Black, White and Gray Part 11

"Darkie can beg," said Maisie, when she next saw Philippa. "How does Blanche get on?"

Philippa had driven over to Fieldside with her mother one bright afternoon in April, and now she and Maisie were in the garden, Dennis as usual being absent on business connected with the Round Robin. Maisie had been very pleased to see Philippa when she first arrived, for she wanted to hear about the white kitten, and she looked forward to a pleasant talk with her. Before she had been there five minutes, however, it was easy to see that she was not in a nice mood. That was the worst of Philippa, Maisie always found. You could never take her up just at the point you left her; she might be agreeable, and she might be just the opposite. To-day she had her grown-up manner, and was full of little affected airs and graces, and Maisie, glancing at her once or twice, saw the reason of it. Philippa was wearing a new hat of the latest fashion, covered with the most beautiful drooping feathers, and she could not forget it for a moment.

"If I can find Darkie," repeated Maisie, "you should see him beg. He does it most beautifully."

"Fancy!" said Philippa, with a slight drawl and a little laugh. "Well, Blanche doesn't need to _beg_ for anything. She gets all she wants without that.--Where's Dennis?"

Maisie repeated the story of Tuvvy and the Round Robin, and Philippa laughed again.

"What odd things you do," she said. "Mother says you're not a bit like other people."

Maisie had been searching in vain for Darkie in all his usual haunts, and calling him at intervals, but no kitten appeared; there was only old Madam curled up in the sun, blinking in lazy comfort.

"I'm afraid I shan't find him," she said, with a disappointed face.

"He's such a cunning cat. He knows we want to teach him things, so he often hides. Very likely he's watching us now, somewhere quite near.

But I did so want you to see him beg."

"Why do you teach him things?" asked Philippa, "It must be a great trouble to you, and he doesn't like it either."

"Oh, but it's good for him to learn," said Maisie. "It makes him obedient and well-behaved.--Don't you teach Blanche anything?"

"Oh dear, no," said Philippa. "She would scratch me if I tried, directly."

Maisie looked grave. "Do you think Blanche is growing a nice cat?" she asked presently.

Philippa tossed her head, and made all the feathers on her hat wave.

"She ought to be," she said, "for she has all sorts of advantages.

She's got bells, and ribbons, and a clockwork mouse, but she hasn't a very nice disposition. She often scratches. Miss Mervyn's quite afraid of her, and mother would send her away at once if she wasn't mine."

Maisie sighed. "I'm sorry," she said, but in her own mind she felt sure that the white kitten was not properly managed.

"I wonder," she added aloud, "how the grey kitten will turn out. Aunt Katharine's going in to Upwell to-morrow, and she's promised to call at the tinsmith's and ask after it."

Philippa yawned, and did not seem to feel much interest in the grey kitten.

"How do you like my hat?" she asked, with a sudden liveliness in her voice. Before Maisie could answer, Aunt Katharine called the children from the drawing-room window. Mrs Trevor was going away, and just as they were seated in the carriage Dennis appeared, rather hot, but glowing with triumph.

"Half of them have signed," he said, waving the Round Robin in the air as he approached. Philippa leaned back languidly beside her mother, and gave a little affected wave of the hand to her cousins as she drove away.

"What's the matter with Philippa?" asked Dennis. "She's got something new on, I suppose."

Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to tell all he had done that afternoon. No one had refused to sign, although some of the men had a good deal to say before they did so, and others looked as though they did not understand the Round Robin very clearly.

"But I think it will be all right," finished Dennis; "and if I get them all, Mr Solace can't refuse to let Tuvvy stop, can he?"

Maisie agreed rather absently, for she was still thinking over her talk with Philippa. The white kitten's home did not seem to have turned out very well so far, and she had expected it to be the best. Perhaps the grey kitten's humble abode would be happier, after all, than Haughton Park.

"Madam," she said, turning to the old cat, who had chosen a sunny spot on the window ledge, and was taking a nap, "I've got some news for you.

Aunt Katharine's going to call at the tinsmith's--that's where old Sally's Eliza lives, you know--and ask after your grey kitten."

"_She_ doesn't care," said Dennis, laughing contemptuously, but Maisie knew Madam was pleased, for she tucked her front paws under her and purred. She would no doubt be anxious to hear about her kitten, and the next afternoon, when the time came to expect Aunt Katharine back from Upwell, Maisie stood waiting in the hall with the old cat tucked under her arm. Madam should hear the news directly it came. It seemed a long time in coming, and even when at last Aunt Katharine drove up to the door, she had so many parcels to look after, and so much to say about them, that Maisie could not ask any questions. She followed her aunt into the sitting-room, with Madam still clutched tightly to her side.

"What is it, Maisie dear?" said Miss Chester. "Oh, the kitten, to be sure. I went to see it, but I'm sorry to tell you that they're afraid it has run away."

At this sad news Madam struggled so violently that Maisie was obliged to let her slip down to the floor. Run away! That was the last thing Maisie had thought of.

"Oh Aunt Katharine," she cried, "how did it run away? Why did they let it?"

But there was not much to be told about this. It was supposed that the kitten had run through the shop out into the street, and lost its way.

At any rate, it had disappeared, and the tinsmith's wife was very sorry.

"Then," said Maisie, "it's lost! She might have taken more care of it.

I wish we hadn't given it to her!"

Poor little grey kitten! Homeless and helpless in the wide world! It was so sad to think of it, that Maisie could not help crying, in spite of Aunt Katharine's attempts to comfort her.

"After all," she sobbed out, "it hasn't got a home at all, and we did take such trouble to find it one."

"Well, darling," said her aunt, "we must hope it has got a good home still. Very likely some kind person found it, and took care of it."

"Do you really think so?" said Maisie, rubbing her eyes and looking up with a gleam of hope; "but perhaps," she added sorrowfully, "an unkind person met it."

Aunt Katharine smiled and kissed her little niece.

"Unfortunately, there are unkind people in the world, dear Maisie," she said; "but I don't think there are many who would hurt a little harmless kitten. So we must take all the comfort we can, and perhaps some day we shall find it again."

Maisie did her best to look on the bright side of the misfortune, but she could not help thinking of all the dangers the grey kitten was likely to meet. There were so many dogs in Upwell, dogs like Snip and Snap who delighted in chasing cats. There were carts and carriages too, and many things which the kitten was far too young to understand. Its ignorance of the world would lead it into all sorts of perils, and there was little chance that it would ever be heard of again. She tried to break the bad news as gently as possible to Madam, who seemed to listen with indifference, and presently fell off to sleep, as though there were no such thing as lost kittens in the world. Dennis also did not show very much concern; but he was just now so busy with other matters that perhaps this was not surprising.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

FOUND!

Meanwhile, what had become of the grey kitten? To learn this we must go back to the time when it began its life in the tinsmith's house at Upwell under the care of old Sally's Eliza. It was kept in the kitchen at first, but by degrees, as it got used to the place, it was allowed to run about where it liked, and its favourite room was the little back parlour opening into the shop. Now the shop was forbidden ground, and it was always chased back if it tried to enter: so perhaps it was for this very reason that it seemed to have fixed its mind on doing it, and one afternoon the chance came. Its mistress was busy behind the counter serving some customers: the parlour door was open; no one noticed the grey kitten, and it marched boldly in.

Pleased to find itself in the midst of so many new and shining things, it played about happily for some time, trying to catch the merry shadowy figures which danced on all the bright surfaces around. It was great fun at first, to make springs and dashes at them with its soft little paws, but finding they were never to be caught, it got tired, and looked about for fresh amus.e.m.e.nt. Unluckily its eye fell on the open door leading into the busy street, and without a thought of fear it trotted out, and cantered, tail on high, gaily down the pavement.

Too young to understand that it was in the midst of dangers, it saw nothing to alarm, and much that was amusing in all it pa.s.sed. Now and then it stopped on its way to play with a straw, or chase a fly, and by degrees got a long distance from the tinsmith's shop. It was now late in the afternoon, a drizzling rain had begun to fall, and it was so dull and cold that it was almost like winter. The kitten began to feel wet and miserable. It looked round for shelter and warmth, shook one little damp paw, and gave a tiny mew.

"Hulloa!" cried a rough loud voice, "what's this?" A rough hand grasped it, and held it up high above the ground.

A troop of boys was pouring out from a school-house near, shouting, whistling, calling out to each other, and making the place echo with their noise. The one who had seized the kitten was a big stout fellow of about fourteen, with red hair and small greenish eyes.

"Who wants a cat to make into pies?" he bawled at the top of his voice, holding his prize above the crowd of boys who gathered round him. The kitten, its little weak body dangling helplessly, turned its terrified eyes downwards on all the eager faces.

"Who'll buy?" cried the boy again.