Chapter XXXII: A Kittie Party 230 (5)

My other kitten was a Maltese, with white markings. When still very small he was promised to Miss Gracie Jones, one of our new neighbors on Elmwood Place, who came over every day after school and played with him. She named him Admiral Dewey. But Booker was the great favorite, and mistress would not promise him to anybody, although many asked for him.

Soon after we became settled in our new home, both my kittens were taken very ill. They seemed to be in great pain at times, and they would moan and cry out in their helplessness so that it was pitiful to see them. At last they became so weak that they were no longer able to walk from the basket to their box; but mistress bore with them very patiently, as did also Bettie. She would scald milk for them and when it had cooled, feed it to them from a spoon, with a napkin tied around their neck. With such excellent nursing the two invalids began gradually to improve, and Miss Gracie was overjoyed, thinking she would soon be able to take Dewey to her home. But all of a sudden her mother was taken very ill, and the Doctor said they must go to Denver to live for a long time. Then Miss Gracie had to give up Dewey because Denver, they say, is very far away.

For several days after Miss Gracie’s departure Dewey sat on the window-seat almost constantly looking for his friend; and when at last he despaired of her coming he refused to play or to eat, and thus he pined away, until one morning he did not rise at all. When Bettie went to his basket to see what was the trouble, Dewey lay there dead. He had died of a broken heart, I verily believe.

And right here let me relate a story that Guy read to his mother one evening about a little waif of a kitten that a boy found in the basement of his school building in the great city of San Francisco. He was a kind little lad, and anxious to help the kitty, so he took her up to his teacher.

When Guy had read that far he turned to his mother and said, “I know what my teacher would do, if I should bring a cat into the schoolroom; she would put the cat out and make me stay after school.”

“Well, read on,” said his mother, “and let’s see what this teacher did.” So Guy read the piece through, while I lay perched on his shoulder and listened. The story went on to say how the teacher took the kitty in and fixed her a comfortable place behind the stove; how for many days she carried her home for the night and brought her back in the morning; and how she was such a well behaved kitty and always stayed dutifully in her corner, during study hours. But at recess and after school kitty played at marbles with the boys, and caught spools and strings for the girls. By and by some of the children asked permission to take the kitty home, and the teacher allowed them to take her by turns as a reward for good conduct. One morning on the way to school, a saucy dog frightened the kitty, and she escaped from the arms of the boy that was carrying her. But he succeeded in getting her again, and after that somebody sent a fish-net shopping bag to that school for the kitty to be conveyed in. And now she has a different home and a new master or mistress every day; yet she is just as happy with one as another.

Now does not this refute the wicked slander that cats have no love for people, but only for themselves and for their comfortable homes? And is it not true that those who say this are usually the ones who never gave a cat any affection, and consequently don’t deserve any in return?

The loss of little Dewey was indeed a hard blow for Booker, but, fortunately, about that time he made the acquaintance of a new cat in the neighborhood named Molly Scott, a handsome tiger, and his remaining days at mistress’ house were really love’s young dream.

But even love’s young dream is of short duration, if a cat may be allowed to express an opinion on such a matter. One evening mistress wrapped up Booker and took him out in the Switzerland bag to visit a friend, and when she returned it was without him.

“They would not let me bring him back,” said mistress when Bettie inquired after Booker. “But I am sure he couldn’t find a happier home anywhere, for not only is every member of the family perfectly in love with him, but even the housekeeper begged me to let him stay, and promised to give him the kindest attention.”

After Booker’s departure, for more than a week his friend Molly came over every morning to look for him. She would meow first at the back door, then at the front door, and not receiving any response, would climb up on the different window ledges and call for her friend. But after a while she fell in with a new cat by the name of Goldie, and he, in time, came to fill Booker’s place in her affections.

A word about Goldie: One cold winter evening mistress brought home in a bag a yellow tiger cat, which I thought from his appearance must have come from the very slums of catdom. He was all bedraggled with mud, and his face resembled that of a sore-eyed poodle. But after a bath, oh, what a difference! Then it turned out that the stranger had a beautiful fluffy coat of sunshiny yellow and white, with brown stripes intermingled, and the name “Goldie” was thought none too nice for him. The very first neighbor that saw him was ready to adopt him, and this was Mrs. Gafney, the mother of our little friends George and Doris. And there Goldie is to-day, a delightful playmate, and an all-around household treasure.

I noticed during the first few days Goldie was with us that he would not allow any one to touch his tail, and would claw and scratch whoever attempted to touch it, even in a friendly way. Mistress tried her best to teach Goldie better manners by scratching him on the head and gradually going farther down his back. But just as soon as she got near his tail, Goldie would begin to eye her suspiciously, and indeed poor mistress’ hands were a network of scratches before she had gained Goldie’s confidence enough so that he no longer dug his fierce claws into her flesh.

I was very curious to know what caused Goldie to act so, and at the first opportunity I asked him the reason.

“Reason enough,” said he. “If you had had your tail pinched and twisted as mine has been by a cowardly sneak of a boy, you would be wary too. But I finally tired of such a life and started out in search of a better home.”

“And how were you so fortunate as to fall into the hands of our mistress?” said Budge, who had come to hear Goldie’s story.

“Fortunate, I should say it was fortunate,” said Goldie. “I will tell you all about it. After tramping from door to door for several days, and sleeping under barns and coal sheds, one evening I followed two ladies up to a beautiful house. But evidently they had not noticed me, for as soon as they entered, the door was shut, and I was left behind. I felt very badly, especially as I had learned from their conversation that they were friends of cats. As I sat there on the porch-rail wondering what next to do, I noticed that it was not a very great distance to a brilliantly lighted window, and being anxious to attract the attention of those ladies I made a bold leap and landed safely on the window-sill. There in that beautiful room sat four ladies, and a gentleman, and one of the ladies came at once to the window and begged the gentleman to open it. He did so, and I heard him say something about a ‘poor apology for a cat’ as he took me in and set me on a rug. Then one and another began talking about me in a way that was anything but complimentary, while the lady that had asked to let me in sat on the floor beside me, looking me over, and occasionally rubbing my nose and head.

“I felt that I had at last found a friend, and sure enough, when it was time to go home, she asked for a laundry bag to carry me in, saying she would give me a bath and prepare me for a home because I was a very nice cat. And that is how I was brought here that evening.”

Before Goldie went to live with George and Doris, he spent some very happy days with us. He was a fine mouser, and was always rummaging around the barn over in the corn-field. Of course he never succeeded in catching any mice for the simple reason that the barn is too close to our premises, and no mouse could exist there for a single day.

And now speaking of mice, let me say right here: never expect a poorly-fed, ill-treated cat to catch them, because such a cat in time loses her sense of smell so completely that she is unable to scent mice at all. But on the other hand, the better you treat her, the more she will do for you in return.

XXIX

TWO FAR JOURNEYS

I suppose you have wondered why I never mention Guy any more. Well, he has gone away off to Boston to attend school. I well remember when a new trunk was brought into the house, and mistress packed all of his things into it so carefully. When it was very nearly filled to the top, she tucked in a box of candy and four little pictures; one of herself, one of a darling little girl, one of a beautiful lady with a baby in her arms that had a white circle around his head, and one of a group of kittens all standing in a row. On top of the pictures and the candy she laid a new silk muffler, and a beautiful soft, fluffy bath-robe, and before she could put in any more she had to go down-stairs to see a caller.

I had been with mistress all the morning, watching the different things she put into the trunk, and I felt myself getting quite sleepy; so while she was down-stairs I crawled into the trunk to take my morning nap, and I found a very cozy little place between the folds of that beautiful robe.

I was just getting nicely settled, when I felt Budge crawling in from the other side. “Isn’t this fine,” said he, as his nose touched mine; and in less time than it takes to tell it, we were fast asleep in Guy’s new trunk.

This was very pleasant, but imagine my feelings when I was rudely awakened by being squeezed so hard that it is a wonder my body has not ever since been flat instead of round; and as for making an outcry, it was utterly impossible. But thanks to the kind Providence, in an instant I felt the pressure released. Just then I heard mistress say something about the trunk being too full, and before I got myself out of the folds of the robe, her kind hands were upon me. As she pulled me out of my hiding-place, she said, “For mercy sakes! cats! did you want to go to Boston, too?” Then without another word she quickly locked the trunk, for the expressman stood ready to take it away. So you see how near we came to going to Boston with Guy.

After Guy had gone, some of mistress’ friends advised her to break up housekeeping and to board.

“Just think how much cheaper it would be for you,” said Mrs. Cotton one day; “and with no housekeeping to bother with, how much more leisure time you would have.”

“I don’t know how I would employ my leisure more profitably,” said mistress, “than in maintaining the dear home on which my boy’s tenderest thoughts are centred, and around which cluster those sacred memories that form the very ground-work of a wholesome and rugged life. The very first letter he wrote me started out: ‘I am seated by my window as the sun is setting over my dear western home.’ Now, would he have such fond thoughts of his home, and would he be likely to connect it with the beautiful spectacle of the setting sun, were it reduced to a room in a boarding-house?”

“Again you have convinced me that your way of thinking is right,” said Mrs. Cotton.

And so now, although Guy is no longer with us, we are still in our dear home on Elmwood Place.

When the pleasant weather came again, mistress began to make ready, as usual, for her summer outing. Of course, we did not expect her to take us along this time, because we had heard that she was going way off to her “dear Switzerland,” as she always calls it; and judging from what they say, Switzerland must be even farther off than Denver. But we knew that Bettie would be at home with us, so we were content.

Just before mistress went on her long journey, a lovely young lady came to help her get ready, and the very first day they got to talking about us cats.

“You ought to get acquainted with Mrs. Bolton,” said Miss Cummings, “for she is just as great a friend of cats as you are and her home is a perfect haven for strays.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said mistress. “Do please tell me about her cats.”

“Yes,” said Miss Cummings, “Mrs. Bolton has fitted up a little shed at the rear of her house, which is filled up in cold weather with loose straw. Into this place stray or homeless cats and dogs crawl through a small opening and find shelter. Moreover they are fed and made to feel welcome. I have known her to have so many of these transient boarders there that it takes several pounds of meat a day to supply them; and as soon as they look sleek and plump Mrs. Bolton generally finds good homes for them.”

“What you say is encouraging,” said mistress, “because I am often criticised, and told that I would do better to lavish my attentions on some neglected child, than on cats. But children have a hundred friends where cats have none.”

“That’s just what I have heard Mrs. Bolton say,” replied Miss Cummings.

“And furthermore I have found,” said mistress, “that my interest in cats has increased my love for human beings, and indeed for all living creatures.”

But to return to the journey. When mistress went away to Switzerland three lovely young ladies came to live at our house, and Bettie kept house for them. Toddy was living with Mrs. Smith and Budge and I stayed at home. But if you should ask me how we spent the long summer, I should have to tell you that we passed a good share of it sitting on the front porch railing, where mistress had placed a shelf behind the vines for our accommodation. There we sat day after day, looking longingly up the street; each wanting to be the first to tell the others the happy news of mistress’ return. At last the robins had sung their good-bye songs, and the grasshoppers had taken their departure. The leaves were beginning to fall but we did not find any pleasure in chasing them, as we had other years. Our days were passed wearily and sadly, till one morning the joyful news came that mistress had arrived in New York. Oh! how it thrilled us with delight. Budge ran across the street to tell Toddy, and we all went to work to sleek ourselves up so as to look our very prettiest. I had at this time three little kittens just ten days old, and they had that very morning opened their eyes. They, too, had to come in for their share of grooming.

The next morning after breakfast a carriage drove up to the curb, and in it was our mistress. Toddy recognized her from way across the street, and came over mewing a hearty welcome. Budge gave vent to his feelings by means of the graceful curves and spirals of his tail, and as for me, I welcomed her with a succession of winks.

As soon as mistress had greeted us all, she inquired after my kittens just as if she knew all about them, and, of course, I showed them to her with great delight and pride.

“Poor, dear Meow,” said she, “you tried to have a pleasant surprise for my home-coming, didn’t you?”

I winked assent, and then she proceeded to name my babies. The dainty little gray with white breast, she called Lady Jane Grey; the tiger Patsy, and the black one Hiddigeigei, after a famous black cat that lived many years ago in a beautiful castle on the Rhine, and in a German book[3] you can read what an honorable and useful cat he was.

When mistress took a second look at Toddy she seemed visibly affected by the sad plight he was in, for he had been in failing health all summer. His once beautiful body was flabby and wasted, and the once bushy tail stringy, and almost bare. For several days Toddy received mistress’ most lavish attention; then all of a sudden he disappeared, and not one of us had any idea whither he had gone, till one evening Mrs. Smith came over and inquired for him.

“I took him to the hospital,” said mistress, “but it was too late to save him; and he has gone to the other side of Jordan.” Mrs. Smith said she was very sorry to miss him, but that, after all, she thought that was the best place for him.

So now, of course, although I don’t know where Jordan is, still I am satisfied it must be a very good place for cats, if Mrs. Smith and mistress think so; and perhaps I ought to have made the title of this chapter read “Three Far Journeys” instead of two.

About the time mistress returned from Switzerland a lady and a gentleman came to live across the street from us, and they brought with them a white cat. Of course, after the way Nellie had treated us we were in no great hurry to make the acquaintance of Snowdrop, as they called him; but we used to watch him from our shelf on the porch as he would have his ups and downs with Goldie, and we soon discovered that he was very much like the rest of us in his daily conduct. True, there were times when he would sit on his mistress’ sewing-table by the front chamber window, and groom and primp himself just like Nellie, and try to look pretty; but the very same day perhaps he would be rolling in the gutter as if he thought a dust bath the very best thing to improve his appearance. Then also he was a great fellow to explore the neighborhood, and after he had nosed around in every nook and corner on his own side of the street he came to our side one afternoon and went over into the corn-field. Budge and I followed him, and after the formal greetings common to cats, we lay down in a sunny corner and had an interchange of views.

“It seems to me you have a pretty lonesome time of it, alone all day,” said Snowdrop, sprawling himself out on the sun-warmed earth as he spoke.

We told him that we had become used to being alone during the day, and what a kind mistress we had, and how we regretted her long absence. Then he told us what a long journey he made with his mistress all the way from a great city called Chicago to his present home.

“Are Chicago cats all white like you?” said Budge.

“No, indeed,” replied Snowdrop, “my very best friend and constant companion in Chicago was a black cat named Topsy. She hadn’t a white hair on her whole body; and she was the mother of two kittens, one all black with white slippers, and the other all white with black tips on her ears and tail. And beside her I knew many other cats just like these around here. So you see that Chicago cats are no different from those in other cities.”

When I asked Snowdrop how he came to leave Chicago and make such a long journey, he said:

“You see it was this way. One day a fine gentleman came to our house, and then there was a great feast with flowers and music and many beautiful ladies. But my mistress was the most beautiful of them all, for she was dressed all in white. Topsy and I were there too, all decked out with beautiful ribbons. But right in the midst of it this young gentleman took my mistress and me away. I was put in a large covered basket; but I did not mind it, so long as my dear mistress was with me. I slept all night in a chair beside her bed, and in the morning early I was again put into my basket. The next time when it was opened I stepped out of it in my present beautiful home. If only Topsy was here, my happiness would be complete.”

I told Snowdrop to come over and visit us whenever he felt homesick for Topsy, and he thanked me very kindly. But just at that moment he heard his mistress’ call, and like an obedient cat, he arose and went home.

Budge and I promised ourselves many delightful times with Snowdrop; but, sad to relate, that was the last we ever saw of him. We never knew what had become of him till one day Goldie told us that he saw a man pull Snowdrop off the porch-rail in front of his house, and walk away with him.

Of course, his mistress was heart-broken when she discovered that her pet had disappeared; and when, after every effort to find him, she finally gave him up for lost, she came over and selected my little Patsy to take Snowdrop’s place as soon as he should be old enough. But I do hope that before that time comes, Patsy’s new mistress will put up a shelf for him on her porch, high enough like ours, so passers-by cannot reach him, and behind the vines, so he can see without being seen.

Now I have told you about four far journeys instead of two.

XXX

THE BURGLAR MAN

Not very long after mistress’ return one evening just after dark a big burglar man came into our house. I knew he was a burglar because he crawled in through the window, and he went into all the rooms. Budge was terribly afraid of him and hid himself under the ice-chest; but Toddy and I followed him up-stairs to see what he would do. First he pulled down all the shades, then lighted a little lamp which he carried, and opened the closets and drawers, and mistress’ trunk. He was just about to do up some of mistress’ most beautiful dresses into a bundle, when I heard the sound of three very loud whistles on the outside. At this the man instantly dropped everything and rushed down-stairs; and just as he was running out of the back door, Bettie came in at the side.

I did so wish I was big enough to grab him like Beautiful Joe did old Jenkins, and hold unto him till she could catch him. But being only a cat, of course, I could not do it. Still, if he had touched my kittens I believe I should have summoned up all the tiger within me in my efforts to defend them.

During the evening many of our neighbors came to the house to see what the burglar had done, and from what they said I guess there is no telling what he would have taken if the whistle hadn’t sounded just when it did. For all I know he might have taken my babies too. At any rate, I concluded to put them where he couldn’t find them, if he ever came again.

Among the neighbors that called that evening was the gentleman that had brought Snowdrop from Chicago. The moment he saw my basket he inquired for Patsy, and mistress took him out and handed him over to his future master.

“Feline stock is bound to rise,” said he, as he fondly petted Patsy; “it is becoming the fashion now to have real cats in schools and kindergartens, instead of mere pictures of them.”

“Yes,” said mistress, “the many-sided usefulness of the cat is gradually becoming recognized. I had a vivid picture of her future possibilities when on a visit to a hospital for insane, where I saw sullen and turbulent men and women subdued and softened by the winsome ways of a kitten; and the feelings that its presence seemed to awaken within them seemed to me to point out a new way to ‘minister to a mind diseased.’”

The gentleman finally put Patsy back into my basket and I felt quite relieved, for I had begun to fear from the way he praised and petted him that he was going to take him away.

That night I hunted for a good hiding-place and before morning I had my darlings all safely tucked away in the basement behind the kindling.

It was no small task to carry each one down the stairs, for they were now several weeks old; but you know a mother will endure almost any hardship for the sake of her babies.

The poor little things had their rest so broken, that when mistress and Bettie came down they were still sound asleep, and I went up-stairs to get my breakfast at the usual time.

As soon as mistress missed my kittens she and Bettie began hunting for them in every nook and corner, and they looked behind the kindling pile several times; but I had put them in a hollow space away back among the kindling where they could not be seen. After a long search they gave it up, hoping they would come to light by evening, and my poor babies lay all that day on the bare stone floor.

I soon discovered that I had made a mistake, for before night their eyes were all watery, and they were sneezing a regular concert, so that when mistress returned in the evening it did not take her long to find them.

She brought them up-stairs and wrapped them in a flannel cloth. Then she fixed our basket with a nice warm blanket, and set it in a sheltered corner behind the cook-stove, and there she installed my babies in their new quarters. For many days every morning and evening she would take a basin of warm water, and with a soft cloth wash out their eyes; for the discharge would make such a thick coating as to close them up completely in a few hours. As the kittens were too small to be fed medicine with a spoon, mistress had to devise some new way of giving it to them. She dipped their paws repeatedly into a mixture called catnip tea, and, of course, they would lick it off.

But even with this ingenious invention it was some weeks before my kittens recovered from the ill effects of that unhappy day on the basement floor. I was very sorry to have caused my dear mistress so much trouble, and my poor babies so much suffering, but I did it to keep the horrid burglar man from finding them.

A few days after the burglar man had visited us, a handsome water spaniel came to the house and begged for admittance, and mistress very gladly took him in. I think the kind Providence sent him to protect us, for from that time we have never been bothered with burglars.

The dog was named Dennis, because he was the very image of our old-time friend on Poplar Avenue. He and I became good friends at once, but Budge resented his presence so bitterly that for many weeks they could not be allowed in the same room; and it was only by very slow degrees, as Budge saw that Dennis would not molest him, that he came to tolerate him.

When my little kittens had become old enough to run about outdoors, Dennis was very helpful. He would lie near the curb in front of the house, and if one ventured out from the side of the house, he would promptly drive him into the back yard. He was also fond of tantalizing us at meal-time, when his meat was thrown out on the grass for him. He would stand off, pretending he did not care for it, and just as quick as one of us would attempt to go and take it, he would come with a bound and a growl, and snatch it away from us, then drop it a little further off, and repeat the operation.

Dennis was in the habit of absenting himself from us every week for a day or two. Once he was absent several days, and upon his return wore a beautiful collar, which, however, was missing when he returned from his next trip. I suppose some folks thought they had found a nice dog, and presented him with a collar; but finding him so inconstant, they deprived him of it the next time he came around.

I must not forget to tell you of the very practical and effective way that mistress has of teaching kittens to know and respond to their names. As you probably know, she always gives a kitten a name as soon as it is born. Then, whenever she picks up one, she keeps repeating its name over and over as she pets it. She also occasionally takes one away from the rest, up to her room or into the library, and there, whether engaged in reading or writing, she looks up every little while and talks to it, always calling it by name.

And right here let me tell you, a cat with a respectable name feels a sense of dignity and self-respect that is impossible to one only known by the general name of “kitty.” Moreover, it gives him a chance to exercise promptness and obedience, qualities which are sure to endear an animal to his master, because, when he hears his name called, he can get right up and run, knowing that it means him and not some other cat.

By the way, Bettie has left us, but it was for her good that she went, and, of course, we would not be so selfish as to be sorry about it, although we miss her sorely. Ever since Bettie came, mistress gave her lessons almost every evening, and Bettie studied very industriously every spare minute. Now she has gone to work in an office and is living in a boarding-house.

“You are very foolish when you have a good housekeeper, to put such high-faluting notions into her head,” said Mrs. Cotton, upon hearing where Bettie had gone. “You might have had her for years, if you had just left her alone.”

“That’s true,” said mistress. “But the pleasure of helping one who is striving to better her condition fully repays for a little inconvenience.”

“You had her a year,” said Mrs. Cotton, “so you did better than most people do, after all. These girls are always on the move.”

“It’s because most people look upon them as a mere convenience,” said mistress, “instead of as fellow-beings with longings for happiness and advancement like ourselves. Let housewives set before their help a higher ideal and they will set in motion within them forces which will root out the ever-present longing for shifting about from place to place.”

Mrs. Cotton acted as if she did not quite agree with what mistress said. She looked at her watch and said it was time for her to go; but before leaving she came over to the bookcase where I had been sitting and gave me a few gentle strokes.

XXXI

A FRIEND IN NEED

Just before Bettie went away, mistress brought home one evening two little tiger kittens with white breasts and faces, but very thin and haggard looking, and so distrustful. I heard her tell Mrs. Wallace that she had brought them home to try and find homes for them.

“But I couldn’t recommend these kittens to anybody before I knew something of their habits,” said mistress, “for if they turned out to be troublesome it would hurt the reputation of our own kittens, and so that is why I brought them home.” Mistress named them Billee and Taffy, and started at once to put them through the usual course of training to fit them for nice homes.

Taffy was a very quiet little fellow, but Billee was quite sociable. On the day after his arrival I had occasion to do him a little favor, and in expressing his thanks to me he grew quite talkative, and told me something of his former life. Said he: “I was born in a stable that stood in the rear of some stores, and we never had a mistress like you have. Our master was very kind to his horse Jessie, and he seemed to enjoy having us cats around after we got old enough to play. But the old stable was so infested with fleas, we never had a moment’s peace; and my poor mother became thin and gaunt trying to keep herself and us looking respectable. That bath last night, I dreaded it at first; but when I saw those fleas floating around in the suds I thought I ought to be able to stand it for their sakes. If my mother could have a bath like that and a brushing, and then lie down peacefully on our clean soft pad, it would be bliss unheard of to her. But she will never leave that dirty old stable so long as she and Jessie can share it together, and indeed I don’t think she could have a more devoted friend; for many a cold night did we sleep in Jessie’s stall cuddled close up to her warm, sleek body. Near our stable was a big hotel where our mother got daily many choice bits of meat and fish, and this is how she made her living and raised her kittens; and I tell you it was pretty hard work for her to carry enough food for so many hungry little mouths.”

“How many were there of you?” said I.

“Six,” said Billee, “beside our dear mother, who always gave us the best she had of everything.”

On the very same evening that mistress brought the little kittens home, curiously enough we had another new arrival, a Maltese cat with white markings. She came up the sidewalk in front of our house crying as if in great distress. Mistress invited her into the house to have some supper, but it was evident that hunger was not the cause of her crying, for she did not touch a morsel of food. When mistress examined her more closely, she found to her horror that the poor thing’s breasts were greatly swollen, and that evidently, some one had robbed her of her kittens. Then mistress picked up the two little new kittens, and laid them on the pad by the old cat; and instantly the little things began to nurse her, and were soon purring a happy song of thankfulness. The “stepmother,” as mistress called the strange cat, washed each kitten in true mother fashion, and for several days enjoyed real mother bliss.

All this was very nice for the “stepmother,” but it proved disastrous to the kittens, for both took sick and died. After that mistress rubbed the old cat’s breasts daily with spirits of camphor, and in a few days she seemed to be all right.

I asked the “stepmother” one day how she came to leave home at such a critical time, and she unburdened to me a tale of cruelty and abuse that is almost beyond belief. She said that there being no other place provided, her kittens were born in the laundry basket, and that on the next morning when they were discovered, the lady ruthlessly dumped them out on the bare stone floor and ordered her son to come and drown them. “So my poor babies were dropped into a bucket of cold water right before my eyes,” said she, “and I was powerless to save them.”

“Pray, who are these people,” said I, “that treated you in this manner?”

“Their name is Morton,” said she, “and Will was the one that did the deed; but he is not to blame. I remember years ago when he was a most tender-hearted little fellow, and full of sympathy toward the suffering. I shall never forget one bitter cold day when a kitten followed him home from school and he carried it into the house and begged to be allowed to keep it. His mother let it remain till Will’s bedtime arrived, when she compelled him to put it outdoors, where it cried bitterly for hours; and the next morning it was found on the doorstep, frozen to death. And now that same mother wonders why her son is so hard-hearted and brutal toward her.”

“I’ve heard of the Mortons before,” said I, “and I don’t blame you for leaving them. But you are in good hands now--don’t fear.”

So the “stepmother” remained with us a few days longer, and then she was taken by mistress to a beautiful home, where they wanted a cat to live in the stable with the coachman.

One cold day last winter, there strayed into our basement two strange cats, both tigers, but very unlike each other. One was sleek looking, full-grown with beautiful, large eyes, and very confiding in manner. The other was a shy, timid, shrinking little creature, afraid of everybody, and yet hunger evidently had driven her to seek help at our door. Her coat was so rough and dirty, it was difficult to tell what its real color was, and one eye was completely gone from its socket. She was indeed a pitiable sight, and I dare say very few people would have allowed her to enter their door. Mistress prepared her a plate of salmon, and the moment she smelled the odor, she began to dance around as if she could hardly wait till it was ready. When at last the plate was handed down to her she stepped into it with both paws, and ate as greedily as any dog I ever saw. Mistress let her have the dish all to herself, and fed the rest of us from a different plate.

As soon as the poor creature’s hunger was appeased, without stopping to wash, she went into a dark corner behind the cook-stove and lay down to rest. While she thus lay there, mistress said to Bettie, “It seems to me the kindest thing we can do to this poor creature is to gently put her to sleep and end her troubles.”

“I think so, too,” said Bettie; “no one would care to have such an unsightly animal around the house. She will never be anything but a hapless vagabond, to whom death would be a blessing.”

But after all the little stranger was allowed to spend a few days of real happiness, and when one morning we missed her, we knew that she had gone to her long resting-place and was saved from further sorrow.

As to the big cat, mistress said she felt sure that she must be somebody’s pet, and she told Bettie not to let her out under any circumstances.

Several days afterward Budge told me that during the first night of the big cat’s stay with us she confided to him that her reason for leaving her home was the fact that a new housekeeper who had lately come, had just made her life unendurable; and that in utter despair she had wandered away not knowing whither to go.

The very next day after the stranger arrived she became the mother of five kittens. I dread to think what would have become of the poor thing and her helpless babies on that cold winter night, if mistress hadn’t allowed her to stay. But no doubt the kind Providence directed her safely to our door.

A day or two after the little kittens came, there was a notice in the newspaper: “Lost, strayed or stolen, a full-grown tiger cat. Leave at ‘The Elms’ and get reward.” When mistress saw it she sent word to “The Elms” and they sent the coachman, who identified the cat and took her and her kittens home, wrapped up in a Buffalo robe and tucked in a laundry basket which he had brought in the coupé. The people at “The Elms” were so grateful to mistress for sheltering their pet that they sent her a basket of beautiful flowers.

Of course, it is not to be expected that every lady will turn her house into an asylum for stray cats; but I have often heard mistress say, and so I believe it is true, that many parents would have less cause to mourn over selfishness and ingratitude in their children if they would set a more generous and unselfish example before them in their own treatment of dumb and helpless creatures.

XXXII

A KITTIE PARTY

When my kittens were of the proper age mistress proposed they should have a chance to see all their little friends, so we sent out invitations like this:

“Meow will give a coming-out party on Saturday next from two till
six, to her kittens Hiddigeigei, Lady Jane Grey and Patsy, assisted
by Booker T. Washington, Mollie Scott, Budge and Goldie.”

The happy day came at last, sunshiny and bright, as if it had been made expressly for our party, and at the appointed hour came also our little guests. There were Marjory, Winifred, George and Doris, and my new friends Frances, Arline, Earl, Lillian and Burt. These, with Booker, Goldie, Budge, myself and the kittens, made just sixteen in all.

Mollie Scott was also invited, but she did not come. After it was all over she called and excused herself, saying she had never attended a party, and didn’t know just how it would be; but that she had spent most of the afternoon on the back fence, taking note of what was going on, and that she thought another time she would venture to try it. Said I, “The way to learn to do a thing is to do it, and you have probably missed the chance of your life.”

At this Mollie gave me a very solemn look, and as she turned to go I heard her mutter something to herself about “no use crying over spilled milk.”

But to return to the party. Each of us big cats wore a wide ribbon sash with a big bow tied at the back, but the little kittens wore narrow ribbons tied around their necks. Goldie wore white, Booker crimson, Budge blue, and I orange; and the kittens wore blue except Hiddigeigei who wore pink. Our basket, handsomely decorated with fresh ribbon, was placed in a sheltered corner of the library, and let me assure you that we cats looked every bit as festive and gay as did our guests.

For a while the children wanted to do nothing else but play with the kittens, and I was only sorry that I did not have enough to go around. I never saw children handle kittens so carefully; no mauling, no squeezing; they just laid them on their breasts or on their laps, and stroked their backs and scratched their heads and chins, as if they all knew just how kittens like to be treated. I half suspect that mistress took them aside and showed them how.

The kittens enjoyed the party much more than we older ones. Budge--poor, timid, bashful Budge--he never did like a crowd. When he saw such a troop of children come in, he made for the basement, where he remained in hiding behind the laundry stove till mistress brought him up and put him on top of the high bookcase; and there he seemed to feel secure, for none of the children could reach him. Booker and Goldie spent most of the afternoon in hiding under the couch.

When my kittens had been played with long enough, I went into my basket, and mistress understood just what I meant by it.

“Children,” said she, “you see the kittens’ mother thinks her babies have had enough play for the present, and she has gone to her basket to invite them to come to her to have some dinner and to take a nap. Now set all the kittens down on the floor and see what they will do.”

When my kittens were set free I began crooning to them, and oh, how it pleased the children to see the little things stand still a second, prick up their ears, and then run as one man in the direction of the sound that a tired kitten loves so well to hear.

In less time than it takes to tell it, the three were gathered at my breast and in another minute they were purring contentedly, and Booker, dear thoughtful child, stood guard in front of the basket.

Then some of the children sang beautiful songs about kittens and birds, and Miss Wallace accompanied them on the piano. I liked Lillian’s song best of all; I will tell you the words of it:

“A homeless little kitten
Came to my door one day,
‘I’m cold and starved, please let me in!’
Its sad cries seemed to say.
I took it up and shut the door
Upon the bitter storm,
And put the little shiv’ring thing
Before the fire to warm.

“I gave it milk to drink, and smoothed
Its pretty, soft gray fur.
‘Poor Pussy, stay with me,’ I said.
It answered with a purr.
And ever since that winter day
I have so happy been;
I gained a merry playmate when
I let my pussy in.”

When this song was finished they started a game of Puss in the Corner, and they were just in the midst of it when the great Swiss cow-bell rang, inviting the guests to luncheon. Then the children were formed into line with mistress and Burt at the head, and off they marched toward the dining-room to the tune of “The Stars and Stripes Forever.”

Several ladies assisted mistress with serving. The table was decorated with daffodils, and indeed daffodils were conspicuous all over the house. At each plate stood a little red basket filled with candy to take home.

When my kittens were all fast asleep I too went to the dining-room, and those happy faces were indeed a lovely sight. The children were just having their ice cream and cake, and one of the ladies was playing a soft, sweet air on the piano.

“This table-cloth is cleaner than ours,” said a voice as I entered, and at this the ladies all smiled at each other.

“This is starshine candy,” said Marjory.

“No, it’s moonshine drops,” said Arline.

The fact is, it was sunshine chips, as I heard mistress tell Bettie when the groceries came.

“How old is your little brother?” said Lillian to Doris.

“He is three months and six years,” said Doris.

“My little brother came on the 4th of July,” said Frances. “Papa bought him instead of fireworks.”

The ladies smiled some more.

“Our little brother is only two days old,” said Lillian.

“I bet if my papa had known about it, he would have bought him before your papa got him,” said Winifred.

At this the ladies all smiled again.

When luncheon was over, Frances engaged the attention of both old and young by her skill as a climber and slider, and it seems to me that twelve successful slides down the balustrade ought to have been enough for her, but, no, she wanted more, and in the thirteenth slide--biff, bang--down she went. But fortunately she landed on the couch, so that she escaped with only a bruise on her knee, which mistress quickly covered with court-plaster. But in descending, one of her heels struck Earl in the stomach and knocked him against the wall, so that he got a big bump on the back of his head.

Poor Earl tried hard not to cry, but the tears just oozed out in spite of him. Mistress sent word to Mrs. Wallace, his grandmamma, and in a few minutes she appeared with a remedy, and attended to the sore place in such an efficient way as only grandmammas know how.

Booker turned the queerest somersaults, sideways, frontward and backward trying to get his sash off, and Goldie and he engaged in several pugilistic encounters to the great delight and amusement of the children.

Finally I thought I’d show them what I could do, so I jumped on the piano and played a tune for them. At this Budge took courage. He jumped off the bookcase where he had been stowed away, and joined me on the piano and we played a duet, the like of which has never been heard on land or sea.

While we were still playing, a gentleman came with a big square box which he opened up and set upon a very high three-legged stool. Then he had mistress sit in front of it and the children all around her. The curtains were drawn, and the room was darkened, when, whiz--something blew up and made an awful flash, and everybody said “ah,” except poor little Burt; he said, “ouch,” and began to cry. Some of the stuff from the “flash” had blown toward him and burned his hand so that it became very red and blistered. Mrs. Gafney rushed across to her house to get some soothing oil that was said to be the best thing in the world for burns, and Burt’s hand was bandaged up.

It began to look by this time as though the whole party would have to be sent home in an ambulance; but the arrival of Don told us that it was getting close unto six o’clock, for he had come to take Winifred home; and in a few minutes all the children, quite unwillingly, began to make ready for their departure.

As they bade us good-bye, they all said that they had had a very nice time, and mistress pinned on the breast of each child one of those beautiful daffodils; and so ended our party.

Here endeth also my story.

May the dear, kind Providence bless and keep you all.

LITTLE MAID SERIES

As the title suggests, this series is especially adapted to young
girls of from six to twelve years of age. They are pure stories told
in a simple, attractive manner that cannot fail to become popular
with mothers as well as their children.

_DIMPLE DALLAS_

_Or the further fortunes of “A Sweet Little Maid.”_ BY AMY E.
BLANCHARD, _Author of “A Dear Little Girl,” “Thy Friend Dorothy,”
etc., etc. 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated._ $1.00.

A charming addition to the “Little Maid Series,” and a book that every little maid will love. As the tale implies, it is a sequel to “A Sweet Little Maid,” and we again meet dainty Dimple and funny little Bubbles, with Florence, Rock, and all the other friends. Some new friends are introduced, too, who do not prove nearly so agreeable as our old acquaintances; in fact, Cousin Ellen makes Dimple’s home so unpleasant for her that she at last runs away, and many a strange experience she must pass through before she reaches home again.

_A DEAR LITTLE GIRL_

BY AMY E. BLANCHARD, _Author of “Taking a Stand,” “Thy Friend
Dorothy,” etc. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth._ $1.00.

This is a pretty, wholesome child’s story, one of the sort that commends itself to children’s sympathies and will be conned again and again. The author is Amy E. Blanchard, who has written several other acceptable juveniles. No mother need hesitate ever putting this or any other of Miss Blanchard’s stories into her little daughter’s hands.--_Detroit Free Press._

Amy E. Blanchard is the author of quite a number of pure-toned stories for girls, and her latest book is “A Dear Little Girl,” who won the love of everybody through the expression of a character at once simple and innocent.--_Philadelphia Call._