jack, in whom he felt more and more
interested, the more closely he observed him. Mrs. Bond thought it
rather a pity the boy should go to the House of Refuge, and believed
some place might be provided, where he could have a home and be out of
harm's way, without submitting to quite so severe a rule. Mr. Bond, on
his part, considered that Jack took the right view of the case.
"You have not seen so much of these street children as I have," he
remarked. "They get so much attached to their wandering way of life,
miserable as it seems, that it appears almost impossible to give it
up. This boy has probably many bad habits, which it will take some
time, and very likely some pains, to cure. He will be well off there
as far as food and clothes are concerned, and out of the way of bad
associates, and at the same time he will be learning what will be
useful to him afterwards."
"He seems inclined to work," said Mrs. Bond. "See how much he is
engaged about helping Tom with the wood."
"True; he works well, but you must remember that it is a new thing to
him, and hard labour will seem very different after the novelty is worn
off and it becomes an every day matter. You know it is much easier to
work for one day or two than for a month or a year."
"That's true," assented Mrs. Bond. She sat thinking a few moments,
while her fingers were busily engaged upon the shoe she was binding. "I
think if I were you, husband," she added after a little, "I would go
and consult Mr. Merriam. You know he has had a great deal of experience
in such matters, and he is one of the Governors of the House of Refuge.
I think he will be able to tell you what is the best course to take."
Mr. Bond thought this a very good idea, and acted upon it at once,
first exacting a promise from Jack, that he would not leave the
premises till his return. Jack gave the required pledge very readily,
for he felt in no hurry to leave a place where he had been so
kindly treated. Tabby, for her part, felt in a tremor of undefined
expectation. She had heard Mr. Bond say where he was going, and she
could not help hoping that it would in some way come to pass that she
should be returned to her home.
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
CONCLUSION.
WHEN Mr. Bond arrived at Mr. Merriam's, the family were at breakfast,
and he was invited into the dining-room. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Merriam
well, having often had business with them relating to street children,
for whom they were much interested, and Sarah Anne and the little girls
were in the same class in Sunday-school.
"Will you take a cup of coffee, Mr. Bond?" asked Mrs. Merriam kindly.
"This is a cold morning."
Mr. Bond thanked her, but declined upon the ground of having just risen
from the breakfast table, and then entered upon the subject of his
errand, to which the little girls listened with as much attention as
their parents, for they had been early accustomed to take an interest
in whatever concerned the welfare of poor people and their children,
and Ella and Marian had their own little girl, as they called her, a
little coloured orphan at the Home for the Friendless, for whom they
made clothes, and sometimes bought playthings.
"It is a singular case," said Mr. Merriam, as Mr. Bond concluded his
story. "I never met with one exactly like it in all my experience.
Certainly the boy's resolution shows a great deal of strength of
character."
"Especially as he knows what to expect," remarked Miss Fanny. "Mr. Bond
says he has talked with a boy who has been in the house, so that he
understands that it is a place of strict discipline and hard labour."
"That seems to be just what attracts him," replied Mr. Bond. "He says
very honestly that he is not a good boy, and that he knows he will be
likely to get into mischief if left without superintendence."
"What do you think of his appearance?" inquired Mrs. Merriam. "You are
pretty well accustomed to judge of such cases."
"I like his looks very well," replied Mr. Bond. "He looks one straight
in the face when he speaks, which is a very good sign, and he seems
ready enough to take hold of any work that comes along. I left him
helping my son to saw and split wood, and working very hard, though,
of course, there is no knowing how long it will last. One little thing
which happened last night gave me a good idea of his disposition—" And
he proceeded to relate the story of his saving the kitten, to which the
children listened with much interest.
"What sort of kitten was it?" asked Ella, as the account was concluded.
"Why, I am not learned about cats," replied Mr. Bond, smiling, "but I
believe I heard my little girls call it a tabby, or tortoise-shell."
Ella and Marian looked at each other, and Ella gave a little jump in
her chair, as she was apt to do under any excitement.
"O mamma! Perhaps it is our very own kitten."
"That is not very likely," said Mrs. Merriam. "Poor Tabby's troubles
are probably all at an end long before this time."
"But it might be, mamma—it is possible," argued Ella. "You know kittens
live through a great deal, and Tabby had so much spirit."
And the two little girls began to overwhelm Mr. Bond with inquiries
about the kitten's ears, feet, and tail,—questions which he could not
answer very minutely, being more accustomed to observe the outward
appearance of vagrants than of cats.
"But I will tell you what you can do," he said good-naturedly, seeing
how much the children were interested, "you can go down to my house,
and see the kitten, and if it turns out to be yours, you can bring it
home. I think that will be the best way to manage."
"May we, mamma?" asked both the children at once.
"You know you have the double-gown to finish for little Chloe," said
Mrs. Merriam. "You were going to take it to her to-day, and she really
needs it very much, for Mrs. S. tells me she is not able to sit up a
great deal now."
"But that will not take long, mamma, and we will sit right down to it
as soon as we have finished our work. Then we can carry it to her after
dinner, you know, and come home by the way of Mr. Bond's. It is only a
very little bit farther."
The kind mother consented to this arrangement, and Mr. Bond took his
leave, promising to bring Jack Fletcher to Mr. Merriam's office in the
course of the morning.
No sooner was breakfast over, and their daily task of sweeping and
dusting completed, than Ella and Marian sat down to finish the
double-gown. And though they were both reasonably good seamstresses for
their years, their little fingers never flew faster than now.
"Oh! If it should be our own precious darling kitten, how glad I should
be!" said Ella. "I wish we knew for certain, for you know in a city
like this there may be a great many tabby cats besides ours."
"We won't tell the old cat anything about it till we are sure," said
Marian considerately; "and then she won't be disappointed. I wonder if
she will be glad to see her again?"
"To be sure she will," returned Ella rather indignantly. "You don't
suppose she is going to forget her own kitten in a week, do you? How
glad I shall be to see them all together at play again! O you dear
little Tody! You don't know what a nice New Year's present you are
going to have perhaps—"
And Ella suspended her work for a moment to hug Tody who had just that
moment come in, and wondered what in the world his little mistress
could mean. However, he was used to her ways, and did not trouble
himself much about the matter. But as soon as he was released went to
chasing a spool into the corners, and pretending it was a rat, while
Ella worked with renewed diligence to make up for the moment she had
lost.
The garment was finished before dinner, and neatly folded into a bundle
with two pairs of warm stockings which Mrs. Merriam had found time to
knit, and sundry playthings old and new, all destined for the little
orphan.
The wind was cold, and drifted the snow in little clouds round the
corners of the streets and into the faces of the little girls as they
went on their errand, but they were warmly wrapped up, and their hearts
were too full of joyous and kindly thoughts to care if their noses
did smart a little. Merrily they proceeded on their way, laughing and
talking, and stopping occasionally to exchange a few words with a
companion or school-mate.
"Oh, there is Dora Warrington across the street," exclaimed Marian, as
they turned a corner, "let us go over and ask how Agnes is."
Dora was thin and pale, but she had a pleasanter expression than when
we last saw her, though she looked sad and subdued.
"She is better," she said in answer to Ella's inquiries about her
sister, "but we do not think her out of danger yet. She has some very
bad turns, and whenever she is out of her mind, she is always talking
about that kitten. I suppose you have not heard anything of her, have
you?"
"We don't know," replied Marian. "We have heard of a tortoise-shell
kitten that was found last night, and we are going now to see if it is
the same. Mother thinks Tabby must be dead by this time, but I cannot
help hoping we shall find her after all."
"I hope you will," said Dora. "I have always felt very sorry about it,
and so has Agnes, I know. I don't see what possessed her to do such a
spiteful thing, though, to be sure, I have been just as bad myself. I
hope we shall both be better girls after this: I am sure we have had
a lesson. But, girls, if you do find her, will you come round by our
house, and let us know? Agnes will be so relieved."
The girls promised to do so, and went on their way.
"How thin Dora is!" remarked Ella. "She looks as though she had been
sick herself."
"She stays with Agnes a great deal," said Marian, "and runs to wait on
her mother." She was silent a few moments, and then added abruptly,
"Ella, are you not glad that Mrs. Warrington is not our mother?"
"Yes, indeed," said Ella heartily. "I should not like her at all. She
is so idle. But, Marian," she added, correcting herself, "you know
mother does not like us to talk about the faults of older people."
"I should not object to having Miss Barbara for a sister," said Marian.
"I like her very much."
"Surely there will be greater harmony between Agnes and Dora after
this," remarked Ella. "Dora seems changed a good deal, and it must make
a difference in the family having Theresa there. How neat she is, and
she goes about so nicely with her little crutch. Mother says she never
saw any grown person more useful in a sickroom than Theresa was that
night they sat up with Agnes. She seemed to know just what was wanted
before it was asked for, and she was never in the way. I should like to
be just like her when I am as old."
"You would not like to be lame," said Marian.
"Of course not; I mean like her in disposition. And after all, she
does not seem to mind her lameness much. She is almost always in good
spirits."
Thus chatting, they beguiled the length of the road, and reached the
Home for the Friendless. They found little Chloe very glad to see them,
much delighted with the new clothes, and still more with a large linen
doll which the girls had covered and painted over, till it was as good
as new, or better.
Chloe had been found by some kind ladies in an alley in one of the
worst parts of the city, not seeming to belong to anybody, but handed
about from one to another among the wretched people who lived there,
sometimes getting something to eat, and sometimes not, as it happened,
often cold and hungry, and always miserable. They took her to the Home,
where she was washed and dressed, and tended as carefully as any lady's
child, but it was too late to save her. Her constitution was destroyed
by the hardships she had undergone, and all they could do for her was
to make the last hours of her short life as happy as possible. And very
happy poor Chloe was. She could not play much herself, but she liked to
watch the frolics of the other children, and as she never cried or was
cross, she was a pet and favourite with every one in the Institution.
Even Ella and Marian, inexperienced though they were, could see a great
alteration in their little friend's appearance since they had last
visited her, and it was with rather saddened hearts that they bade her
good-bye, thinking that they might very possibly never see her again.
They turned down the street which led to Mr. Bond's, and walked on
almost in silence, till they found themselves perplexed, not being
quite sure about the number of the house.
"This is a nice-looking place," said Ella as they passed a neat and
somewhat ornamented dwelling. "Perhaps the people will know where the
Bonds live. Let us ring and ask."
Mrs. Cox herself came to the door, and immediately recognised the
children, whom she had often seen in church with their parents. Ella
politely asked her if she could tell them where Mr. Bond lived.
"Mr. Bond!" repeated Mrs. Cox in surprise. "You don't mean Bond the
policeman, do you?"
"Yes, ma'am, he is a policeman. Does he live near here?"
"He lives in that white house just across the street," replied Mrs.
Cox. "Did your mother send you there?"
Ella felt the impertinence of the question, and coloured a little, but
she answered politely, "Yes, ma'am; we never go anywhere she does not
let us."
And before Mrs. Cox could frame another question, the little girls were
gone.
"Well, if that isn't curious," said Mrs. Cox to herself. "I should like
to know their mother's object in sending them to Mrs. Bond's. Something
about poor people, I daresay."
She stood and watched them as they crossed the street, and to her
amazement, she saw Sarah Anne run out to meet the sisters, kiss them,
and draw them into the house, with every sign of affectionate and
long-standing acquaintance.
"Well, if ever! I should like to see Sarah Bond kiss one of 'my'
children like that. It is all very well to be kind to poor people, but
I must say I think something is due to one's social position. I don't
believe in being so friendly with everybody, just because one happens
to go to church with them. I daresay it was all Mrs. Merriam's doings
that Mrs. Bond was made a society visitor. But I am determined to find
out what those children are after, some way or other." With which
praiseworthy resolution she turned into the house, finding it too cold
to stand at the door with the thermometer at zero, even when engaged in
the engrossing pursuit of watching her neighbours and their visitors.
Meantime, the children had been hospitably received and seated by
the fire, and their furs and overshoes taken off, lest, as Mrs. Bond
expressed it, they should not feel the benefit of them when they went
out.
A pale and poorly dressed girl was sitting in the corner, whom the
sisters did not recognise till Mrs. Bond said: "Don't you know Polly
Webster? I believe she is in your class at Sunday-school."
"Why, Polly," said Ella, at once getting up to kiss her, "how odd that
we should not know you! But we are used to seeing you with your bonnet
on. I suppose that must be the reason."
Poor Polly well knew what was the reason. She had never seen the
sisters except when she was "dressed up," as her mother called it,
in a silk or merino frock, and a handsome and expensive bonnet and
cloak, and now she was dressed in the same old and faded blue dress in
which she was first introduced to our readers, and which her mother
had thought good enough to run in to see Sarah Bond, as long as she
went the back way so that Mrs. Cox did not see her. She was too much
mortified to finish her visit, but soon slipped out, and went home more
annoyed and out of patience than ever.
The girls looked eagerly around the room, but no kitten was to be seen.
"Your father told us he had found a tortoise-shell kitten," said Ella
to Sarah, speaking as usual both for herself and her sister; "and as we
have lost one, mother said we might come and see if it was the same."
"To be sure," said Mrs. Bond. "I shouldn't wonder if it was. You go and
get her, Sarah. Our old cat quarrelled with her," she explained, as
Sarah went upstairs, "and so the girls shut her up in their room till
we found out about her, for Mr. Bond said you were coming down to see
her some time to-day. Be quick, Sarah!"
But Sarah had no need to hurry. Tabby had heard the well-known voices,
and was mewing and scratching at the door in an agony of impatience.
No sooner was it opened than she made almost one leap from the top of
the stairs to the bottom, and was in Ella's lap before Sarah could come
down again. No words could have more plainly expressed her joy than did
Tabby's movements. She went from one to the other, purring, rubbing her
head, and rolling over, and doing everything that a cat could do, to
express her delight at seeing them again.
"It is our very own dear little kitty," said Ella, examining her all
over, as if to make sure of the fact, and almost crying for joy. "O you
dear little naughty Tabby! How glad I am to see you again, and how glad
your mother will be!"
"She is just as much pleased to see you," remarked Mrs. Bond, enjoying
the delight of the little girls. "She is a real pretty kitten, and as
cunning as ever I saw one. I don't wonder you were sorry to lose her.
Do you want to carry her home yourselves, or shall I send Tom up with
her? I am sure he will go cheerfully."
Tom at once professed his willingness, but the little girls declared
they would not, upon any account, lose the pleasure of taking her home.
So Mrs. Bond provided a snug basket with a cover and handle, which they
could conveniently carry between them.
"But you must not go just yet," she said, as she saw them look round
for their capes. "Stay and rest a little." She went into the pantry as
she spoke, and presently returned with a plate of bread and butter, and
another containing a beautiful piece of white honeycomb. "You must eat
some bread and honey before you go," said she. "The honey is from our
own bees, and I am sure your walk has made you hungry."
The girls were in a great hurry to get home, but they thought it would
not be polite to refuse what Mrs. Bond had taken so much pains to
provide for them. So they sat down to the table, and found, as Mrs.
Bond had said, that the walk had given them an appetite. Tabby, who
kept close to her mistress, was also provided with a saucer of milk,
that she might not go away hungry. They had a very pleasant little
visit, and after inviting Sarah Anne to come and see them, and thanking
her for her care of the kitten, they took their leave.
Mrs. Cox, watching from her dining-room window, saw them issue from
the policeman's gate, bearing a covered basket between them, and now
and then stopping to peep through the chinks of the basket, as though
highly delighted with the contents. But with the nature of its contents
Mrs. Cox was destined never to become acquainted. Mrs. Webster, to whom
she looked for a solution of the mystery, was taken severely ill that
afternoon and continued so for several weeks, and by the time she was
well enough to talk, Mrs. Cox was so much occupied with her own and her
neighbour's house-cleaning and papering that the affair of the basket
passed out of her mind, and so it chanced that she never found out
after all what it was that took Mrs. Merriam's girls to Mrs. Bond's,
nor what they carried away with them.
Ella and Marian pursued their way merrily, only stopping as aforesaid,
to peep into the basket where Tabby lay snugly coiled up, perfectly
contented to be quiet in her warm quarters, as long as she was going
home to her mother and Tody. They did not forget their promise to stop
at Mrs. Warrington's, and inform Dora of their success.
"Dear little Tabby!" said Tessy, peeping into the basket, as Dora went
up stairs to tell her sister the good news. "How glad I am she is safe,
but how thin and forlorn she looks! I don't believe you will ever be so
foolish as to run away again, little kitty."
"I don't believe I shall," thought Tabby, "but dear me, I hope they
won't stay here long; I want to get home so, I don't know what to do. I
feel as if I should fly."
But Tabby could not fly, and her patience was destined to a little
longer trial, for Dora came down presently, to ask the girls to go up
and see Agnes. They found her lying in bed, her beautiful curling hair
all cut off close to her head, and so changed that they could hardly
think it was herself. She was too weak to say much, but kissed them
both, and whispered: "I am so glad she is found! You don't know how
sorry I have felt."
"Never mind, Aggy," said Marian, with tearful eyes. "It has all turned
out well, so you need think no more about it."
"I don't think Aggy wants to forget it, Marian," remarked Theresa. "Do
you, dear?"
Agnes shook her head, but she was not allowed to talk, so the girls
kissed her again, and taking their leave, soon arrived at home in
safety with their precious burden.
As soon as they came in sight, Miss Fanny, who was watching at the
parlour window, ran to let them in, knowing by their faces that they
had succeeded in their search. The old cat was lying before the parlour
fire with Tody, and she looked up in amazement to see Miss Fanny jump
up so quickly. But she jumped up ten times more quickly herself as Ella
lifted the cover, and Tabby, thin and dirty, but still her own loved
Tabby, jumped out of the basket, and threw herself into her mother's
paws, while Tody capered round them in such an ecstasy of delight that
he singed his tail in the grate without knowing it, and twice attempted
to jump over his own head!
"Well, Tabby," said her mother, after she had given an account of all
her adventures, "you have had some very narrow escapes, and seen many
curious things. I hope you have learned one lesson from your adventures
that you will never forget—that a kitten's own family friends are the
best friends she can have, and that if she is not happy at home, it is
almost always her own fault."
—————
I suppose my young readers will like to know what became of some of the
other personages of our story.
Agnes Warrington recovered after a very long and tedious confinement.
She never forgot the occasion of her illness, and the lessons which
it taught her influenced the whole of her after-life. It is not easy
to get over bad habits all at once, and she and Dora had a "tiff" now
and then as of old, but her long-continued feebleness prevented their
coming much into collision, till Dora's good principles were too firmly
rooted to be easily overthrown. And as it takes at least two to make a
quarrel, Agnes became gradually ashamed of being always in the wrong.
As Ella had prophesied, Theresa's influence had a good effect upon
the rest of the family. She did not go to boarding-school till her
cousin had entirely recovered, and by that time, she had become so much
endeared to her relatives that they knew not how to part with her,
and looked forward with pleasure to the time when she should have a
permanent home among them.
Mrs. Webster also recovered, but only after a very long and dangerous
illness, during which time her dear friend and counsellor, Mrs. Cox,
never came to see her but three times, and did not once offer to assist
in taking care of her. While Mrs. Bond and Mrs. Randall sat up with her
night after night, looked after the housekeeping, and kept the baby,
when its mother was so ill as to render its absence necessary. Under
such circumstances, Mrs. Webster could not fail to see who were her
true friends, and rose from her sick-bed at last a wise woman, having
learned the important lesson that we should give all our attention to
performing our duties at home and abroad to the best of our ability,
in which case our social position may safely be left to take care
of itself. Polly now goes as neatly dressed as Sarah Bond, and is
almost as happy, and Mr. Webster finds his home so much improved in
cheerfulness and comfort that he declares his doctor's bill to be the
best laid out money he ever spent.
Jack Fletcher went to the House of Refuge, but he did not remain there
long. He soon learned to read and write, and a farmer from the West,
struck with his intelligent and good-humoured face, and interested
in his story, took him out to Iowa to live. Jack now works on the
farm in summer, and goes to school in winter, and bids fair to be as
respectable a man as any in the United States. He corresponds with
Tom Bond, who means to be a farmer too some day, and he never forgets
to ask after Sarah Anne, who bids fair to be as smart and as good as
her mother before her, though her father thinks she will never be as
handsome.
And now, having disposed of all our principal personages, we will
conclude by wishing all our young friends a Merry Christmas! and a
happy New Year! and bid them farewell till next season.
[Illustration]
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