Chapter IV: Foreword (3)

So she looked over by the window, the way her mamma said, and—oh! there was the loveliest dolly’s house you ever saw in all your born life. It had curtains to pull to the sides when you wanted to play, and pull in front when you didn’t. There was a bedroom, kitty-cat, and a dinner-room and a kitchen and a parlor, and they all had carpets on. And there was the sweetest dolly in the parlor, all dressed up in blue silk. Oh, dear! And a penano to play real little tunes on, and a rocking-chair and—O kitty-cat, I can’t begin to tell you half about it.

I can’t about the bedroom, either, nor the dinner-room. But the kitchen was the very bestest of all. There was a stove—a teenty, tonty mite of a one, kitty-cat—with dishes just ’zactly like mamma’s, only littler, of course, and frying-pans and everything; and spoons to stir with, and a rolling-pin and two little cutters-out, and the darlingest baker-sheet ever you saw!

The first thing that little girl did was to make some teenty mites of cookies, ’cause her mamma let her; and if you’ll come right downstairs, kitty-cat, I’ll give you one, ’cause I was that little girl, kitty-cat, all the time.

READY FOR BREAKFAST.

Miou, miou, miou!
I’m ready for breakfast now.
I want to be fed
On milk and bread,
Miou, miou, miou!

MISS TABBY CAT’S RECEPTION.

ELIZABETH L. GOULD.

The eldest Miss Tabbycat gave an “at home,”
With music and choice recitations
By Signor Angora, quite lately from Rome,
Who rendered the “Yowls of All Nations.”

The “Squalls Without Words,” sung by Fräulein von Manx,
Were greeted with murmurs of “charming!”
While her “Chanson de Alley” elicited thanks
So loud they were almost alarming.

There was, too, a sonata, composed by C. Waul,
Which was classic and claimed the attention
For fully an hour. The themes one and all,
Were models of feline invention.

This piece and the trio, “Beloved Young Mouse,”
Were voted the evening’s successes,
The latter was purred by three guests of the house
Who wore solid tortoise shell dresses.

The pleasant refreshments were freely dispensed
At twelve. There were crumbs of long standing,
And milk in all possible forms, save condensed,
Set forth on the cellar way landing.

Now, little Miss Velvetpaw, pattering home
In a shower beneath the umbrella
Of Signor Angora, quite lately from Rome,
Said, “Wasn’t it nice in that cellar?”

“And wasn’t Miss Tabby the dearest old thing?
And weren’t those split milkings just splendid?
And didn’t that Manx creature know how to sing?
Though she looked—well, least said, soonest mended!”

But Fräulein von Manx, treading homeward alone
With a large book of songs, said (’twas spiteful,
Of course), “She was ready to gnaw a dry bone,
And the damp in that cellar was frightful!”

And the eldest Miss Tabbycat sank on the stair
Where she’d stood and reflected with sorrow
On the mess that her party had made ev’rywhere
And the bills that would come on the morrow.

FIVE KITTY CATS.

[For the baby fingers—to be played with open fingers
first—closing each as designated.]

Five little kitty cats on the kitchen floor,
This one saw a rolling ball,
Then there were four.

Four little kitty cats sleepy as can be,
This one smelled a creepy mouse,
Then there were three.

Three little kitty cats wondering what they’ll do,
This one heard the milk boy’s bell,
Then there were two.

Two little kitty cats sleeping in the sun,
Baby wanted one to love,
Then there was one.

One little kitty cat left all alone,
Along came a barky dog,
Then there was none.

MY KITTENS.

OLIVE STEVENS BROWN.

Do you want to see my kittens?
I found them in the shed;
They squirm so I can’t hold ’em,
I’ll haul ’em on my sled.
I guess I’d better name ’em,
’Cause some might get away.
Who’d ever thought of kittens
All cuddled in that hay?

I’ll call this white one “Muffy,”
He looks just like a muff;
This little spotted, fat one,
I guess I’ll call him “Puff;”
This black one with the boots on,
He looks so smart and brisk,
I’ll put a collar on him,
And put around it “Frisk.”

These gray ones—guess they’ll puzzle me,
They’re just as live as pins.
I’ll tell you what I think, sir,
These kittens must be twins.
I guess I needn’t name them,
It wouldn’t hardly pay,
’Cause I wouldn’t know to-morrow
Which one was which to-day.

TWO PUSSY-CATS.

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.