CHAPTER XIV

MY SISTER GIVES A LECTURE

The mole-hunt is over, and Serena is an enlightened cat. She says she wants to go back to the city. I wish I could get her there, for these country cats have covered her with confusion and mortification.

That old Blizzard is a reprobate. He was the originator of the whole thing. Slyboots is an immensely clever cat. She sees through him—she says he has been ruler and dictator in this country district for years. He heard that a bevy of Boston cats was coming. Fearing lest we should snatch his empire from him, he determined to deal us a crushing blow at first.

Seizing upon Serena as the most gullible one of the party, he has made a fool of her. Now all the country cats are laughing at us, and our influence is gone.

I knew yesterday that Serena was going mole-hunting with him and Rosy, but I did not know that the mole-hunt was to be preceded by a lecture till this morning, when Joker went round to every cat in the house, even to old Grandma, and informed us with a grinning face, that as soon as it got dark this evening, a lecture on “Felines” would be delivered out behind the barn by the thoroughbred Angora, Serena of Boston.

His grin, when he pronounced the word “thoroughbred,” was so significant, that I at once jumped to the conclusion that he had heard Serena's remarks about herself on our day of arrival, and that he knew she was not pure bred. If he kept the knowledge to himself, all would be well. If he didn't, Serena's reputation for truthfulness was gone.

Well, I did not worry much about this, nor about the lecture. She could speak well enough, if she chose, but I did continue to worry about the mole-hunt.

The day passed somehow or other. Mary and her mother kept on exploring the farm. I went over the house with them. It _is_ a queer house. The lower part is all new and fresh, but the upper part has odd little rooms and windows and dark closets, and funny wall-paper. A bat flew out of one dark closet. These rooms are about eighty years old, Mr. Gleason said. He took us over the house, and he laughed and chuckled when Mary shivered and grew pale in the attic, and kept close to her mother.

“Why, there are no ghosts now, sissy,” he said, “and all these things wouldn't hurt you,” and he waved his hand about at the old-fashioned furniture and extraordinary clothes that fill the rooms in this old part.

Mary said she did not like them, and she was glad when we came down from the attic and Mr. Gleason locked the door behind us.

Through the day a great many men drove up under the trees and up by the carriage-house, or out by the barn to see Mr. Gleason. I heard some of their talk. They were selling horses and cows and all kinds of machines, and they wanted to borrow money or have a talk—no one seemed in a hurry, and Mr. Gleason stood about and talked while they were there, but when they left the work went right on. He had another man working with Denno, and they were very busy, hoeing, and pulling up weeds from the long rows of potatoes and turnips and carrots and all kinds of vegetables in the big field on the south side of the barn.

The veranda was a very pleasant place to lie. No one hurt us cats, and we could see all that was going on. However, Slyboots found a better place, and at dinner time she introduced me to it.

It was an upper veranda over the lower one. Here we could see just as well when we lay on the chairs and looked through the railing, and we were absolutely out of the way, for no one sat on this veranda.

Slyboots liked this, and here I sat all the afternoon with her, while Mary and her mother went driving. Mr. Denville took them, and Mona, and Dolly, and Barlo followed after the carriage. They took Mona somewhere to have her hair cut, and when they came home I laughed so heartily at her appearance that I rolled right over on the veranda.

Her magnificent coat was all gone, except a ruff round her neck, and a little tuft on the end of her tail. It was too ludicrous to see her. She seemed shorn of her glory, but, of course, she could not see how ridiculous she looked, and she acted just the same as ever.

I ran down to see her just before supper, and had a long talk with her. She was lying out under one of the trees on the lawn, and I crept up beside her and purred all my troubles in her sympathetic ear.

“You can't do anything with Serena,” she said, “let her go on and learn her lesson. I fancy, from what you tell me, that Blizzard, is going to play her some trick. He won't hurt her, don't you be afraid. She is too conceited. She wants taking down.”

“But she is my sister!” I said.

“Well, you stand ready to comfort her after her pride has had a fall. Blizzard and Rosy don't like her, and I don't think they have any idea of hurting anything but her self-conceit.”

“That is all very well,” I replied, “but I should like to know what they are planning.”

Mona looked round her in a puzzled way. “I don't know what I can do to help you, unless I could make some cat confess what is going on. There is Joker. Just you step out of sight.”

I did as she told me, and then watched her as she slowly sauntered out toward the road _via_ the orchard. She was sniffing at the ground as if in search of bones that had been buried, and Joker coming deliberately home from Blizzard's farm, had no suspicion that Mona had designs upon him.

He knew perfectly well that Mona was used to cats, and had no idea of hurting them, so I fancy he was a pretty surprised young fellow, when Mona gave one bound, and laid her great paw on him.

She put her head right down beside him, and kept him crouching for a few minutes. Then she let him go, and he went leaping toward the house while Mona came toward me.

She was grinning almost as badly as Joker does, but there was more sense in her face than there is in his silly one.

“I've found out everything,” she said, sinking on the ground, for she was tired after her long run behind the carriage, “and you need not be uneasy. The secret of the mole-hunt is a very simple one.”

“Can't you tell me, Mona?” I asked anxiously.

“No, Pussy. I promised Joker not to give him away. But you need not worry. These country cats are only going to have a little fun with your sister. They won't hurt her.”

My heart felt very much lighter, and I went in the house and up to the veranda to tell Slyboots.

This was late in the afternoon. After supper Aunt Tabby came quietly creeping out from the house, and asked me if I were going to the lecture.

“Oh, yes,” I said uneasily.

“Perhaps you would like to go along with me,” she said. “I can tell you who the strangers are.”

She was such a quiet, respectable cat that I gladly embraced her offer. It was not yet nearly dark, but she said we had better go early, so we could get a good seat, and see what fun might be going on.

I asked what she meant by “fun,” and she said that when there was any kind of a public gathering, the young cats would often have wrestling matches.

So Slyboots, Aunt Tabby, and I, crept quietly away from the house, and trotted up behind the barn. Mona saw us going, and gave me an intelligent look, but she did not offer to follow us.

I did not think the back of the barn a very good place for a gathering, but Aunt Tabby pointed out to me the piles of old boards near by, where the cats could take shelter in case of fright.

I wanted to get up on the top of a hogshead that was standing there, but Aunt Tabby would not let me, for she said that place was reserved for the lecturer. She guided me to a nice spot, where a plank had been laid across some fence posts. We three sat on it near the hogshead, and there was, of course, room for many more cats beside us.

Soon they came trooping along. My! what a number of cats. I soon got confused among so many, and asked Aunt Tabby why the neighborhood was so alive with cats.

“There is a great deal of grain raised in this valley,” she said, “and the mice bother the farmers almost to death. In summer it is not quite so bad, for the mice take to the fields, but in winter it is dreadful. The barns are alive with them and sparrows, and we cats have to work pretty hard, not to clear out the mice and sparrows altogether, for we can't do that, but to keep them down.” Then she added, after a time: “These are not all neighborhood cats. Some have come as far as three miles. You see, we don't often have a chance to hear a lecturer from Boston.”

“Who is that big white cat with a yellow patch over his eye?” I asked, “that one who is coming along under the apple trees quite alone?”

“That is old Circumnavigation,” she replied, “a cat belonging to a retired sea-captain who lives a quarter of a mile from here. He has been round the world six times with his master and is a fine cat. Those Tibbetses I don't like quite as much. See, they are walking behind him, two twin Tibbet cats. Neighbors of his, but low-down creatures. We don't associate with them.”

I looked at Aunt Tabby in surprise. I had never heard her speak so sharply about any cat before.

It was getting dusk now, but, of course, we could all see quite well. The arriving cats were arranging themselves in groups or rows on the piles of boards. Soon one young Maltese cat sprang down to the square of grass in front of the hogshead, and began to walk up and down, and lash his tail.

“He is daring some one to come and wrestle with him,” Aunt Tabby informed us.

His challenge was soon answered. Another young cat, this one gray in color, sprang down from the boards to meet him.

They closed with each other, and began to wrestle and tumble about. It was very funny to see them, until they grew angry, and began to pull hair.

“That is nearly always the way,” sighed Aunt Tabby, “a wrestle ends in a fight. There goes the Maltese cat's father. Why doesn't he keep out of it?”

A very spiteful-looking old Maltese cat, seeing that his son was under the gray, took it upon himself to interfere, whereupon another big cat who was, Aunt Tabby said, an uncle to the gray, also took it upon himself to interfere.

The two big old cats, and the two young ones, had a regular mix-up. They were pommelling each other in grand style, when a shriek was heard from the orchard.

The Maltese cat's mother was just arriving, and hearing that her son and husband were fighting, she threw herself upon their opponents, and being promptly seized by the old gray cat, got her ears boxed for interfering.

She was in a fearful temper. Standing a little aside, she just yelled to all her friends and relatives for help. There was a dreadful scene after that. Reserved seats, and other seats were vacated, and the conflict became general. Only Aunt Tabby, Slyboots and I sat on the fence.

“Oh! this is awful!” I said. “Never in Boston, where cats are supposed to have such powerful voices, have I heard such yelling and caterwauling.”

“They had better look out,” remarked Aunt Tabby, “or the dogs will hear them. They are too near the house for such a racket.”

“Will any one come out alive?” I gasped. “Oh! this is terrible! Surely half will be crippled for life,” and I gazed in fascinated terror at the big, whirling, moving, hairy bunch of cat figures leaping, vaulting, yelling and spitting like furies.

Slyboots was grinning. “I see mother cats pitchin' into their own young ones,” she said sarcastically. “I guess they don't know what they're about.”

Aunt Tabby was not nearly as concerned as we were. “Cats round here often have such bouts,” she said, “when they come together. You see our lives are quiet, and we like a little excitement occasionally.”

“But don't they kill each other?” I mewed at the top of my voice, in order to make myself heard above the tumult about me.

“When this scrimmage is over,” replied Aunt Tabby, “there won't be a bunch of hair the size of your head on the ground. It's mostly fuss and fury—It's a pity Blizzard isn't here. He would enjoy this. He gets round on such occasions, and nips every cat he has a grudge against. It's a great chance to pay off any old scores.”

“There's Blizzard,” she cried, “and your sister, and Joker, and Rosy.”

Sure enough, four cat figures were coming hurriedly round the corner of the barn. I learned afterward that Blizzard and Joker had attempted a dignified escort of Serena to the lecturer's hogshead, but on hearing the tumult, and making the discovery that the dogs were after us, they broke into a run.

Joker stood on his hind legs, and sprang in the air just yelling, “Dogs!” and old Blizzard leaping in among the combatants, dealt a cuff here, and a kick and bite there, and shrieked at the top of his voice, “Dogs!—take to the cranberry bog.”

Aunt Tabby understood. “Come,” she said, and we were the first to leave the scene of action.

Springing off the fence, she ran like the wind across the now dark pasture, where little Mary had walked so gaily this morning.

It was, and still is, a lovely night, for I am only thinking over the events of a few hours ago. The sky was a dark blue, the stars were shining, the air was sweet and redolent with wild flower blossoms, the grass was dewy beneath our feet.

Aunt Tabby went like a shot down to the meadow, over the foot-bridge, and across the ploughed land to the big pine wood.

She knew her way to the cranberry swamp, and when we got there, she quickly chose the best place for us to sit.

“That old stump in the middle will be your sister's place,” she said to me.

We were on a little moss-covered hillock, close to it. Really, we did have about the best place there.

Soon other cats arrived, mostly out of breath and excited. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, and showed every emotion much more plainly than city cats do.

Serena, Rosy, Blizzard and Joker were the last to arrive. They came slowly and tried to make a dignified entrance. Passing in a grand way between the groups and rows of cats almost covering the little bog, Blizzard led the way to the big stump.

There was only room for two cats to sit comfortably on it, so he scowled at Rosy and Joker, and made them go elsewhere. They promptly came and crowded on the hillock beside us, and for the rest of the time we were nearly squeezed to death. However, I did not think about my own discomfort, in my intense interest to know how Serena would act and what she would say.

I really wished that my parents could see her. She sat demurely on the dark stump, while Blizzard made the opening speech. She had groomed herself well, and she looked a very handsome and aristocratic figure of a cat, compared with the plebeian-looking Blizzard.

He introduced her in a flourishing way, “Cats and kittens, we have this evening a great and unexpected pleasure. Fresh from the haunts of culture, reeking with the emanations of art, bubbling over with the essence of criticism, a fair and gentle Boston cat has come to enlighten our dark minds.”

“He's makin' game of her,” whispered Slyboots in my ear.

“Of course he is,” I returned, “but hush! listen.”

“For you know, cats and kittens,” continued Blizzard persuasively, “we know nothing in the country, we are sunk in ignorance, our minds are low and degraded, our manners are repulsive and vulgar.”

A groan rose from the assembly of cats, but he motioned with his paw and it subsided.

“Now, friends, listen attentively to this ladylike cat, this thoroughbred, pure-bred Angora—”

I groaned myself here, for the exquisite sarcasm of his tone told me that Joker had informed him that Serena was only half-bred.

“Try to remember what she says,” pursued Blizzard, “try to live up to it—in short, try to be more like city cats, less like vulgar, countrified felines—and now, without further preamble, I will introduce to you the learned lecturer and exponent of cat rights and cat culture, Miss Serena Angora Maybelle Prince, of Boston.”

I gasped at the long name. My sister had probably improvised it for the occasion.

She certainly was a very ladylike-looking cat as she gracefully bowed to Blizzard, who was retiring with a grin to the back of the stump, and then with equal grace bowed to her attentive audience.

“My friends,” she said in a very sweet voice, “I stand before you this evening quite unprepared. I have only a few hastily thrown-together notes on cat-life and cat-character, which I beg your indulgence to receive,” and then she proceeded to give a most elaborate and carefully thought-out address on cats.

She began with the cats of ancient times—the wildcat inhabiting the mountains—then she got to Egypt and told us of the sacred awe in which the cat was held there, of the temples raised and sacrifices offered in its honor. Finally she proceeded to Europe, and was on her way to America, but long before she got there I became tired, although she was my sister, and began to look about me.

Half the cats in her audience were asleep, many were yawning, and wishing they could sleep. A few had stolen away, a few looked mad. I did wish she would stop, but she had her head in the air, she saw only her own glorified self, and sailed on and on, till I thought I should scream from nervousness.

Blizzard sat behind her with the most inscrutable look on his face, and yet I felt that the longer she lectured the better he was pleased.

Presently I got up. I could stand it no longer. Creeping cautiously round the edge of the bog, I came up to the back of the stump where Serena stood. Reaching up, I stuck my claws in the end of her tail and gave it a slight pull.

She started irritably, and turned round.

“Oh, do stop,” I said; “can't you see that you are tiring everybody to death?”

“I see nothing,” she said blissfully, and she shut her eyes.

Blizzard snickered beside me. Oh! how pleased he was—the malicious fellow.

“Do wind up, Serena,” I went on desperately, “everybody is sneering at you.”

She pulled her tail away from me, and went on with her lecture, but I noticed that she did wind it up in about five minutes. I think her mind misgave her after all.

As soon as she concluded, Blizzard got up and moved a vote of thanks. Then as no one responded, everybody being too sleepy or too cross, he cleared the stump at a bound, and running down among the cats, went from one to another, whispering something in their ears.

An extraordinary animation took possession of them. They sprang up, ran to Serena almost in a body, and began saying the most extravagant and flattering things to her.

She immediately began to swim in another sea of glory, and darted occasional furious glances at me, as if to say, “Why did you interrupt me? See how my effort was appreciated.”

That old scamp Blizzard! He had her completely under his influence. I was longing to get her to go home with me, but she would not do so. I knew it was of no use to ask her, so I waited. After the congratulations were over, the cats in a body began to leave the bog.

Blizzard, Rosy, Serena and Joker were at the head of the procession, and there was a great laughing and mewing going on.

“Let us follow,” I said to Slyboots. Aunt Tabby had left us, and with a curious shake of the head when I asked her what was going to happen, had run back to the house. She said she had had excitement enough for one evening.

“This is the beginning of the mole-hunt,” I whispered to Slyboots, and she nodded her head.