{"collection":"folklore-oral-tradition","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45044/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45044","id":"gutenberg_45044","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45044","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Short Stories","Cats -- Folklore"],"text":"Transcriber's Note:\n\n  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have\n  been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.\n\n  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT SMALL CAT AND OTHERS\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration: JIMINY CHRISTMAS: HIS FIRST APPEARANCE\n\n   He Was Probably a Graceless Vagabond, Born in the Gutter, With no\n   Pretensions to Breeding or Even Good Looks]\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT SMALL\nCAT AND OTHERS\n_Seven Tales_\n\nBY MAY E. SOUTHWORTH\n\nILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS AND\nDECORATED BY PEDRO J. LEMOS\n\n\nPAUL ELDER AND COMPANY\nPUBLISHERS SAN FRANCISCO\n\n\n\n\n_Copyright, 1914_\nPAUL ELDER AND COMPANY\nSAN FRANCISCO\n\n\n\n\nIN LOVING\nMEMORY OF THURSDAY\nMY OWN\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nEveryone knows that there are all kinds of people; also there are all\nkinds of cats, worthy and unworthy. No two are exactly alike, and by\nthose who do not class them in a bunch, but study them as individuals,\nthey are found to have decided characteristics all their own, ever\npresenting strange surprises in a mixture of the unexpected higher\nqualities of civilization and the evils of lowest barbarism. The appeal\nof the kitten is almost universal, as there are few men, women or\nchildren, even those who \"shudder\" at a real cat, who can resist the\nsubtle charm of these fuzzy lumps of playfulness. But cats, the alley\ncat, your cat, my cat, anybody's cat, all cats are in need of some\nbrave champion, someone who will endeavor to portray their better side\nand be able to so increase for them the appreciation of mankind that\nthey will come to what is only rightfully their own. Whatever your\nfaith or practice may be touching cats, you are bound to admit that\nthey must surely have some kind of mission here on earth. The trend of\nmodern beneficence shows the day of even the cat is on the way, the day\nwhen they shall be better understood, making the world kinder to them\nin recognizing that these often sadly abused little creatures, have\nthe feelings common to flesh and blood and are times without number,\nactuated by human thoughts and impulses. Recent years have done much in\nthe way of atonement for persistent error in regard to their nature,\nby thrusting upon them a balance long their due in the form of many\nhappy literary tributes, proving, in spite of much withering scorn,\nthat environment has much more to do with their lack of worth than has\noriginal sin.\n\nThe lowly state of the average cat, just tolerated for its usefulness\nas a natural rat executioner, is unworthy of its better capabilities,\nand to the heart of a lover of the species, a cruelty. It is\ncompanionship which counts the most with cats, and when, instead of\nbeing a comfortable family institution as was intended, their nature\nbeing of the warmest and most sociable kind, they are mercilessly\nrelegated to the cold cellar or outhouse to battle for life and\nsustenance, they are more miserable than anyone can imagine who does\nnot know how a cat longs for home life and company. If left in this\nway to struggle for a meager existence, without a word of kindness, and\nchased for their very lives if they presume, in their lonely longing,\nto timidly enter the family refinement, is it a wonder that under\nthese conditions, these dwellers in solitude develop only the worse and\nuglier traits in their disposition?\n\nAlthough cats are brimful of human whims and moods and are also very\nhuman in their devotion to home, order and cleanliness, they are\ndecidedly slow in attaching themselves to humans and not quick to give\nthem their friendship. Unlike a dog, they maintain a rather haughty\nindependence in the matter of reciprocity, and after they have decided\nthat you are worthy of the honor of their confidence, and they have\ngiven it, it can only be retained by constant entreaty and on the\nstrictest terms of obligation, never forced. To know something of\nthe queer brain and really glowing heart beneath the mystery of their\ngraceful furry coats, a heart which they guard almost fiercely against\nmere \"curious\" intimacy, it is necessary to make an effort; but as\nevery cat lover knows, they will surely repay such effort in lavish\nresponse. And above all, in trying to get acquainted with cats, show\nthem the compliment of companionship which they truly and cordially\nappreciate, for they, too, are in various ways \"also human\" and their\nreadiness to respond to intimacy of this kind is a most gratifying\nsurprise to the skeptical.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n     The cat tails spring up in the hollow\n     But where can their late owners be?\n     The tale of their tails does not follow\n     When cat tails spring up in the hollow.\n     But the stream many secrets must swallow\n     So it may be their ghosts that we see.\n     So when cat tails spring up in the hollow\n     We surmise where their owners may be.\n\n         _Thomas Grant Springer_\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE TALES IN THIS BOOK\n\n\n                                                                  PAGE\n\n  THE GREAT SMALL CAT                                                3\n\n  The tale of the black \"stray,\" whose mother-love and home-love\n  steeled her to repeatedly brave the waters of the dark,\n  swift-flowing river, and how this \"bunch hard to beat\" overcame\n  the cold heart of the \"widow lady\" of the ranch.\n\n  THURSDAY                                                          27\n\n  The orphan foundling, fed from a spoon; her coquettish tyranny\n  over her friend and playmate, a magnificent Irish setter; and\n  the story of her tragic end when answering the home-call.\n\n  A MINE, A MINER, AND A CAT                                        43\n\n  The story of the loyal comradeship of the miner and the cat,\n  and of how Puss proved to be the cleverer prospector of the two\n  and discovered the bonanza mine.\n\n  A\u00cfDA AND SAADI                                                    61\n\n  Twin blue-blooded aristocrats, whose temperamental pranks and\n  mischievous adventures caused startling surprises and frequent\n  shocks; their marauding, murderous transgressions and how they\n  were finally cured.\n\n  MAROONED                                                          77\n\n  The story of the intense hatred of the shanghaied cat; his\n  dignified aloofness; his \"tabasco temper\" over the pranks of\n  the sailors; and his final survival of the wreck, from which,\n  after braving the ocean waves, he reached the shore and gained\n  his freedom amid the mystery of the wild.\n\n  MAIDA                                                            99\n\n  The strange but true story of the Maltese mother-cat who\n  adopted a brood of white rats, and the record of her\n  disciplinary methods in raising and controlling her alien\n  foster-children.\n\n  A MEMORY                                                         109\n\n  The tale of Jiminy Christmas, a tramp cat, whose wild and\n  vagabond nature caused him to yield, intermittently, to the\n  call of the open, and to leave, unceremoniously, his protected\n  home of plenty and comfort; his last pathetic return.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PICTURES IN THIS BOOK\n\n\n  JIMINY CHRISTMAS: HIS FIRST APPEARANCE                   Frontispiece\n\n  He was probably a graceless vagabond, born in the\n  gutter, with no pretensions to breeding or even good\n  looks.\n\n                                                           FACING PAGE\n\n  THE GREAT SMALL CAT                                                8\n\n  Although the small stray was minus all signs of\n  pedigree, she held her head high and was accorded the\n  respect and good treatment due a lady.\n\n  THURSDAY                                                          34\n\n  As she never attained the full stature of an ordinary\n  cat, she always looked but half-grown, but was the very\n  perfection of dainty symmetry, her coat a solid black,\n  almost blue in its depths.\n\n  THE CAT                                                           52\n\n  Handsome, shining and saucy, the kitten had grown into\n  the most splendid bigness of his race: all muscle and\n  nerve, unusually broad of chest and looking as if bred\n  to the mountain fastness and able to endure all sorts of\n  pioneer hardships.\n\n  A\u00cfDA AND SAADI                                                   72\n\n  \"Oh, lady! You do not suspect us of having seen any of\n  your birds this morning?\"\n\n  MAROONED                                                         84\n\n  Neither disappointment nor ugly temper had broken his\n  fierce sense of injury or his indomitable spirit.\n\n  MAIDA                                                           102\n\n  In long-suffering patience Maida would stretch herself\n  in a streak of sunshine and survey the riotously\n  incorrigible mites, indulging in their favorite pastime\n  of playing tag all over her body.\n\n  JIMINY CHRISTMAS, THE FREE SPIRIT                               120\n\n  Born free, he kept his own wanton will free from\n  enslavement to the end, living his own life in honor and\n  honesty in an out-doors all his own.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE GREAT SMALL CAT\n\n\nOnce upon a time, a while ago, during pleasant hours spent in the \"land\nof big cows and small horses,\" I met one of the most modest of black\nmother cats, but one with such a pathetic experience in her life as\nto make her stand alone, not as a cat, but as _the_ cat. At any rate,\nthe story as told by the young ranchman is absolutely true and surely\nworth the telling, if only to prove that cats are singularly human in\ntheir love for their offspring, and are all mother in sacrifice and\nthoughtful care, giving life itself if necessary in unselfish devotion.\n\nThe cat was small, bright-eyed and clean but apparently of the most\ncommonplace and ordinary variety, and not distinguished by any special\nattractiveness as to species. Still, on hearing the \"story of her life\"\nas related by this man, one of her most faithful benefactors, of how\nshe cheated fate and battled with fear and death, conquering every\nnatural antipathy, it made one feel that it was an event to meet her.\nTo encounter such a plain unassuming little creature who had given\npositive proof of harboring in her small head the brain of a diplomat\nand of being so surprisingly shrewd, and so gloriously fearless,\nwas an incident of such stirring revelation as to make it of marked\nconsequence.\n\nIn telling the story, the cattleman said it was partly owing to the\naccident of the little mother-cat's being black in color that she was\nhere on the ranch in a little corner that she felt was home and that\nmeant happiness to her. There may be in some out-of-the-way corners\nof the world, people who still believe in magic and folk-lore and\nwith them the fair fame of black cats ever suffers from that benighted\nsuperstition of ancient times, that they are creatures of witches and\ndevils. But the more modern belief makes double reparation for this\nuncanny ignorance by giving them the reputation of not only always\nbringing good luck in their wake, but lovers as well.\n\nLarry was squatting upon his heels, his broad back leaning carelessly\nagainst the \"bunk house,\" while he gazed reminiscently down over his\npipe at the modest bunch of black fur neatly snuggled in the dust\nat his side, all four paws tucked out of sight, when, in Western\ncameraderie, I coaxed from him the story I had wondered so much about\nand longed to hear in detail. As he began to tell me about it in\nthe lazy, good-natured, provincial dialect of the plains, one hand\nstrayed caressingly to the head of the \"little pard\" and lingered there\nlovingly while he talked and smoked.\n\n\"Oh, she's just a small stray that loped in on our range, but y'u can\nbet ye'r life she's a winner all right and a bunch hard to beat. She's\n'just cat,' but there ain't nothing nowhere purtier, and y'u couldn't\ngo out in a whole round-up of felines and rope a gentler one, though\nshe's grit clear through to the backbone.\"\n\nThe \"bunch hard to beat\" looked up into her friend's face with bright,\ninquiring eyes, understanding the love and approval in his glance\nif not the great distinction conferred upon her of being the bright,\nparticular star in the story he was relating.\n\n\"Well, y'u see, it's this-a-way,\" explained Larry, in his pleasant\ndrawl, removing his briar and stiffening his muscles: \"Cats is\nmighty useful things. What would the blamed country be without them\nanyway?--an' it's no way reasonable that we could run _this_ ranch\nwithout this little peacherino. She's just a soft pretty thing, but\nshe's sure got spunk enough for a wild bull. Lordy me! we're just plumb\nfoolish over her, and she don't step on nobody's bunions no more, y'u\nbet! She ain't that sort. She's so modest and quiet it beats all how\ngood it makes y'u feel just to have her round; a sort of spiritual\nuplift and missionary 'home sweet home' broke gentle to the gang.\"\n\nEvidently these men, really manly men, some of them as brown and\nwrinkled as an old leather shoe, were the little cat's sincere\nadmirers. As I listened to the story, I stole her from the ranchman's\nhand and gathered her, almost reverently, in my lap, more then as a\ntestimony to the big-heartedness and sterling human qualities of the\nWestern cattlemen, than as the distinguished heroine of the narrative.\n\nIt seems that at the noon hour, about the middle of one April, while\nthe men were idly loitering on the shady side of the adobe, waiting\nfor the hour to strike which called them to work again, a dusty,\nfuzzy little black streak scooted in from the direction of the road\nand dropped all in a heap, breathless and exhausted, at their feet.\nThe \"d\u00e9boo\" of this miserable little stranger had been unannounced\nand the suddenness of this rather dramatic entrance upon the scene of\nthe unexpected, though tiny d\u00e9butante, caused quite a flutter among\nthe men, and pipes and cigarettes were hastily laid aside in order\nthat they might look over at close range this \"feeble short horn.\"\nThe bedraggled little \"black streak\" proved on examination to be the\nthinnest, most woebegone, footsore, starved and wholly exhausted black\nkitten ever seen, whose tired legs had been able to carry her just\nthis far--not a step farther could she have gone. She was indeed a\npitiful creature, half-dead with fear and fatigue, and in looks so\npainfully appealing that she waked compassion in even the stoniest\nheart. Evidently she had traveled far, without food or rest, as she\nwas completely done for. Why she came, or from where, nobody could\ntell, but probably chased and hunted until absolutely worn out, she\nhad in her extremity ventured into this refuge of humans, taking her\nchances. To the everlasting honor of these rough ranch hands, their\ntough bachelor hearts were touched by this helpless, sick-looking\nlittle mite of a kitten, and they decided that she was to stay and be\nmade comfortable. Feeling half-ashamed of their compassionate impulse\nand in order to hide even from one another any unmanly sentiment in the\nmatter, one said:\n\n\"H'its powerful good luck to have a black cat hit the camp! I like\nthe color, boys, and have a hunch it'll bring us great; let's rope and\nbrand her for our diggins.\"\n\nSo the \"good luck\" was not scatted off, but was introduced to the ranch\nand seemed very grateful for their soft-hearted hospitality. When she\nhad lapped some good warm milk into her vacant stomach she gained\nsufficient strength to express her satisfaction with what had been\n\"handed out to her,\" and showed a most beautiful willingness to stay by\nit.\n\nThe \"hostess\" of this ranch was a large, wide \"widow woman,\" in\neloquent vernacular \"grass,\" one of those very capable, hard-working\nindividuals whose precarious temper even when all went well with her,\nwas never to be imposed upon. Her brisk, ponderous tread was a power,\nreal and felt, and not to be trifled with for a moment in any mood. The\nboys realized that she would be \"plumb discouraging\" to any scheme for\nthe adoption of this tiny waif, and knew the utter futility of trying\nto pull her heartstrings in any kind of sympathy for \"only a cat.\" So\nthey turned all their energies into the most guilty, barefaced personal\ncoaxing and cajolery in order to get any kind of concession in her\ndepartment for this additional feeder. As they expected, she was about\nas responsive as a Chinese Joss and as hard as a stone to any possible\nallurements the kitten might develop as a home-maker, and the very most\nthey could gain from the \"old grouch\" was a grudging consent to just\n\"let her stay round till some other place can be found for her.\"\n\n\"And her face wasn't a mite smiling or even friendly as she said it.\"\nSo the poor little kitten, being only on sufferance, accepted such\ncrusts of charity as came her way, and was mighty grateful; for she was\nvery hungry, very weary, and good food had long been a strange thing in\nher small stomach. It was plain the kitten had never known anything of\nhome or a fireside and was simply of the humble garden variety of cat.\nYet she was not an outcast or a tramp by nature, for she proved very\nquick to fall into ways which contributed to the cosiness of the cabin\nkitchen, even with the scant encouragement she received. The feminine\neternal heart-throb of home-making was certainly there in her breast,\nfor just like \"other folks\" she took her allotted place in the corner\nback of the big stove and was singularly human in the snug enjoyment of\nthe comfort of it.\n\n  [Illustration: THE GREAT SMALL CAT\n\n   Although the Small Stray Was Minus All Signs of Pedigree, She Held\n   Her Head High and Was Accorded the Respect and Good Treatment Due a\n   Lady]\n\nIn the cattle country the one momentary lull in affairs is when the\nday's work is over and night has settled down over the lonesome miles\nof ranch and the men are all gathered in a circle round the open fire.\nIn this good-fellowship under the big stars one night, they fell to\ndiscussing their little black prot\u00e9g\u00e9e, and the permission they had to\nonly \"let her stay round.\" As they were almost maternally solicitous\nthat she should have a permanent home with them, they decided that as\nher sponsors they were in a way responsible and had better get busy at\nonce and attend to her serious education, laying out the details of her\nconduct on a straight and narrow path of duty.\n\nLarry was the one selected to \"break her gentle,\" and at his very first\nopportunity was requested to \"do the decent\" and to start her off with\na strictly private and business tip, speaking for the whole outfit. In\nrecalling this incident in the game, Larry's big laugh rang out until\nhe wiped the tears away with a corner of the gay bandanna knotted about\nhis neck.\n\n\"I took this tenderfoot aside,\" he said, \"and gave it to her personally\nand straight, y'u bet. Come here, pard, says I, I've got to give it\nto y'u private and special. We want y'u to camp in this yere diggins\nfor always, but, if y'u get a chance to stay, y'u've got to conduct\nyereself decorus. This yere is a bachelor round-up with one skirt\nthat's the big boss of the whole outfit. What she says goes and y'u\nwant to get that into yere system from the start-off. We want to give\ny'u a square deal with no superfluous language, but She's the cinch and\ny'll get what's coming to y'u, all right, if y'u don't go cautious.\"\n\nThe recounter said that the very grave and polite way the kitten\ntook this \"rounding-up spiritually\" was killing, solemnly looking\nhim straight in the eye with painful concentration, her little nose\nin nervous crinkles. Larry confessed that the big effort this small\nvagrant made \"to get the drift\" of what he was trying to impress on\nher mind, made him feel like a huge brute. Anyway, by some trick of\nhis slow, delicious drawl, the timely warning \"sunk in\" and found a\nresponsive chord in her consciousness. In some way she fathomed his\nfriendly intention and understood, at least, the magic timbre of his\nsoothing voice which flashed back entire confidence and drew to him\na friend, one who was infinitely shy, but one who would trust him\nabsolutely while life lasted.\n\nThese paternal young cowmen, having delivered their souls of this\nreligious act of discipline, \"pulled the stake\" and let her go free. By\nthe time the days of kittenhood had passed the \"stray\" had grown plump\nand her coat glossy, and although minus all signs of pedigree, she held\nher head high and had acquired a certain modest dignity, sufficient\nto deceive a layman and to insure the respect and good treatment due\na lady. Evidently she had been careful to mind the warning and was\nconducting herself \"decorus.\" In return for their hospitality she\nattended to her part of the ranch business by keeping the cabin and\npantry strictly clear of all rats and mice. Occasionally she gave chase\nto the wild things good for cats, and at milking time, if she happened\nto \"hang round,\" the men were sure to give her a fine dessert of warm\nmilk. As the days and weeks went happily by for her, she unobtrusively\narranged her life to suit the pleasant place she had fallen into,\ngaining an honest living by her skill, with a few luxuries thrown in\nat unexpected intervals by the men, who would forget her for days at\na time, owing to her modest way of keeping in the background. If on\nsome lean and hungry days, when hunting had not been so successful,\nshe would sometimes wistfully sniff, with eager, yearning stomach and\nlonging, though decently distant eyes, the bountiful, savory mess of\nthe kitchen, or venture to rub too coaxingly near the bustling form\njuggling the pots and pans with energetic vehemence, she was soon made\nto understand that she had overstepped the bounds of her tolerance,\nin trespassing on the particular domain of one who just endured her\nunwelcome presence. Being feminine and an unusually sensible and\npeaceable cat, she soon developed a surprising acuteness in diplomacy\nand in warding off unnecessary trouble. After various mortifying\nexperiences she found it best to be \"only handy\" at such times as the\nfeasts were in progress, creeping most cautiously in, a-tiptoe on her\nsoft noiseless pads, just to be there in case any tidbits _should_ come\nher way.\n\nAll might have been well, and life a long holiday, leading her in\npleasant ways to the end, had she not erred, and so innocently and\nblindly erred. Of course it was scandalous, if natural, and not to be\ntolerated for one moment by the already much overburdened landlady. The\ndownfall came as a terribly stiff jolt to poor kitty, for her heart had\nswelled with guiltless pride over her sin and its achievement.\n\nOne sad Sunday morning she was discovered in her cosy corner, a very\npicture of innocent content over the beautiful surprise she had created\nfor the family. There she lay with her eyes half-closed, softly beaming\nin rapture on six very small, newly born infants at her breasts. As\nshe was \"discovered\" she looked up in her delirium of happiness with\na hesitating, half-apologetic sort of smile, as one longing for,\nyet meeting, no response. Her anxiety was so exactly human that no\none could mistake her meaning or her little weak smile of hesitating\nconciliation. But it froze in a flash when with frightened dismay she\nheard the hustling housewife's loud and angry denunciation of \"the\nmarch that hussy had stolen on us,\" and the sentence of \"immediate\ndeath\" or \"transportation\" pronounced on \"her and her brood,\" in\nstentorian and not-to-be-trifled-with tones.\n\nThese square men with square jaws were \"all in a heap\" over the\nsize and caliber of the shock their pet had handed out to them. The\nsmoldering spark of guardianship that had been fanned to a warm,\ncomfortable flame in their breasts was not so easily extinguished,\nbut they realized that all pleading and diplomacy with the outraged\nAuthority would be in vain this time. No pet on the ranch had ever,\nin an unobtrusive way, gained so firm a hold on their stout hearts and\n\"their pile of hope was busted well\" by this rude interruption to the\ntremendous bid they had made on the bad-tempered woman's favor. Not\nonly did they hate to part with this shy, little, inoffensive prot\u00e9g\u00e9e,\nbut that she had failed to \"make good\" in the eyes of the one whom, in\ntheir fiercest rage they dared not oppose, and so had lost her home,\nwas a sickening disappointment. As they braced themselves for the worst\nand stood there smiling indulgently down on the cat so snug in her bed,\nthere was a long and rather anxious pause during which they all seemed\ntongue-tied, until at last one said in playful disgust:\n\n\"Humph! y'u've been plumb busy to-day, hav'n't y'u, old girl, and this\ntime, like all females, handing out trouble for yereself with both\nhands.\"\n\nThey were both disgusted and \"plenty sorrowful\" over the terrible fiat,\nbut it was a case, on their part, of \"have to,\" and a bad case, too.\nNot that they were afraid, but they were \"hobbled,\" all right, as well\nas \"bridle wise,\" and frankly confessed that when it came to women,\nthey _were_ \"a mite timid.\" But since there was a choice of evils,\nin sorrowfully bending to the inevitable they, of course, decided\non \"transportation.\" In indignation they considered places, finally\ndetermining to take the offending family across the river, far, far,\naway where they would never more be able to trespass on so reluctant\na hospitality as the ranch cabin afforded. In wide-eyed wonderment and\nfeverish anxiety, the crestfallen young mother followed every movement\nin the preparations that were being made for her journey. She, of\ncourse, could not understand, but watched with vastly puzzled eyes\nall this strange confusion about her bed, feeling that she was surely\nin some way responsible for this unusual excitement. In nervous haste\nshe passionately licked the wee babies with tender, mothering tongue,\nand with soft caressing murmurs as if assuring _them_ of safety and\nwas about to do it all over again with utmost care in hopes of being\nable to disperse the gloom they had evidently created when she and the\nkits were lifted gently into a covered basket which the men had been\ncarefully preparing for the conveyance. They knew of a place, \"the\nfurtherest ever,\" a real home ranch where the house-mother would be\nreally glad of this family. It was far enough away so that the exile\ncould never return, and besides, what made it an absolutely safe asylum\nin the judgment of these men was that it was across a deep flowing\nriver, which meant that there could be no \"stampede\" back. Even for\nthe most homesick of kitties and one who \"sure had spunk,\" it would be\nmadness to attempt to return across _that_.\n\nThese big men, big physically and big in tenderness and sympathy,\nusually \"took the bit in their mouths and got whatever they went\nfor,\" and with pretty smart directness, too. But they were shy, their\nnerve forsaking them entirely, when it came to tackling a woman on\nher own stamping ground, and that woman the very capable provider of\ntheir \"three square per.\" Why she had taken this obstinate caprice and\nunreasonable dislike they did not try to conjecture. It was beyond male\nunderstanding and they lovingly alluded to her as the \"one and original\nChinese puzzle.\" They said \"women is queer\" with that long-suffering\ntolerance which the male human accords the vagaries of the female.\n\nThe rangeman is nothing if he lacks that one remarkably comfortable\ntrait of adaptability, and so, although they were not \"stuck on the\njob\" of removing the cat, they were forced by virtue of their very\nlarge necessity not to get into a \"mix-up,\" by reason of the woman's\ncrabbed temper and strange antagonism.\n\nSo two volunteer martyrs, boiling, seething volcanoes inside, shamedly\nand reluctantly took up the basket, holding it as gingerly as if it\nwere a case of eggs instead of a case of a mother and her harvest of\nshame, and dismally started for the ferry. After crossing the river\nthey \"pulled their freight\" on the trail a mile farther back inland,\nwhich led upwards into a wide broad meadow and to the home of a\nfriendly ranch-boss. The buxom wife welcomed their unexpected arrival\nand the \"family\" with open arms, telling them that she had long been\nwanting a younger breed of cats to take the place of \"old Tom,\" now\ngetting lazy and \"no 'count,\" and that she felt flattered that these\nfaithful friends had selected this ranch as the home for their pet. The\nmen fixed a nice warm bed in the sanctuary of a vacant manger in one of\nthe corrals, counted out the infants and found them all O. K., and then\ntried to coax the cat to nestle down and mother them. But she would\nnot, merely crouching over them instead, in an anxious sort of way\nwith her ears perked inquiringly forward, in an attitude of miserable\nbewilderment.\n\nThe outcome of her \"happy surprise\" had been a crushing blow, but one\nwhich would wake within her such a marvelous spirit of determination\nand endurance as to render her distinguished among cats. The second\n\"happy surprise\" she was to unfold for their entertainment was one\nlittle anticipated and one that would take the breath from even these\nhardened men.\n\nAs they turned finally to leave her she gave a long agonized mew that\nwas so like a human call of utter desolation, and which caused such\nqueer fluttering thumps in the men's hearts, that they went back to\nconsole her, if possible, and to tuck the babies all in again, with the\ncaution to lie still and be good.\n\n\"Now look here, Cat, y'u don't want to take it to heart like this!\nY'u've been treated low down and it's a darned shame, but there's no\nuse getting all fussed up over it. Y'u can bank on yere pards making\nthings pretty mean and sassy for that 'old porkypine.' She's sure in\nfer sorrow! The rats and mice will do things, something scandalous,\nin that old pantry of hern. Now, go by-low, and take good care of the\nbabies till we come again.\"\n\nWaving her a sorrowful \"ta-ta\" with their hands, they at last left her,\nto return by way of the ferry, singing as they went, in their mellow\ncowboy cadence, an old Scotch folk-lore song which they thought quite\nappropriate to the occasion and soothing to the mother:\n\n     There was an old cat, and a black cat, too,\n     That had so many children, she didn't know what to do.\n     To save them from fighting and scratching and bawling,\n     She pinned them all up by the ears when out calling.\n\nLittle they suspected that the echo of the thrilling tenderness in\ntheir voices as they chanted this low refrain, growing fainter and\nfainter as they disappeared down the hill, was stirring an impulse\nin her thumping heart, which when mature, would work out into so wise\nand cunning a scheme as to render their deliberate, well-planned human\nprecautions as naught.\n\nDown deep beneath the apparently indifferent nature of every animal\nquivers an intense human love of home that glows with a steady flame\nas long as life lasts. It is God's own gift to the animals and in the\nheart of this little exile it was a passion that had grown into an\nintense determination for that one bit of earth from which she had been\ntorn, and the only place in all the world that seemed good to her. This\ndivine longing for her old quarters was a vibrant thrill, thumping,\nthumping continually, like a trip-hammer in her homesick breast, and\nalready daring the best and bravest in her nature to dangers appalling\nto a much bigger and bolder beastie. There was no outcry and no appeal\nfor help in the desolate hours she must have spent in meditating on\nthe venturesome risk of this dumb challenge, but deep down in that\nundiscovered country of the cat's outraged loyalty, there must have\nbeen something powerfully impelling to have given her the daring to\nundertake so desperate and venturesome a deed.\n\nIn the velvet dusk of a night, not long afterward, a solitary figure,\nlean, black, and small, might have been seen, trotting at a steady pace\nwith a purposeful air that surely meant business, carefully picking\nher way among the weeds and undergrowth and making straight for the\ncottonwoods and willows that grew along the bank of the river. The\ndetermined form was steady of nerve, carrying her head high, and in her\nmouth a limp, nerveless black bundle of fur. When she reached the brink\nof the swift-flowing, trackless water, there was a quivering pause, as\nif she were perhaps weighing the chances of life and death; but only\nfor an instant, for immediately there was a _plunk_ and she sank right\ndown into the whirl of the dreadful blackness and then--silence.\n\nHolding her burden high in her mouth, safe and dry, she soon dragged\nher wet and heavy body up the bank on the opposite shore, and obeying\nthe sure instinct of her useful little nose set her face right for the\nold place in the kitchen cabin which was the cherished spot of her\ndetermined desire. She placed this smallest and least pretty of her\nbrood in the old nest that had been so rudely despoiled, but without\nwaiting to comfort or even to warm the wee mite, turned her face\nresolutely toward the return journey. There was no time to stop, as ten\ntimes more she must fight the good fight and battle with the cold and\ndanger of the awful and tedious transit.\n\nThe gray dawn was just breaking by the time the intrepid little\nmother, utterly exhausted, lay beside her six babies in her old homey\nbed, a mute reproach to the caprice or hasty anger that had made this\ncruel test necessary. The six sources of all her trouble were tugging\nhungrily at her breasts, looking as innocent and harmless as downy\npuffs, having already been licked and groomed into tidiness by their\nforgiving mother.\n\nThe housekeeper's gasp of astonishment changed into a cry of disbelief\nwhen she came into the cabin and found the family so snugly settled\nin their old quarters. Surely \"the boys\" had deceived her in regard\nto having taken the cat across the river, or how could this marvel be?\nThe round, fixed and troubled eyes of the cat looked questioningly and\nbravely up into her enemy's startled face while her fate hung in the\nbalance, with a courage that feared but did not flinch, and there could\nbe no mistaking their half-defiant plea this time. It would, indeed,\nhave been a heart of steel not to have been moved by the pity of it,\nas the frail bit of motherhood looked from the coldly inquiring eyes\nbending above her, to the collection at her breasts, with a tenderness\nand pride that would have shamed a human mother. Evidently the milk\nof human kindness had not all dried up in the rough woman's motherly\nbreast in rubbing all these years against the sharp edges of Western\nranch life and she was at last touched in a vulnerable spot, for the\nflush of anger faded from her irate face, and the hand so threateningly\nraised fell in a half-gentle pat on the small mother so bravely\nawaiting her decision.\n\nAfterward when the full significance of what she had seen there had\nfiltered to her understanding and she knew the story of the cat's\nvaliant struggle with death and the marvelous feat of her perilous\njourney just to \"be home\" and with those she had \"loved and lost a\nwhile,\" herself among the rest, her face softened and the first real\nsmile she had shown for years beamed on her face, chasing the old\nhardened lines to the jumping-off point. Even the hearts of these big\nbluff cowmen quailed in contemplating the Spartan nerve this helpless\nyoung mother had shown in making that piteous journey, back and forth\nin the lonely silence of the black night, mindful of each and every\none of those precious babies. This was just a plain, common everyday\ncat, but one with an extraordinary calm determination and a stout heart\noverflowing with two sacred and human attributes, mother-love and\nhome-love. She had paid the price, fearlessly and pluckily, to ease\nthese human aches in her breast, a price the agony of which perhaps\nwe have no way of measuring, but one from which we know she would have\nshrunk in horror under ordinary circumstances.\n\nThis small animal of no pretensions whatever, manoeuvered and fought\nher successful battle alone, daring even to challenge a bitter enemy,\nand gained not only the home that she had insisted upon keeping,\nbut in the end, by a strange caprice of fortune, the far greater and\nunexpected compensation of finding a warm soft spot in a heart supposed\nto be invulnerable.\n\nIt was not necessary, when the men came in to breakfast, for each to\ndeny any conspiracy in the cat's home-coming. Wet, weary and cold, the\ncat told her own story. That their astonishment was genuine, no one\ncould doubt, for they were struck dumb as they stared blankly at the\n\"monster,\" though their beaming faces could not hide the cheery welcome\nthey gave her in spite of being unable to utter it. They were evidently\n\"plumb locoed\" for even the boldest and most reckless of them, knowing\nwhat the mother must have been through, could not look unmoved on this\nmiracle of miracles--not one kitling missing of the many, and each one\nmeaning a trip across the dark, swirling current. Emitting sonorous\nand somewhat profane ejaculations, but decidedly to the point, they\n\"sort'a\" laughed and shrugged their shoulders, evidently unable to find\nany language polite enough to express their sentiments on the subject\nand perhaps it dimly occurred to them that it might be better not\nto express them anyway. But these rough diamonds were always sure to\ncome out strongest under hardest conditions, so one of them, in quick\nkindliness, to relieve the rather awkward strain of the situation,\n\"made good\" by exclaiming with shame-faced tenderness: \"The trouble\nwith cats is, y'u can't never tell what they know and what they don't,\nnor what darned foolish audasus ideas they got tucked away in their\nmeasly carcasses.\"\n\nThere was no use arguing with the warlike \"missus,\" although they\nsurely felt there was argument \"a plenty\" on their side and chafed at\nthe mandates of their more polite diplomacy, but swallowed their wrath\nin silent indignation, as being the better part of valor, too happy in\nthe strange turn of affairs to parley over it. As Larry said, \"There\nain't no depending on females,\" and surprises await you at every turn.\nHowever, a woman is never so humble as when proven biased in judgment\nor instinct, and whatever their former differences may have been, the\nhour of surrender on this woman's part showed that deep down inside she\nwas made of the proper stuff, and that it was not hardness of heart but\nthe hardness of her life that had given her this rough exterior. This\nstrange tenderness that pity had been able to awaken in the woman's\nheart had been dormant all these lonely years and was probably not\nintended for a cat at all, but for something dearer and sweeter; still,\nin lieu of its natural vent, it was decreed it should be lavished\non this nice little comfortable substitute. Thus one tiny flash of\nlove-light transformed completely her disagreeable bearing and declared\nfor an everlasting friendship between the large woman of the large\nranch and the small cat. Apparently there was some secret understanding\nbetween them, for it was a turning point and the beginning of a new era\nin the life of each. Hereafter the earth and the fulness thereof seemed\nto be the cat's. However the victory she had won sat very modestly on\nthe unpresuming diplomat who humbly took up her duties just where she\nhad left them off, and in spare moments tried to show her gladness in\nbeing safe at home and in good fellowship, by opening and shutting her\nsmall claws ecstatically and purring like a small drum.\n\nThere was no public display on the woman's part of this wonderful burst\nof tenderness in her heart, for she would have been ashamed to show how\ngood it felt to be human, but the lesson had \"took\" and evidently \"took\nhard,\" for it bore fruit in a wonderful moderation in her tyrannous\nrule and even a redemption of her looks. The old woebegone lines in her\nface, which her own hardness had traced there, fast disappeared, and\nshe was transformed into a living woman, one who felt good and warm\ninside and showed it in her attitude toward all. After all, love is\nthe only miracle, and hearts are the same the world over, and perhaps\nit was God's timely economy that only a poor little waif of a homesick\ncat should have lived and suffered just to be the angel to make the\nwhole world new for this bitter woman-heart. In graciously showing\nthis entirely unexpected softness, and a new-born protecting interest\nin the cat, the woman brought to herself the love of many, and basking\nin its radiance was like being raised from the dead, opening up as it\ndid a better understanding with all in a sort of friendly comradeship.\nHer manner toward the \"little black mascot,\" as the cat was now called,\nwas at all times sociable and intimate, although to have let her or the\nfamily forget for one moment that discipline was her prerogative, would\nhave been to betray the pose of her service of years among them.\n\nOn the morning of the cat's return she merely squared matters with\nher own conscience by taking her medicine in so far as to confess\nher miserable blunder by throwing out her hands in a sort of helpless\ngesture and bravely assuming the role of Destiny by issuing a final\nmandate: \"She's had enough, and she's going to stay right here.\"\nThen she shut her lips ominously tight together as if ignoring the\npossibility of any further discussion on the subject, which hint was\ngladly heeded by these alert young men who were surely \"onto their\njob.\" Larry said, there was even no \"back talk\" and no \"crowing, merely\na little snicker,\" but even that not too noticeable, as they gazed at\neach other in helpless, bashful awkwardness, waiting for someone to be\nbold and brave enough to \"get busy\" so that they could all \"get out o'\nsight.\" At last, one care-free, happy young lad, with a little meaning\ntwinkle in his blue eyes, absolutely unable to restrain his hilarious\napproval any longer, impulsively laid his hand on the widow's very\ngenerously upholstered shoulder in passing, and said confidentially in\na hoarse whisper:\n\n\"Thems the kind of sentiments, and y'u're sure some lady! And she's a\ngreat small cat and will sing y'u to sleep o' nights.\"\n\nA joyful grin spread over the whole bunch as they rather sheepishly\nmade their way to the door and bolted outside, heaving great sighs of\nrelief as they struck the freedom of the outer air.\n\n\"And the best of it all,\" explained Larry, smiling broadly; \"h'it's all\ntrue, cross my heart if it tain't, and the lady took her medicine good\nand proper and landed kerchunk on her feet all right.\"\n\nAnd throwing me a brief half-nod of youthful friendliness he was off.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHURSDAY\n\n\nA girl, a hammock, a book and a day in June: a happy combination\nfor memories, idleness and half-sadness, with no end of interesting\npossibilities that might come to one who loves and responds to the\nallurement.\n\nIt was one of those hot early June days in a California valley when\nall nature seems held in quiet suspense. The wonderful and unusual\nstillness brooding over this little sunny spot in the world, at last\narrested the girl's attention as she lazily swung in the hammock under\na group of giant oaks, and she let her book fall to the ground in\nunconscious neglect. Suddenly her ear caught a feeble wail borne on\nthe quiet air, a sound that held her breathless, with a little sobbing\ncatch in her throat. It was too indistinct to have attracted attention\nsave for nature's sympathetic hush, and scarcely seemed separated from\nthe throbbing silence all about her; yet, responsive and expectant she\nheld her breath to listen to the secret it might unfold. The faint cry\nwas insistent and at last revealed itself to her unmistakably as the\ntiny mew of a tiny kitten. When convinced of this she was roused to\nalertness in an instant for she had a special predilection for baby\ncats, the smaller the better. The pathetic little cry for help seemed\nto grow weaker and fainter as she blindly followed the sound, which\nfinally led her to the loft of the stable. Even then, although she\nrealized that she was \"warm on the scent,\" she could not locate the\nexact spot this weak little mew came from. But presently she felt sure\nthat it must come from the depths of a huge packing case, half-filled\nwith books, which was stored in a far corner. The box being almost her\nown height, she could by no possibility lean over sufficiently for her\neyes to pierce its dusky depths. Hastily getting a bench for a perch\nand a lighted candle to set at a knot hole half-way down the side of\nthe box, she discovered its dark secret to be a small bit of coal black\nglossy fur, without much form or shape, lying flat as a pancake on one\nof the cold hard books; the tiniest mite of a live cat she had ever\nseen.\n\nAs she lifted the little limp, cold bunch to her warm hand, it ceased\nto mew and, she thought, to breathe, but she carried it to the house\nand found it alive and able to take a little warm milk from a spoon.\nWith repeated doses of this nourishment at regular intervals the baby\nbegan to revive and at bedtime was quite a normal kitten, except that\nits frame was so unusually small and meager.\n\nThinking that the mother-cat would surely return at night to the\nplace where she had left her one wee infant, the girl returned this\n\"special edition\" to the books in the packing case, making it as\nwarm and comfy as possible. In the morning her first waking thoughts\nflew to her tiny prot\u00e9g\u00e9e and on going to the box she found the poor\nlittle thing just as she had left it the night before--no mother, and\nevidently abandoned. This time, on carrying it to the house she made\nit a permanent abiding place and continued to feed it with a spoon, as\nit seemed to grasp with readiness the idea of getting its food in this\nfashion and after a few lessons, took very kindly to it.\n\nThe mystery of how this little orphan came to be in the case of books,\nalone and deserted, was never satisfactorily solved, although on\ninquiry the girl was told that a neighbor had found a black mother-cat\ndead in her laundry about the time of the discovery of the little\nkitten. It was thought that this must have been the mother of the\nlittle waif and that she had doubtless met with an untimely death.\n\nAt any rate, no mother ever appeared to claim the baby, so she was\nadopted and given the name of Thursday, that being the day of her\nadvent. She was so wee that until she was able to help herself to a\ngrown-up cat's food, she was always fed from a spoon, and soon grew to\nlook upon this useful article as the source of all motherly comfort,\nand to take milk from it as the chief object in living. In all her\nafter life, the sight of a spoon seemed to give her a thrill and it\nwas always very funny to watch her keenness in discovering anyone at\nthe table using this, her foster-mother, which she, very naturally,\nregarded as her own special property. This ridiculously small defender\nof her propriety rights would make her resentment of this trespass on\nher claim manifest in various cunning ways. Often she would watch with\nimpatient, glaring eyes, from her vantage ground, the floor, each and\nevery spoonful, as it passed from plate to mouth, hoping in time to\nstare this particular offender out of countenance. But if her jealous,\nconcentrated round eyes failed to attract the desired attention, when\nlonger forbearance became impossible, she would jump to the lap of\nthe transgressor, thrusting her little pink nose into the hand that\nhad so basely ignored her indignation, and intercept the spoon with a\ndainty paw and a comical air of haughty rebuke, as if saying: \"Little\nThursday's! Have you forgotten?\"\n\nThis impertinence, which the affront had been designedly coaxing forth,\nnever failed to bring her a very substantial reward, and certainly\nno reproof. And so the baby was spoiled and encouraged in her wilful\nlittle ways which were considered the \"cutest ever.\" There was never\na time in all her life when she would not willingly leave affairs\nordinarily attractive to cats, to come and sit serenely on some lap,\nwith a bib about her neck, a sweet smile of peace on her face, to be\nfed with a spoon. She never reached the full stature of an ordinary\ncat, but grew into a wondrously beautiful little beastie and developed\nthe most independent, self-contained, evasive personality imaginable,\nfor a cat. Looking no more than half-grown she was the very perfection\nof dainty symmetry, her coat a solid glossy black, almost blue in its\ndepths. She was remarkably quick in her graceful motions, even for a\ncat, and had the dearest little round blue eyes, just scintillating\nwith mischief and flaming with an inordinate love of fun which radiated\nto the tip of her inquisitive little nose and from there to the\nquivering end of her wicked, ecstatic tail. She also possessed such\nqueer twists in a highly strung and very nervous temperament, that her\nerratic moods were variable and often startling surprises. But she was\nalways singularly human and steadfast in one feminine quality and that\nwas in liking to do just as she pleased. One of her \"queer twists\" was,\nat various intervals, to have sudden spasms of hilarious gaiety and to\ngive vent to these frantic spells in play that were the times of her\nlife. She never had any company in these grand romps, but was strangely\nindependent and wildly happy, the imp of play which had possession,\nseeming to have endless sources of its own in the way of society and\namusement. She would race \"sideways\" through the house, her \"baby blue\neyes\" black as coal, turn double \"upside downs,\" and play a kind of\nhide-and-seek all by herself, plainly just play for play's sake until\nher frolic, which sometimes rose to a frenzy, had exhausted her crazy\nmood.\n\nAmong our precious lares and penates, was a magnificent Irish setter,\na handsome fellow with a coat of wavy golden red hair and eyes of\nsuch beseeching softness that he won all mankind. Until the advent of\nThursday he had been sole proprietor and sovereign owner of the sunny\nback porch and playground, not to mention the hearts he ruled. But\nwith the coming of the little black lady all his previous rights were\nchanged, she, with nonchalant impudence, taking cool and unchallenged\npossession of all, including the king himself, who seemed one of\nher most willing subjects. She quickly learned and presumed on her\npower over him but with heroic patience this handsome fellow yielded\nglad obedience and was ever ready to bend before her small feminine\ncoquetry, his gallantry seeming boundless. Like a knight of old, he\nwas always rushing to her rescue and ever espousing her cause, using\nhis strength generously at all times in her behalf. If she happened\nto cry within her privileged precincts of the house, screened from his\nentrance, if he was anywhere on the grounds within sound of her call,\nhe would instantly come to her succor, peering through the screen with\nsuch an anxious, troubled expression in his dear goldy-brown eyes,\nhis head turned first on one side and then on the other, a way setters\nhave when trying to fathom mysteries. Having satisfied himself that she\nwas in no serious trouble or in need of his gallant protectorship, he\nwould lift his appealing brown eyes to us with an air of unutterable\nreproach for his unnecessary disturbance, and drop to the floor with\na huge sigh, perhaps to try again for a few quiet winks. Life with\nhim was no longer dull or lacking in color after Thursday became a\nmember of our household, but was full of rich and varied interests\nfor every waking hour, which were many more than formerly, as it was\nonly under the greatest difficulties that he could get even half of\nhis accustomed hours of greedy sleep through the interrupted days. Of\nold, his choice of pleasant places of repose had been the shady back\nporch, where he would stretch himself at full length, his velvety ears\nlying broad and flat, and he still indulged himself in this chosen\nspot, although under difficulties. For Thursday had soon learned that\nto snuggle close to his curly coat meant warmth and comfort, but not\nfor the dog, for it teased and worried his naps dreadfully to have her\ncuddle so close. However as he seemed loathe to surrender this adopted\nspot, his by \"right of domain,\" he was most gentlemanly and patient,\nnever even saying \"bow.\" When sleepy time came the kitten would boldly\nhunt his resting place and nestle under the softness of his downy\near for her siesta. Feigning sleep, his nose between his paws and one\neye half-open, the dog would bide the time when she was fast asleep\nand then, most cautiously and carefully, draw himself away in order\nto have his ear to himself. Little Lonesome, feeling the want of her\ncomfortable covering, would sleepily creep under his ear again and\nthe setter would again, with touching resignation, watch his chance\nand get away. This exchange of courtesies would go on until the dog\nevidently realized that he might as well give up and let the little\nwilful torment have her way. Or there might be times when he would\nget his lazy self up and off, but even this manoeuvre might be only\ntemporary relief, if the kitten still longed for his companionship.\nNever once was the dog known to growl or fail in politeness, even when\nthe kitten trespassed on his hospitality to the extent of selecting\nsuch dainty bits from his dinner plate as pleased her fancy. At\nsuch times he would stand by, big and stern, wistfully watching the\nchoice pieces disappear, and patiently wait until she had finished\nher selection and was seated on her haunches near by, washing her\nlittle black face, before he would presume to take that which, in her\ngracious indulgence, she had left for him. In this elaborate ceremony\nof her toilet, she would sometimes pause, and with a kind of pensive\nwondering, gaze at her now greedy host. In this attitude, with one tiny\npaw raised meditatively, and her mouth half-open showing a bit of pink\ntongue between her gleaming teeth, she looked as if actually smiling\nin supreme affability on an attendant chamberlain. At all times, the\nattitude of affected condescension assumed by this mite of a kitten\ntoward her big gentlemanly comrade, was so absurd as to be very funny.\n\n  [Illustration: THURSDAY\n\n   As She Never Attained the Full Stature of an Ordinary Cat, She Always\n   Looked But Half Grown But Was the Very Perfection of Dainty Symmetry,\n   Her Coat a Solid Black, Almost Blue in its Depths]\n\nAnd so the summer and fall months passed and the dog and kitten grew\nin friendship and intimacy and were an endless source of interest to\nthe family. Unfortunately for these pets, the country home was soon to\nbe broken up and closed for the winter. Thursday's devoted friend and\nprotector, the setter, was sent to the hunting lodge, and a home was\nprovided for the kitten with a friend who lived only a couple of miles\naway.\n\nThe girl cherished this little darling kitten which she had rescued,\ndevotedly, and was very sad at the necessary parting, but never\ndreamed for a moment but that she would be the only one to experience\nany regret. She thought, of course, that the heart of her apparently\nfrivolous little pet would readily accept the new conditions without a\nhomesick thought, as it meant the same kindness, food and shelter to\nwhich she had been accustomed, and to leave her alone at the country\nhouse was out of the question, as it would be to risk letting her\nperish with cold and hunger. So the kitten was carried to the home of\nthe friend and left, with a big heartache but, as the girl thought,\nonly on her part.\n\nThe next day through the telephone came the report that Lady Thursday\ndid not take at all kindly to her change of residence, but expressed\na decided dissatisfaction with the new order of things, scorning all\nfood with a painfully injured air, staring straight ahead in black\nmisery, ignoring everybody and all overtures in the way of coaxing,\npetting and comforting. Every means possible was tried to make her\nfeel settled and as happy as a kitten ought to be in such a good\nhome, but all in vain. Late in the afternoon this bonnie wee bit of\nhomesickness appeared at our door, looking so pathetically small and\nweary, but still determined, that it made the tears come just to look\nat her. She was as quiet and demure as an injured saint but there was\nan anxious wistfulness in her big pleading eyes that went straight\nto one's heart. She evidently realized that she had transgressed the\nlaw in eluding the vigilance of her keepers, and in running away, and\nher trembling little heart was thumping a wild tattoo. But her mental\nand physical rapture at being in her own home once more was glowing\nin triumphant satisfaction in every movement. And that she had been\nshrewd enough to find her way back all by herself in a road where\nthere were no sign-posts a cat might read, but only scent for guide\nwas also obviously a source of great self-congratulation to her. This\ndemonstration of preference on the kitten's part for her home, and for\nher, was a surprise to the girl and touched her heart, for she had not\nthought her saucy, independent little favorite capable of such deep\nappreciation. It was so evident that this obstinate little pet objected\nto this change of abode that it was with the greatest reluctance\nthat the girl felt forced to send her back again. There surely could\nbe no mistaking the small queen's sentiments in the matter, for her\nmanner was so haughty and reproachful. It might be a lovely joke her\nperfidious family were playing on her, but they had made a sad mistake,\nif they were serious, to think for one moment she would condone such\ntreachery or that she would tolerate the other house as home, even for\none day. She bestowed a royal \"not-to-do-it-again\" sort of threat on\nall, but in spite of her scathing remonstrance, she was told of the\nabsolute need she had of another shelter, consoled and again carried to\nthe distant home, rather than be allowed her stubborn way and left at\nthe deserted country place to take her chances against starvation and\nneglect.\n\nThis time the little black visitor was shown special attention by the\nrather indignant friends of the girl, and more carefully guarded. If\nshe showed a tendency to wander, she was made a prisoner in the hope\nthat she would soon forget her former home and accept the inevitable,\nwhich from their point of view, was certainly very nice. Although the\nkitten was unnaturally patient and seemed to look upon their soothing\nefforts with a desire to be soothed, time showed that she remained,\nthrough all, unmoved in purpose, proving that in her apparently\nindifferent and trivial nature there were depths that had not been\nsuspected.\n\nThe great master passion of home-love and, for a small cat, a\ntremendous wilfulness were developing in her sturdy little body. She\nwould not be reconciled to this new home but was slyly on the alert,\nconstantly devising all sorts of shrewd ways in which she might cheat\nher keepers and gain her end.\n\nOne day toward evening, their vigilance being somewhat relaxed, owing\nto her seeming submission, she managed to escape. She had been very\ncrafty in her \"seeming submission\" as it had evidently been only a\nsubterfuge, for she showed she had not been vanquished by any manner\nof means, or even discouraged by the delay. All the time she had\nseemed so sad and passive she must have been only biding her time\nand opportunity, scheming all the while desperately in feminine\ningenuity to outwit her jailors. When finally she was rewarded, and the\ninstant she was free, she went scampering down the path, through the\ntimberland, taking by instinct the \"short cut\" which was the nearest\nand straightest way to the one place on earth to her, each bounding\nstep keeping time to the homesick beat of her heart.\n\nOh, poor, plucky, obstinate morsel of a kitten! If there had only\nbeen some kindly hand to have turned you back; turned you back from\nthat demon, hungry and savage, lying in wait for you in the narrow\npath through which you were sure to pass! Oh, that there had been\nsome Spirit of Pity that cherishes the kittens, to have had a saving\ncompassion on you!\n\nBut on sped the flying feet, with eyes blind to all but the one\nbig home-impulse that was giving her the courage of ten. All grief,\ndisappointment and heartaches forgotten as the old friendly place\ngrew nearer and nearer. Down through the valley and up the fatal\nhill, racing as fast as she could go on the ragged path, clearing\nbrambles and ditches and fallen tree-trunks with flying leaps, turning\nneither to the right nor the left, going straight for home. Panting\nand throbbing she finally reached a tiny roadway among the briars\nand undergrowth, a narrow trail seldom used except by small fur and\nthose in a hurry, like Thursday. Faster and faster she went exultingly\non through this shadowy thicket to the next descent, and deeper and\ndeeper into the depth and mystery of the woods, where loomed a silent\nmurderer, set in rabbit land for the unwary, which had marked this\nlittle pitiful victim to clutch in its fatal curve.\n\nHave courage, little Thursday, and turn back. Oh, in mercy turn back\nand save yourself from the horrible fate of this half-concealed shadow\nso near to you now! Or, halt an instant and go round this deadly trap.\nHome is so near, only a little way now. Home! Home! almost in sight,\nin answer to the burning desire in your heart. A sudden stop! The\ntwinkling of a black shape twirling in the air, and the path is empty!\n\nThe deadly grip of the cruel wire has borne Thursday home in a flash.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nA MINE, A MINER, AND A CAT\n\n\nThe mining camps of California in the days of '49 are full of romance\nand history and any man who has once tasted their free independent\nadventure can never more escape the influence. The gambling chance\nwhich every miner took in those fascinating days, is continually\ntempting him again to the old life. This charm, which that most\nmerciless Enchantress of the California Hills casts on all alike, is\nunfathomable, and grips the mighty as well as the weak. The quest of\ngold, which rewarded some and eluded others in those days, still has\na grappling temptation to every man who has once been under its spell.\nTo the pioneer Californian, it is a summons forever luring him to that\nold battle ground round the big shaft where the sky is big and it feels\ngood just to be alive. You will find that the old-time miners forever\nchafe in the dullness and conventionalities of any humdrum existence\nalong commercial lines, and for any slight excuse will exultantly take\nthe wide tramp road that leads to what they call \"God's own country.\"\nThey are found ever eager to give body, and soul if necessary,\njoyously, in the intoxicating excitement this fickle sorceress holds\nout to them in the game of chance which they think _must_ win in the\nend.\n\nOne of these sturdy relics of the early days in the golden west, after\nyears of struggle and vain trials to settle down into the drudgery of\nprecarious success in trade, grew tired of waiting for the miracle\nof prosperity to even begin to happen, and was in despair. In his\nblue discouragement those dream ghosts of the happy mining days were\nungovernable in their insistent presence and pulling at his heart\nstrings with an almost visible and steady line.\n\nLong ago when he first came to the west, in the mad rush after gold\nin '49 he had been one of the \"pardners\" to locate and work a certain\nclaim. In the fever and scramble of making a fortune in a minute, and\nexpecting to pick up handfuls of gold with little trouble, this company\nhad become discouraged at the slow profits yielded by this claim, and\nhad abandoned it upon the report of much richer discoveries farther on,\nhe following with the others. During all these years that he had tried\nto settle down into steady, legitimate business a haunting certainty\nhad grown in his mind that they had been too hasty in abandoning this\nmine. The remembrance of a promising lead, which had been discovered\nin one of those hustling days and which, in their breathless hurry for\nbig lumps, had not been followed faithfully enough, and consequently\nhad been overlooked and forgotten, obsessed his present gloomy outlook\nuntil it could no longer be ignored.\n\nOne especially desperate day, when affairs had been unusually irksome,\nhe sat down in dejection and thought deep and hard on this inward\nand tantalizing urge to the old mountains. Immediately following this\nquiet hour with himself he gave up the effort of trying to succeed in\nhis present uncongenial work, and throwing discretion to the winds,\nyielded in glorious abandon to the call in his blood, ringing too\nloud to longer oppose. Fortunately there were no ties of family or\nresponsibilities other than business to shake off, so shouldering his\npick and shovel, treasured through all these years, he joyously started\nwith his chin up and his back straight, for the splendid freedom of\nthe old familiar hills. His destination the long abandoned claim hidden\naway in the far-off wilds, where there was a chance, sure, and no one\nhad yet, as far as he could learn, discovered the \"lead.\"\n\nHe determined to go there again, to work it alone this time, and to be\ndeliberate and to stay with it until the hills _did_ deliver up to him\ntheir royal secret. To this miner-man it meant life, real life, health\nand above all, freedom, with a big chance of a fortune. If it were a\nfool's folly, he would gamely take a \"flyer\" and abide by the result at\nany cost.\n\nSo this strong-handed, broad-shouldered man, big in heart and big in\nsoul and a lover of the silent places, in answering the call of his\nold miner days, set his hopeful face toward the great mountains and\nthe days to come, in reckless venture, with only faith, a pair of\nstrong arms and a pick and spade to help him solve the problem. It is a\nwell-known fact that these men going into the wildness and loneliness\nof these rugged heights, cherish a cat as indispensable to their camp\nlife; as important an addition to their \"grub stakes\" as beans and\ncoffee. And so intimate do these two become under their isolated,\nand often desperate conditions, that an almost human friendship and\naffection springs up between them.\n\nAt the last trading post nearest the mine the man planned to \"outfit\"\nand to secure a four-footed partner. The cat he thought would be so\neasy that he never gave it a second thought, but on his arrival at\nthe little town busied himself packing and getting everything in\nlight transportation order for the \"return horse\" on the morrow.\nThese arrangements off his mind, he got very busy in looking about\nfor the last requisite, a cat. His intentions in regard to acquiring\none were perfectly honorable. He would beg one if possible, buy one\nif necessary, but he must have a cat at any price, not only for its\ncompany and usefulness, but in accordance with all past traditions\nof mines and miners. There were cats and cats a plenty in this little\nmining town, clinging to the rough side of the granite hill, but, as\nit seemed, none to spare. Not one to give away and not one to sell,\nand he might as well have tried to barter with the air, as no price or\naccommodation could induce any one of them to part with one of their\nprecious little beasts, and he was in despair. After strenuous hours\nof vain persuasion, which had eliminated the question of choice or\nprice in regard to the cat, he had gone to the public house for supper,\nexhausted and out of patience, but none the less determined on having\nthe desired \"partner.\" The early starlight found him sitting on the\ndark veranda, solitary and alone, pondering the cat question, not as\nto spots or breeding or even a cat, but as to which, and how. He must\nhave a cat and these people being the last resort would have to furnish\nit at whatever cost. With his chair tilted back, his hands deep in his\npockets and his face turned heavenward he seemed to be looking at the\nstars for inspiration, and from the short, quick puffs and lively glow\nof his pipe, it was evident he was thinking hard. After he had finished\nhis smoke in silent cogitation with the sky, he seemed to have settled\nthe difficult problem to his satisfaction, for when he rose to \"turn\nin\" there was the gleam of a slow smile on his rugged face. Knocking\nout his pipe and brushing the ashes from his breast, with a huge yawn,\nhe stretched his arms up over his six feet of length, hardening his\nmuscles for the morrow, and sauntered indoors for the few short hours\nof rest in a bed, which luxury he allowed himself as a grand finale to\ncivilization.\n\nIn what seemed to him but a moment later, it was the next morning, and\nthrowing aside the blankets he was up and out in the chill gray dawn\nwithout disturbing any of the household. As the eastern sky lightened\nthe purple mists, he trudged cheerily along under the frosty twinkle\nof the receding stars, his back to the dusty little hamlet and a\ntriumphant smile of contented satisfaction beaming on his happy face,\nturned toward the gleaming snow peaks of to-morrow. No one would have\nsuspected this big happy tramp of having an infamous secret on his\nconscience or have surmised that he harbored a wee felony snuggled\nclosely inside of his outer flannel shirt. As he had been in somewhat\nof a hurry in committing this crime, he had not been over-scrupulous\nin selecting any particular kind of a cat. Still, as he was at last\nin possession of a live kitten, a something he felt he could not have\nfaced the solitude and silence of his lonely camp life without, in\nsweet content he would never be critical. This victory in the small\nmatter of a small cat, attested well for his future, showing that he\nhad resources and skillful ways of his own in circumventing an adverse\nfate, and that he was made of the stuff that wins in the end.\n\nJust as the white mountain peaks, far above the timber line, caught the\nfirst pink glory of the coming sun, the man with the light of hope in\nhis dark eyes, reached the foothills. He crossed the first low divide,\nand in the sheltered ravine beyond stopped beside a tiny trickle of\nsnow water, flashing gently down among the boulders, and made camp for\nbreaking his fast. Here for the first time he took from his bosom the\nscraggy little treasure for which he had risked his honest reputation,\nand which had safely slept, curled in its snug quarters, all the way.\n\nThe very first act of the astonished small tenderfoot on this rather\nrude awakening and introduction, was to make a wild dash for liberty,\nwhich came near being a total eclipse of their acquaintance. It was\nonly after a very lively chase, in which the man had to hide his\nterrible anxiety and to use the utmost patient cunning, that the\nfrightened little animal was captured by his more than frightened\nmate. In the quiet moments that followed, when they were sizing each\nother up by the comfort of their little friendship fire, their intimacy\nbegan. In admonition his baby highness was given a serious and profound\nlecture on the futility of having such independent ideas as he seemed\nto possess. The poor little motherless captive looked meek and helpless\nenough beside the big man, and in this big unknown world, his great\nbaby eyes glancing and searching about in vague apprehension; but\nalthough he was terribly puzzled over the situation, he was finally\nbrought to reason and to the straight and narrow path of obedience.\n\nWith a firm and tender touch, electric with love and sympathy, the man\nstroked his prize, answering the questioning, luminous yellow eyes so\nsteadily fixed on his own dark ones, with a gaze of such mysterious\npower and assurance that the kitten sat charmed, with curling paws,\nthe wonder-stare melting into one of understanding and implicit trust,\nthat was to be lifelong. So comforting was the man's trick of hand\nand voice, that this trying moment ended forever all controversy as\nto doctrine or discipline between them. From that momentous time on,\nas long as they lived together, they fought out the grim battle in\nmoments of importance, as of one mind. Already the touch of his master\nhand and the sound of his commanding voice had taken tight hold of the\nbaby heart and held it like magic, and as the kitten grew in wisdom\nand caution he learned to trust this big man more and more, as one who\nunderstood and sympathized.\n\nIn resuming their tramp, the rougher country began and the trail was\na puzzle. The man could not find even a ghost of a track, as he worked\nhis way through the thick masses of underbrush, for it had been years\nsince anybody had traveled this way. But mile after mile, crossing\nca\u00f1ons, over small mountains, up and down, in and out, the hardy\npioneer picked his difficult way across the trackless country, going\nstraight, guided by a miner's mysterious sixth sense, which is an\ninstinct enabling him to see things and read things to which others are\nblind.\n\nToward the last of the daylight, on the second day, these tired\ntramps, the man footsore but with unwearied spirits came upon the\nsmall clearing of the old mining camp of the halcyon days of '49. Once\nit had swarmed with eager, buoyant men, but now it lay deserted and\nwrapped in solitude. In great exhilaration they took possession of the\none and only remaining dilapidated shack, standing, dark and doorless,\nsilhouetted against the fading light. Nobody had been in this forsaken\nplace or probably thought of it for years and years. In its prime it\nhad been a rather pretentious cabin of the regulation kind built of\nlogs but was now only a suggestion of its former grandeur. Hordes of\nsmall furry tribes were \"holding down the claim\" and using its shelter\nto rear generations of their kind. The fireplace, with its great\noutside chimney, built of mud and rocks, was standing intact, the smut\nof the old log fires still clinging inside where myriads of bats had\nhung their nests against its sooty walls.\n\nThe new arrivals took possession of this old-timer under a torrent\nof abusive, squeaky protest that sounded very much like \"cussing,\"\nthis intrusion into their domain being highly resented by the present\ntenants. But the strangers had come with a purpose, and to stay, so\ntook possession of the hut as with a flourish of trumpets, making\npreparations for the night, scattering the scolding families to\ntemporary hiding, and anticipating no end of fun in banishing them\nforever to their own territory. In time the miner settled down into\na daily routine of business and pleasure, with only the cat and\nthe solemn and magnificent trees for company. He was wholly happy\nin getting the cabin into living order, delightfully systematic in\nregulating the primitive housekeeping arrangements, and shamefully\ncontented with the homely result, but always on the lookout for golden\npossibilities. He was not conscious of a dull or lonesome moment in the\nheavenly largeness of the pure mountain air, but every day was one of\nstirring fascination to him in the thought of what might come with the\nnext turn of the shovel.\n\nThe great peace and majesty of the California mountains, glowing in\ntheir summer fulness, was marvelous to the city man, who had been\naching for these exuberant heights so long. The crisp keen air was like\nwine in his veins and made his blood tingle. As he bared his arms with\ncheerful determination his whole being thrilled and he struck and dug\ninto the flinty rock with a strength born of a faith, that however he\nmight blunder, the gods would be kind and he would come to his own in\nthe end.\n\nEach wonderful day was followed by another as wonderful, the weeks\nspeeding as lightly as homing birds. If there were troubles that\nsometimes seemed dark and dreadful, and difficulties hard to overcome,\nthe two were happy, the cat being the very heart of the camp life and\nliving on the most intimate terms of love and equality with his devoted\nmaster in the leveling process of their primitive life. The kitten had\ngrown into the utmost splendid stature of his race, going from strength\nto strength, being all muscle and nerve, unusually broad of chest,\nlooking as if bred to the mountain fastness and able to endure all\nsorts of pioneer hardships. His baby coat was now thick and silky fur\nand was growing more glossy and beautiful every day, so that the man\nin his pride gazed upon him with an eye of rapture in the possession,\nand felt sure that in his successful raid into the enemy's camp, he had\nunwittingly stumbled on something beyond the common kind. Handsome,\nshining and saucy, he was wonderfully wise and cunning for a cat,\nhaving no equal in the chase. The vain little creatures of the forest,\ngrown bold and reckless and almost fearless during the years that they\nhad been unmolested, did not have half a chance, and learned that they\nmust exert their utmost to escape this cruel forager.\n\n  [Illustration: THE CAT\n\n   The Kitten Had Grown Into the Most Splendid Bigness of His Race,\n   Handsome, Shining and Saucy, All Muscle and Nerve, Unusually Broad\n   of Chest and Looking as if Bred to the Mountain Fastness and Able to\n   Endure all Sorts of Pioneer Hardships]\n\nIt was in the evening, when pick and shovel were standing sentinel in\nthe corner and the chimney sending its curly blue beacons of comfort\ntoward the sky, that this wonderful \"pardner\" of the miner shone in all\nthe glory of his domestic virtues, giving the rough cabin the grace and\nsemblance of home. This evening hour bestowed happiness on both the\nman and the cat, and marked the very height of their goodfellowship.\nThe man, his day's work over, steeped in the tang of the pine logs\nroaring in the huge fireplace, was at rest and at peace with all the\nworld, puffing voluminous clouds from his pipe. His drowsy friend,\ntoo, was filled to the heart with the warmth from the ruddy logs and,\nin blinking satisfaction, would occasionally relieve his overflowing\ngratitude by low throaty murmurs of blissful content. These tranquil\nhours by the fire certainly atoned for many hardships, and feeling\nsuch a glow of nameless satisfaction in the snug, solitary enjoyment of\nthem, the thankful man was more than compensated for all the sacrifices\nhe had made. Being a willing, self-imposed exile, he felt that his\nblessings were more than he really deserved.\n\nIn the narrow canon at the base of these mountains, closing it in on\nboth sides, was where the miner was following the old lead in which\nhe had so much faith. In the rocky bottom grew scraggy fir and pine\ntrees and in the crevice at the very bottom, a little stream hurried\nalong, a trifling affair at this time of the year, but in the winter\nassuming the proportions of a raging torrent, as it was fed from the\ngreat volume of water that fell from the heights above. Here the miner\nwashed his \"pay dirt\" at the \"clean up,\" and it was also the cat's\nhappy hunting ground, for it was the home of the wood mice, chipmunks,\nsquirrels and other \"small deer\" nutting among the pines and going\ntheir ways boldly and busily, thoroughly intent on the business of\nliving and making a living.\n\nThe cat roamed these wilds freely, foraging unchallenged, exploring\nwith eyes and nose every tree, hollow and boulder, for he, too, was\na practical, busy cat, making a living, as he had to work out his own\nsalvation in this respect. He certainly had the right of way in this\nworld of forage, and the thrifty little bodies that in the days of\nabundance would prepare for a day of need, had to be very wily as to\nwhere they laid their stores, for the cat would nose and ferret out\ntheir most secret hiding places.\n\nOne morning the miner, taking his dirt to the ravine, found the cat\nvigorously digging in the loose earth at the opening of a gigantic\nfissure in the rocky peaks, a fissure that led in gradual ascent, its\nsides sheer and steep, to the peaks above. So intent was the cat on\nhis quarry that he did not notice his master's greeting, but kept the\ndry earth briskly flying to the right and left. The man supposed, as a\nmatter of course, that he was on a scent and had cornered some game in\nits den, and in careless sympathy thought to help him out and struck\nhis shovel deep into the loose earth. As he turned the heavy load he\ngasped, for he found it freighted with sparkling metal. He rubbed his\neyes in wonder, dazed with astonishment, looking first at the cat now\nsitting demurely by with a satisfied air, as if he had done his part\nand then at the twinkling scales of gold blinking up at him as he\nshifted it through his shaking fingers. This sudden realization of the\nhopes of all the long hard years and the past months of active search,\nstaggered his faculties. In a bewildered way he fingered the gravel in\nhis hand, and wondered if it could be that he had \"struck it rich\" this\ntime; if so, it was surely this prince of cats, either by chance or\nluck, that had proven the cleverer prospector of the two.\n\nHe followed the deep narrow gulch on and on, up and up, not for\nan instant suspecting the marvelous wealth it would reveal. He was\nlured on by frequently finding deep and rich pockets of yellow ore,\nmixed with water-worn loose rocks and dirt, which evidently had been\ncollecting in this rough trough for a million years, washed down from\nthe steep sides and many peaks above and around.\n\nWhen night came down, shutting the ca\u00f1on in absolute darkness, it\nroused the man from his golden dream with a start, and he straightened\nhis bent, aching body and mopped his hot forehead. His first thought\nwas for the cat, totally forgotten through all these absorbing hours,\nand an instant of self-reproach for fear he had not followed, but had\ngone back to the cabin at the usual time. At his startled call the\nneglected cat came rubbing his comforting presence about his feet,\nshowing that he had been faithful all through the long day in which he\nhad not been noticed. This God-sent lucky chum, that had brought him\nthe great good fortune, had unmistakably an air of triumph gleaming\nfrom the depths of his great black pupils, and his beautiful sleek body\nassumed an attitude scandalously near a swagger, as if waiting for this\nopportunity to presume on his partnership in this affair, to advise\nhis master that they had better be getting home. The miner instantly\nrecognized the justice of his impertinence and caught him up in his\narms, and they camped right there where they were through the short,\nstarry night, hugged close.\n\nAt the first faint glimmering of day, the miner and the cat found\ntheir way back to the cabin. The man had pulled himself together by\nthis time and had his nerve steadied back into its wonted control and\nhis brain normal, in good working order. After his night's rest, in\nwhich the calm had returned to his overwrought imagination, he was able\nto meditate reasonably on the good fortune which began now to assume\ndefinite shape. To convince himself past all doubting, he drew from his\npockets the yellow proof. There was no doubt about its being the real\nthing and he lifted his hat in gratitude to the cat, for this little\nprospector had certainly opened up for him the best lead in the whole\ncountry. The magnitude of what this developed was more than he ever\ndreamed could be. It seemed to him that all the gold that God ever gave\nto the world was in that one gulch, and there it lay unappropriated\nfrom end to end. It was like an Aladdin's fairy lamp, a gift of the\ngods. Millions were there and all there was to do was to pick up the\nyellow lumps. How this golden placer could have lain there, hidden in\nthe sand and gravel of this fissure so long undiscovered, was a mystery\nthat baffled even the miner's most profound attempts to conjecture.\nHe had simply to accept his good fortune with a glad heart, as one\nof the favored caresses of the Enchantress of the Hills. His luck in\nbeing the \"hundredth man\" was, he claimed, all owing to his wonderful\nmascot, that in a time of desperation he had just gone out and annexed.\nHis mate shared sympathetically in the sense of well-being in these\ngreat days of success, and must have realized, from the almost reverent\nhomage that was accorded him, that he had played some very important\npart in winning the game.\n\nAnd the partners linger and linger, rejoicing in the big loneliness\nof this little paradise all their own, ever happy and without a care,\ntheir cheery hearts growing bigger and bigger in unbroken friendship.\nThe miner knows that just \"over yonder,\" beyond the purple twilight, is\nthe busy world and that he can \"clean up\" and go back to things and the\nlife of people of affairs at any moment. Yet he stays on, loving this\nlife under the sky, of joy and independence, hardship and adventure,\nwith its splendid achievement, too much to make any change in the happy\norder of things.\n\n\n\n\nA\u00cfDA AND SAADI\n\n\nThe contented purr of \"Home Sweet Home\" on the hearth, by a resident\nkitten, was the one touch of coziness lacking in our newly acquired\ncountry bungalow.\n\nSeeing an exhibition of thoroughbreds advertised, with many for sale, a\ntrip was made for the sole purpose of filling this pleasant need in our\ncomfortable chimney corner, and so making our little m\u00e9nage complete.\nOn arriving at the crowded display rooms, where each cat's family\nancestors were found carefully recorded, the problem of selecting the\ncorrect kitten, among so bewildering a collection of purple pedigrees,\nwas a rather serious one. They all looked so fuzzy, chubby and\nattractive that we wanted them all, and it was impossible to decide on\njust one. After long and careful consideration, two babies were finally\nselected for their special beauty and daintiness, as the ones most\nlikely to blend harmoniously with the crackle of our cheerful fire, and\nthe singing of the evening tea urn in our bungalow.\n\nThe homeward journey, with the tiny princesses carried carefully and\nalmost awesomely, was one of suppressed, but anticipated triumph, in\nbeing the fortunate possessors of something worth while in cats and\nsomething that would doubtless become real blessings under the careful\ntraining and wise discipline we were already planning.\n\nOn reaching home and joyously throwing back the cover of the padded\ntraveling basket, we found the expected excitement painfully lacking;\nthere was no eager bounding of the released little captives as would\nbe most natural in ordinary kittens, and which we had expected twofold\nin these extraordinary ones, not even a friendly mew--just an awkward\nsilence, with two of the most pathetic, tired looking bunches of\nroyalty staring up from the basket, with frightened eyes.\n\nWe gently lifted the scared, chrysanthemum-like blossoms of fur from\nthe basket and silently but proudly placed them on the floor in order\nto display their blue-blooded points, that all might be properly awed.\nBut even then, in spite of their beauty, which all acknowledged, they\nfailed to make any sort of pleasant impression, but lay just as they\nhad been placed, crouching almost flat in shrinking terror of their new\nsurroundings. As they cowered there in cringing, pathetic helplessness,\nthey looked like almost anything but kittens to be proud of, and the\naudience smiled incredulously, while I as their sponsor in momentary\nchagrin and contrition, wondered if, perhaps, in pride, I had not been\ntoo ambitious in making a selection of such royal daintiness. For,\nmight it not be that the solemnity of such a long line of lineage would\nresult in their being a terrible disappointment as mere kittens, and\nwhat we had planned on having was nice, fat, cheery, comfy playfellows.\nThe poor small mites of big pedigree were certainly woefully depressing\nunder the present strain, and at this rather inopportune moment it\nwas cheerfully suggested that I might possibly have done better in my\ninvestment, and perhaps realized a greater profit, with the homemade\n\"just cat\" variety. But I ignored these sarcastic insinuations and\nwould not be disheartened, for my treasures were of the renowned\nPersian species and I was still hopeful that the purity of the blood\nwhich circulated in their veins would yet prove its worth. Even to the\nskeptical, they showed that they were unmistakably the real article\nby an elegance of finish throughout, and that they were of the purest\nbreeding, for their coats were unusually long, with soft, full, fluffy\nscruffs and little tufts of hair growing out of their thin pink ears\nand between their darling chubby toes.\n\nAt first it _did_ seem as if, with their advent, a rather serious\nand unnecessary responsibility had been thrust upon an inexperienced\nhousehold, for the risk in rearing these tender thoroughbreds was\nperhaps too great to assume without the aid of a natural parent.\nFortunately for us, the melancholy period of their abrupt and rather\nshocking orphanage soon passed, and under our loving care the memory of\nmother gradually faded away. They grew and throve like plain ordinary\nkittens and soon began to frolic and take on the gladness of life, in\nspite of the deprivation of a real mother's cuddling and nursing.\n\nAs our acquaintance grew into one of weeks, we discovered that there\nwould be no lack of entertainment, for the royal babies took life in\ndoses of \"doing things\" most of the time. Surely no one could accuse\nthem of being bereft of temperament, as we had feared, for they\npossessed an intense and heartbreaking inclination for excitement in\nvarious varieties all the time, quite enough to reassure even the most\ndoubting that we were in no danger of not getting our money's worth in\nlively kittens. In fact the innocent infants' progress along the lines\nof cute and daring adventure caused daily and almost hourly shocks,\nas they seemed uncanny in resourcefulness and absolutely fearless in\ndevising all sorts of startling surprises in the way of miscellaneous\nmischief, counting that day as naught and unprofitable which brought\nforth nothing new in the way of satanic curiosity and inspiration for\ngetting into trouble.\n\nThe whole household fell under the spell of their charm and were\ntheir faithful adorers, the kittens being the deities before which\nwere offered up daily homage, and all lent a helping hand in their\n\"spoiling\" as well as in their education. In no time, it seemed,\nthey became quite accomplished in the understanding of certain words\ntaught them in painful seriousness and were soon trained to ask for\nmany little services with such charming and almost human ways as to\nhave conquered the most obdurate heart, had there been any. They\nwere wondrous wise and certainly marvellously clever for kittens,\nand we could not help being very proud and a little boastful of their\nachievements along kitten lines, as well as of their strikingly elegant\nappearance. There was nothing commonplace about them. Even their wild\nand hilarious playfulness was high tragedy, having such concentration\nof energy in it that, as they grew older, it developed into a big bump\nof bad, bold destructiveness. Also, time proved that they possessed a\ndecidedly feminine and insatiable love of investigation and a tragic\nthirst for information, especially in natural history.\n\nThis swelling protuberance of inquisitiveness as regards the earth\nand its various productions of feathered creatures was taking them\nnearly every day on long excursions into the near-by woods, often\nkeeping them absent for hours at a time causing us growing anxiety\nas to their safety. As this trip to the woods became an almost daily\nafter-breakfast custom my curiosity was roused to such an extent\nthat I determined that I, too, would stroll forth the next morning\nto contemplate nature, and if possible, incidentally discover the\nfascination that was keeping the infants so much from home. The\nsuggestion that they might be even looking at the little birds with\nevil intent, made me indignant; it was unbelievable those ingenuous\neyes could be so guileful, yet somehow I shivered with a vague\npremonition. Resentfully I argued that they were too young for\nsuch cruelty; moreover they were of such royal blood, princesses of\ntheir kind, that one could hardly imagine their doing anything so\nscandalously plebeian.\n\nHowever, the next morning, with secret and rather ominous forebodings,\nI sauntered away in the bright May sunshine, through our old-fashioned\ngarden and up toward the woods, two small downy puffs bounding along\nby my side as lightly as if blown by the wind, their round little\neyes like shining suns in their tiny fluffy heads. They scampered\naimlessly, far and near, their heels a-tingle with mischief, poking\ntheir noses into all sorts of out-of-the-way places and having a lot\nof terrifying experiences, getting frightened at everything that could\npossibly be made into anything scary. They were so seriously determined\non investigating all alluring possibilities that not a moving thing\nescaped their vigilance, from the bees in the bushes to an aeroplane\nthat flew overhead; nor would they have failed, if possible, to help\nit along with their paws or turn it over and make it go the other\nway. Occasionally they would stop and scent a flower or perhaps glance\nwarily about, Indian fashion, pretending to see nothing, but raising\ntheir eyes with a sweet pretence of innocence to the trees, especially,\nI noticed, if there happened to be a twitter among the branches.\nIn fact, they appeared to think there was something truly wonderful\nabout those trees--the plain ordinary green ones with the usual number\nof fine feathery limbs in which the birds love to rest their wings.\nFurther than that, however, their conduct was absolutely blameless, and\nas we all scurried home I was comfortably convinced that the matutinal\nwalks of these dainty elegances were simply due to an overpowering\nlonging for the green things of earth and the fresh air, possibly from\nthe tree branches, but just the love of being out of doors, with a\nspecial desire to enjoy the wonderland beauties of our own woody range,\nin which we ourselves took great pride.\n\nWhile still in their tenderest baby days, the kittens developed such\nan ardent talent for clinging together in all their activities that\nthey seemed like two branches swayed by the same breezes. It was more\nthan the usual natural bond of kinship, even between twins; more like\nsomething prenatal, as if one thought instigated all their doings.\nThey ate together, walked together, snoozed together, and were never\nseparated; to see one was always to see both, and everything that\nhappened took place in pairs. They breathed one common atmosphere\nof trust and faith in each other. Their little feminine hearts may\nhave been often false to us, but to one another they were always\nfaithfully loyal, enduring with unswerving devotion in this oneness\neverything good or bad that was theirs to share. In living mischief\nand in the joy of their great discoveries, they were always as of\none mind. Ever frolicking together in the sunshine of happy days and\ngenerously sharing the sorrows of this vale of tears on hard ones. As\none galvanized body, they went through kittenhood in good and bad ways,\nsuffering and enjoying in the everlasting bond of an alliance offensive\nand defensive.\n\nTheir good qualities were so many, and their allegiance to the\nentire household apparently so faithful, that it came as a sickening\ndisappointment when a little murdered bird, the result of their\nprowess, was brought and laid at my feet. After this there was no\nfurther mystery or doubt as to their inward viciousness, and that it\nwas pure murder-lust just for the delight in the killing was shown\nby their never once offering to eat their victims. Sometimes they\nwould bring them home and simply \"lay them away,\" and sometimes leave\nthem, all bloody, under the trees. Feeling that I was the one most\nresponsible for the morals of these little heathens, and the one most\nblamed for their wickedness, an ardent missionary fever began to burn\nin my indignant blood, and I secretly determined that there should be\none hand, strong enough in love, to at least discipline this scandalous\nfeature in their otherwise gentle breeding. If our little aristocratic\nbabies could not live in friendship with our feathered beauties of the\nwoods, they should be forced by some kind of vigorous training to leave\nthem in peace; for we loved the little birds, and their sweet songs in\nour woods, too much to be reconciled to any such disloyal warfare upon\nthem.\n\nIt was with a sinking sensation that I sadly and quietly followed\nthe marauders one morning as they stole off for their usual\n\"after-breakfast\" diversion of seeing things in the woods. I was firmly\nresolved to find out how and where the fledglings were captured and\ncut off so untimely in their innocent careers and took good care that\nthe kittens did not see me or know that I was waiting grimly in hiding\nuntil I could catch them red-handed, and there could be no mistake.\n\nAt last my time came, when the degenerates were both crouched near a\ntree, with wide open, flaming eyes cruelly set on a little chirping\nsongster. Then as they crept forward with eager desire and all the\ncunning stealth of plain, common, feline ancestry, and were just\nready to spring on their unconscious game, I burst upon them in such\na frenzy that it frightened them into a state of absolute dismay. But\nbefore they could feint, the pair of abject and convicted criminals\nwere hustled back to the house in terrible disgrace, and, hardening\nmy heart, such discipline and argument was administered as was deemed\nexpedient.\n\nNaturally better things had been expected from such beautiful,\nsaint-like looking cherubs, who did not have to make a living by their\nwits, and this depraved, red-flame blood lust in their being was a\ndouble surprise and disappointment.\n\nUnder surveillance, these injured innocents became very artful and\nsly and would resort to all sorts of deception in order to avert\nsuspicion. If caught loitering about their favorite hunting ground,\nthe hypocrites would dally about in gaping pink yawns of boredom, in\nthe most indifferent manner, or play Jack and the Bean-stalk by darting\nmadly up the trunk of a tree and chasing their own tails down, just to\nshow that joyous exercise was the chief, and in fact the only reason\nfor their fondness for the woods. There was no doubt but that they\nunderstood perfectly their transgression, and if they were discovered\nin the delirium of the hunt, we faithfully did our dark and dreadful\nduty. But they took their discipline so meekly that it was simply\nheartbreaking to see their tiny, shrinking little bodies after such\nrudeness, hiding in out-of-the-way places, with terrible fear in their\nbig scared eyes, that were wont to look up at us in such love and\nexpectancy. The touching resignation of these tiny criminals under\nour correction made us feel almost ashamed of our power, especially\nas they seemed so superior to it. Moreover it did not seem to make any\nlasting impression, nothing resulting from such painful experience to\nboth, in the way of reform, that could be detected by the naked eye.\nBut, as we explained to them over and over again, if we had only been\nable to correct this one little evil in their hearts and make them half\nas penitent and guileless as their beautiful, remorseful eyes looked,\nour pains would have been rewarded by their becoming the very best of\ncitizens.\n\nBearing so calmly and patiently our severity, as if suffering an\ninjustice, they fortunately, bore no malice in their baby hearts\nand neither punishment nor disgrace could suppress for long their\nindomitable spirits. Although they acted for the time being as if their\nhearts were broken, smashed beyond repair, as soon as it was deemed\nadvisable for consolation to be administered, they were coaxed back to\nlife and soon were as fearlessly and beautifully happy as ever, trifles\nof this kind passing as a little summer cloud in their otherwise blue\nsky. From their humble resignation they evidently took this peculiar\nmorality on the part of big mortals as being just one of the mysteries\nincluded in their cup of experiences in this queer world they were\ntrying to fathom, but in which they had expected only sunshine.\n\nThere were times when they escaped vigilance and, in spite of the\nretribution which we surely had impressed upon them would follow as\ninevitably as a shadow, they would abandon themselves recklessly to\ntheir one dissipation and we were helpless before their defiance.\n\nThese disgraceful pets of ours were known to come back from such\ngory adventure, unshamedly, with the blood of their victims still\nwet on their lips, telling the horrible tale without apology. After\nsuch a stirring incident they usually seated themselves very close\ntogether on the porch steps, singularly calm, their two hearts beating\nas one, their little pink noses at the same angle high in the air,\nin that habitual attitude of \"united we stand or united we fall\"\nwhich was always and ever their bond of fellowship, and simply await\nunflinchingly for developments. If an accusing finger was raised at\nthese demure hypocrites, their meek expressions were simply angelic,\nas if they were just waiting for halos. Under threatening and closer\nscrutiny, they would sanctimoniously lift their round, reproachful eyes\nand insolently lick their impudent chops as if scornfully saying:\n\n\"Oh, lady, you surely do not suspect _us_ of having seen your birds\nthis morning?\"\n\nTheir innocent and demure air was positively exasperating and we were\nin despair over the prowling slaughter which made our hearts ache. In\nthe stress of many other affairs, however, we feared that we would be\nobliged to give up our strenuous watchfulness and let these murderous\nlittle beasts pursue their deadly war on the feathered tribe as they\nwilled, when one joyful day we discovered in the column of \"What others\nhave found out,\" a permanent remedy.\n\nA quiet resolve was taken and another trip to town, and now these\ndainty little aristocrats go about in quest of experience with gleaming\ncollars about their throats, upon which dangle little tinkling bells,\nso that they never escape the music which gives warning of their\napproach. From their look of appeal and almost of terror when these\nwarnings sounded the first alarm, I imagine that it has lessened their\nconfidence in the kindness of mankind and taken a great deal of joy out\nof the world for them.\n\n  [Illustration: A\u00cfDA AND SAADI\n\n   \"Oh, Lady! You do Not Suspect Us of Having Seen Any of Your Birds\n   This Morning?\"]\n\nOrdinarily they submit to the fatalism, looking bored to death, but\nthere are occasional lapses when their fighting blood struggles and\nthey are excited almost to madness by the everlasting jingling. Then,\nagain they will sometimes lift their appealing eyes in hopeless despair\nto our unyielding authority, opening their mouths as if to make a\nfeeble protest in tremolo, but in their guilty helplessness, failing to\nutter a sound. But as no miracle of love happens in the way of release,\nthey have become of necessity philosophers, and though doubtless they\nwould give the world to be rid of these tink-tingles of law and order\nthat follow every movement, they are martyrs and have learned, even in\ntheir brief experience of life, to make the best of the inevitable. The\nlonger their residence in this world, the greater their education will\nbe concerning the mystery of a higher power which arranges things so\nas to baffle a helpless kitten's best laid pleasant plans, even kittens\nwith marvellous bushy tails with a double kink in them.\n\nNothing so completely subdued these incorrigibles and hurt their\npride, as a horrible catastrophe they once inadvertently brought upon\nthemselves, which came near being a tragedy. It was the first time\nin their play paradise that they ever met with absolute rebuff and\nit completely subdued them for the time being. One hot summer day,\non coming in from one of their tramps abroad, very warm and very\nthirsty, they caught sight, both at the same instant, of a basin of\ngleaming, tempting, creamy white paint, which a careless workman had\nleft standing there for a moment. Mistaking it for milk which doubtless\nour thoughtful kindness had prepared for their thirsty coming, they\nuttered a little flute-like duet of thanks and made a rush to their\nfate, side by side, as the animals went into the ark, not stopping for\neven a smell, so unsuspecting and great was their confidence. Down deep\nwent their little aristocratic noses into the sticky mass, so deep they\ncould hardly extract them!\n\nWe were very sorry for these foolish, self-confident little victims\nand they were very sorry for themselves. A strange, unwonted calm\nfell on our bungalow, and it was really one of the saddest times for\nall, humans as well as kittens. Until the paint wore off their faces\nand whiskers, it was an interval of quiet, in which there was no\nmake-believe humility, but in which the culprits were really bowed to\nthe earth in shame and with indigestion.\n\nTruly, it is a hard world for even innocent little sinners!\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nMAROONED\n\n\nIt was midsummer and the city sweltering in an overpowering heat wave,\nbut in the country there were cool retreats and a fulness of verdure\nthat were calling with enticing insistence to all the suffering\ncity-bound folk to come to their bounty and rest. To one weary\ncountry-bred woman, the alluring summons sounded clear with a healing\nmessage to her tired nerves and jaded brain. It was the seductive call\nof the big blue sky and the pure air of her own old-fashioned country\nhome, and her whole soul responded with an intense longing. But she was\none of the city's plodders, chained by the inevitable to the treadmill,\nand she could only picture in her hopelessness what such happiness\nmight be, by straining her misty eyes in memory to years gone by.\n\nShe stood by the one window of her own room in that big lonesome\nboarding house, apparently gazing idly out on the bit of sun-baked\nstreet her limited view commanded, but she had closed her eyes and\nwas totally unmindful of the last hot slanting rays. Her whole being\nwas enthralled by that \"back home\" call that was stirring her heart.\nShe was so utterly tired of the heat of walls and pavements and the\ncity's seething rush and endless clang, that her eyes and brain seemed\nbursting and her very soul cried out for that restful spot in the\ncountry she still called home. She knew how sweet and still the misty\nwoods were \"back there\" in the soft twilight of this hour, and how the\nair was damp and fragrant with the scent of the tangled undergrowth.\nIn homesick longing she recalled the blessedness of the evening glow\nof the setting sun trembling upon the hills of this girlhood's home in\nits parting benediction, leaving a sabbath-day stillness on all the\nland. She could still hear the musical tinkling of the bells on the\nlowing cattle, as they ambled home from the pasture, in the lengthening\nshadows, filling the air with the rich warm breath of the hot clover\nthey had been feeding on. These homey, country memories were like a\nfresh delightful breeze blowing on her burning heart and opened up\nentrancing visions which stretched far back to happy days when there\nhad been plenty, and no need of battling with the struggling crowd of\nthe city.\n\nUnder the thrilling delight of these crowding memories, she was for a\nfew blessed moments transported to this home of her desire, and the\nsweetness of it nearly broke her heart. With a sigh, however, she\nremembered the present and the throbbing glare of her surroundings,\nrealizing how worse than foolish and how hopeless was her discontent\nwith things \"that are.\" Impatiently she lifted the heavy hair from her\nhot forehead and winked back the stinging tears, and was just about\nto turn resolutely from the window to take up the practical things\nof life, with a brave make-believe, when she caught sight of two big,\nround, gleaming eyes looking up at her from the dejected little garden\nbeneath her window. There was nothing very striking or attractive about\nthese eyes except their resolute intensity, and that they belonged to\na very small cunning kitten, sitting with all four paws tucked under\nhis body and his tail wrapped neatly about him, patiently gazing up\nat the window with concentrated wistfulness, hoping for recognition.\nAs he caught the lady's tardy glance, he gave a cordial and friendly\nmew without moving a muscle of his body and, as there was no response,\nanother mew. This time the lady, longing for the companionship of\nanything alive, could not resist a grateful and hearty return of his\nfriendliness, and throwing the window wide open, she invited him to\nenter. Instantly, with a clever spring and a curious twist of his\nlegs, he landed on the window ledge, clear of the garden below, and was\ncaught, with a soft little cry and cuddled tight with the warm downy\nfur against her cheek, in a frenzy of overwhelming delight.\n\nEvery one knows that a city boarding house is no place for pets, and\nin this particular one there was a law, as of the Medes and Persians,\nrigid and inflexible, that there should be no dogs or cats. So it was\nwith a guilty, beating heart that she revelled in even these few stolen\nmoments with this dear little comforter that carried her back to the\ndays of her youth and the days when there were always cats--and cats\naplenty. When she released her little visitor from her arms, he sniffed\nabout the room, reconnoitering every nook and corner, as is the fashion\nof cats, and after a thorough and careful inspection of everything,\nsettled down with a mew of approval into his favorite position of rest,\nall four paws under him, having evidently decided to stay. But the\nlady knew, and feared, and confiding to him the restrictions of the\nplace, gently placed him on the window ledge, telling him to scamper\nfor his life into hiding. He dashed away at breakneck speed and the\nlady thought he was gone forever. But to her surprise and delight,\non returning to her room after business hours next day, there was Mr.\nKitty sitting on the ledge outside her window, in his favorite position\nof \"warming his toes,\" as if by previous arrangement. Of course he was\ninvited in, snuggled and fed. Fortunately the lady's window was in the\nback of the house, in a rather secluded corner, so she could carry on\nthese clandestine meetings without discovery.\n\nIt grew to be the regular thing, that the kitten should be there each\nnight, sitting just outside the window like the Peri at the Gate,\npatiently waiting for his lady's return. In this way he laid such\npersistent siege to her heart that she finally had to surrender,\npermitting him an established place in her home and in her affections,\nbut under certain restrictions. Although there was the impassable\nbarrier of expressed thought between them, he could look into her eyes\nand wistfully divine her desire. In this way he quickly learned that it\nwas only in the evening that he could be admitted into the brightness\nof her society, and even then, only with the greatest caution. After he\nhad once grasped this mental warning he forever after honored it with\nthe most careful consideration.\n\nAn evening came when the tall, thin-faced captain, with the winds\nof many a sea on his cheeks, was in port, and the indulgement of his\nlong-established habit of calling on the lady in the boarding house.\nThe anticipation of these regular visits had lain in the sturdy\ncaptain's heart until it had blossomed into a cheering romance and he\nboldly dreamed, during his lonely night vigils, of a possible fireside\nthat might sometime be kindled and waiting to welcome him on his return\nfrom his voyages. This little \"comfort beacon\" he was building in his\nmind made his stays in this port of great consequence to him. But the\nheart of the lady was a port of happiness the captain had not yet been\nable to invade as it was not a sailor's life that the lady thought she\nwould like to share. Some day, somehow, she hoped to return to that\nhappy land in the country she remembered, where she would pitch her\nmodest tent and live forever after, happier even than the proverbial\nfairies. But the big, courageous captain was gentle and generous in\nloving, and willing to wait.\n\nOn the captain's first call after reaching port this time he found\nthe kitten duly installed as a permanent member of the evening circle,\nand on account of the lady's evident partiality for her favorite, he\nbeing always anxious to please her, tried to make friends with him.\nTo the lady's surprise, the cat persistently eluded the captain's\ndemonstrative wooing. Perhaps it was instinct that told him of a\ncertain jealous impatience in the captain's heart that he should be\nthere taking so much of the lady's attention; or perhaps it was because\nthe captain offended his dignity by teasing him, in a friendly way, by\npulling his tail; or perhaps it was just because he called him \"pussy,\"\nwhich to any civilized cat must be rather galling.\n\nAnyway, they did not seem to get along together at all nicely and on\nthe captain's evenings the cat developed a decided and hitherto unknown\nkink in his temper. He would wait for and submit like a gentleman to\nthe captain's rough stroke of greeting, but that was the limit of his\npoliteness, and any familiarity beyond this would bring a wicked gleam\nto his sea-green eyes and an ominous thud of his tail.\n\nThe lady felt their mutual irritation and thinking to interest the\ncaptain in her pet and to smooth their rather stormy friendship, told\nhim of the kitten's great fondness for water, a very unusual trait in\ncats, as they generally dread getting even their feet wet. She told how\nthis cat really dissipated in water, loving to play with the straggling\nlengths of the garden hose and in the puddles it made, often getting\nhimself thoroughly drenched, and sometimes even played at swimming\nacross a shallow pool until he came to some high place where he could\nperch and dry his bedraggled self. Having such a bond as their mutual\nfondness for water, they ought by right to be the best of friends, she\nsaid.\n\nWhen the time came for the captain to sail again, to the lady's great\nsurprise, he begged her to let him have the kitten for a passenger,\ntelling her that they needed a mascot on board ship. He assured her\nthat her \"best beloved\" had just the special qualities to make a dandy\nsailor, and loving the water as he evidently did, would doubtless take\nkindly to the life.\n\nThe captain hesitatingly pondered in his heart if the time were ripe\nto ask for another passenger, the one in all the world whom he thought\nwould make life's voyage sweet and complete, but he instinctively\nfelt that the lady would not have it that way, and in wisdom asked\nonly for the cat. Secretly she wondered why the captain had asked for\nthe company of the cat, as they plainly were not greatly attached to\neach other, and selfishly she wanted to keep this dear little friendly\nkitten all to herself. Yet there was always the secret of his unlawful\ntransgression on forbidden territory and the fear of discovery; and\nmore than all, the heartbreaking fact that time, over which there\nwas no control, would bring him the misfortune of becoming just a\nbig, homeless, skulking city cat. These considerations, and a desire\nto provide a good home for her pet far away, reconciled her to the\nseparation, although it gave her a big heart-ache to think how she\nwould miss him.\n\nSo it was arranged that the captain should have his mascot. On the day\nof sailing the lady herself took him to the ship, as she wanted to be\nquite sure that he was carried aboard gently and safely and that he\nwas induced to stay there with as little fright as possible. She was\nalso glad to give the captain this little flattering attention of a\nlast good-bye and _bon voyage_, which hint, if the poor captain had not\nbeen too downcast at the parting, might have made him feel that perhaps\nhe had been a little too timid in asking for only one passenger. When\nat last she cautioned him, with a pitiful little break in her voice,\nto have patience and use only gentleness with this trusting, helpless\nlittle shipmate she was so basely betraying, it came near bringing\nabout a climax. As the devoted captain held her small hands clasped\ntightly in his strong ones, a burning flood of love flushed his\ncheeks under their coat of tan and his snappy blue eyes blurred, as he\nsolemnly swore, in a voice not quite under control, that he would be\never faithful to her admonition, to her, to the cat and to anything she\nheld dear. Had there been time, in his almost overpowering emotion, the\ncandid mariner might then and there have ventured his fate. However,\nthe tension of the instant passed, and in the confusion of the last\nfew moments there was not again time or opportunity for tender words,\nespecially as the lady's whole attention seemed taken up with the\ncat and in solicitous anxiety as to whether he would be contented and\ndevelop a liking for skippers and a skipper's life. So in the final\nmoment of clashing bells, splashing hawsers and the settling down of\nthe engine to real business, the last flickering farewell was only a\nquick grasp of hands, which somehow seemed to carry with it a new hope,\nand the call of \"all ashore,\" left the captain's heart still fluttering\nwith only the next time to look forward to.\n\n  [Illustration: MAROONED\n\n   Neither Disappointment nor Ugly Temper Had Broken\n   His Fierce Sense of Injury or His Indomitable Spirit]\n\nIt was a very sullen kitten that the lady had left on the lower deck\nafter the last desperate squeeze she had given him. As she turned to\ntake her last look back, there he sat on his haunches, as motionless as\nan Egyptian mummy, amid his new surroundings, but game, maintaining a\nlofty dignity to the last in spite of perplexity, dismay and wrath.\n\nAs the great ship swung clear of the pier and turned her clean-cut prow\ntoward the mists of the ocean, the lady wiped the blinding tears from\nher eyes and waved her handkerchief bravely as a last admonition to\nthe cat, and in adieu to the captain, who was now in command, alert and\nbusy, all sentiment forgotten.\n\nAll on board a sailing vessel, from the captain down, love pets of\nevery kind, but during the first hours of the ship's getting under way,\nwhen all is confusion and bustle and everybody busy with the ship's\nimportant affairs, there is no time for trifles. Naturally the new\npassenger was forgotten for the time being and left to his own devices\nand for the ocean to do its own work with him, in its own way, until\nthings had settled down into the daily routine. When this time arrived,\nthe cat was past all overtures of any kind and occupied exclusively\nwith his own resentment, the anger of his betrayal having by this\ntime entered too deeply into his being for him to accept any kind of\npeace-offering. He was insensible to all caresses and disdained all\noffers of friendly acquaintance, and from the rank rebellion brooding\nin his gloomy, unforgiving eyes, it was plainly evident that he was\nnot enjoying his ocean trip. Although he had soon found his sea legs,\nhe had also found _en route_ a very wicked temper in thinking over the\ninjustice of the situation, shanghaied and deserted in this heartless\nmanner.\n\nThe men, now that they had the time, tried in every way to make up to\nhim but coaxing of all kinds proved of no avail, the awful bitterness\nof his injury making him immune to any sort of cajolery, and he\ntreated them all with a calm and persistent air of scorn. They tried to\ntempt him with every kind of cat dainty, but in an attitude of sullen\nhostility he would have nothing to do with them, venting his ill-temper\non all alike and confining his dependence in the eating line to the\ncook, who merely threw him scraps. His angry resentment was too deep\nand too hopeless for any comforting; he merely wanted to be let alone,\nif he was doomed to stay in this dungeon, and to live his own sullen,\ndesolate life, in resenting _everything_.\n\nHis former freedom among gardens and roofs made the limitation of even\nthis big craft, a miserable home for one of his outdoor habits, and\nalthough he had all the ship's mice for diversion, there was time and\ntime for thoughts deep and resentful. As he was unconfined and had full\nrange of the ship, on an early tour of investigation he discovered a\nporthole, always open to the sun in possible weather, which seemed to\nattract him, as a light will draw a traveler, lost in the dark. This\nhe decided on as his favorite resting place during the day and the\nsailors, knowing that he had become fully accustomed to the monotonous\nswaying of the boat, and in consideration of his strong prejudices, let\nhim take possession undisturbed. Here he would sit and \"let his mind\nwork\" in brooding abstraction, gazing by the hour in wide open revolt\nat the gray blankness of the sea, too dreary and hopeless to sleep.\nPerhaps it reminded him of other times and of another window where he\nhad been wont to sit in happy anticipation of the coming of his lady.\nHowever it was, this window had a strange fascination for him and day\nafter day, when he was not roaming drearily about the ship, he would\nsit here, a sad still-life study. With wide, unwinking, gloomy eyes,\nhour by hour he would follow the broad expanse of the desolate waves to\nthe empty horizon, eating his homesick heart out in grim endurance of\nhis fate.\n\nOne awful day he was caught unawares and his career came near ending\ntragically. The ship, without the slightest warning, made a sudden\nlurch and he was unceremoniously tumbled out of his resting place\nwith a splash, into the waves that were racing along the smooth black\nsides of the ship. An alarm was immediately given and in five seconds\neveryone on board knew what had happened. The captain received the\ninformation with a few sailor expletives, nautical and to the point,\nand growled something about \"not being worth it,\" but ordered \"all\nhands to the rescue,\" and the middies responded valiantly. One, more\nventuresome than the rest, without pausing to count the odds, stripped\nand leaped boldly into the dangerous depths. The rest of the crew hung\nbreathless over the rail, watching their comrade make his desperate\nstruggle with the buffeting waves, which sucked at every ounce of his\nyouthful will and strength. There was an instant of sickening suspense\nwhen he sunk straight down clear out of sight. But quickly his head\nshot up again above the swirl of water and as he shook the brine from\nhis nostrils and eyes and struck out powerfully with his arms, there\nwas seen between his teeth the motionless cat held fast by the neck.\nThe small boat was lowered and the hero was picked up and helped\naboard.\n\nThe cat did not show a symptom of life, as they laid him on the warm\nsunny deck and applied \"first aid,\" and it looked for a time as if\nthe shock to his nerves and the long salt bath had done their worst.\nBut the determined mettle of this hard-shell spirit was not so easy\nto extinguish and as life surged back into nerve and muscle, and he\nstruggled back to consciousness, they found he was there with all of\nhis nine lives wide awake and still in good working commission. One\nwould have thought that after such an appalling doom had all but closed\nin on him, he would have appreciated his good luck and the true value\nof having such heroic comrades, and would have shown some thankfulness\nfor the risk one of them had run to save his life. On the contrary,\nalthough he had learned to keep away from the porthole, a deeper gloom\nthan ever settled upon him, and, taking this unfortunate accident as an\nadded insult, he treated them all with more than his usual scorn.\n\nThe cat's peculiar characteristics of temper made him not only marked,\nbut famous. The very independence and aloofness of his dull life made\nhim tantalizingly popular with the young fellows, and in their leisure\nhours they were continually seeking him out to pass the time. They\nthought it great fun to tease him to furious anger and then laugh\nat his quivering rage, but after they had had enough of this kind of\nentertainment they would never let him go back to seclusion without\ntrying their very best to coax him to good temper. They never succeeded\nin this commendable purpose, however, even with the most heroic\nefforts, and would have hotly resented any insinuation that their\npastime might possibly be a cruelty. The captain, too, was guilty of\nloving to display the cat's tabasco-like temper, being quite proud of\nthe strong personality shown in one so ugly and vicious and still one\nso delightfully entertaining.\n\nDuring their ship's stay in an English port, the captain entertained\non board a brother officer, whose ship happened to be in at this time,\nand teasing the cat until he exhibited his fierce characteristics was\none of their chief after-dinner diversions. The brother officer was\nvery much entertained by the captain's hospitable amusement and took\na greedy fancy to the insolence and hardy independent ways of his\nextraordinary pet. He liked the animal so much that he coveted the\nmettlesome prize as one that would make things lively in dreary hours,\nand begged the captain to loan him for just one voyage; but the captain\nwas indignant at such a proposal and refused to consider it for a\nmoment. It would be breaking a sworn and solemn covenant with his lady,\nand besides, the cat was the pride of the whole crew, notwithstanding\ntheir raillery, and he, and in fact all on board ship could not get\nalong these days without this important member of their mess, who\nwas getting more disagreeable and interesting every day. Shameful as\nsuch baseness was, the brother officer watched his chance, and as his\nship was to sail first, he had the advantage. The captain was wholly\nunsuspicious of his friend's secret intention and the first intimation\nhe had of his treachery was when he went on deck to wave him farewell.\nAs the brother officer's ship sailed majestically by the captain saw\nhim, evil and smiling, on the bridge, and as he returned the captain's\nsalute, he lifted the stolen cat in triumph in his arms. The captain\nstood rigid, the dark blood creeping into his tanned cheeks and leaping\nto his brain, while his keen eyes narrowed and scintillated with the\nglitter of cold steel as he watched the ship sail slowly past.\n\nTo this masterful seafarer, there was no sense of humor in the childish\njoke his facetious friend had played on him. At the moment he was\ntoo angry for his whirling brain to think out any plan to avenge this\nmalicious injury, but he had always found himself commander in every\nsituation and his nature was not the kind to forget. He swore with\nclenched teeth that he would get even with this traitorous fellow\nofficer even if it cost him his life. The man was beyond reach of his\nwrath and strong arm at present, as he was sailing for distant shores,\nand with him the unfortunate cat. But the captain would bide his time,\nhis anger growing with each hour, and there would surely come a day of\nreckoning in which it would be better for the officer had he never even\ndreamed this \"practical joke.\"\n\nThis strange cat, unfriendly and militant, that had never shown\naffection for anyone since that horrible day when he had been so\ncruelly deceived by the lady on whom he had lavished his whole heart,\nseemed despite his every effort, to make conquests where he least\ndesired and to be bound to lead a sailor's life to the bitter end, in\nspite of himself. This last outrage of fate roused him to desperation\nand took all semblance of civilization from his manner. It was war\nand no quarter from henceforth, with all the world against him. Big,\nstrong, and full of salty battle, he certainly had not been stolen for\na pet, and it would have made the lady weep could she have known the\nfate and seen the warlike wreck of her once gentle friend, although she\nwould never have recognized in this belligerent, savage old salt, the\nkitten she had cuddled and loved.\n\nThese new sailor tormentors soon discovered that one of the cat's\ndiverting peculiarities was a strong and expressed dislike to\nwhistling. He hated the shrill notes with a hate that made him tremble\nand which seemed to rouse the very devil in him. Even the lowest notes\nwould wake him from a sound sleep, and with angry, low, throaty growls,\nwhich sounded remarkably like swearing, he would make a sudden rush at\nthe offender with eyes that flamed green, and gleaming teeth set as if\nhe had a tigerish desire to spring at the man's throat and settle for\nall past insults, then and there. Once in the desolation of his soul,\nhe _did_ bite fiercely at his tormentor's shoe; and it would certainly\nhave fared ill for any of them had he dared make a determined attack.\n\nBut the sailors, finding sufficient entertainment in the impotent,\nsavage temper they were able to rouse, bore no malice in their hearts\nnor any animosity toward the cat for his violent dislike of them. So\nwhen they had teased him to the limit they would make all sorts of\namends in friendly overtures, which were met with snorting scorn, and\nthen indifferently allow him to go back to hiding, in peace. It seemed\nnobody's special mission to prevent this cruelty and the cultivation\nof all that was brutal and ugly in the poor outraged animal's nature\nor to see whether this continual tormenting were a real agony or if his\nhabitual, infinite wretchedness were being made greater than necessary.\nIt was simply a thoughtless love of diversion in which the helpless\npay tribute to power. So in misery the endless days dragged into weeks\nand it seemed to the cat, so sick of sea life and sea smells, as if\nthe world would never end. Although he was beginning to show the wear\nof his long, dull, sullen revolt, neither disappointment nor ugly\ntemper had broken his fierce sense of injury or his indomitable spirit.\nHelpless as his position was, he never cowered before his adversary,\nbut ever maintained an air of cool contempt and defiance, counting\nalways on a chance. Every day on board ship holds unknown possibilities\nand always there is hope for those who watch and wait, and the cat's\nweary rage was waiting--slowly, silently, steadily,--but just waiting.\n\nIn the early spring, the ship ran into a rough channel and fell on\ncontinued evil winds which at last developed into a terrible gale.\nWild, stinging wisps of salty wind came roaring right out of the\nnorth, flapping and bellying the sails and lashing the ship about like\na plaything in a fury of wind and water, until, with rudder gone,\ntotally disabled and helpless, it was being sent with each pounding\nbreaker nearer and nearer the dangerous, rocky shore. The only ones to\nwitness the screeching horror of this black night were two helpless old\nlumbermen, who had been roused from their sleep by the ship's signals\nof distress, and had run down from their camp to the pounding beach.\nBut they were powerless to answer the crew's beseeching cries or to\nhelp them in any way, as they were alone in these wilds and had no\nmeans at hand of rescue. Through the blackness of the storm they could\nonly imagine the distress, as they heard the roar of the heavy black\ndemons, fighting the stubborn craft steadily with wind and water as if\nit were an evil thing which they were bent on destroying. At last, with\nterrible strength, as if impatient of this impotent play, the water\nrose in a tremendous wave, booming like thunder, took the battered\nfighter in its arms, lifting her high from the heavy sea, and flung\nher pounding on a jagged rock that held and crunched her with its cruel\nteeth like a hungry beast, scattering the splinters far and wide. The\nmen, fighting to the end for their lives, were jerked and flung about\nlike chips, their screams and prayers drowned in the roar and pounding\nof the storm, until the greedy sea once again broke over the rock and\nswallowed their screams and mangled bodies in a swirl.\n\nBy daylight the storm was over and the sea as calm as if there had been\nno tragedy, the surf beating steadily on the rocky shore its solemn\nrequiem for its deadly passion of the dreadful night. The angry tempest\nhad done its very worst and now the sun, so cruel in its brightness,\ndanced joyously over the shining water, showing in the silver gray\nsheen of the sea the broken hulk of the wreck still clinging to the\nbald rock with but one sign of life. This was the rather pathetic\nfigure of the sailor cat, sitting with his head high in the air, on\none of the highest timbers, well out of the water, sunning himself,\nhis nostrils dilating and swelling as they filled with familiar\nland smells. His overwrought nerves seemed wondrously calm under\nthe harrowing circumstances, and in fact, on close scrutiny, there\nseemed to be a decided air of grim triumph in his lonely figure seen\nsilhouetted against the vast expanse of blue sky and dancing waves.\nHe had discarded entirely his sullen manner and one could almost see\nthe hungry gleam of joy in his wide-open, level eyes, as they looked\nand lingered on the welcome sight of the beautiful world of grass and\ngreen growing things so near. This sweet and subtle fragrance blowing\nin his nostrils, sent its solace straight to his embittered heart and\ngave him the comfort and confidence that he would soon be one of the\nlittle furry creatures scampering in the woodsy haven. The steady throb\nand creak of the horrible vessel was no more, and he had at last been\nleft free, once more to work out his own destiny, and his heart, in\nspite of his unmoved exterior, was thumping in triumph, and his whole\nbody tingled with excitement. How delightfully safe, and steady, and\nfirm, the cool retreats of this forest world looked to his sea-sick\neyes! And over all brooded an enchanting silence, with no sound of\neverlasting machinery, just an occasional sweetly tremulous note from\nthe blue above, and a chirp from the depth and mystery of the pungent\nland fragrance below, that could be heard above the heavy beating of\nthe surf.\n\nHis heart bounded in response to the possibilities of this Promised\nLand of his long desire. But there was a wide space of flashing, angry,\nturbulent ocean between him and this secure, friendly world of plenty\nand enticing sweet-smelling shrubs: a hard problem and a fearsome\nrisk for an ordinary cat and a difficult one for even this desperate\ncreature with his fearless nature and the proclivities of a duck. But\nin cringing fear of some further stroke of relentless fate, that might\ncome along and rescue him enslaving him for another dismal voyage of\nexcruciating experience, he determined not to be overtaken by any such\nhorrible doom, but to make that stretch of water at any cost and to\nmake it without delay.\n\nHe picked his way gingerly to where the water washed the timbers,\nquivering with anticipation, gathering all the strength of his\nbig bones and tough muscles for a leap to the shore rocks, and\nthen--hesitated! It was a deadly plunge and his heart was doing\ndouble quick in fear, but the compelling power of the near-by free\nrange of greenness, with its sweet breath of liberty, fired him anew\nwith the strength of despair. With a hoarse cry, that seemed to come\nfrom the bottom of his throat, and every muscle stiffened, in fierce\nrecklessness he at last launched himself into the washing waves and all\nhis whole-bodied, lusty youth was put into the life and death struggle.\nIt is vouchsafed that some great mysterious power shall watch over and\nguard helpless animals, brave with desire, and it carried this stout\nheart, that would have died but for it, straight to the shore and back\nto the living fertile earth he loved, to live his own free life once\nmore in the shadow of its satisfaction.\n\nThe cat had arrived in port at last and had thrown off the fetters of\nhis tragic fate forever, going into the mystery of the wild, where no\ncuriosity can follow.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nMAIDA\n\n\nIt was when Maida, a rarely beautiful Maltese, was about a year\nold that she became the mother of a collection of variegated little\nmongrel babies, with spotted fur of all sorts, except one, which was\npure white. Maida was all mother, and very proud of this disreputably\nmixed progeny, but evidently especially pleased with the white one.\nHer preference for the milk-white blonde was plain, for she always\npicked this one out for extra care and scrubbing during the short time\nthey were allowed to snuggle together in the nursery she had selected,\nwhich was a soap box tucked away in the back corner of the stable loft.\nBut this is a cruel world for little unwelcome kittens and so it was\ndestined that this shameful offspring should mysteriously disappear,\nand the natural instincts of Maida's big mother-heart be frustrated.\n\nOn the afternoon of the babies' third birthday, after only a short\nabsence, the devoted mother came hurrying back in anxious care to the\nhome box, to find nothing there but the thick straw bed. There were no\nlittle bunches of soft fur to feed and cuddle not even one left to save\nher suffering swelling breasts. No one told her why or where; simply\nthe cruel fact remained that she was desolate, her home empty, and her\nbabies gone. Her grief over this heartless depredation, so inhumanly\nhuman, was painful to witness. Frantically she called in long-drawn,\nwailing cadence for her babies, from morning till night, in an agonized\nsearch. Up stairs and down, in and out, her mournful _meows_ echoed,\nuntil everyone knew of her trouble, and even the most unsympathetic\nwere indignant over the cruelty of it.\n\nAll of a sudden Maida ceased her mourning and settled down into quiet,\nregular habits again. Everyone drew a sigh of relief at her serenity\nand peace, but her mistress, more curious than the rest, determined to\nknow the cause of her resignation and followed her to the loft. What\nshe found there sent the cold shivers down her spine, for, snuggled to\nthe poor mother's babyless breasts, were four small, ugly, pinky-white\nratlets, with long tails and eyes like a Chinaman's. The consoled\nmother looked up at her mistress with beating heart and eyes straining\nwith such pleading human anxiety that there was no mistaking that they\nheld a challenge. But she need not have feared for no one with any\nkind of feeling could have the heart to let anyone interfere a second\ntime with Maida's arrangement of a family however grotesque her ideas\nwere in this respect. Where these shocking substitutes for her own\nunpopular babies came from, where they were born and what had become of\nthe rightful parent, no one but Maida will ever know, as they were the\nonly descendants of this rather curious breed of rodents that were ever\nseen in all the country round. But Maida, the kidnapper, looked proudly\nupon them, doubtless as her one white offspring returned fourfold, and\nneither excused nor explained. If their advent was dark with a cruel\ndeed, no one knew and no one felt that they had the right this time to\ndeprive the aching breasts and perhaps a conscience-stricken heart of\nthis compensation.\n\nAs the numerous rodents grew and began to take notice, they became\nquite troublesome to the anxious foster-mother, for they were wild\nlittle things, uncommonly healthy and uncommonly restless and rather\nfierce as well. Time proved however that they were the very best\nspecimens of their kind, their baby coats bright and shining, their\nslim wee eyes clear, and their little noses alert with the most furious\ninquisitiveness. It was not long before the boldest of them could climb\nto the edge of the box on an investigating tour into the attractions\nof that little surrounding world of theirs, but Maida was ever on the\nalert, and in a twinkling would seize him and drop him in the box with\na bump. Poor little ratlet would look scared to death and rather shaky,\nbut Maida would gently lick him with her tongue, purring in the dulcet\ntones of a cooing dove, until she had him soothed.\n\nThe ratlets grew day by day into more independent and astonishing\nways, and Maida's mistress decided that this rather frisky family\nhad better be transferred to more commodious quarters. So the rather\nunique nursery and household was removed to a large empty room over the\nstable, where they could have plenty of room and still be confined.\nMother-Maida, doubtless feeling that she had troubles enough before,\ndid not appreciate this freedom of a wider range for her lively\nchildren, and would have been glad had her mistress been less generous.\nNow it required double the effort to keep her strange brood from the\ntempting space about, and her strenuous struggles to restrain them\nwithin the prescribed limits of the box were sometimes painful, but\nalways very funny. At times, in a very frenzy at their confinement the\nsmall rodents would bound, all in a white streak, one after the other,\nover the edge of the box and all over the room. Then poor Maida's\nmaternal excitement and her efforts to drive, carry or frighten them\nback to their home, made pandemonium, the ratlets running helter and\nskelter in all directions and Maida after them. Catching one, she would\njump back into the box with it, leave it there and go for another, but\nbefore she could make a capture, the one she had left in the box would\nbe scampering in gay frolic with the others.\n\n  [Illustration: MAIDA\n\n   In Long-Suffering Patience Maida Would Stretch Herself in a Streak\n   of Sunshine and Survey the Riotously Incorrigible Mites, Indulging\n   in Their Favorite Pastime of Playing Tag All Over Her Body]\n\nThis rather serious game for Maida of \"in and out\" would go on until\nher nervous system was a wreck and she was utterly exhausted. Finally\nrealizing that her efforts to subdue her riotously indecent family were\nuseless, she would drop breathless to the floor, stretch herself in\na streak of sunshine near the box, and survey the incorrigible mites\nwith disgust. No longer pursued, the fun ceased for the youngsters,\nand they would come to where she was having a little interval of peace,\nand nip and maul, challenging her into another contest, playing tag up\nand down her tail, and indulging in other tantalizing pastimes, until\neven her self-sacrificing, long-suffering patience could no longer\nendure, and she would indignantly shake every one of them off, spring\nto her feet with a contemptuous _meow_ of impatience, and seek another\nplace for relief. Then the apparently conscience-stricken little\nrascals would meekly come, one by one, anxious and conciliatory, humbly\nbegging her notice, scrambling solicitously over her, and by and by\nthe four tired-out white beggars would be sleeping quietly with their\nsharp little noses snuggled in the soft fur of her body, all love and\nforgiveness.\n\nAlthough animal children are generally supposed to be much better\nbehaved and to cause their mothers less anxiety than human children,\nthis poor foster-mother was kept very busy disciplining and training\nher strangely troublesome family. She truly mothered them, not as\nadopted aliens, but as the real thing, and taught them the proper\nthings kittens ought to do and ought not to do, with much vigor and\nmany a box on the ear; for generally what the rodents wanted to do,\nseemed to be just the thing they should _not_ do in the progress of\ntheir strange education.\n\nOne day the closet door having been left ajar, baby ratlets in their\nsearch for mischief, climbed way up to the ceiling and perched on the\ntopmost strip that held the hanging hooks. Maida, on finding them so\nfar above her reach, was painfully distressed, meowing and making the\ngreatest kind of a commotion in trying to scramble up the smooth wall\nto their rescue, as she thought. The ratlets seemed to be heartlessly\nindifferent to her anxiety and had to be driven from their lofty roost\nby the mistress. The first one to land on the floor was grabbed by the\nenraged cat and given such a shaking that he wobbled about in dizzy\nunconsciousness for several minutes. The next one she caught with a\nfirm paw, as he was scurrying back to the box, hoping to escape his\npunishment, and held him tight to the floor, in spite of his whimpering\nprotest, till he was quite still. This one lay for a long time as if\ndead, but after a while he slowly lifted his giddy, swimming head and\ncrawled patiently and sorrowfully back to his bed, and never again\ndid any of these naughty babies attempt to break this strange law of a\nstrange mother, by climbing in the closet.\n\nOnce a window of this room was lowered from the top, just a tiny way\nfor air. Maida's mistress, happening to be in the barn, heard a great\nmeowing and disturbance going on in their room overhead and rushed\nup to find her beloved cat racing about like mad, apparently frantic\nwith grief and not a ratlet in sight. The lady was very much puzzled\nover this total disappearance of all four of the ratlets and imagined\nall sorts of things, even the worst, and started in to investigate. In\nher search, she happened to glance out of the window and there on the\nroof were the whole bunch, plainly going mad in their unusual freedom.\nThe weather was splendid and they were all out enjoying it, jumping\nand running on the separating wall in mad frolic, apparently just for\nthe sake of falling back in somersaults on the roof, scuffling and\ndoing all sorts of nimble acrobatics in reckless stunts, and surely\nmaking the most of their glorious holiday in the sunshine. The window\nwas no sooner raised from the bottom, giving Maida a chance, than she\ndashed out like a flash, plainly determined on revenge. The instant\nthe naughty runaways caught sight of her, they could not get back into\nthe room and their box quickly enough; they raced for their very lives,\nstumbling and knocking each other over in their eagerness to get there,\nfairly shivering in their fright. Maida selected one poor pink-eyed,\ntrembling sprinter for a thorough shaking and let the others profit by\nhis sorrowful example, saving herself further exercise.\n\nThe ratlets lived to be independent, well-behaved grown-ups, with\nwonderfully polished and silky coats, owing to their frequent and\nthorough grooming by their faithful foster-mother, who seemingly\nnever grew weary of her maternal duties or their companionship. They\nwere great successes as rats, though doubtless Maida had her own\ninterior disappointment and cat wonder as to why, with such faithful\nbringing up, they were not animals of a more comforting nature. Now\nshe has real babies of her own, and this time there is no mistake, for\ntheir fur is pure Maltese, so her mother instincts have been allowed\nlegitimate vent. Her alien foster-children have the freedom of the\nwhole country and, owing to their strange adoption and the zeal with\nwhich they were brought up in the way good kittens ought to go, they\nseem irreproachable in behavior.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nA MEMORY\n\n\nOne frosty morning, by arguing, reproaching and beguiling in turn,\nwe coaxed from under cover of a heap of rubbish in the alley, one of\nthe dirtiest yellow and white gutter kittens ever seen; one that had\nbeen eyeing us timidly and insolently from the safe protection of\nhis smelly hiding place for several days. Gaunt, miserably hungry and\nshivering with the cold, he did not respond to our overtures of trying\nto make him a mite happy on Christmas day, with the eagerness one would\nnaturally expect. When he did condescend to come, his steps were very\ndeliberate and he carried himself with a certain sad dignity as if he\nhad found the cold world hopeless, and had shut his young heart against\nall trust. From his manner it was more to politely oblige us that\nhe came at all, than because he wished a merry Christmas or even our\nacquaintance.\n\nBy dropping our air of patronage and assuming a respectful one, we were\nfinally able to cajole him to the doorstep and at last to the warmth of\nthe kitchen and a saucer of food. Although he was not a bit shy, it was\nplainly his first introduction into the interior of any house. He was a\ntypical alley kitten, and probably a graceless one, born in the gutter\nwith no pretensions to breeding or even good looks. But with all this,\na lover of cats could plainly see that he was not a common \"yeller cat\"\nbut had a superior strain of blood in his veins from somewhere. Young\nas he was, it gave him a distinct individuality which impressed us\nfrom the very first. His short life had in all likelihood been a hard\none; probably he had been abandoned in infancy and obliged to make his\nown living by depredation, and knew only the cruelty and insult of a\nhomeless alley existence.\n\nThere may still be people in the world--civilized people--who do not\ncare for cats, but we, liking all cats and fancying the calm dignity\nof this one in particular, were at once in hopes he would forsake\nhis back-door haunts and come and live with us as our very own. As\nhe looked wise enough to solve life's problem on almost any lines,\nwe tried to tempt him to think seriously on all the comforts our home\nafforded and the life of ease and luxury it would bestow. We gave him\nfeasts and promised him all sorts of other good things, if he would\nonly abandon his former dissipated ways and stay with us.\n\nHe was always such a very serious cat, never seeming to have a kitten's\nnatural playfulness, not enough to even chase his own tail once in\na while as most kittens do. We never could coax him even under the\nmost alluring temptation to be otherwise than grave and tolerant of\nour levity and as we had our little romps with him we called him in\nlaughing sarcasm, \"Jiminy Christmas.\" We had no idea of giving one so\ndignified this trifling name permanently, but he so quickly learned to\nrespond to it, and as no other was suggested more appropriate in its\nplace, it was gradually established as the regular name by which he was\nknown.\n\nHe surely was a most welcome addition to our household and we tried\nto make him feel this and to know that we were honored by his stay.\nAlthough he was growing fat and beautifully sleek and was most\nfriendly, graciously accepting all that we gave, but giving very\nlittle in return, we noticed that he did not seem quite content and\nat ease, but was restless, as if some previous and neglected affair\nwere on his mind and calling him elsewhere. There was nothing that we\ncould actually complain of, still there was something comforting and\npermanent that was lacking in his presence. He was good--at least,\npart of him was good; but we had no idea, as we came to know later, of\nthat other part that was, well--not so good. At the time all we could\nsee was that something was plainly fretting him, something chafing\nhim almost beyond endurance. After we were better acquainted we found\nthat close beneath his gentlemanly exterior lay a veritable wild and\nvagabond nature, a vagrant ancestral strain that nothing could tame.\nHis queer combination of inheritances was the cause of constant strife\nin his nature, and the vagrant germ was likely to break out at almost\nany time into attacks of \"spring fever,\" which would force all ties of\nthe gentlemanly part to the wall and inevitably he would fare forth.\n\nWe tried in every way to coax him into contentment and domestic ways,\nbut the very fact that he was under surveillance and obliged to do\nthings, even for our loving satisfaction, was irritating to him and\nmade the \"wild strain\" chafe under the bondage. He seemed to try to\nplease us as hard as we tried to please him, and appeared grateful and\naffectionate, but he could not hide that smoldering, hungry yearning\nin his eyes nor the fact that he was tugging continually at the chains\nof his restraint, waiting, listening and planning some sort of polite\nescape, respectability growing more and more irksome every day.\n\nAfterwards, when we came to know his besetting sin more intimately, we\ngave him credit for manfully putting up a good fight this first time\nagainst that vagrant embryo that was stirring an almost irresistible\ndesire in his breast. The migratory instinct grew more insistent day\nby day, doubtless restrained for a time by a sense in his gentlemanly\nnature of certain obligations due us for our hospitality, but at last\nit was too much for his politeness even and with a hasty \"good-bye\" and\na \"thank you, ma'am, for your goodness\" off he scampered somewhere out\nwhere he could be free, and into the uncertainty of his former tramp\nexistence, but with the exquisite joy of liberty speeding his heels.\n\nWe felt very sorry and really quite culpable in not having been able to\noffer sufficient inducement to hold this tantalizing little vagabond.\nAlthough we did not wish him any misfortune, we _did_ hope that if\nadversity should overtake him in the mysterious, hot, irritating\nmadness of his desire, he would remember our hospitable roof, and come\nstraight back to us.\n\nHe must have had an unusually good time and turned himself loose\nrecklessly, for it was many months before we saw him again, and when\nhe did appear he had grown to full and magnificent cathood. He came\nto our door as an undoubted friend, bubbling over with vitality, every\nfiber in his body, even to his tail, buoyant with pride and action. He\nwas still rather superior in manner and quite sure of himself and his\nreception, not that he would intrude himself upon us, but if agreeable\nto all he would \"bide a wee.\"\n\nHe looked as if the open road and the chase had afforded him more than\na sumptuous living, for although well weathered by his tramp life, he\nwas as chipper as ever and his muscles hard with a healthy well-fed\nleanness. Evidently, if we wanted this little savage at all we must\naccept him as a proposition and law unto himself. And we did want\nhim, feeling sure that he was of the right sort, with merely a dash\nof mystery and adventure about him. He was made more than welcome, and\nhis toes surreptitiously buttered according to ancient superstition, a\nprocess said to keep cats from roaming. He graciously settled into the\nold ways, accepting our love and forgiveness as freely as it was given,\nand this time was good enough to stay with us for several months.\n\nAs week succeeded week and he was still a contented member of our\nhousehold, showing no signs of going his own way, we felt certain\nthe talisman had worked and grew to be fairly sure of him. We really\nbelieved that the fleshpots of servitude had opened his eyes to the\nfolly of his former disreputable ways, and that in pure physical\ncontent he would now settle down into the easy berth offered him and\nthe tameness of domesticity.\n\nBut it seems that this was only the \"gentlemanly part,\" for the time\nbeing having a holiday, and that our assurance was a creation of our\nown desire and doomed to disappointment. The time came all too surely\nwhen he began to show a decided weariness of walls and a diminished\nappetite for things cooked, perking his ears with a curious, listening\nlook in his dark eyes, as of constant, waiting expectation, listening\nto something calling from afar. The roaming strain in his blood ever\nran true on its glorious course, and it was not long before his days\nwere empty and life too unbearably dull under the ease of our, perhaps\ntoo lavish, hospitality. Much to our chagrin he plainly showed that he\nwas weary to death of having to account for days, and being locked up\nnights.\n\nWe recognized the signs and knew that this was one of his periods of\nutter revolt, when all clogging connection with civilization would\nprove too galling in comparison with the joys of the open, and knowing\nthe nature of the sledge hammer that was pounding in his breast, stood\nby and watched the struggle with amused interest. We were certain\nthat we had given him the sense of the restfulness of a settled home\nwith its comforts, and were also sure of having gained his gentlemanly\ngratitude and affection. But \"you never can tell,\" and so we waited and\nwondered in curious uncertainty as to the outcome.\n\nSummer passed, and it was not until the leaves were smitten with frost\nand falling scarlet and gold in the autumn woods that Jiminy Christmas'\nvagabond blood tantalized him into faring forth. The free way in which\nthe cheery chipmunks and the squirrels were scampering among the naked\ntree-tops, rattling the dry branches and sending a rain of nuts on his\ngreat playground, set the wheels of discontent to buzzing so fiercely\nin his roving nature that it actually hurt him to stay within bounds.\nWe felt that if he were able to resist the merciless torment this time,\nhe would indeed be a warrior worthy of laurel.\n\nIn the end the lure of life in the open won; or was it the old militant\nalley and chummy gutters? But whichever it was, the summons proved\ntoo enticing, and so one evening, half-apologetically, as if dragging\nhimself away from an almost overpowering temptation to stay, he rubbed\nhis \"Aufwiedersehen\" about our feet. We watched him fade like a ghost\ninto the surreptitious joy of the blue gloaming, carrying his tail with\nan air of regret and shame, but resolutely, and quickening his pace\nwith every step, never to be seen again until all hope had long been\ngiven up.\n\nAs the months and finally more than a year passed and no prodigal\nreturned, we feared that he had shaken the dust from his paws and the\nmemory of our home from his mind, forever, and gone the final way of\nall such vagabonds. We were honestly puzzled over this wild independent\nstreak in his nature, and naturally rather indignant over his lack of\nappreciation. Still, his next appearance was anxiously waited for and\nthere was never a day that we did not look and hope that out of the\nmysterious everywhere, somehow, someway, this ungrateful cat would come\nback to the warm spots in our hearts, and the empty spot on our hearth\nthat were waiting for him.\n\nOne lovely morning, in the early spring, on going out on the back porch\nfor a breath of the fresh morning world and a general survey of things\nblossoming, little did we dream of seeing our renegade. Yet there he\nwas, sitting modestly on the very edge of the farthest corner, as if\nclaiming nothing, nor asserting anything, but actually there, come back\nto us from the mysterious absence of a whole year.\n\n\"And is it you?\" was the rather scornful welcome he received.\n\nNaturally the feeble irony of this greeting was lost on him and he\ngave us a smiling \"good-morning,\" with a \"lovely day today\" sort\nof expression, and our pleasure at renewing the acquaintance was as\ngreat as the surprise he had given us. We could scarcely believe our\neyes, but by this time we were getting used to this cat's \"dropping\nin on us\" how and when he liked. He was quite self-possessed, making\nwhat we considered a polite apology but no unusual fuss, ignoring\nthis huge blank in his record and pretending it was but yesterday\nthat he had stepped out to \"look at things.\" His superb air of having\nno recollection and being so stolidly calm over it, and having\nno consciousness of anything to account for, was exasperatingly\ncharacteristic. But with all this, there seemed to be at first a\nquestioning, wistful look in his wide-open eyes as they met ours. Not\nthat he was at all humble; it was rather as if he were trying to fathom\nthe depth of his depravity in our estimation: a guilty, uncertain,\nuneasy, self-conviction, as if feeling his way back into our goodness\nand esteem.\n\nAlthough he had made himself tidy, after the manner of cats, he looked\nas if this intervening year had not been entirely good to him. His\ndisreputable appearance gave proof, that however gentle we had found\nhim in peace, he must be terrible in war, for his glossy fur was soiled\nand shabby and in a pitiable state of rags and tatters, showing the\nscars of many a hard-fought battle, but honorable battles and honorable\nscars we were sure.\n\nOlder now, and as one who had experienced hard, his calm eyes held in\ntheir dark depths the mystery of many a bandit night under the stars.\nHe was like the \"shabby genteel,\" doing his painful best to make the\nmost of a decidedly disreputable appearance, ignoring all things that\nwere even suggestive of a blank page unaccounted for. He was still\nplucky and sublimely dignified in that impregnable reserve which even\nour kindness had never been able to penetrate, but there was something\ngone from his old-time militant buoyancy, and in its place a kind of\ndesperate air, as of one who assumes a bravado of happiness he does not\nfeel.\n\nThis time he manifested a decided gratitude for all the good things\nthat came to him. As his hollow skeleton filled out with good and\nregular food, and his relaxed sinews stiffened, we thought that at\nlast the days of roving and the vagabondage of lusty youth were over\nand that he had come to a realizing sense of what a comfortable old\nage would mean. Surely now he would accept a trifling bondage for\nthe sake of peace, rather than yield again to the vague uncertainty\nof irresponsible freedom and the disastrous results he had plainly\nexperienced. The old love for the prodigal came back and he was\nreinstated with joy. But alas, the straight and narrow path seemed to\nhave no charms for this incorrigible, and his case seemed hopeless.\nJust as his hollow curves were filling out into decent plumpness\nand his thick glossy coat beginning to look like an aristocrat's the\nsymptoms of the inevitable \"parting of our ways\" were again apparent.\nIt was the usual attack, violent and urgent, leading him to dare and\ndefy all, even death, in following the beckoning call.\n\nIt was mortifying to us that he should even occasionally prefer the\nlow company of his alley associates, and the shame of being a skulking\ngutter shadow, dodging abuse, but that he should have these periodical\nspells of the \"inevitable interval,\" unconscious of any restraint,\nwandering and living as a tramp for months away from us, his ways and\nlife entirely shrouded in mystery, was too exasperating even for our\nloving forbearance. In our wrath, we determined that if he went this\ntime from our home, it should be forever. We had lost all patience\nwith his delightful weakness and had at last made up our minds that\nif he could not be contented to remain this time, we would depose him\neverlastingly from our hospitality and erase him from our hearts, for\nwe felt that we were wasting our affection and anxious sympathy on\nfalse pretenses.\n\nIn our high estimation of him, we had given him credit for what was not\nthere, and an appreciation far above what he had proven capable of. We\nwere baffled and perplexed beyond endurance by this strange fascination\nwhich seduced him with such passionate persistence, driving him from\nour protection into great spaces in his life which were a sealed book\nto us. During all these years of our intermittent friendship, we were\nnever able to solve this riddle. It was as if he heard some compelling\nchallenge, like the sounding notes of the Pied Piper, calling and\ncalling him from that far-off unknown, and try as he would to oppose\nit, his scandalous legs would eventually force their independence and\nget him there in spite of a hostile and honorable will. There was\nsomething so piteously appealing in the cat's evident helplessness\nto combat these siren summons, which threw him into a white heat of\ndaring, that it finally disarmed our antagonism. Resigned to what we\nhad now found was inevitable we compassionately waited and watched,\nrealizing the fierceness of the strife that was raging in his complex\nnature, and knowing that he was powerless to thwart it.\n\nThis time the battle was a short one, for he had lost the shame of it,\nand had not the strength or desire to fight it. With no apology but\nwith the steady, brooding look of a thousand defiant devils in his gray\neyes, he soon made a hasty escape, the stiff hair lifting eagerly along\nthe ridge of his back as he set out again on the long weary road that\nwas forever drawing him from the narrow path of peace and rectitude. He\nhad evidently sunk very low, even in his own estimation, for our last\nglimpse of him caught him adroitly dodging a shower of rocks well-aimed\nby the eternal small boy, ever on the lookout for such targets, as he\ndisappeared over the alley fence.\n\nWe gave him up surely this time and mourned him as dead, knowing that\nthe pluck and endurance of youth was long past. His wandering irregular\nlife had done its worst, weakening his one-time rugged frame that was\nwont to withstand so defiantly, the hardships and privations of a tramp\nlife.\n\n  [Illustration: JIMINY CHRISTMAS, THE FREE SPIRIT\n\n   Born Free, He Kept His Own Wanton Will Free from Enslavement to the\n   End, Living His Own Life in Honor and Honesty in an Out-Doors All His\n   Own]\n\nBut he was not dead, and we were bound to see him once more from out\nthe No-Where, and to have the satisfaction of knowing that this long\ntrip was his last and his wandering days over. It was during the wee\nsmall hours one silent, frosty night, that I was irresistibly drawn\nfrom my dreams and from my bed, and stepping to the window looked out\non the sparkling space of what seemed to be the deserted roof, flooded\nin the unclouded light of the full moon. Quietly and with no sense\nof abruptness, came stealing on the heavy stillness of the night, a\nmournful, throaty wail of resignation from out the inky shadow made\nby the chimney. This desperate cry of the solitary cat sounded almost\nhuman, as if, seeing me standing there, and knowing that the icy doom\nhad overtaken him, he just wanted to let me know the desolation of\nhis helplessness. Peering into the shadow, I saw crouched there in\na strangely pathetic manner, our wandering Ishmael, keeping a lonely\nnight-watch and waiting patiently in the cold for--God knows what. He\nseemed dazed and terrified, crouching stiffly and staring about him\nwith wide-open, frightened eyes. He must have known that the darkness\nwas close upon him, for that one beseeching, throaty note, unspeakably\nhuman and forlorn, was all his uncomplaining wretchedness uttered.\n\nAnswering to my coaxing, he straightened his fast stiffening limbs with\nan effort and dragged his poor weak body to my compassionate caress.\nHe had changed pitifully during this stay away and was only a shadow\nof his former self physically. His pride and might were all gone,\nbut he was a stoic still, enduring what he himself seemed to know was\ndeath, in silent, uncomplaining misery but with a green spark of terror\nblazing in his fading eyes. I was glad that he had not crawled away to\nsome secret place for the last great struggle alone, but had come to us\nand to our sympathy in his final need.\n\nI soon had a blazing fire and as he feebly felt its warmth, he made a\npathetic effort to tidy his poor matted fur, in which he had always\ntaken such pride, especially in our presence. But even a few licks\nof his tongue were too much for his failing strength, and he dropped\nlimply to the rug. Once he turned his head wearily to me as if to\nexpress his gratitude and as if to say, \"How glad I am to be here.\"\nThen his body relaxed, the terror faded from his eyes, and that was the\nend. He had answered the summons for his last journey and gone out into\nthe darkness without even the grace of repentance.\n\nOnly a cat! And one of the least commendable of all cats, and one that\ncould not be called, even by his most ardent admirer, a worthy cat.\nYet he possessed a personality, if not a soul, glowing with the great\nAmerican burning impulse of liberty, and he has left a memory, not as a\nfailure, but as one who made good. Born free, he kept his own free will\nto the end, living his own life in an out-doors all his own, free from\nenslavement and exultant in his freedom. He asked absolutely nothing\nof the world, but took what came his way with unassuming composure,\nrising above the temptation to yield his individuality in serving\nthose he loved, cherishing somewhere in his plucky brain a pre-natal,\nGod-implanted spirit of self-reliance to the end.\n\nIs it against all religion that God might perhaps let such a pagan\nbundle of unrepentance into Somewhere? _Suaviter in modo, fortiter\nin re._\n\n     Is there aught of harm believing\n     That some newer form receiving,\n     They may find a wider sphere,\n     Live a larger life than here?\n\n     That the meek appealing eyes\n     Haunted by strange mysteries,\n     Find a more extended field,\n     To new destinies unsealed?\n\n\n\n\nHERE ENDS THE GREAT SMALL CAT, AND OTHERS, BEING A COLLECTION OF\nSEVEN TALES FOR CAT-LOVERS, BY MAY E. SOUTHWORTH, THE TYPOGRAPHICAL\nAPPEARANCE DESIGNED BY JOHN SWART, PUBLISHED BY PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY\nAND PRINTED FOR THEM BY THE TOMOYE PRESS, SAN FRANCISCO, NINETEEN\nHUNDRED AND FOURTEEN.","title":"The Great Small Cat, and Others: Seven Tales","tradition":"folklore-oral-tradition","translated_text":null,"word_count":29418}