CHAPTER IX

ON THE TRAIN

I have not had a good long think for some time. In the first place, I have been turned out of my bed, and I find that nothing upsets a little cat like being deprived of her usual sleeping-place. Then I found myself in a place where it was too hot and stuffy to think. I became tired and irritable, and at night I could neither sleep nor meditate. After we left the stuffy place, I found myself in this home where everything is so quiet, that I could do nothing for two nights but lie awake and think of the stillness.

You listen _to_ the noises in the city and in the country you listen _for_ them.

Let me see—when was it that I had the last good, long think, and made a review of my own conduct, and that of my friends and family?

It was just after Serena had left Mrs. Darley, and had come to the Denvilles'. That was the beginning of a very upsetting time for me. Serena kept me on the go for a long time. She would not stir without me, then she got more independent, and I was left in peace.

She never went home again before we came here, for we are now in lovely Maine. I did, several times. I got so bold that I would run up Joy Street quite by myself. My parents were always glad to see me, and Jimmy Dory regularly used to stand on his head for glee, when he saw me coming.

He missed Serena dreadfully, but he had no thought of running away himself. “The parents are a trifle dull for a young fellow like me,” he said, “but that is all the more reason why I should stay with them. They took care of me, and amused me, when I was a young fellow, and I ought to take care of them, and make things a little lively now that they are getting old. Then sometimes I go down in the kitchen and play with Jane. She is getting quite civilized.”

I approved of his sentiments, and told him so; then he used to ask me about Serena, and how she was getting on.

“Serena is quite a belle,” I said. “Cats come as far as from Arlington Street to call on her.”

“Does any one pet her?” Jimmy Dory used to ask.

“Yes,” I said, “but she doesn't care to be too much handled. A caress now and then is all that she wants. She likes Mrs. Denville better than any one. She sits in the drawing-room with her the greater part of the time.”

This habit of Serena's of sitting in the drawing-room was rather a trial to me, for Mrs. Denville sat up late, and Serena never would come to bed until that lady did. She loved the pretty gowns of Mrs. Denville's friends, and the music and talk, and the sweet cakes and tea, and the admiration she excited.

I didn't mind that part of it, but what I did mind was having Serena come walking boldly to bed long after Mary and I were asleep. She always woke me up with a stroke of her paw, and made me run my tongue all over her body to compose her nerves for the night, she said. It was nice for her nerves, but discomposing for mine, and that is why the time of her coming to Beacon Street is rather confused in my mind. I had no chance to think it over properly, for she deprived me of my rest and made me sleepy all the time.

I just forget how long Serena was there before we broke up. I think it was about a fortnight. Then a child next door had scarlet fever, and Mrs. Denville was in a great fright on account of her own daughter. She bundled little Mary right out of the house, and the child went in such a hurry that of all her pets she was only able to secure me. Her nurse went with her, and for some days we were with Mary's grandmother, a fashionable old lady who had a suite of rooms in a big hotel.

I don't know why old ladies like to live in hotels. I should think if the feeling of having so many people in a house was bad for a young cat, it would be worse for an old woman. However, Mary's grandmother liked it. Her name was Mrs. Ainslee.

I was nearly crazy. There was no noise, no confusion, only a great many well-dressed people, but it seemed to me that I should suffocate. There were so many curtains and draperies, so many thick carpets, and so much dark wood, and such a smell of rich food. I don't think the human beings minded the food smell as much as I did. In the open air I should have liked it, but in this hotel it made me miserable. I could not eat well, nor sleep well. I was cross and disagreeable, and my tongue became coated. Mary never took me to drive here. Her grandmother would not let her, and the only outing I had was a short time every day, when I was allowed to go on a balcony and look out over the city. We were pretty high up, and it made me melancholy to see how far I would have to jump to get to the street. However, I had no thought of running away. I was not miserable enough for that, but how I did wish that Mary's grandmother was a poor woman, living in a house with a yard.

Well, an end came to it. One day there was a great talking between Mary and her nurse, and I caught the word “Maine” several times repeated. Then Mary came and caught me up.

“To-morrow morning, darling Pussy,” she said, “we are going to lovely Maine. We are all to meet at the station. Oh! how perfectly beautiful! I shall be with mamma and papa again!”

I was so pleased that I did not know what to do. When Mary put me down, I went and crowded myself against one of the closed windows, and looked at the busy street below. I could not think, for I had a dull headache. But I just felt happy. Mrs. Ainslee, being an old lady, hated the cold, and she kept her rooms at a suffocating heat all the time.

Well, the next morning came. Very early I found myself aroused by Mary's nurse, old Hannah, who was stepping softly about the room. Then little Mary woke up, and hurrying out of bed as fast as she could, the child began to dress herself. In about an hour, Mary had gone to her grandmother's bed, and had said good-bye, and we were down in the big dining-room, getting an early breakfast.

After that came a drive in a carriage, then a meeting in a big, big building with Mary's parents.

It was a very joyful time, but dreadfully confused. I stared in dismay at the groups of people. Some were standing quietly, other men and women were rushing to and fro as if they had just lost their pet cat, and were trying to find her. Fortunately, my dull eye wandering about in quest of more friends fell on Mona.

I slipped from Mary's arms, and ran up to her. “How do you do, dear Mona? I am so glad to see you. Do tell me what this great building is. Why, I should think it would cover the whole of Beacon Hill.”

“This is a railway station, Black-Face,” she said kindly. “See Anthony over there buying the tickets. Are you coming in the baggage car with me?”

“I don't know what a baggage car is,” I replied.

“Do you see those long things over there?”

“Those funny little houses on wheels?” I asked.

“Yes—those are railway cars. Some are for men and women, some for animals, some for other things. Here is Anthony.”

The young man at this moment approached Mr. and Mrs. Denville. Touching his cap, he put some pieces of paper in their hands. Then he came up to Mona, and fastened something on her neck.

“What is that?” I mewed.

“My check,” said Mona. “Mr. Denville has to pay for me.”

At that moment, I heard Mary's voice in distress, “Black-Face, Black-Face, where are you?”

I ran back to her, and Mrs. Denville looked down at me. “You should have had your cat put in a box or basket, Mary.”

“Oh, mamma, can't she go in the car with me?”

“No, dear, it is breaking rules, and she will be happy in the baggage car with the other creatures. Serena is there, and Dolly, and the canaries, and Mona is just going. Anthony will ride with them.”

She put up a finger, and Anthony who was now leading Mona by a chain, came near.

“Take this cat,” said Mrs. Denville, “and put a collar and string of some kind on her.”

I sprang into Anthony's arms. I did not wish to be tied.

“She is a good little thing, ma'am,” said Anthony. “I don't think she would bolt.”

“She might,” said the lady decidedly. “Put a cord on her, in case of accidents.”

Still holding me, Anthony went up to a kind of little shop on one side of the building, and bought a collar and chain. Then with me in his arms and leading Mona, he passed through some big gates, and we went alongside the rows of funny little houses on wheels.

I was so glad he had me in his arms. The people pressed and jostled us, but Mona was so big she did not seem to care.

At last Anthony stopped, climbed up some steps, and entered one of the cars as Mona called them.

I saw an open door behind us. Inside, were lovely soft seats, and many persons seated on them; but we did not go in there. Right in front of us was a kind of store-room, or lumber-room, with old trunks and boxes, and some new ones. There were also some bicycles.

“Good-morning, baggage-master,” I heard Anthony say, and a man in his shirt sleeves came toward us. “Where are the rest of our critters?”

The man pointed toward the other end of the car, so we walked on.

“Mew,” said a cat's voice, and there, to my delight, was Serena looking at me through the slats of a box.

“Well, Serena,” I said, “how do you do? I am glad to see a member of my own family again.”

“I am very well,” she replied calmly. “How are you?”

“Oh! nicely. I am sorry to see you in that box.”

“Sorry!” she repeated bridling unamiably, “Why, I was put in here for protection. They were afraid that something would happen to my lovely fur. I see you are not boxed.”

I grinned from ear to ear. “No,” I said, “I am not worth boxing. Where is Slyboots?”

“Here beside me in this other box.”

I looked at it. Slyboots was curled all in a heap. She would hate this racketing place.

She wouldn't uncurl herself when I spoke to her, so I gazed round for Dolly.

She was flat on her face in a corner—a perfect heap of misery.

“She is used to the train, too,” said Mona in her rumbling voice—“has often been on it before. Look up, Dolly. I am here.”

Dolly raised her head, and as Mona's chain was fastened to a ring in the side of the car, she slipped between the big dog's front paws, and sat there cowering and trembling.

The canaries were in a cage hanging up on the side of the car. There was a thick cloth all over them, and perfect stillness inside. They did not like travelling any better than the rest of us.

I was sorry for Slyboots. I knew she was suffering, and I was pleased when Anthony tied me, so I could sit beside her box.

Pretty soon we started, and glad I was to get out of the dreadful noise and confusion of that building. Bells were ringing, smoke was puffing, men, women and children were still hurrying, and the air was full of distraction for cats.

The gliding motion was rather pleasant, until we began to go bumpety bump, and rattle rattle. I did not like that; however, I saw that there was no danger. Anthony did not look frightened, nor did the man with the funny cap on, so I plucked up courage and whispered to Slyboots:

“It is all right—you are quite safe, and we are on our way to lovely Maine.”

She never stirred, and I turned to Anthony. He had dragged a stool right in the midst of us, and sat there quietly looking at us from time to time. He was a kind-hearted young fellow, and if he had not been he would not have dared to neglect us, for I had heard the Denvilles talk of having discharged servant after servant for being unkind to animals.

Anthony did not love us as the Denvilles did. He rather made fun of us, but still he was kind to us, and that was good in him.

We soon rushed along at a fearful rate. I never dreamed that Boston was so large. I thought Beacon Hill was the most of it.

“Why, Mona,” I mewed at the top of my voice to make her hear, “where did all the houses come from?”

She smiled at me. “There are more houses in the world than you ever dreamed of, little cat.”

Suddenly we stopped with a great jerk. “What is this?” I asked curiously. “Is it to give the horses a rest?”

“The what?” inquired old Mona wrinkling her forehead.

“The horses who are dragging us. Have they stopped to take breath, and get a drink of water?”

Mona just roared with laughter. “Excuse me, Black-Face,” she gasped, after a time, “but I cannot help it. You are so innocent. Our motive power does not consist of horses, but steam.”

“Steam,” I said in astonishment—“like the tea-kettle steam?”

“Yes, my kitten, yes.”

“And how many kettles does it take?”

Mona at this laughed so uproariously that I paid no further attention to her, but looked at the man whom Anthony called the baggage-master. Had he gone crazy? The train had stopped, and he had pushed back further the big door in the side of the car, and was throwing all the boxes and trunks outside. Oh! how angry he was!

I was perfectly terrified. Soon he would get to our corner. Then would he throw us out? No, for there sat Anthony quite calm and collected, and reading a newspaper.

“Mona,” I said timidly, for by this time she had calmed herself, and was only snickering occasionally. “You wouldn't let that man hurt me, would you?”

“That man—the baggage-master?”

“Yes, Mona.”

“Don't be afraid. When your turn comes to be handled, he will be quite gentle. I saw Anthony giving him a good big tip.”

“A tip?”

“Yes—money—to be good to us.”

“Meow!” I screamed suddenly, for as the baggage-master stood panting and glaring after his fit of fury, some other crazy men outside began to fling back all that he had just put out. However, I did not need to be afraid, for now his rage was quite over, and he seized the things rapidly, and put them all neatly into the corner of the car furthest away from us.

“Mona,” I said indignantly, “it was hardly safe to put us in with that violent creature. If Anthony should leave us, I am sure we would go out.”

“Hush! Pussy,” said the good dog authoritatively. “He is only doing what he is paid to do. At every station he must throw out passengers' luggage and take on more.”

A sudden light broke over me. Was that what he was doing?

“See, there are the Denvilles' trunks behind us,” continued Mona—“those big ones with M. D. and H. D. on them.”

“Oh! thank you, thank you, Mona,” I replied. “I am a very foolish cat. Let me know when we get to Maine. I am so confused with this racket that I am going to lie down and close my eyes,” and I pressed close up to Slyboots' box.

Serena was gazing at everything with wide-open eyes. I don't think she understood things any better than I did, but she was too proud to ask questions. Before we went to sleep that night I would probably have to explain everything to her.

I lay down and got up again, and closed my eyes for hours, and then opened them. It seemed to me that our journey would never end.

“Are we going round the great, big world, Mona?” I asked wearily.

“No, no, Pussy,” she replied gently, “only over a little bit of it.”

I gazed out the large door in the side of the car, for it was a lovely day, and the baggage-master left it open a little bit. If he had closed it I should not have seen a thing, for the windows were high up in the sides of the car.

We were passing through another big city. Then came fewer houses, then green grass and trees like the Common.

“Is this the country?” I asked Mona.

“Yes, we are in the real country now.”

“But not in Maine?”

“No, not yet. I will let you know when we reach Maine.”

It was beautiful if it was not Maine, and the scenery kept changing. Not steady rows of trees like the Common, nor one little pond, but many trees set different ways and large ponds—“lakes,” Mona called them, and rivers.

Just when we were getting weariest, we had a very pleasant diversion. Anthony picked up a basket from the floor, and gave us all something to eat. How good those sandwiches tasted! Then he gave us some milk which he poured from bottles into a pan. I considered it was very thoughtful in him to have provided this lunch and said so.

“It was Mrs. Denville,” said Mona. “It would not have occurred to Anthony to do it.”

In the bottom of the basket were some nicer sandwiches for Anthony. He gave some to the baggage-master, and they seemed to calm him still more.

I went to sleep after our lunch. I actually had a real nap, till I was awakened by some one saying in my ear, “This is Maine, your lovely Maine.”

My eyes just flew open—lovely Maine; why it was the dirty part of a city that we were passing through.

“But this is not the country,” I said.

“No,” replied Mona, “but we shall soon come to the country parts. Maine has some towns and villages, you know. It is not all fields and woods.”

“I did not know,” I said confusedly, then I began to watch—to watch just as an ordinary cat looks after a mouse. Our family was not much good at catching mice. My father is a little bit disinclined to exert himself, and Serena thinks mouse-catching vulgar.

“We must make some difference between ourselves and common cats,” she often says, “so let it be as regards our table.”

Well, I did not at first find Maine very different from Massachusetts. However, after a while there was more forest—wild-looking forest, and Mona told me that in those woods the gentlemen from Boston came to shoot deer.

“Now, Black-Face,” she said at last, “be all alive. Anthony and the baggage-master have just been saying that we are near our destination.”

I told Serena and Slyboots. Serena's eyes sparkled, but Slyboots never uncurled herself. Poor Dolly pricked up her ears just a little bit, and I stretched my neck to see all I could from the car door.

“This is the opening of the valley,” said the baggage-master, “the Black River Valley. Those are the Purple Hills on the north, and the Green Hills on the south.”

“Have you ever been here before?” I asked Mona.

“No, never, but I have been in other country places. This is very charming though!”

Charming!—it was exquisite, and quite took my breath away. “Serena,” I said, “can you see?”

“Not a bit,” she replied bitterly; “describe it to me. Is it like the Common?”

“Yes and no. There are huge green trees, and grass, and water, but the Common has no big things against the sky like great rows of houses with trees standing on the top of them.”

“Be more explicit, I beg of you,” she exclaimed irritably. “You are exceedingly confused in your statements.”

“I will tell her, kitten,” interposed Mona in her calm voice. “Serena, we are just entering a long, flat valley with low ranges of hills on each side. The train is gliding among beautiful fields and orchards. Farm-houses are scattered here and there. There are strips of forest land, and many little streams. We have not yet come to the Black River.”

“Thank you,” said Serena prettily. “Your description heightens my desire to escape from the protecting confines of this travelling cage.”

Mona glanced at the grocer's soap box she was in, and grinned. Then her heavy nostrils moved delightedly, and she said, “Smell, kitten!”

My own little nose went like a rabbit's. “Oh! Mona,” I said, “how perfectly delicious. What is it?”

“Apple orchards in bloom. The valley is sheltered, and the trees blossom earlier here than elsewhere.”

Just then, we swept right by the front door of a large, old-fashioned house.

“Put here, of course, before the railway was built,” said Mona. “Now look, kitten, we are entering the largest orchard yet.”

I did look. I had never seen anything like this on the Common. I must say the shape of the apple trees seemed rather low and squatty; but the look of them!

“Oh! Serena,” I screamed, “they are all dressed for a party—in pink and white. Oh! what beauty. They are not common trees. They must be Angora trees.”

“I cannot see,” mewed Serena excitedly, “but I can smell. What delectable odors! How I wish I were out of this box. That perfume exceeds and goes beyond the catnip.”

“I don't know about that,” I said doubtfully, “but it is very delicious. The water is running from my mouth.”

“You vulgar thing,” said Serena disdainfully, and she would not speak to me for a long time.

There were more farms and farm-houses, more meadows and patches of tall dark pine-woods.

“They seem to have every sort of scenery in this valley,” said Anthony good-humoredly. Then he began looking round to see if we were all right. “How many minutes to Black River station, baggage-master?”

The man looked at his watch. “Five,” he said.

I was greatly excited, and the five minutes seemed as long as an hour.

However, they passed, and at last the train stopped slowly, and Anthony got up, and leading Mona, hurried out the door at the end of the car.

The baggage-master handed the rest of us down very carefully to him through the big door at the side of the car. All the fierceness had gone out of him.