Part 5
* * * * *
“And the best of it all is,” added Impty, with a wide, red yawn, “that Sir Richard never forgot what had brought him his good-fortune when he was only poor little Dick Whittington; for, in all his statues and pictures, there is a little cat curled down in one corner, in memory of his own puss.”
“How I wish I could see one of them,” said Dolly, earnestly. “I do love people to remember things.”
“My grandfather, the King of the Cats, has lots in his palace in Cat-Land. Now, if I could only take you with me--but I can’t; it’s no use wishing, so good night!”
THE EIGHTH NIGHT
As Impty settled down into his place the next night, his purr sounded almost like a laugh.
“Why, Kitty, what _are_ you laughing at?” Dolly asked, for the black kitten was usually a sober little person.
“I was just thinking of a prank my grandfather played in his young days, long, long before he ever thought of being the King of the Cats. If you like, I’ll tell it to you.”
There were once four crows that sat in an ash-tree near an old farm-house. It wasn’t long before the owl that lived hard by looked out of his window under the eaves of the loft, and said to them:--
“Good day to you.”
“Good day,” answered the crows.
“Have you any spare time?” asked the owl. “Then I can put you in the way of earning an honest penny.”
“Indeed, we’d like to,” said the four, for the snow was lying old and thick over the whole country, and there wasn’t much to be earned.
“My good comrade, Tom Grimalkin, is dead,” said the owl. “Now, I was thinking you might carry him to his grave. When my old friend was alive, he often used to say to me: ‘Jan Owl,’ he would say, ‘you must give me a decent burial. A respectable life deserves a respectable funeral,’ he used to say, for he was a clever cat. Now, look here! You four have good black coats on, and are honest people--”
“Come along, then,” said the crows, and crept in through the owl-hole after him, one by one.
Now it was pretty dark in the loft, and the thatched roof was low, but they could see Tom Grimalkin where he lay. He was stretched at full length in the hay, without a move in him. The owl took up his post at his friend’s head, and the crows hopped along, all askew, just as they do in windy weather among the young wheat.
“Many’s the mouse we’ve caught in this loft together, Tom,” said the owl. “We’ve always been good friends, and many’s the spree we’ve had with one another. But that’s all past and gone now. Oh, Tom! Tom, old fellow! How you’d rejoice, and what a spring you’d make, if you were only alive, and I said to you, ‘Tom, four stupid black crows are standing round you this minute!’”
Then up sprang the Tom-Cat, and there was a crow-hunt, the like of which you’ve never seen.
* * * * *
“Didn’t I tell you that owls were more like cats than birds? Why, even that silly song that your uncle sings sometimes, about the owl and the pussy-cat that went to sea in a pea-green boat, and lived on honey, says so. I don’t think that any self-respecting cat would eat honey, but the rest of it’s true enough. This isn’t getting on with my next story, though, and directly I’m through I’ve got to go to Cat-Land. There’s to be a grand ball at the Palace to-night, and I’m to open it with my cousin, the Princess Miaoulina. You never heard, did you, about the way my grandfather happened to learn that he was King of the Cats? Well, then, I’ll tell it to you.”
A number of years ago, a gentleman, who was travelling through the eastern part of Germany, lost his way at nightfall, and at last found himself wandering through a large, dense forest. He walked his horse slowly for some hours among the trees, and finally, as he was getting very cold and tired, he thought he saw a light about a quarter of a mile away. He turned his steps toward it, for he hoped to find some peasant-cottage where he could pass the night, but, when he came nearer, he saw that the light was streaming through the windows of a ruined church. Looking over the sill of one of them, he saw a number of cats gathered round a small grave, into which four of them, crying bitterly, were lowering a little coffin with a crown and Grimalkin the Fifteenth engraved upon it. Instead of stopping to ask the way, the traveller jumped on his horse, and rode off, fortunately finding the right path at last. His friends had been expecting him for several hours, and, after they had given him a good dinner, and made him as comfortable as they could, they asked him why he was so late.
“Well,” said the man, “I lost my way, and wandered for some hours without knowing where I was, and finally I did strike the right path by some great good luck. But, while I was lost, I saw the strangest sight I have ever seen in my life!”
“What was it?” asked his hosts, eagerly.
“Why,” the traveller began, “I saw more cats than I ever beheld in all my life before; every one sad and crying, as a coffin, with a crown and Grimalkin the Fifteenth marked upon it, was being lowered into the ground.”
He had got no farther in his story than that, when the large black cat who had seemed to be asleep in front of the fire, leaped up and cried: “What! Grimalkin the Fifteenth dead! Then I’m the King of the Cats!” and springing up the chimney, he disappeared, and was never seen again!
* * * * *
“The reason he was never seen again,” Impty explained, “was because he went straight to Cat-Land, and people can’t go there, you know. That black cat was my grandfather, and he’d never hoped to be King so soon. But, you see, Grimalkin the Fifteenth lost all his nine lives at once, and so my grandfather succeeded to the throne immediately. Some day, perhaps, I’ll be King of the Cats, and if I ever am, I’ll make a new law so that you can come to Cat-Land just as you are without changing your shape. Wouldn’t that be nice? Good night!”
THE NINTH NIGHT
Dolly was sitting up in bed when Impty came purring in the next evening. She looked very happy, and she called out gayly to the black kitten: “Oh, Impty! Mother is coming home to-morrow! Miss Jane told me so when she was undressing me.”
“I know,” answered Impty, curling up comfortably. “The cook was talking about it to Eliza when I was eating my supper in the kitchen. Yes, this is our last night together, and because it’s the very last time I shall ever talk to you, I’m going to tell you the finest cat-tale in the whole world. It’s ‘Puss-In-Boots.’”
Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a little country village, there lived a miller and his three sons. He was poor, but he had been able to bring them up respectably, and let them live well enough; though, when he died, his sons found that all he had left them was his mill, his donkey, and his cat.
The oldest son took the mill, the second the donkey, and for the youngest there was left only the pet cat. He was sad indeed when he thought of his inheritance. “What shall I live on now?” he asked himself. “My brothers can go into partnership, and so always earn their living; but when I have eaten my cat, and made myself a muff out of his fur, all that will be left for me is beggary.”
While he was thus thinking aloud, the cat came and rubbed up against his legs, purring, and then, to his great surprise, spoke.
“Master,” said Puss, “you haven’t fared so badly as you seem to think. Just have a pair of boots made for me, and get me a sack, and you’ll see fine things!”
The young man hardly knew whether to believe he was awake or asleep. He had never even heard of a cat talking before, but he remembered how clever Puss had always been about catching mice and rats, hiding in the grain and playing dead; and he thought it would do no harm to try what luck his cat would bring him.
So a fine pair of high, yellow leather boots was made for the cat, and when Puss had slipped them on, and slung the sack over his shoulder, his master began to have faith in his good-fortune at once.
The cat hurried straight to the warren, where hundreds of rabbits were nibbling grass and clover leaves, and lying down, he opened his sack wide and scattered bran at its mouth. Soon, a silly little rabbit, who knew nothing of tricks and traps, came and entered the sack the better to eat the bran. Quick as a flash Puss drew the strings and killed him without mercy.
Very proud of his prey, he went to the palace of the King, where all the court wondered at seeing a booted cat who could talk. He was shown at once into the throne room, and there, after he had made a low bow, he laid the rabbit at the King’s feet, saying, “Here, Sire, is a present from my master, the Marquis of Carabas,” for so he had chosen to call the miller’s son. The King was very much pleased. “Thank the Marquis, my good fellow,” he said, “for sending me such fine game, and here’s a piece of gold for you.”
Soon after, Puss caught a brace of partridges, and these, too, he carried to the palace. The King was as gracious as before; again he thanked the Marquis, and gave the cat a handsome present. So things went on; from time to time Puss carried game to the King, who always showed him the greatest favor. At last, one day, when the cat had learned that the King and his daughter, the loveliest princess in the whole world, were to drive through their village that afternoon, he ran to his master, and cried: “Quick! Quick! Do as I tell you, and your fortune is made forever. Take off your clothes, jump into the river, and leave the rest to me.” So saying, he took the young man’s workaday clothes and hid them under a large rock. Then, as he heard the rumble of chariot wheels on the high road, he began to cry at the top of his voice: “Help! Help! My master, the Marquis of Carabas, is drowning!”
The King, hearing these shouts, popped his head out of the coach window, and seeing the cat who had so many times brought him presents of game, he commanded his guards to go to the rescue of the Marquis.
“Alas, your Majesty!” cried Puss, “my master’s clothes have been stolen. While he was bathing, robbers came and carried them away, and although I cried, ‘Stop, thief! Stop, thief!’ I could not prevent them from doing this wicked deed. And now he cannot appear before your Majesty.”
“I will send the groom of my wardrobe for one of my finest suits,” said the King; and when the suit was brought, and the Marquis of Carabas had put it on, every one marvelled to see how handsome he was. The King invited him to get into the coach and drive with them, and, as for his daughter, the pretty Princess, she fell head over heels in love with him.
All this time Puss had been busy, too. He ran quickly ahead of the coach, and, stopping at a fine field, he cried aloud to the peasants who were mowing it: “Good people! If you do not tell the King, when he rides by, that this field belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, I will chop you into mince-meat!”
The peasants were very much frightened at this threat, and, when the King passed by, and asked them who owned the field, they cried with one voice, “It belongs to the Marquis of Carabas.”
Puss, who was keeping ahead of the coach, had already come to the next field, a rich meadow which the laborers were reaping. “Good people,” he said to them, “when the King rides by, if you do not tell him that this meadow belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, I will make mince-meat of you!”
Terrified, the peasants promised, and when the King asked them whose meadow they were reaping, they answered as one man, “Sire, it belongs to the Marquis of Carabas.”
“You have some very fine property, Marquis,” said the King, pleased to find the young man as wealthy as he was handsome. And the Marquis seemed to grow richer, for Puss had stopped at each field, and the peasants declared that all the land there-abouts belonged to the Marquis of Carabas.
At last Puss stopped before the drawbridge of a mighty castle owned by the richest and most powerful ogre in the whole country-side. The cat begged that the warder would announce him to the Ogre as one who had heard so much of his magnificence that he could not pass by without seeing it. The Ogre, who was very vain, was pleased by this compliment, and received Puss with the greatest kindness. After a while, the cat said: “They tell me that you can change yourself into any shape you please; that, in a moment, you can become a lion or a tiger, or any tremendous thing you wish to be.”
“So I can,” said the Ogre, “and just to show you, I’ll turn into a lion.” In the wink of an eye there he was, roaring away, and poor Puss was so frightened that he ran up to the top of the house, slipping at each step, for his fine, shiny boots were never made to climb roofs.
“Come down,” cried the Ogre, changing back into his real shape. “I won’t hurt you! Come down!”
Very much scared, Puss clambered down, and, as soon as his voice came back to him, he said, “They say, too,--but this I cannot believe,--that you can take the shape of the tiniest animal, a mouse, for instance.”
“Of course I can,” said the Ogre, proudly. “Just watch me.” He at once became a little mouse scampering over the floor, and Puss, like a flash, sprang on him and ate him up!
By this time the coach had drawn up to the gate-ways of the castle, and Puss, seeing it stop, ran to throw open the doors, crying: “Welcome, your Majesty! Welcome to the castle of the Marquis of Carabas!”
“Is this yours also, my dear Marquis,” cried the King. “What splendid battlements, and what a noble gate-way! Come, let us enter, and see if the interior is as fine, too.”
As he spoke, he walked into the castle, and the Marquis gave his hand to the pretty Princess, and led her in.
Puss flung wide the doors of the banqueting-hall and showed a long table covered with a fine repast, for the Ogre had invited friends to dinner that day, and this feast was prepared for them.
The King, the Marquis, and the pretty Princess ate it in their stead; and at the close his Majesty said, in great good humor, to the young man, “It all depends upon you, Marquis, whether or not you’re my son-in-law.”
The Marquis, who was in love with the Princess quite as much as she was with him, gladly consented, and that very evening the wedding was celebrated.
So the poor miller’s son became the heir of a mighty king, and, as for Puss, who had brought him all this good-fortune, he became a great lord, and caught rats and mice only for his own amusement.
* * * * *
The last Kitty-Cat Tale was finished.
“Now, good-by, little Mistress; go to sleep,” purred Impty, as he rubbed up against Dolly’s arm. “I can never, never talk to you again this way, for once, only, does our King permit a cat to talk to a mortal. But, sometimes, when you are petting me, please remember the stories I used to tell you. Now, I’m going to curl up on your pillow, just because it’s the last time. How surprised Miss Jane will be when she sees me to-morrow morning! But it won’t make any difference, for we’ve had our nights, nine of them just like a cat’s lives; and I don’t mind if she shuts me out now. Good-by! I’m going to Cat-Land again. They’re having a wedding there to-night.”
“Couldn’t I really ever go to Cat-Land? If you were king, couldn’t I?” begged Dolly, wistfully. “I’d truly be good, truly, Impty. And how would I get there?”
“Why,” the black kitten answered, “Cat-Land lies East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and the road runs all along the edge of Wonder-World. But it doesn’t take me any time to go because I’m one of the Royal Family. I just close my eyes, and whisk my tail nine times, and I’m there. But I promise, by the whiskers and ears of his Majesty, the King of the Cats, that I’ll take you there if ever I get the chance.” He held out his paw solemnly, and Dolly shook it just as gravely. “Now, mind! It’s a bargain,” he said, snuggling down beside her.
“All right! Good-by!” answered the little girl, sleepily, and when the moon looked in soon after, Impty was off in his dreams to Cat-Land, and Dolly had gone to the Land of Nod.
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