Part 4

"Yes, as well or better; and their eyes are beautifully contrived for the purpose. Look at a cat's eyes by a strong light, and you will see the pupil—that is to say, the dark hole in the middle of the eye—contracted to a narrow line, so as to let in but a few of the rays at once. But carry the animal into a dark room, and you will see the pupil expand so as to cover almost the whole eye. This is more or less true of all eyes belonging to the higher orders of animals, but all have not that great sensibility which enables the cat to see perfectly well in what is pitch darkness to us. Observe, too, their slender forms, and delicate yet muscular limbs, which enable them to walk without making the slightest noise, or to spring with crushing force upon their prey, and you will admit that they are admirably adapted to the kind of life they are intended to lead."

"It must have taken a great deal of sense to contrive a cat!" said little Minnie very seriously.

"You may say the same of any animal, my dear Minnie," replied Miss Fanny, "and the more you study natural history, which means the study of all things in nature, the more you will be struck with the care with which all species, not only of animals but of plants, are adapted to the stations they are intended to fill."

"Why do people say that cats have nine lives, Miss Fanny?" asked Dora.

"Because they are very tenacious of life," replied Miss Fanny. "A fall which would kill almost any other small animal instantly, will be sustained by a cat without apparent injury. You know it is a common saying that cats always fall on their feet, which I suppose is the reason they are not often hurt. Nevertheless I have known a cat killed by a very moderate fall."

"Did not some of the ancients worship cats?" asked Tessy.

"The Egyptians considered them sacred," replied Miss Fanny, "though I do not know that they actually worshipped them. They treated them always with much consideration when living, and embalmed their dead bodies with great care. These cat-mummies are now found in great numbers in Egypt, along with those of the Ibis, a kind of bird, and of the bull. It is now believed that a kind of wild cat found in Upper Egypt, and called by naturalists Felis Mamlata, is the original stock of the domestic cat."

"They are curious creatures," said Barbara. "I do not wonder that people used always to associate them with witches."

"Did they?" asked Dora.

"Yes, they play a prominent part in all the witch-stories of the last two or three centuries, and a great many tales were told of witches appearing in the form of cats to the persons they afflicted. The poor unfortunate wretches who were tried for witchcraft, when forced by abuse and torture to confess deeds which they never committed, almost always clothed their familiar imp in the form of a cat, usually a black one. And it must be confessed that there is something mysterious and almost alarming in the appearance of a large and well-fed coal-black cat. Then their property of emitting electrical sparks in cold weather—a property which they possess in a greater degree than almost any other animal, their great sagacity which is united to a degree of independence or wilfulness which makes it very difficult to train them, and the horrible and surprising noises in which they are accustomed to indulge at their nightly meetings, all combine to render them a terror to ignorant people whose resource it is to call everything witchcraft which appears mysterious to their minds."

"I don't like cats!" said Agnes. "I think they are treacherous, deceitful creatures. You never know what they are going to do. You may be playing with them as peaceably as possible, and the first thing you know up comes a paw, and you get a great scratch."

"I do not blame any cat for scratching you, Agnes," said Dora. "You are always teasing them."

"They are often teased unintentionally by those who play with them," said Miss Fanny. "Cats are nervous creatures, and are frequently annoyed by having their fur stroked the wrong way, and their ears pulled. You may have observed with regard to yourself, that turning your hair in a new direction will often make your head very sore and uncomfortable."

"I have," murmured a little girl, whose long and thick hair was very elaborately curled and braided. "I have often wished I hadn't any."

"Then you may appreciate the feelings of a cat under the same circumstances, Adeline," replied Miss Fanny, smiling.

"I have often rubbed up our cat's fur to see the sparks fly out, but I never thought of its hurting her," said Minnie. "I remember now he never seemed to like it much, though he never scratched in his life. And, Miss Fanny, he can open any door in the house, even one with a round handle. He always comes up and opens mother's door in the morning, and then goes down to breakfast with her."

"Aunt had a more knowing cat than that," remarked Tessy. "She used to catch fish in the lake, and bring them up to the house. She once caught a pike that weighed two pounds. She used to lie on a stone a little way out from the bank to watch, and when she saw a fish coming, she would knock it out of the water with her paw. At first we thought she must steal them somewhere, but after a while we watched her, and saw how she managed."

"She was a clever cat," said Miss Fanny. "It was the more remarkable, as cats have usually such a great dislike to wetting their feet. We had a cat, when we lived in the country, that used to go out shooting. I do not mean that she actually used the gun with her own paws," she hastened to add, anticipating the exclamations of her auditors, "but she used to accompany my brother, and seemed to enjoy the sport amazingly. We had a great abundance of early cherries, and were in consequence very much annoyed by the legions of cherry-birds, which made their appearance with the first May Dukes, and never left a perfect cherry on the tree. Scarecrows, bells, and other devices were tried to no effect, and at last it became necessary to shoot them. The slaughter was very great for two or three days. Lupa soon comprehended the use of the gun, and as soon as my brother took up his fowling-piece, she was on the alert. She would follow close behind him, and stop when he did, crouching to the ground. The moment he fired, she would spring forward, and she almost invariably caught the bird before it came to the earth. As the game was abundant and my brother a capital marksman, Lupa soon became very fat, and grew indifferent to this kind of fare, after which she would amuse herself by dragging the dead birds together and piling them up in heaps. This same old cat would drink wine and even brandy, and was very fond of strong coffee, but she disliked milk, and would take cold water in preference."

"Tody likes tea," said Marian; "mother gives him some almost every night after she has finished her own, but Tabby never would touch it. Oh, I am so glad we have found out what has become of Tabby! But perhaps you would like to keep her, Theresa?" she added, seeing or fancying a shade upon Tessy's countenance.

"Oh no!" replied Tessy. "You know I am going to school after New Year, and I would rather you had her than not, since she belonged to you in the first place."

The children's conversation was here interrupted by a call to supper, which was bountiful and excellent, of course. Among the other beauties of the table was a basket of nicely frosted cakes, each ornamented with coloured sugar-plums, disposed in the form of a letter, there being one for each little guest. Thus there was an "M" for Minnie, an "E" for Emily, and a "T" for Theresa, and so on through the whole list. Now it so happened that by some mistake there was only one "A" among them, and the basket being passed first to Adeline, she took it as a matter of course, so that when Agnes Warrington's turn came there was none for her. Miss Fanny was very sorry, and looked again and again, but no other "A" was to be found. Agnes looked very much displeased indeed, and her anger would have found vent in something besides words if no older persons had been present, but Mrs. Merriam and the young ladies were in the room, and she did not exactly like to give way to her temper before them.

"I will give Agnes mine," said little Virginia Haskall, Ella's cousin. "If you turn the 'V' upside down, it will do very well for an 'A,' and cousin Fanny will make me one some other time."

Fanny looked at Agnes, expecting to see her at once decline the offer, but Agnes did nothing of the kind. She simply accepted it as a matter of course, and soon disposed of it, without even thanking the generous donor.

"Well, I would be ashamed to do that, any way!" said Adeline to her next neighbour. "She might have had mine and welcome, only I wanted to carry it to my little brother Albert, who has broken his leg, you know. I thought it would please him, but I would rather have given it to Agnes than have had dear little Virginia robbed of hers. I never heard anything so mean—a little thing not six years old, and Agnes is thirteen."

Adeline spoke in a whisper, but Agnes overheard her, and her already ruffled temper was still farther provoked. She would not join in any of the games after supper, objecting to everything proposed, and conducting herself so rudely that Tessy and Barbara were extremely mortified, and the latter resolved she would never go out with her again.

"Well, girls, have you had a pleasant party?" asked Mrs. Warrington, who was sitting in the parlour when they arrived at home.

"No," replied Agnes, snatching at the first word. "It was the dullest, stupidest thing I ever saw, and the supper was miserable. There was not half enough to go round."

"O Agnes!" exclaimed Tessy and Dora together, and Dora continued: "You only say that because you did not get one of the lettered cakes, though you did too, for Virginia gave you hers. I should have been ashamed to take it if I had been you."

"And only think, mother," continued Agnes, unheeding her sister's words, "that kitten is Ella Merriam's, and she is going to send for it. She told Tessy she might keep it if she liked, but Miss Tessy said she would rather they had it again as she was going to school, and she could not trust it with any of us."

This was no careless exaggeration on Agnes's part, but a deliberate lie. She knew perfectly well what her cousin had said, but she was very angry with her for disregarding her signals for silence when the kitten was first mentioned, and she was determined to have her revenge.

Mrs. Warrington turned to Theresa with a look of great displeasure, but Barbara interposed before she had time to speak.

"That is not true, mother! Ella asked Theresa if she would like to keep the kitten though they were plainly very anxious to have her back again, and she answered that as she was going to school after the holidays, she would rather the kitten were back at her own home. The word 'trust' was neither spoken nor implied, and Agnes has drawn upon her imagination for her facts. All the other children seemed to enjoy the evening very much, and so I think would Agnes have done, if she had taken the pains to behave like a lady."

She then informed her mother of Agnes's conduct. Mrs. Warrington was for once seriously angry. She knew from experience that Barbara's account was perfectly to be relied on, and she was very much annoyed that Agnes should have made such a display in the house of Mrs. Merriam, whom she respected more than almost any other friend she had. Almost for the first time in her life, she reproved Agnes severely, and declared she would not suffer her to go to another party during the holidays. Agnes went away crying, very angry at her sister, and determined to be revenged upon Theresa, whom she most unjustly regarded as the cause of her disgrace.

The next day was bright and clear, though cold, and as usual all the family went to church, except Agnes, who declared she had such a headache that she could hardly keep her eyes open. Mrs. Warrington admitted the excuse the more readily as she was quite hoarse, and seemed to have symptoms of a severe cold. So she was left at home on the sofa in the drawing-room with Tabby for company, and a pile of new books for amusement, her mother charging her upon no account to expose herself to the cold air.

No sooner had the bells stopped ringing than Agnes turned her feet off the sofa where she had been lying, and opening the parlour door, looked out into the hall and listened. She saw no one, and heard nothing except a distant sound of beating eggs and pounding down in the kitchen. All the servants had gone to church, except the cook and her assistant, who were busily engaged in the preparations for the Christmas dinner. The time was a favourable one for accomplishing her purpose.

In another moment, Tabby, who was lying peacefully before the fire, washing her face and paws and thinking of home, felt herself rudely snatched up and wrapped in an apron. Without stopping to put on bonnet or overshoes, Agnes ran down stairs, out of the back door, and down a lane, which led past the back of the barn. She went on through the deep snow, without heeding the cold wind, till she came to a large piece of unenclosed ground at some distance from the house, when, thinking she had gone far enough, she unrolled her apron, and taking poor frightened Tabby by the back of the neck, she hurled her from her as far as she could into the snow. Then without stopping to see what had become of the poor kitten, she ran home again as fast as she could go and slipped into the house, congratulating herself upon having accomplished her purpose unseen.

CHAPTER FOURTH.

AGNES'S REWARD.

AGNES had been so excited that she had not bestowed a thought on the severity of the weather, but when she was once more in the parlour, she found herself shivering violently. The snow had found its way into her boots and clung to the hems of her skirt so that they were wet through. And instead of changing them at once, as she should have done, she contented herself with standing before the fire, till she felt tolerably warm again, when she was glad to resume her place upon the sofa, for the excitement had increased her headache, and she felt very unwell.

Now that it was over, she began to feel rather frightened at what she had done, for she knew how much her mother regarded Mr. and Mrs. Merriam, and how angry she would be at any affront offered to them or their children, and she almost wished she had allowed matters to take their course. She was not altogether void of conscience, though she seldom permitted the voice of that inward monitor to be heard, or listened to her when she did speak. But now, as she lay on the sofa with her head aching too much to allow her to fix her thoughts upon her books, the still small voice made itself audible.

"Agnes Warrington," it said, "you have been guilty of a very treacherous, wicked, and cruel action; treacherous and unkind toward your cousin who never injured you and whose kindness and forbearance have been unvaried towards you, since the first moment that she came a guest into your mother's house; and cruel to a harmless and defenceless little animal, as well as to the little girls who were joyfully looking forward to the recovery of their pet kitten. All this you have been guilty of, and you are now contemplating the telling of several lies to conceal your fault!"

This and much more did conscience whisper into the ear of Agnes Warrington on that Christmas morning, while she lay on the sofa—while thousands of God's people, all over the land, were gathered in His courts to praise Him for the gift of His dear Son, sent us on that day for the salvation of the world—born of a woman, and coming in the shape of a little child, that children might realize how the Son of God could feel for the peculiar trials of children.

When Mrs. Warrington came home from church, she found Agnes very unwell indeed, and suffering greatly both from headache and oppression of the lungs. Agnes herself tried to make light of it, and assured her mother that it was only a little cold and that her headache was caused by something she had eaten the night before.

"Some of the cake was very rich," remarked Barbara, "and I rather think Agnes ate a good deal."

"Perhaps it was Virginia's cake that disagreed with her," said Dora in a half-whisper to Theresa; "I should think it would."

Tessy took no notice of the unkind remark, but Agnes heard it, and gave her sister a look which told of anything but sisterly feelings.

"I think it is very wrong to give such rich cake to children," said Mrs. Warrington, "but I do not believe it is that which now troubles Agnes. She seems to have taken a severe cold, and I am really afraid it will make her sick. Had you not better go to bed, Aggy, and not try to sit up to dinner?"

"Oh no, mother, I would rather not. I think I shall feel better by and by." Agnes exerted herself to sit up as she said this, and began to talk quite gaily with her cousin and sisters about the party and the presents they had received, though her contracted brow and now and then a deep sigh, showed how much it cost her.

"Oh! And by the way!" exclaimed Tessy. "We saw Ella and Marian going into church, and they said they would call for the kitten this afternoon, when they came from their grandmother's, where they were going after church. Do you know where Tabby is, Agnes?"

"No," replied Agnes, putting her hand to her head, "I have not seen her since you went away."

"You had better find her and feed her, Tessy," said Mrs. Warrington, as she gathered up her bonnet and furs. "I should not like Mrs. Merriam think that we starved her while she was here."

Tessy hunted the house and barn all over, calling "Kitty! Kitty!" and seeking in vain for her favourite.

"Isn't it queer, Agnes?" she said, returning to the parlour where her cousin was now lying on the sofa, with her face turned away from the light. "I cannot find Tabby anywhere. I have called her all over the house and in the barn, and looked in the cellar and every place for her. I wonder where she can be. She was lying here, I thought, when we went away."

"She wanted to go out a little while ago," said Agnes, "and I got up and opened the door for her. She went out towards the barn, and I daresay she is curled up on the hay somewhere, or watching for a mouse."

If Tessy had suspected anything wrong, her suspicions might have been strengthened by two circumstances, first, from her cousin's very confused and hesitating manner, and secondly, from the fact that her two statements contradicted each other, for Agnes had declared in the first place that she had not seen Tabby. Thinking no evil, however, she attributed her cousin's manner to her obviously increasing illness, and went out to take another look for the missing kitten.

Not so Barbara. Accustomed to her sister's manner, she perceived that something was wrong, and guessed at once that Agnes was concerned in the kitten's disappearance. She said nothing, however, till she had herself looked all over the house and grounds, satisfying herself that Tabby was not upon the premises.

"How sorry I am!" said Tessy, as they were all assembled in the parlour, waiting for the bell to ring for dinner. "How disappointed Ella and Marian will be! I wish they had come for her this morning."

"It is very strange," remarked Mrs. Warrington. "The kitten seemed so happy and contented here, I should hardly think she would have gone away of her own accord."

"She has never gone away without hands, I am certain, mother," remarked Barbara emphatically.

"What nonsense!" said Agnes peevishly. "Who do you suppose would trouble themselves to put her out of the way?"

"Whoever it is, will be found out sooner or later," replied Barbara; "you may depend upon that." She was about to add more, but was interrupted by a ring at the door-bell.

"There is Ella now," said Dora, looking out of the window. "I see Fanny and Sophia in the carriage."

"Miss Fanny and Miss Sophia," corrected her mother.

"How often shall I tell you, Dora, not to speak in that familiar way of ladies older than yourself? Ask the little girls to come in, Tessy."

"Don't bring them up here, I beg of you," said Agnes. "My head aches so, their chattering will drive me crazy."

But she spoke too late, and in a moment Ella and Marian were ushered into the room. Like well-bred little girls as they were, they replied politely to Mrs. Warrington's greeting, and repeated a message from their mamma to her, but their eyes were wandering about the room in search of their favourite.

Mrs. Warrington remarked it, and said kindly:

"You are looking for Tabby, my dears, and I wish she were here to greet you, but I am sorry to say she is not to be found. She was here at church time, apparently perfectly contented and happy, but she has disappeared in the most mysterious manner, and I am afraid she has run away."

The girls' eyes filled with tears. They had so confidently counted on seeing their dear little Tabby again, that they could hardly keep from crying at the disappointment. They asked about the circumstances, and Agnes again repeated her story, but with such slight variations as more and more to convince Barbara that her suspicions were well founded.

"Well, never mind," said Ella, after they had heard all that was to be said on the subject of Tabby's disappearance, and Mrs. Warrington had exhausted her praises of Tabby's beauty and docility. "I am sure we are all very much obliged to you, for taking such good care of her while she was here. If I only knew that she had a good home somewhere, I should not care so much, but I cannot bear to think of her being lost in the snow, and perhaps—" But Ella's voice failed her, and the eyes of both sisters filled with tears, as they pictured to themselves their little petted favourite starved to death, or lying frozen stiff and stark under some fence or deserted building.

Agnes turned suddenly, as if stung with pain, and almost groaned aloud.

"Is your head so very bad, dear?" asked Marian, diverted at once from her own grief by the thought of another's suffering. "How sorry I am! I hope you are not going to be sick."

She put her hand into her little muff as she spoke, and after exchanging a look with her sister, she pulled out a very large and beautiful orange—a welcome sight at Christmas time.

"Please take this orange, Aggy," said she. "Perhaps it will do your throat good. Aunt Hastings gave it to us, but I am sure she would rather you had it. Such things taste so good when one is feverish."

She laid the orange down by Agnes, who uttered some indistinct words in reply, and then repeating their thanks to Mrs. Warrington, they took their leave.

"Well, I will say, Agnes, notwithstanding what you say about them, I do think they are two of the sweetest girls in town," exclaimed Dora, as soon as the door was shut.

"Wasn't it kind in them, mother, to give Aggy their orange?"

"Very kind indeed," replied Mrs. Warrington, with more than usual animation. "I perfectly agree with you, Dora, and only wish you and Aggy would imitate them. I am afraid neither of you would have been willing to do the same, if the case had been yours."

"I shouldn't, I know," said Dora, who was much more straightforward than her sister. "Not unless any one was very sick indeed, I mean."

Mrs. Warrington sighed, as she thought of the difference between her children and those of her friend, and wondered what could be the cause of it; for that it was in any degree owing to her she never imagined. Perhaps if she had considered longer, she might have come to some correct conclusion upon the subject, but it was always a great deal of trouble for Mrs. Warrington to think, and besides, she was interrupted by a call to dinner.