Part 6

Meantime the potter’s wife continued to grieve and lament, for in spite of her taking the gipsy boy’s advice, and telling all things that she loved her husband and wished him back, he did not come back to her; and though she wove her rhyme into every mat that she made, she despaired of the potter’s ever seeing one. The only thing which seemed to console her, was the little brown clay cup that the gipsy woman had thrown for her, before she died. As it had never been baked in the oven, the clay was dry and hard and cracked, and it was a sorry thing to look at, but still the potter’s wife kept it beside her, and would drink out of nothing else, and from time to time she kissed it, and laid her cheek against it.

The gipsy boy said to her—

“If I were you I should watch for my husband all day. I would weave my mats in the doorway, and look up the road both ways, from morn till night, otherwise your husband will come back and go past the cottage and you will never know.” So she took her loom and sat by the roadway, and watched, and looked over the hill and to right and left for whoever might come. And often the gipsy boy would watch too, and look from the other side of the cottage while the potter’s wife sat in the front. One day the gipsy boy ran round to her and said, “There is some one coming up the road who will come here, but it is not your husband. It is my father, and he will want to take me away, and he will beat me as he did my mother. And if he gets hold of the cup that my mother made for you, he knows all her charms, and he can undo what she did, and perhaps can throw some evil spell on us all, so that your husband will never return again. So the best thing will be for you to give me the cup and let me hide myself with it, and then you must tell him that you do not know where I am, and if he asks, tell him that the cup is gone; and when he is gone I will come back again, but promise that you will not give me up to him.”

So the potter’s wife promised that she would never give up the little boy, and she bid him take the cup and run quickly and hide himself, and then she took her little girl by the hand and sat and waited for the gipsy man to come, though she trembled with fear, and wished him far away.

Presently the gipsy man came up to the front of the cottage where the potter’s wife sat, and bid her good-day.

“I was here before,” he said. “And you gave me something to eat and drink. Is your husband come back, for he was away then?”

“My husband is away still,” she said. “But soon I hope he will be here.”

Then the gipsy took up one of her mats which lay on the ground beside her, and looked at it.

“You are clever with your loom,” he said; “but what do you mean by the little verse you put on all these mats?”

“It is a little verse which can but be rightly read by one person,” she answered; “and if he sees it, it will not matter whether others understand it or no.”

“And have you been here all alone since I came by?” asked the gipsy; “have no other gipsies been past? for I want to join some of my own people, and perhaps you can tell me which way they are gone.”

“One came not so long ago,” answered the potter’s wife, “but she was so tired with tramping far that she could go no further. So she has stayed, and rests in the churchyard. She was a gipsy woman with red beads and coins in her hair. And I kept her and let her die in peace, and wrapped her in a cloth of white and gold.”

“And did she do nothing while she rested here?” asked the gipsy man. “Did she make you no present to pay you for your trouble?”

“She made me a present which paid me for my trouble well,” said the woman, “though it was only a little cup of clay that was grey and wet. And she gave me this ring, and bid me give it to her husband if he came by here, and tell him that it was useless for him to seek her further.”

The gipsy man looked at the ring she held out to him, and he turned pale, and knit his brows.

“And where is that cup?” he asked; “and where is her little boy? For I will take him with me into the world.”

“I don’t know where he is gone,” said the potter’s wife; “as for the cup, he took it with him when he went.”

Meantime the gipsy boy had hidden in a hay-stack quite close to the cottage, from where he could see the roadways all round, and he looked to right and left for who should pass, for he was still half afraid that his father might come and search for him, and take him away by force. As he lay and watched he saw a man coming over the hill, who looked spent and tired, as if he had walked far. He seemed to know the path well, and he came straight to the cottage, but he did not come in, but waited near as if he wanted to see who was there. Then the gipsy boy said to himself—

“Perhaps this is the potter himself, whom she has been looking for all this time.” So he slid down and ran to the man and began to pretend to beg.

The man looked at him and said—

“You are a gipsy’s child. Where do you come from? Are you living under a hedge, or do you come from a gipsy’s camp near?”

“It is true I am a gipsy’s child,” answered the boy, “but I am living under no hedge, but in that little cottage, for the woman who lives there keeps me for love of my mother, who helped her when she was in trouble.”

“And what did your mother do for the woman?” asked the man, who was no other than the potter. “It must have been a great service, that she should be willing to take you and keep you.”

“She saved her from an evil charm that had been cast upon her,” answered the boy, “and taught her to love her husband again, and she waits his return now and longs for him to come. Therefore she promised to keep me with her, but now I dare not go into the cottage, because my father, who is a gipsy, is there, and I am afraid lest he may take me away with him.”

When the potter heard that the gipsy man was there he would have run straight into the cottage, but the boy implored him to listen first and hear what he was saying. So they crept round to the side of the cottage, and they heard the gipsy man growing angry, and threatening the potter’s wife, that if she did not tell him where his boy had gone he would seize her by the hair and wring her throat, in spite of her being so fair a woman. At this the potter waited no longer, but burst into the cottage, and seized the gipsy and hurled him out of the house with all his might; but he and his wife never looked to see if he was hurt or no, for they looked at nothing but each other and the little child that the potter’s wife held by the hand. And the gipsy man went away, and they never heard of him again.

Then the potter’s wife showed her husband the gipsy boy, and told him of her promise to his mother, and of all he had done for her, and begged him that he would let her keep him with them. And the potter promised that she should, and said that when he grew up to be a man he would teach him his trade, and make him a potter like himself. So they all lived happily together, and the gipsy boy learned to make cups and bowls, and was very clever at doing them, but they were cups and bowls that carried no charms with them, and so could do no one any harm that drank from them.

ONCE there lived an old gentleman who was a very rich old gentleman, and able to buy nearly everything he wanted. He had earned all his wealth for himself by trading in a big city, and now he had grown so fond of money that he loved it better than anything else in the world, and thought of nothing except how he could save it up and make more. But he never seemed to have time to enjoy himself with all that he had earned, and he was very angry if he was asked to give money to others. He lived in a handsome house all alone, and he had a very good cook who cooked him a sumptuous dinner every day, but he rarely asked any one to share it with him, though he loved eating and drinking, and always had the best of wine and food. His cook and his other servants knew that he was greedy and hard, and cared for nobody, and though they served him well because he paid them, they none of them loved him.

It was one Christmas, and the snow lay thick upon the ground, and the wind howled so fiercely that the old gentleman was very glad he was not obliged to go out into the street, but could sit in his comfortable arm-chair by the fire and keep warm.

“It really is terrible weather,” he said to himself, “terrible weather;” and he went to the window and looked out into the street, where all the pavements were inches deep in snow. “I am very glad that I need not go out at all, but can sit here and keep warm for to-day, that is the great thing, and I shall have some ado to keep out the cold even here with the fire.”

He was leaving the window, when there came up in the street outside an old man, whose clothes hung in rags about him, and who looked half frozen. He was about the same age as the old gentleman inside the window, and the same height, and had grey, curly hair, like his, and if they had been dressed alike any one would have taken them for two brothers.

“Oh, really,” said the old gentleman irritably, “this is most annoying. The parish ought to take up these sort of people, and prevent their wandering about the streets and molesting honest folk,” for the poor old man had taken off his hat, and began to beg.

“It is Christmas Day,” he said, and though he did not speak very loud, the old gentleman could hear every word he said quite plainly through the window. “It is Christmas Day, and you will have your dinner here in your warm room. Of your charity give me a silver shilling that I may go into an eating-shop, and have a dinner too.”

“A silver shilling!” cried the old gentleman, “I never heard of such a thing! Monstrous! Go away, I never give to beggars, and you must have done something very wicked to become so poor.”

But still the old man stood there, though the snow was falling on his shoulders, and on his bare head. “Then give me a copper,” he said; “just one penny, that to-day I may not starve.”

“Certainly not,” cried the old gentleman; “I tell you I never give to beggars at all.” But the old man did not move.

“Then,” he said, “give me some of the broken victuals from your table, that I may creep into a doorway and eat a Christmas dinner there.”

“I will give you nothing,” cried the old gentleman, stamping his foot. “Go away. Go away at once, or I shall send for the policeman to take you away.”

The old beggar-man put on his hat and turned quietly away, but what the old gentleman thought was very odd was, that instead of seeming distressed he was laughing merrily, and then he looked back at the window, and called out some words, but they were in a foreign tongue, and the old gentleman could not understand them. So he returned to his comfortable arm-chair by the fire, still murmuring angrily that beggars ought not to be allowed to be in the streets.

Next morning the snow fell more thickly than ever, and the streets were almost impassable, but it did not trouble the old gentleman, for he knew he need not go out and get wet or cold. But in the morning when he came down to breakfast, to his great surprise there was a cat on the hearthrug in front of the fire, looking into it, and blinking lazily. Now the old gentleman had never had any animal in his house before, and he at once went to it and said “Shoo-shoo!” and tried to turn it out. But the cat did not move, and when the old gentleman looked at it nearer, he could not help admiring it very much. It was a very large cat, grey and black, and had extremely long soft hair, and a thick soft ruff round its neck. Moreover, it looked very well fed and cared for, and as if it had always lived in comfortable places. Somehow it seemed to the old gentleman to suit the room and the rug and the fire, and to make the whole place look more prosperous and cosy even than it had done before.

“A fine creature! a very handsome cat!” he said to himself; “I should really think that a reward would be offered for such an animal, as it has evidently been well looked after and fed, so it would be a pity to turn it away in a hurry.”

One thing struck him as very funny about the cat, and that was that though the ground was deep in snow and slush outside, the cat was quite dry, and its fur looked as if it had just been combed and brushed. The old gentleman called to his cook and asked if she knew how the cat had come in, but she declared she had not seen it before, and said she believed it must have come down the chimney as all the doors and windows had been shut and bolted. However, there it was, and when his own breakfast was finished the old gentleman gave it a large saucer of milk, which it lapped up not greedily or in a hurry, but as if it were quite used to good food and had had plenty of it always.

“It really is a very handsome animal, and most uncommon,” said the old gentleman, “I shall keep it awhile and look out for the reward;” but though he looked at all the notices in the street and in the newspapers, the old gentleman could see no notice about a reward being offered for a grey and black cat, so it stayed on with him from day to day.

Every day the cat seemed to his master to grow handsomer and handsomer. The old gentleman never loved anything but himself, but he began to take a sort of interest in the strange cat, and to wonder what sort it was—if it was a Persian or a Siamese, or some curious new sort of which he had never heard. He liked the sound of its lazy contented purring after its food, which seemed to speak of nothing but comfort and affluence. So the cat remained on till nearly a year had passed away.

It was not very long before Christmas that an acquaintance of the old gentleman’s came to his rooms on business. He knew a great deal about all sorts of animals and loved them for their own sakes, but of course he had never talked to the old gentleman about them, because he knew he did not love anything. But when he saw the grey cat, he said at once—

“Do you know that this is a very valuable creature, and I should think would be worth a great deal?”

At these words the old gentleman’s heart beat high. Here, he thought, would be a piece of great luck if a stray cat could make him richer than he was before.

“Why, who would want to buy it?” he said. “I don’t know anybody who would be so foolish as to give any money for a cat which is of no use in life except to catch mice, when you can so easily get one for nothing.”

“Ah, but many people are very fond of cats, and would give much for rare sorts like this. If you want to sell it, the right thing would be to send it to the Cat Show, and there you would most likely take a prize for it, and then some one would be sure to buy it, and, it may be, would give a great deal. I don’t know what kind it is, or where it comes from, for I have never seen one the least like it, but for that reason it is very sure to be valuable.”

Upon this the old gentleman almost laughed with joy.

“Where is the Cat Show?” he asked; “and when is it to be held?”

“There will be a Cat Show in this city quite soon,” said his acquaintance; “and it will be a particularly good one, for the new Princess is quite crazy about cats, and she is coming to it, and it is said that she doesn’t mind what she gives for a cat if she sees one she likes.”

So then he told the old gentleman how he should send his name and the cat’s name to the people who managed the show, and where it was to be held, and went away, leaving the old gentleman well pleased, but to himself he laughed and said, “I don’t think that old man thinks of anything on earth but making money. How pleased he was at the idea of selling that beautiful cat if he could get something for it!”

When he had gone, the grey puss came and rubbed itself about his master’s legs, and looked up in his face as though it had understood the conversation, and did not like the idea of being sent to the show. But the old gentleman was delighted, and sat by the fire and mused on what he was likely to get for the cat, and wondered if it would not take a prize.

“I shall be sorry to have to send it away,” he said; “still, if I could get a good round sum of money it would be a real sin not to take it, so you will have to go, puss; and it really was extraordinary good luck for me that you ever came here.”

The days passed, and Christmas Day came, and again the snow fell, and the ground was white. The wind whistled and blew, and on Christmas morning the old gentleman stood and looked out of the window at the falling snow and rain, and the grey cat stood beside him, and rubbed itself against his hand. He rather liked stroking it, it was so soft and comfortable, and when he touched the long hair he always thought of how much money he should get for it.

This morning he saw no old beggar-man outside the window, and he said to himself: “I really think they manage better with the beggars than they used to, and are clearing them from the town.”

But just as he was leaving the window he heard something scratching outside, and there crawled on to the window-sill another cat. It was a very different creature to the grey cat on the rug. It was a poor, thin, wretched-looking animal, with ribs sticking through its fur, and it mewed in the most pathetic manner, and beat itself against the pane. When it saw it, the handsome grey puss was very much excited, and ran to and fro, and purred loudly.

“Oh you disgraceful-looking beast!” said the old gentleman angrily; “go away, this is not the place for an animal like you. There is nothing here for stray cats. And you look as if you had not eaten anything for months. How different to my puss here!” and he tapped against the window to drive it away. But still it would not go, and the old gentleman felt very indignant, for the sound of its mewing was terrible. So he opened the window, and though he did not like to touch the miserable animal, he took it up and hurled it away into the snow, and it trotted away, and in the deep snow he could not see the way it went.

But that evening, after he had had his Christmas dinner, as he sat by the fire with the grey puss on the hearthrug beside him, he heard again the noise outside the window, and then he heard the stray cat crying and mewing to be let in, and again the grey and black cat became very much excited, and dashed about the room, and jumped at the window as if it wanted to open it.

“I shall really be quite glad when I have sold you at the Cat Show,” said the old gentleman, “if I am going to have all sorts of stray cats worrying here,” and for the second time he opened the window, and seized the trembling, half-starved creature, and this time he threw it with all his might as hard as he could throw. “And now there is an end of you, I hope,” he said as he heard it fall with a dull thud, and settled himself again in his arm-chair, and the grey puss returned to the hearthrug, but it did not purr or rub itself against its master.

Next morning when he came down to breakfast, the old gentleman poured out a saucer of milk for his cat as usual. “You must be well fed if you are going to be shown at the show,” he said, “and I must not mind a little extra expense to make you look well. It will all be paid back, so this morning you shall have some fish as well as your milk.” Then he put the saucer of milk down by the cat, but it never touched it, but sat and looked at the fire with its tail curled round it.

“Oh, well, if you have had so much already that you don’t want it, you can take it when you do,” so he went away to his work and left the saucer of milk by the fire. But when he came back in the evening there was the saucer of milk and the piece of fish, and the grey cat had not touched them. “This is rather odd,” said the old gentleman; “however, I suppose cook has been feeding you.”

Next morning it was just the same. When he poured out the milk the cat wouldn’t lap it, but sat and looked at the fire. The old gentleman felt a little anxious, for he fancied that the animal’s fur did not look so bright as usual, and when in the evening and the next day and the next, it would not lap its milk, or even smell the nice pieces of fish he gave it, he was really uncomfortable. “The creature is getting ill,” he said, “and this is most provoking. What will be the use of my having kept it for a year, if now I cannot show it?” He scolded his cook for having given it unwholesome food, but the cook swore it had had nothing. Anyhow it was growing terribly thin, and all day long it sat in front of the fire with its tail hanging down, not curled up neatly round it, and its coat looked dull and began to come out in big tufts of hair.

“Now really I shall have to do something,” said the old gentleman, “it is enough to make any one angry! No one would believe that this could be a prize cat. It looks almost as wretched as that stray beast that came to the window on Christmas Day.” So he went to a cat and dog doctor, who lived near, and asked him to come in and see a very beautiful cat which had nothing the matter with it, but which refused to eat its food. The cat’s doctor came and looked at the cat, and then looked very grave, and shook his head, and looked at it again.

“I don’t know what sort of cat it is,” he said, “for I never saw any other like it, but it is a very handsome beast, and must be very valuable. Well, I will leave you some physic for it, and I hope you may be able to pull it round, but with these foreign cats you never know what ails them, and they are hard to cure.”

Now the day was close at hand when the cat should have been sent to the show, and the old gentleman was getting more and more uneasy, for the grey cat lay upon the rug all day and never moved, and its ribs could almost be seen through its side, so thin had it grown. And oddly enough the old gentleman, who had never cared for any one or anything in his life except himself, began to feel very unhappy, not only because of not getting the money, but because he did not like to think of losing the cat itself. He sent for his friend who had first told him about the Cat Show, and asked his advice, but his friend could not tell him what to do with it.

“Well, well,” he said, “this is a bad business, for I have told every one that you are going to exhibit a most extraordinarily beautiful cat, and now this poor creature is really fit for nothing but the knacker’s yard. I think, maybe, some naturalist would give you a good price for its skin, as it is so very uncommon, and if I were you I should kill it at once, for if it dies a natural death its skin won’t be worth a brass farthing.” At these words the grey cat lifted its head, and looked straight into the old gentleman’s face, as if it could understand, and for the first time for many a long year, the old gentleman felt a feeling of pity in his heart, and was angry with his friend for his suggestion.

“I won’t have it killed,” he cried; “why, I declare, though it does seem absurd, I have lived with this creature for a year, and I feel as if it were my friend, and if it would only get well and sit up on the hearthrug, I shouldn’t mind about the money one bit!”

At this his friend was greatly astonished, and went away wondering, while the old gentleman sat by the fire and watched the cat lying panting on the rug.