Chapter II: Part 2

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.

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.