CHAPTER V

THE CAT ON THE COMMON

For some nights I have been so tired that the instant I jumped up on my opera cloak I went right to sleep. No time for thought, no time for a little cat to review the events of her day, and wonder whether she had done right or wrong, and whether she had made a simpleton of herself, or whether she had been very wise.

However, there is no need for me to indulge in wonderment. I am a foolish, light-hearted, selfish, mischievous kitten. I have always heard that from my birth, from dear Serena, and I know it without her telling me. My mother has always praised me, but I see through her. She is so good that she wants to make me good too, and when I hear my mother praising any one, cat, dog, or human being, it always makes me suspicious of that creature. The less it deserves praise, the more she gives it. However, I must not dwell on my badness. I do not imagine it has a good effect upon me. I will think over the one really kind thing that I believe I have done in the course of my short life. Perhaps I did not do it in the best way—however, I did it, and to my great joy I sit here dozing and dreaming, and occasionally opening my eyes to look at that Common cat, who, at the present moment, is under Mary's bed, sound asleep.

Yes, I got her here, but it was hard work. How care pulls one down. I declare, I have been just worn out with anxiety and secrecy. I hate to do things slyly. Now for days I have had to manœuvre. First to hide some of my food, then to get it out to the cat.

The night after my first interview with her, all went well. I secured a lovely piece of Porterhouse steak. I carried it down-stairs, I hid with it behind the curtain. There were a good many rings at the bell that night, and I had no trouble in getting out, and no trouble in getting in. The Common cat was in her place behind the bench with her eyes shining like hungry stars.

She tore at the food, and I watched her with my own mouth watering in sympathy. When she had finished, she licked her lips and washed her face, and muttered enjoyably, “That's the stuff!”

It gave me a warm feeling round my heart to see her so satisfied, and bidding her to be in the same place the next night I ran home.

The next night I had a dreadful time, a horrible time. It was raining cats and dogs, as the saying is, only I never saw them. There were very few rings at the bell, but at last one came after I had been crouching for half an hour under the thick curtain before the door of the reception-room.

As I slipped out the front door carrying a tea biscuit in my mouth, which was the only thing I had been able to hide that day, I could hear my dear young mistress calling me to come to bed. That was enough to make me nervous, and then I kept dropping the biscuit, and it got soggy in the rain, and by the time I got to the poor cat, I was, to tell the truth, just a little bit out of temper.

“There, you see,” I said, almost throwing the biscuit at her, “I haven't anything nice for you. Whereas if you would come in the house, and throw yourself on the mercy of my young mistress, I assure you that she would find a good home for you.”

“Oh, I dassen't,” said the poor cat in a terrified way.

I silently watched her eat the biscuit, then I shook the rain drops off myself, and started for the house.

Alas! the door was shut, and kept shut. I crouched close up to it, and mewed as loudly as I could, for, to my grief, I could hear Mary and the servants inside calling, “Pussy! Pussy!”

They did this at intervals for an hour or two.

Then I heard Mr. Denville's deep voice by the hall door. “Tell the child to go to bed. Her cat is coiled up somewhere asleep, and does not want to be disturbed. She will appear in the morning.”

“Oh, papa!” I heard in a well-known, tearful voice, and I knew that little Mary was calling to him over the stair railing, “my kitty wouldn't stay away from me, if she heard me call. Something has happened to her.”

“Perhaps she has been stolen,” said Mrs. Denville to her husband.

“Oh! why don't they open the door,” I thought to myself. “How stupid they are!”

By this time I was very uncomfortable. My long hair was dripping with rain drops, and I was shivering with cold.

Just when my need was sorest, I heard to my delight a command in the familiar deep voice, “Open the door, Anthony, and look outside.”

Mr. Denville was really a very clever man. As Anthony opened the door, I sprang inside. I just rushed up-stairs, and wet and bedraggled as I was, my dear little mistress caught me in her arms.

I was dried by the fire, and put to bed, and next morning at the breakfast table there was a great deal of talk about “Pussy,” and how she got out-of-doors.

“She never, never would go out herself,” said little Mary shaking her pretty head as she ate her boiled egg. “Never, mamma. Black-Face hates the street. Some naughty person must have stolen her, and she ran away from him, and came back home. Oh! how I shall watch her after this.”

I was sitting close by her feet under the breakfast table, and her decision filled me with dismay. How was I to get food to the poor Common cat that night?

I could not do it. I was not left alone for one instant, and the food I hid and tried to take under the bed, was found and thrown to the sparrows.

I was in a fine plight. However, I had to go to bed, and sleep as well as I could.

The next night, which was to-night, I had better luck. Mary's back was turned for a few minutes after dinner. I ran like a fox to the hall, and got behind the curtain. During the day I had managed to put a little piece of mutton there. Not a very large piece for a well-fed cat, but a good hearty meal for a cat that didn't know what it was to go to bed with a full stomach.

This evening there were plenty of rings at the bell, and I soon slipped out. To my surprise, the big St. Bernard watch dog, Mona, who is usually in the back yard, was sitting on the steps close to the door.

The dogs are very friendly to me, both this big one and the little one, who is called Dolly. I acted a little silly at first, and used to put up my back whenever I saw them, but this big creature came up to me one day, and said, “You little simpleton, put your back down. I am here to protect you. If any dog sprang at you, I would shake him till he didn't know whether he was a dog or a door-mat. You might as well be friends,” and she touched me with her great muzzle.

After that we were friends, and seeing her on the step this evening gave me courage, until I reflected that the size of her great body would frighten the poor Common cat to death, if she should see her. So I would not enter into conversation, but stepped softly down the steps, carrying the mutton between my teeth.

Mona stretched out her thick neck, and sniffed at me. “You foolish cat, are you going through the street with that bait in your mouth? Something will catch you.”

“Nothing will,” I said in a voice muffled by the mutton, and I went on toward the Common.

Mona followed me slowly. What was I to do? I turned, and instead of going right on the Common, went deliberately down Beacon Street toward Charles Street.

We must have looked rather ridiculous. I can't help laughing when I think of it. I—a small-sized cat—walking solemnly along the middle of the street, holding the piece of meat, and the huge dog stepping carefully after me.

When we got to Charles Street, I turned to the right. Then I suddenly sprang back, flew to the Common, and ran up the hill again.

I am a pretty swift runner, but that dreadful dog kept me in sight, and at last I stopped. I did not dare to go near the cat with this big creature in tow.

Opposite the house we both sat down on the gravel walk of the Common, and stared at each other. Mona was panting heavily. Her fur is so long and thick that she gets hot in a flash.

“You're up to some mischief,” she said crossly. “Cats are sly anyway.”

I laid the piece of mutton between my paws. “Cats are not sly. They are hunted and chased, and have to act sly—but in reality they are as open and honest as dogs.”

“Very well,” she said sarcastically, “it's a matter of opinion.”

“Are you going to tag me all night?” I inquired teasingly.

“Yes, I am.”

I repeated an aggravating rhyme I know.

“Tig-tag, rig-a-jag, Get your news and put in a bag. Watch your neighbor, spin a tale, You'll earn your name without any fail.”

Mona didn't care for this, but merely went on licking her paws.

She looked very handsome, as she lay on the path in the electric light. She has a lovely yellow and white body, and big brown eyes. I gazed all round the Common, at the walks, and the people, and the trees, and the glitter of lights in the fine buildings on Tremont Street. It was a beautiful spring evening, and the air was like balm, but my heart was full of trouble. How was I to get rid of the big dog?

“Spy, spy, open your eye, Something nice is going by,”

I said tantalizingly.

Mona never looked at me. She has a great deal of dignity, and she just went on licking her paws. I could not insult her.

What should I do? Something flashed into my mind—a saying of my mother. “When you are in the midst of difficulties, Black-Face, and don't know which way to turn, nothing will help you like telling the truth to some kind friend.”

“Mona,” I said abruptly, “I want you to help me.”

“That's what I'm doing,” she said shortly.

“You're not,” I said petulantly. “You're bothering me.”

“I was told to watch you, foolish kitten,” she said, “and I'm going to do it.”

“You were told to watch me,” I repeated in astonishment. “Who told you to do it?”

“Mr. Denville. He said, 'Mona, good dog, there is some mystery about that little cat's disappearance. Every evening when it gets dark, I want you to take up your position on the front door-step. See that no suspicious person gets in or out.'”

I was very much interested. “I suppose if any bad man stole me, and put me in his pocket, you would smell me.”

“I'd smell one of your hairs,” said Mona calmly. “What's a dog's scent for? You've got a nose of your own. You understand.”

“Yes, I do,” I said. Then I went on, “Mona, no one tried to steal me.”

“I know that,” she said coolly. “You're up to some mischief of your own, and I'm going to find out what it is.”

“I'll tell you,” I said, and I went close up to her, and sat between her great paws. “Don't touch that mutton, Mona; it's for my friend. Have you ever seen that poor homeless cat here on this Common?”

“Yes, I've seen her.”

“You have never chased her?”

“When I chase sick cats I'll have less to do than I have now,” said Mona contemptuously.

“Well,” I went on, “she is dreadfully unhappy, and almost starved. Little Mary has worried so much about her, that I resolved to do something to ease her mind, and lately I've been running out with scraps for the homeless creature. Yesterday our little mistress caught sight of her from her window, and she was so pleased, for she noticed that the poor wretch did not look so thin. 'I do believe,' she said joyfully, 'that the Common cat has found a friend.'”

“Why don't you bring her to the house?” asked Mona suspiciously.

“She won't come. She is fearful of everything. If she saw you, she would be frightened to death.”

“Why doesn't Miss Mary come out and coax her in?”

“She has tried, Mona. The cat is shy beyond description, and runs away from human beings, and all this time she is waiting for her supper,” and I looked at the piece of mutton.

“I'm going to keep you in sight,” said Mona doggedly.

I didn't know what to do, and had to stop and think for a while.

“Mona,” I said at last, “I know you like to please our little mistress. Now, give me one chance. You go down to the corner of Charles Street, where the poor cat can't see you, or smell you, and I will go to her with this piece of meat. I will say, 'This is the last scrap I can bring you. I am watched, and after to-night I shall not be able to come out. I am deceiving my little mistress, and deception is hateful to me. If you won't follow me to the house, where I assure you you will meet with a warm welcome, I must leave you to your fate.'”

“I hate deception, too,” said Mona getting up, “and in order to please you, I must disobey Mr. Denville, for he told me not to let you out of my sight. However, for this once I will give in, but mind, no cat tricks. If you come out one more night, I'll dog you wherever you go.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, Mona,” I said, and I bounded away while she sauntered slowly down Beacon Street, went round the corner, and sat on Charles Street.

I knew she would keep her word, but I must not make her wait too long. If Mr. Denville came to the door, and found her away he would be annoyed, and Mona could not explain. If he should send Anthony in search of her, and she was discovered away down at the corner, she would be in disgrace. Mona was really doing a great deal for me, and Mr. Denville was doing a great deal for me in having Mona on the front steps. Usually she was strictly forbidden to go there, for she was so large that the Denvilles were afraid she would terrify callers. She was such a noble creature that Mr. Denville knew she understood perfectly well whatever he told her to do. Yes, Mona was very good, and I thought of her every minute as I rushed toward my poor friend's hiding-place. I did hope that Mr. Denville would have gentleman callers, so that he would not think about the task he had set his dog.

When I look back on this evening I wonder that my strength held out—my strength and my patience. I had a trying time with Mona. I had a worse one with the cat. In fact, I had a horrible time. Of course I could not get a word into her ear till she ate her meat. Her table manners were atrocious, and when she was eating she cracked her jaws and growled to herself, and was absolutely deaf and dumb to every sound but that of her own eating.

She knew I was on guard, so she did not listen for noises but gave herself up to enjoyment.

Well, when she finished, I began to speak hurriedly. At first she would not hear a word of my plan. No, no, she would stay on the Common and die.

“You'll miss your victuals,” I said sharply.

Actually the only way to approach her was through her appetite. I drew glowing pictures of the Denvilles' table. She asked if they had any mice.

“No, no,” I said, “not a mouse.” Then I perceived I had offended her. She said she liked mice and rats better than anything else.

I shuddered, but I kept on with my coaxing. “I'll tell you what you can do,” I said. “You can try it. Keep in my shadow to-night, creep in the front door, come up-stairs, and get under the bed. If you don't like it, to-morrow night I'll get you out again.”

“I'd rather try the yard,” she said very unexpectedly.

I was so pleased that I did not know what to do. She was giving way. She was actually thinking about coming; but there were dogs in the yard, Mona and the spaniel slept there in beautiful kennels.

I paused a minute, and she said sharply, “Be there dogs there?”

Now, just here, I did a dreadful thing. I was so anxious to get her that I told a lie. If I had had time to think about it, I wouldn't have done it. But her question was sprung on me, and before I knew what I was saying my wicked little tongue had just tripped off the words, “No, we have no dogs.”

I was punished though, and pretty quickly too. She looked dreadfully disappointed, and muttered, “Dogs is a purtection agin cats. Cats always licks me, an' you kin run from dogs, but cats is as quick as you be.”

“Oh, forgive me, forgive me,” I cried, “we have got dogs—two of the noblest creatures that ever lived.”

She turned very quickly toward me—the ghostly-looking creature under the bench—“Then you've bin lyin'.”

“I've only told one lie,” I said pitifully, “only one little lie. I was so anxious to please you.”

“Was that lies about what ye hev to eat?” she went on shrewdly.

“No, no,” I repeated desperately; “everything was true, but the dog part. If you come, you'll see for yourself.”

She still held out. She settled down under the seat as if she were going to stay there all night, and I grew desperate. Mona would get tired of her long wait.

“I'll have to go,” I said. “Oh, do come, do come and see what a lovely little mistress I have. Why, she will pet you like a baby.”

The strange cat said nothing. She just sat there, and with tears in my eyes I turned to leave her.

“If—if I possibly can,” I said over my shoulder, “I'll try to come out to you occasionally and bring you something, but I may not be able to do so. Oh! how I hate to leave you.”

I suppose she felt gratified at my reluctance to go, but she said nothing. Poor soul! I suppose her feelings are deadened.

I was creeping slowly and sadly away, when I heard just one tiny sound behind me. Something was touching the gravel softly.

I turned round. She was following me. I could have screamed at the top of my voice for joy, but I stifled the sound that was struggling to come up my throat. Something told me to go on and not notice her.

I did, and she kept on after me. I crept up the steps to the street and looked back—she was still behind. I waved my tail encouragingly, I did not dare to mew, for some people were coming up the sidewalk. I ran across the street to our own pavement, and she came stealing after me.

Then I hid down in the corner by the yard gate. I don't know where she went. I thought I had lost her, and my heart sank into my paws. I was perfectly exhausted, and I had had all my trouble for nothing.

I closed my tired eyes for an instant. I am only a kitten, and I had endured enough to tire an old cat.

Something glided near me. I started. There she was, not touching me, not speaking, but as far from me as she could get in the obscurity of the gate leading to the yard.

We sat there a long time, neither moving nor looking at each other. Every instant I was afraid that I should see Mona coming up the street, but the good old creature did not come. Finally, a carriage drove up to the door, and some ladies in evening dresses got out. I remembered now, hearing the servants say that there was to be a dinner-party this evening.

I glanced significantly at my poor friend. We two had a splendid chance to get in alongside of those light skirts. I went first, and the Common cat followed me. What nerve she had, when she once made up her mind to do a thing.

In two minutes we had glided up under little Mary's bed. “Lie down quickly,” I said, “and by and by I will get you something more to eat.”

Then I sprang out, for I could hear Mary calling, “Pussy, Pussy, come to bed. Pussy, where are you?”

She was not worried about me, for she knew that Mona was watching, and she felt sure that I was somewhere in the house. Then she had had a little friend in to spend the afternoon and part of the evening with her, so she had not missed me.

Now the little girl had gone, and Mary was getting ready for bed. I lay down on my chair. I was so tired that I did not know what to do, but I must not forget the poor thing under the bed. Her appetite was not satisfied yet.

After a while Mary went to sleep, and I crept down-stairs. The rooms were all lighted, and the doors were open, so I had no trouble in getting to the pantry. Later on, lovely things to eat were going to be served. I stole a sandwich when no one was looking, and ran up-stairs with it.

“How are you?” I asked, after I had crept under the bed, and dropped it before the poor cat.

She did not reply till she had disposed of the sandwich, then she said sulkily, “It smarts me tongue—I want water.”

“Come to Mary's bath-room,” I said, “no one will see you.”

“I ain't afraid,” she said calmly. “There's no one goin' to bite here.”

“Now,” I said triumphantly, “aren't you glad you came?”

She gave me a queer look, and, without saying a word, lapped a little water, and went under the bed—and here I sit, dead tired, nearly asleep, but so happy that I don't know what to do. That poor dear, unmannerly thing is safe. Safe from dogs, and cats, and persecution, and hunger. No one will ever hurt her again. She will get sleek and fat in some good home. I hope she has no disease. Oh, dear! what a frightful thought—suppose I should bring anything dreadful home to my dear little mistress!

I will just crawl under the bed and ask her.

“Please, stranger, have you any disease?”

“No,” she says grumpily, “I haven't been living with humans for a year.”

“That is all right,” and now I think of it I have never smelt any sickness about her. She is only thin and dirty. “Good night, pussy stranger. I hope you will sleep well.”

She doesn't hear me. Perhaps she has already dropped off. Oh! I wonder what dear little Mary will say to her, and how I shall introduce them.