Part 3

Mrs. Warrington was an indolent woman who loved her children in a passive way, especially when they were small, but she could never take the trouble to teach, much less to govern them. The only approach she ever made to the latter, was to threaten to send them to bed if they quarrelled. But as she never put her threat into execution, it had very little effect in stopping their contentions. Barbara and George were only her stepchildren. They were about eight years old when she married Mr. Warrington, and had been kept at school almost ever since, meeting only in the holidays. They were twins, extremely fond of each other, and caring very little for any other society when together; they were, in a measure, independent of the circle at home, even of their step-mother, who, however, always treated them very kindly in her passive way, and to whom they were generally respectful.

Barbara had very little influence with her brothers and sisters, and did not act in a way to increase it, for she did not take pains to conceal her opinion that they were as she expressed it, "troublesome little torments." George had more, and used it more wisely, and he did now and then succeed in putting a stop to their endless contentions. Agnes was sometimes induced to give up her own way, and Dora to cease her sarcastic speeches, and even Charley to restrain his fit of passion, when his older brother's calm eye was fixed upon him, especially about Christmas time; for George was abundantly supplied with pocket-money, and made a very wise as well as a very generous use of it.

It was into such a family as this that Tessy was introduced to spend the remainder of her life, at least till she should have a home of her own. It may be easily believed that she did not find it very pleasant. She was, as one of the servants expressed it, like a cat without claws in the midst of her young cousins, and most thankful she was when her aunt and her guardian decided that she should go to boarding-school with Barbara after the Christmas holidays.

She looked forward to the beginning of school as to a haven of rest, and meantime devoted all her powers to the endeavour to keep the peace, and gain some influence with Agnes and Dora, which might be to their advantage. She was three years older than Agnes, the eldest, and wonderfully skilful with her needle, and in a hundred little arts interesting to children, such as cutting out and painting paper dolls and birds, making little boxes and baskets of all sorts of materials, dressing dolls, etc., all of which she turned to good account. Sometimes, it is true, Agnes and Dora united their forces against her, and then she fared badly, for her aunt never would believe but that she was the person most to blame. But generally, she filled the not very enviable position of mutual friend in the family.

Dora and Agnes often came to her with their complaints of each other, of their teachers and schoolmates, and even of their mother, for whom, as may well be imagined, they had no very deep respect. In all these cases, Tessy smoothed away and softened down and did her best to reconcile the contending parties, it must be confessed with varying success. She had been from the first a great favourite with George and Barbara, who took her part upon all occasions, somewhat to the displeasure of their mother, who could seldom see that her own children were to blame, and a good deal to the jealousy of Agnes and Dora.

Tessy followed her cousin up stairs to her own pleasant and nicely furnished bedroom, where the children were only allowed to come on particular invitation. No sooner was Tabby released, than, according to the custom of cats, she began an examination of every piece of furniture in the room.

"I wonder why cats always do that when they are taken into a strange place?" said Tessy.

"I suppose they want to make themselves acquainted with their surroundings," replied Barbara; "just as you and I should do if we were taken into a strange house to live. She is a wonderfully pretty kitten, I must allow. I daresay somebody is sorry enough to lose her."

"Perhaps she was sent away," observed Tessy. "I have known of people losing kittens on purpose, when they want to get rid of them."

"I think that is a very cruel thing to do," replied Barbara. "I should rather have one killed at once than subject it to the chances of being starved or frozen to death. And beside that, I never can get over the fancy that such animals have enough of human feeling about them to be distressed and hurt at ill treatment. But come, there is the breakfast bell!"

Tessy and Barbara accordingly went down stairs, leaving Tabby in possession of the luxurious apartment and the bright coal fire, all of which seemed doubly pleasant to her after her night in the barn.

"What a beautiful room!" she said to herself, as she took possession of a velvet-covered ottoman by the fire, and began cleaning her face and paws, which still bore traces of her yesterday's adventure. "There is not a room in our house so handsomely furnished, and the carpet is just like velvet; but for all that, I like our house the best. Miss Ella and Miss Marian do not wear as handsome frocks as Agnes and Dora, but they are a great deal prettier, and I am sure there is no comparison as to behaviour. But I need not say anything about that, after being so naughty myself. O my dear Tody! If I once get back to you, I will never quarrel with you again."

Tabby was deeply sunk in these and similar reflections when she imagined she heard a familiar mew, and she jumped down and ran to the window. It was shut, and the blinds closed, but as she listened she heard the sound again. It was beyond question her mother's voice! She had come to look for her kitten—her lost kitten, who, shut up in this splendid prison, had no means of rejoining, or even of communicating with her.

Tabby was almost distracted. She ran to the other window. The blinds of this were only partly closed, and through the space between the slats she saw her mother carefully looking about under the roses and evergreens, and now and then calling her in tones that went to her very heart.

Poor Tabby! She mewed as loud as she could in answer, but the room was in the third story, and the glass in the window was too thick for her voice to penetrate. She scratched at the door like a mad creature, and even tried to break the window with the desperate intention of jumping down at all hazards, but in vain.

All the time she saw her mother seeking her in every corner, and even looking up at the very window where she was. What was her horror, when she saw Carlo, who was lying on the back piazza, suddenly arouse himself, and make a furious dash at her beloved parent!

Tabby gave a shriek which might have been heard even out to the garden, and shut her eyes in terror. But when she opened them again, and dared to peep out, her mother was nowhere to be seen, and Carlo was walking back towards the house, looking decidedly crest-fallen, and with three great scratches on his nose.

This relieved her mind of a little of its anxiety, for she thought if her mother had been killed, her body would be seen, but the next moment she was conscious of a sickening sense of disappointment. She had intended carefully to watch her mother's motions and mark which way she went, and as soon as she should be at liberty, follow in her footsteps, hoping thus to find her way home again. This hope was now frustrated, and she was as much at a loss as ever. So after satisfying herself that her mother was nowhere to be seen, she went slowly and sorrowfully back to her seat by the side of the fire, and endeavoured to forget her troubles in sleep.

Meantime, the party down stairs were busily talking over their plans for the day. Agnes and Dora were going out shopping together to buy their Christmas presents. Barbara intended to do the same by herself, and Charley also had a plan of his own. None of the children asked Theresa what she was going to do, and she was not sorry to be overlooked. She intended to spend the morning in Barbara's room, finishing some scarfs she had been knitting for George and Charley, and putting the last touches to a toilet-cushion for her aunt.

The breakfast hour was much pleasanter than usual, for the thought of the day's enjoyment kept Agnes and Dora in a good humour, and Charley was restrained from any of his ordinary outbreaks of temper by the fear of losing his Christmas present from George.

In the midst of the breakfast the door-bell was rung, and the servant brought in two notes, one directed to the Misses Warrington, and the other more particularly to Miss Barbara Warrington. The first proved to be an invitation from Mrs. Merriam to the Misses Warrington for Christmas eve—the other was a note from Fanny Merriam to Barbara, asking her to come over with the children, and help to entertain the little party.

"What have you to wear, Tessy?" asked Barbara, as the other girls were discussing their dresses with their mother, and proving, beyond dispute, that it was absolutely necessary for them to have new sashes and shoes.

Before Tessy could reply, Agnes answered for her.

"Why, Barbara, Tessy isn't invited. It says 'the Misses Warrington.'"

"Well, and is not Tessy Miss Warrington?"

"I don't believe Mrs. Merriam meant to ask her, any way," persisted Agnes. "Why should she? She has never seen her, and Tessy doesn't know Ella and Marian at all. Do you think she did, mother?"

"I don't know, I am sure," replied Mrs. Warrington absently, her attention being again absorbed by the newspaper she was reading between her sips of coffee.

"I know, mother," said Barbara decidedly. "Fanny says in her note to me: 'Be sure and bring your cousin Theresa, for the girls are very anxious to make her acquaintance.' So you see that settles it."

Agnes had one of those amiable tempers which always resents as an insult the being proved to be mistaken, even in the most trifling matter. Moreover, she remembered what she had said to Ella, about Tessy's being a poor relation, dependent upon her mother's bounty, though she knew very well that it was untrue. In fact, these very remarks had been the cause of the particular invitation given to Tessy, Mrs. Merriam concluding from what she knew of the family, that a dependant must have an unpleasant life among them.

"Well, I suppose Tessy will do as she likes, she always does, but I should not think she would want to go."

"I won't go, if you don't want me, Agnes," said Tessy with more spirit than she usually showed.

"Nonsense! You shall go too," said Barbara. "I want you to take care of me and keep me out of mischief. Come up stairs, and let me look at your frocks, and see what is best for you to wear."

She drew Tessy out of the breakfast room as she spoke, but not so quickly as to prevent her hearing Agnes's observation: "Well, if I were wearing as deep mourning as Tessy is, I should not want to go to parties, I am sure."

"Never mind what Agnes says," said Barbara, seeing Tessy's eyes filled with tears. "You know she cannot bear to be contradicted about the least thing. I want you very much to be acquainted with Ella and Marian, who are two of the sweetest little girls I know. I am sure you will enjoy yourself, and it would not be civil to Mrs. Merriam to refuse such a particular invitation, unless you had some very good reason."

Tessy yielded to the force of this last argument, and they went up stairs together to inspect the frocks. The best bombazine was, after a critical examination, pronounced in perfect order, and just the thing with short sleeves and cambric ruffles, and Barbara only decided that her own present to Tessy should be a jet necklace. These all-important matters settled, Tessy returned to her cousin's room, rejoicing in the prospect of spending a quiet and happy morning with her work, her books, and Tabby, to whom she was already much attached.

CHAPTER THIRD.

THE PARTY AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

WHEN Tessy came back to her room, she found Tabby looking very sad and unhappy indeed. She recovered her spirits, however, by degrees, under Tessy's petting and coaxing; for the hearts of kittens are very light by nature, and before long she was in the midst of a very great frolic, running after a ball and bringing it in her mouth, chasing her tail, and doing everything in her power to make herself agreeable. She did not forget what she had lately beheld, and every now and then she jumped upon the window seat to try if she could see anything more of her mother, but no traces of her appeared, and she concluded that she had gone home to Tody.

It was not till after dinner that Tabby found an opportunity of slipping out of the house unperceived, when she found to her great regret that it was snowing furiously and drifting so that she could not see two yards before her. Tabby was not a kitten to be daunted by trifles, but the short excursion from the backsteps to the barn convinced her that it would be utter madness to attempt to find her way home in such a storm, and she reluctantly put off her journey till better weather.

"Well, Tabby," said old Carlo, as she entered the stable, "this is hard weather, isn't it? Enough to freeze your little toes off."

"O Carlo!" exclaimed Tabby, unheeding the remark. "How could you chase my dear mother so? I shall never like you again—never!"

"Was that your mother?" asked Carlo, looking very much concerned. "I am sure I would not have chased her if I had known that. I suppose she came to look for you?"

"She did—she did!" exclaimed poor Tabby, almost choked by the violence of her feelings. "And I was shut up in the third story in Miss Barbara's room, and could not even make her hear me. Oh! What shall I do?"

Carlo felt very much grieved to see his little friend in such a state, and did his best to comfort her, but in vain.

"You did not hurt her, did you, Carlo?" asked Tabby as soon as she could speak.

"No, indeed!" replied Carlo, looking rather ashamed. "I was the one that got hurt in that instance. I never saw such a cat in my life. Instead of running away as they usually do, she flew right at my face, and almost scratched my eyes out. I was glad enough to let her get away as she liked. I did not see which way she went, but I rather think she jumped over the wall by the great grape-vine. Was that the way you came?"

"No, I believe I came over by the tall cedar in the other corner, but you frightened me so chasing me up in the tree that I don't exactly remember. But what made you do it? What is the use of always hunting cats?"

"Why, you see," replied Carlo, "my general orders are to drive away all strange animals from the yard and garden, whether they are cats or cows. But I do assure you, Tabby, if I had known it was your mother come to look for you, I would not have meddled with her on any account, so I hope you won't be angry."

Tabby could not be angry with her good friend Carlo who had saved her from the rats and given her part of his breakfast. So she rubbed her head against his legs in token of forgiveness, and then consulted him on the best course to take to find her way home again.

Carlo thought that as soon as the storm ceased, she had better go to the corner where she thought she first came over and try to remember which way she had come.

"That is, if you are determined upon going, Tabby," he concluded. "For my own part, I would advise you to stay where you are. You are tolerably well off here—to be sure, the children are not very pleasant, especially when Miss Barbara and Mr. George are away, but, after all, one can get on reasonably well with a little management: there is enough to eat and drink, and if it is not pleasant in the house, you can always come to the stable. If you start to go home, you are not sure of finding your house after all, and there is no telling to what dangers you may be exposed by the way, from strange dogs, and boys, and even old cats, who often treat kittens very roughly. I would make myself contented if I were you, and I promise you, you shall never want a friend while I am here."

Tabby shook her head.

"You are very kind, Carlo, but you don't know how I feel about it. I would run any risk for the sake of finding my dear mother, if it were only to tell her how sorry I am for being so naughty, and giving her so much trouble."

Carlo saw it was useless to argue with Tabby, and wisely refrained from saying any more to dissuade her, but he exacted a promise from her that she would not stir till the weather became warmer, thinking that by that time she might become more contented.

Tabby readily gave the required pledge, and then set herself to exploring the barn. She had become quite fearless from her adventures, and did not hesitate to run up the partition between the stalls, and over the heads of the great grey carriage horses, who looked good-naturedly at their little visitor as they champed their oats.

Tabby had the curiosity to nibble a little at the hay, but she thought it very poor food, and wondered that such large animals could subsist upon such diet. She did not know that oats and hay were as good to them as meat and milk to herself. "But after all," she considered, "it is an excellent thing that they do like it, for I am sure there would never be meat enough in the world to keep them alive."

Then she explored the hay-lofts, where she caught two mice, one of which she offered to Carlo, not without a pang of regret, as she thought how ungrateful she had been for those her kind mother had provided for her.

Carlo thanked her politely, but declined the dainty. He did not like mice, he told her, so she had a fine feast.

She could not but allow that a dinner earned by her own exertions tasted sweeter than one provided by other hands, however kind, and resolved that she would keep up her industrious habits after she returned home. Then she had a great frolic with a ball of string which she found in one corner, while Carlo and the horses looked on, amused by her gambols. And finally finding out a soft bed on a wolf-skin robe, she lay down and went to sleep.

The snow storm raged fiercely all the afternoon and evening, but it did not prevent the large party of invited guests from assembling at Mrs. Merriam's, where the warm fires and bright lights seemed all the warmer and brighter from their contrast to the darkness and cold without.

Barbara and her party were the first to arrive, Fanny Merriam having expressly desired her friend to come early. All the children looked very pretty in their gay dresses, bare arms, and curls—Tessy among the prettiest. Her frock was of plain bombazine with crape trimmings, for she was wearing very deep mourning for her aunt, but it was neat and unwrinkled, and the crimped cambric ruffles around her shoulders and arms were as white and fresh as a lily. Her usually pale face was lighted up with the glow and smile of pleasure, and her little crutch seemed to be no hindrance to her movements, as she joined in the active games of her companions. Mrs. Merriam thought she had never seen a more attractive girl, and Ella and Marian felt themselves particularly drawn towards her, remembering a time, not very long past, when they had themselves worn mourning for a dear little baby brother.

At last, in a pause of the games, Ella exclaimed:

"Only think, Miss Barbara, we have lost our beautiful tortoise-shell kitten. She went away the day before yesterday, and we cannot find out what has become of her, though we have hunted all round the neighbourhood. The old cat mourns for her from morning till night, and spends all her time looking for her, and poor Tody is so lonely, he will scarcely play at all."

Agnes and Dora looked at each other, and Agnes made her cousin a signal for silence, but Theresa disregarded it, and exclaimed—

"Why, there was a tortoise-shell kitten came to our house yesterday—perhaps it is the very same."

"I don't believe it is the same," said Agnes, looking angrily at Theresa. "How should your kitten come over to our house?"

"She might," said Ella, "if she had wandered away and got lost. What sort of a kitten was it, Theresa?"

Theresa gave a minute and animated description of her pet, which was found to agree point by point with that of the missing Tabby.

"I am sure it must be our kitten," said Marian, clapping her hands. "Oh! How glad am I that she is found! You will keep her for us, won't you, Theresa, and we will come for her as soon as we can."

"To be sure," said Theresa, suppressing a little sigh at the thought of losing her pet, and then brightening up, as she reflected how soon she was going away herself. "I am glad she has found her home again. She is the cunningest little kitten I ever saw, and so good-natured."

"She must have improved in that respect since she left home," said Ella, laughing. "We always thought her very cross, but perhaps that was only because Tody is so remarkably amiable."

"You must come after her pretty soon, if you want her, Ella," observed Agnes, vexed at her cousin, and unable entirely to conceal her habitual disposition. "She is such a thief, and so troublesome that mother thinks she will have to send her away. She gets upon the table, and breaks dishes, and does all sorts of bad things."

"Oh! Don't send her away, please!" exclaimed Ella and Marian both together. "Let her stay in the barn or somewhere till we can come for her."

"Of course she shall," said Barbara, who had been listening to the latter part of the conversation. "Agnes rather exaggerated her offence, Ella. She only jumped upon the table once, and the cup she broke was of no value. I will see that she is safely kept for you."

"Maybe you will, and maybe you won't," said Agnes to herself. "There are two words to that bargain, Miss Barbara."

"Miss Fanny," said a little girl, "are not cats a kind of tiger?"

Two or three of the children laughed rather rudely at this question, but the little girl was not abashed.

"I am sure I have read some such thing in one of my books," said she. "I do not see what there is to laugh at."

"Nor I," said Miss Fanny. "It is a very sensible question, Minnie, though it would be more correct to say that tigers are a species of cat. Lions and tigers, with leopards, panthers, lynxes, and all the smaller varieties, belong to one great family, which naturalists call the genus 'felis,' or the cat tribe."

"Then our little kittens are cousins to lions and tigers," observed Ella. "How funny! But, sister, why do they put so many animals together in one class, and all so unlike?"

"Because, unlike as they appear to you, there are more points of likeness than of difference," replied Miss Fanny, "as you would see if you were to examine them closely."

"I know lions have a good many of the actions of cats," said Tessy, "and so have panthers. Once I saw an old panther and two cubs in a large cage together, and they played with their mother and each other, and washed their faces and paws, exactly like great kittens."

"There are many other points of resemblance," said Miss Fanny. "You have all observed how peculiar the cat's paw is. Feel it when she is at rest or good-natured, and it is like velvet; you would not think she had any claws: but tease her, or give her something to eat, and you will soon see her talons. All the cat tribe have these 'retractile' claws as they are called—that is, their claws when not in use are drawn back into a sheath, which covers them, and keeps them from being blunted by walking. All the family have also the same number and kind of teeth; they have all smooth, short fur and long whiskers, and are very cleanly in their habits. They all seize their prey in the same way, by stratagem or surprise, and prefer to hunt in the night."

"Cats can see in the night as well as in the day-time," said the little girl who had spoken first.