Black, White and Gray Part 1

Black, White and Gray.

by Amy Walton.

CHAPTER ONE.

TWO GOOD HOMES.

"It's as black as ink," said Dennis, lifting one of the kittens out of its warm bed in the hay; "there's not a single white hair upon it."

"Madam's never had a _quite_ black one before, has she?" said his sister Maisie, who knelt beside him, before the cat and her family.

It was a snug and cosy home Madam had chosen for her children, in a dark corner of the hayloft, where she had hollowed out a sort of nest in the side of a truss of hay. Here she might well have fancied herself quite secure from discovery, for it was so dim and shadowy in the loft that it needed sharp eyes to see anything but hay and straw.

She had forgotten, however, that it was one of Dennis and Maisie's favourite play-rooms when it was too wet to be out-of-doors, and it turned out that in the midst of their games to-day, they had caught sight of her white coat in her dusky retreat. Though she would rather not have been found, Madam took the discovery calmly, and made no difficulty, even when Dennis softly put in his hand and drew out the black kitten. She knew the children well, and was quite sure they would do no harm, so she lay lazily blinking her green eyes, and even purred gently with pleasure to hear her kitten admired.

It was such a very nice kitten. Not only because of its dense blackness, but its coat was as glossy and thick as that of a little mole, and its shape unusually stumpy and attractive.

"Isn't it a _beauty_?" said Dennis, in a delighted whisper; "we must keep it."

"We haven't looked at the others yet," said Maisie cautiously; "don't let's settle so soon."

The black kitten was accordingly given back to Madam, who at once licked it all over from top to toe, and the others brought out one by one.

There was a perfectly white one, much smaller than the first, and the other was a commonplace striped grey.

"I don't care about either," said Dennis; "they're just like lots and lots of other kittens, and they grow up like lots and lots of other cats. Now the black's uncommon."

"I can't bear settling which is to be drowned," sighed Maisie. "I suppose we may really only keep one."

"You're a ninny," said Dennis shortly.

In reality he did not like to doom the kittens any better than his sister, but he would have thought it womanly to show his feelings.

"I call it unfair," continued Maisie, stroking the white and grey kittens with her little brown hand, "to drown them just because they're not pretty. It's not as if they were bad."

"But you _know_ we mustn't keep them all," said Dennis impatiently; "so what's the good of going on like that? We _must_ choose, and the black's the best, isn't it?"

"Well, then," said Maisie reluctantly, "I think we ought to cast lots, so as to give them each a chance."

This appealed to Dennis's sense of justice, and was besides the usual way of settling differences between his sister and himself. He pulled out three pieces of hay of different lengths, and holding them tightly shut in his hand, with the ends sticking out in an even row, said shortly, "You choose."

"Which is which?" asked Maisie, her face getting pink with excitement.

"The longest's the black, the middling's the white, and the shortest's the grey," said Dennis, with the calmness of fate.

Maisie gazed at the little yellow ends of hay sticking out between her brother's stout red fingers, almost with terror. The old cat, with one paw thrown languidly over the black kitten, watched the proceedings carelessly.

"I'll have this one!" exclaimed Maisie desperately, tugging at the middle piece.

"Hurrah!" cried Dennis, as he opened his hand, and he threw up his cap exultingly; for it was the black kitten that was to live.

"I'm just as sorry as I was before about the others," said Maisie wistfully; "but of course I _do_ like the black one best, and Madam seems proud of it too. What shall we call it?"

"n.i.g.g.e.r," said Dennis.

Maisie looked doubtful.

"That's not a very nice name," she said slowly. "I should like to call it Jonah, because, you see, the lot fell upon it."

"Well, but, you silly thing," replied Dennis, "that just _wouldn't_ do, because Jonah _was_ drowned when the lot fell upon him, and the black kitten won't be."

"He wasn't _drowned_," said Maisie, in a low impressive voice.

"Well, worse. I'd rather have been drowned," said Dennis shortly; "anyhow, I don't like the name of Jonah. It ought to have something to do with its colour."

"Do you think," said Maisie, looking with pity at the white and grey kittens, "that we need tell Tom to drown them _quite_ directly.

Mightn't we leave them till to-morrow, and hear what Aunt Katharine says?"

"She won't say anything different," said Dennis, with a decided shake of the head. "You know she made a rule. But we'll leave them if you like."

Before the children left the loft, half an hour later, they took a tender leave of Madam and her family, and Maisie gave an extra caress to the white and grey kittens, which she felt sure she should never see again. Nevertheless, at the bottom of her heart, there was a tiny hope that she might be able to save them, for sometimes, even when she had made a rule, Aunt Katharine was unexpectedly yielding.

Dennis and Maisie had lived with their aunt, Miss Katharine Chester, since they had been babies. They had arrived one autumn day at Fieldside, all the way from India, two little motherless, white-faced things under the care of strangers, and from that time till now, when Dennis was a square-shouldered boy of ten, and Maisie a sunburnt little girl of eight, Aunt Katharine had been everything to them. Certainly father was in India, and would come home some day, and meanwhile often sent them letters and parcels, but he was such a complete stranger, that he did not count for much in their little lives. On mail-days, when they had to write to him, it was often very hard to think of something to say, for they did not feel at all sure of his tastes, or what was likely to interest him: it was like writing to a picture or a shadow, and not a real person at all.

Now Aunt Katharine was a very real person, though she was also a very busy one, and if it was sometimes difficult to get hold of her during the day, there was always the evening. Then she was quite ready to listen to questions, to hear news, and to go thoroughly into any matters of interest or difficulty which had been saved for that time. The hour immediately after breakfast was devoted to lessons, but it was not easy to talk to Aunt Katharine then, for she had so many things on her mind.

She never shortened the time, but the children knew that the moment ten o'clock struck, books must be shut, and Aunt Katharine free to begin her busy round from kitchen to dairy, from garden to poultry-yard and stables. Every part of her pleasant little kingdom was daily visited by this active lady, and it repaid her care within and without, for no one had such good b.u.t.ter, such abundance of fresh eggs, such a well-kept stable, such luxuriantly blooming flowers, and such fine vegetables. No one had a pleasanter house, roomy and cheerful, and not too grandly furnished for children and animals to run about in freely.

And Miss Chester's cares were not confined to her own possessions alone, for nothing that went on in the village of Fieldside, just outside her gates, was unknown to her. She was ready to settle disputes, to nurse sickness, and to relieve distress, and was never known to fail any one who applied to her for help. Into this life, already so full of varied business, Dennis and Maisie had brought added responsibilities, and Aunt Katharine had undertaken them with her usual decision and energy. As long as the children were babies, somewhat delicate and ailing, she had bestowed all her thought and care upon them, and given up many outside interests for their sake.

But now they were babies no longer, but had grown up healthy and strong, and by degrees she returned to her busy life, and left them a great deal to themselves. Her married sister, Mrs Trevor, who lived not far off at Haughton Park, considered her strangely neglectful of their education, but Miss Chester had her own ideas on that subject, and would not listen to objections. Nothing, she insisted, was so important to children of Dennis and Maisie's age as plenty of liberty and fresh air. The time would soon come when Dennis must go to school, and Maisie must have a governess; until then, the daily hour in which they learned to read and write and to do simple sums--for Aunt Katharine was not great at figures--was quite education enough.

This was decidedly the opinion of the children themselves, and perhaps they were not the worse for the free life they lived at Fieldside, happy in the companionship of all the pleasant outdoor things, and dependent on no one but themselves for amus.e.m.e.nt. But it was not all freedom.

Aunt Katharine made rules, and the children knew that these must be obeyed, and were never relaxed unless for some very good reason. One of these rules applied to the number of pets, which had once threatened to become overwhelming. Cats especially began to swarm in such mult.i.tudes in the garden and house, that Aunt Katharine was obliged to take severe measures to reduce them. That done, she made a rule. Madam, the favourite old cat, was to be kept, but all her kittens, except one out of each family, must for the future be drowned. It was a dreadful blow to Maisie in particular, who, being a girl, was not obliged to smother her feelings; and now, here was another of these miserable occasions-- the white and grey kittens must be sent out of the world almost as soon as they had entered it!

All the while she was having her frock changed and her hair brushed before tea, she turned the matter over in her mind. Could she possibly prevail on Aunt Katharine to spare the kittens this once. It seemed odd that Aunt Katharine, who was so kind to every one, could bear to let such poor little helpless things be killed. Maisie supposed it must be one of those many, many things she had been told she should understand when she was older. Dennis always said it did not hurt them, but though she looked up to him a good deal, she did not feel at all sure that he was right in this case. At any rate, if it did not hurt the kittens, it must be most painful for Madam to lose two of her children in such a dreadful way.

Full of those thoughts, she went down to the schoolroom, where Aunt Katharine always joined the children at tea-time. She found her already there, listening to Dennis, who was giving an excited account of the discovery of Madam in the hayloft that afternoon.

"It's _such_ a jolly little kitten we're going to keep, you can't think, Aunt Katharine," he said; "as black as a coal all over."

"And what does Maisie think?" said Aunt Katharine, turning to the little girl, who had not joined in her brother's description. "Does she like it best too?"

Maisie's round face became very pink, and she nervously crumbled up her cake, but said nothing.

"Would you rather keep the white one or the grey one, dear?" asked her aunt kindly. "I daresay Dennis would not mind. He shall choose next time."

"We didn't choose," put in Dennis quickly; "we cast lots, so it's quite fair. It's only," he continued, lowering his voice confidentially, "that she doesn't like the others to be drowned."

"Is that it, Maisie?" asked Aunt Katharine.