Black, White and Gray Part 19

His conduct with regard to the kitten had been thoroughly unsatisfactory, but he looked so sorry, that Maisie could not be hard upon him.

"Never mind," she said graciously; "I daresay, if you don't like cats-- It had one white paw," she added quickly, with renewed hope, "but I daresay you didn't even notice that."

Dr Price was so anxious to please, that it is possible he might have gone the length of remembering the one white paw, but he was saved from this rashness by the entrance of Mrs Budget, bearing a covered dish from which came a very savoury smell.

"There's Miss Pringle stepping down with cloak and umbrella for Miss Chester," she said, "so I thought I'd just bring the dinner straight in.

It's done to a turn, and smells like a nosegay," she added, lifting the cover with a triumphant flourish.

Pringle was Aunt Katharine's maid. It was most tiresome of her to come just now, for Maisie felt she might really be on the track of the lost kitten at last. She knew, however, that she must not stay any longer, and keep the doctor from the enjoyment of his dinner, so with a little sigh she slid off her chair, and held out her band to say good-bye.

"And if I were you, Miss Maisie," were the doctor's parting words, as he followed her out to the door, and folded the big cloak carefully round her, "I should just go over to Upwell, and have a look at that kitten one day. You'd leave it with Becky, wouldn't you, if it does turn out to be yours?"

Maisie's eyes were bright, and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Of course we should," she said; "that is, if old Sally's Eliza doesn't mind, and it's a really good home."

The doctor lingered so long in the porch looking after his little guest as she hurried up the wet road by Pringle's side, that Mrs Budget replaced the cover with a hasty crash.

"There's no credit in cooking for him, none at all," she muttered.

As for Maisie, she would have liked wings to fly back to Fieldside with this wonderful news, but she had to restrain her impatience and keep pace with Pringle, who held the umbrella and took mincing steps through the mud.

The way seemed endless, and when she did arrive, it was disappointing to find that Aunt Katharine would not be home till late in the evening.

There was therefore only Dennis to whom she could pour out the story of Tuvvy's little daughter, and her hopes and fears about the grey kitten.

He was interested and impressed at first, but very soon ready to dismiss the subject and return to the one which really filled his mind--the painting of the jackdaws' house.

"Only fancy," said Maisie, breaking out again for the twentieth time, as the children sat at dinner, "if it should be our dear little grey kitten who we thought was dead. Wouldn't it be lovely?"

"Yes," said Dennis absently. Then, after a moment's pause: "What colour had we better paint it?"

"Paint it!" repeated Maisie vaguely; but meeting a look of scorn from Dennis, she hastily added: "Oh, you mean the jackdaws' house; but you _are_ pleased about the kitten, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," answered Dennis rather impatiently, "but that's only a chance, you see. If it is the kitten, it is; and if it isn't, it isn't.

But the jackdaws' house is a real thing, and we _must_ settle about the colour. How do you think," he went on seriously, "it would do to have it the same colour that Tuvvy's going to do the elevator? He might let us have some of his paint, you see."

"I shouldn't like it at all," said Maisie promptly; "he said it was to be a sort of a yaller, and I thought it sounded very ugly."

"Well, then," said Dennis, "you say a colour."

Maisie thought it over, her eyes fixed on the meadows and the fast-falling rain outside.

"I should paint it green," she said suddenly.

"Why?" asked Dennis.

"Because it's a pretty colour," she replied, "and the jackdaws would like it. It's like the leaves and gra.s.s, and they might think they were in a tree."

Dennis received the idea with a short laugh of contempt.

"Jackdaws are not such ninnies as that," he said. "They're sharp birds; they're not likely to mistake a cage for a tree. If we don't have it yellow, let's have it bright red, like Mr Solace's new wagon."

Maisie had known from the first that her opinion was merely asked as a matter of form, Dennis would have the colour he wished and no other; so she made no further objection, and it was settled, subject to Aunt Katharine's approval, that the jackdaws' house should be painted the brightest red possible to get. This done, Maisie retired into a corner of the play-room with Madam, and related to her attentive ear the discovery of that morning.--She was a better listener than Dennis, for at any rate she was not eager to talk on other matters, but Maisie longed to tell some one who really cared as much as she did herself.

Aunt Katharine would be home soon, which was a comfort, and perhaps Philippa too would like to know. She had never seen the grey kitten, but she had heard about it so very often. Maisie made up her mind to write to her. She would have been surprised if she had known that Philippa also had made a discovery, and bad news to tell her of Madam's lost child. To hear what this discovery was, we must go back to the day when Philippa went home after her visit to Fieldside.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

PHILIPPA MAKES A DISCOVERY.

When Philippa, looking back from her seat in the carriage by Mrs Trevor's side, could no longer see Dennis and Maisie making signs of farewell, she leaned back with a pout of discontent. Her visit to Fieldside was over, and she had been so happy, that it seemed flat and dull to be going home with only Miss Mervyn to see when she got there.

As they drove quickly through the village, she looked quite longingly at all the familiar places they pa.s.sed. At the post-office, where her cousins had taken her to fetch the afternoon letters and buy bull's-eyes; at the cottage, where the old woman lived who had the immense yellow cat; at the blacksmith's, who was shoeing Dr Price's grey horse; and at the school-house, where the chubby-faced boys and girls were just pouring out into the road.

Farther on, she could see in the distance the gables and outbuildings of the Manor Farm, and the deep thatched roof of old Sally's cottage, from which a thin thread of smoke was rising. She was sorry to leave all these friendly things, and there seemed nothing to look forward to at Haughton Park, except perhaps the white kitten. She began to wonder how it was, and whether it had missed her, and remembering Maisie's advice, she determined that she would try to improve its behaviour, and make it into a really good cat. Her first question, therefore, when she arrived was, "Where's Blanche?" and she looked impatiently at her mother for the answer, for Mrs Trevor hesitated.

"The kitten, my darling?" she said rather nervously; "the kitten's in the stable, I think. I told Thomas to take great care of it."

Philippa, who was on her way up-stairs, turned round and faced her mother defiantly.

"Why is it in the stable?" she asked. "Who sent it there? It must come back directly."

"My sweet Philippa," said Mrs Trevor in a soothing voice, "do listen to me a moment; the kitten is a naughty little mischievous thing, and I cannot put up with it in the house any longer. I will just tell you why. You know my new velvet mantle which has just come down from London? The other day Briggs found the kitten lying in the very middle of it on my bed! Its paws were muddy, its hairs came off and stuck to the velvet, and I doubt if the mantle will ever be the same. Now, my darling, _don't_ agitate yourself. It will be quite happy in the stable, and we shall be much more comfortable without it indoors. If anything's broken or goes wrong, I'm always told it is 'Miss Philippa's kitten,' and I'm tired to death of it."

Mrs Trevor paused and looked appealingly at her daughter, who only stamped her foot angrily in reply.

"I'll give you what you like for a pet instead of it. Love-birds, now, or a c.o.c.katoo? A c.o.c.katoo is no trouble at all, and quite an ornament to the house, and worth a great deal more than a silly white kitten.-- Where are you going, my love?"--for Philippa had suddenly rushed back through the hall and out of the front door. In a short time she reappeared with the kitten hugged up to her breast, pa.s.sed her mother without a word, went straight into the schoolroom and shut the door very loud. Mrs Trevor looked after her with a sigh of despair, but as usual made no further attempt to oppose her, and Philippa was left to amuse herself with her kitten as she liked.

But it was not nearly so easy, she said to herself, to find amus.e.m.e.nt at Haughton as it had been at Fieldside. There she had never known what it was to be dull and cross; here she felt both, as she looked round the empty schoolroom with the white kitten tucked under one arm. The room had a prim, precise air, with all the books and toys carefully arranged on the shelves, the musical box in its shining case on its own particular table, and nothing left lying about. Philippa pursed up her lips discontentedly. How different it was to the pleasant noise and bustle, and all the little daily excitements of Fieldside! How dull it was! How sorry she was to come back to it! She let the kitten drop listlessly, and stood regarding her playthings and treasures with gloomy dislike. Not one of them pleased her, not even her last new possession, the musical box. The kitten seemed to share her mood, for she walked restlessly about the room, sniffed in a disdainful way at the furniture, and gave a tiny peevish mew.

"Here, Blanche, come and play," cried Philippa.

She threw an india-rubber ball across the floor, but the kitten hardly deigned to turn her head towards it.

"How stupid you are!" exclaimed her mistress angrily, as she thought of Darkie's frolics and gambols. "You have heaps of things to play with, and yet you won't play, and I don't believe you're a bit glad to see me either."

Blanche continued to stroll uneasily round the room as though in search of something, and took no notice of the ball, even when it was rolled right under her nose.

"Well, I suppose what you want is your clockwork mouse," said Philippa, "and that's your very best toy. But I shan't let you have it long, because I'm not going to spoil you ever any more."

She wound up the little mouse, and let it run nimbly round and round close to the kitten. Formerly it had been a never-failing excitement, but now, to Philippa's surprise and vexation, Blanche sat perfectly unmoved before it, and did not lift a paw. Perhaps during her short visit to the stable she had become acquainted with real mice, for after giving one slight sniff at the imitation one, she rose and walked away with a high and scornful step.

"Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed Philippa. She stood gazing at the kitten as though she could hardly believe what she had seen, then turned and flung herself moodily into the window-seat. Everything at Haughton, even the kitten, was tiresome, and disagreeable, and dreadfully dull.

"You're not a bit of comfort," she said to Blanche, who was now mewing at the door to be let out, "and if they send you to the stable again, I shan't fetch you back. I believe you're just fit for a low, mean stable-cat. So there!"

It was some relief to hurl this insult, but it hurt Philippa a great deal more than the cat, and her eyes filled with tears as she turned her head and looked out into the garden. Here again the contrast to Fieldside struck her. Broad gravelled terraces, flights of stone steps, ma.s.ses of brilliant flower-beds; and beyond, the wide green s.p.a.ces of the park, with its groups of trees all standing in exactly the right places, well ordered, stately, correct, as though the very shrubs and plants had been trained to hold themselves with propriety.

At Fieldside you could not look for a minute out of the schoolroom window without seeing something alive. Cows strolling across the meadow; Aunt Katharine's chickens venturing into the garden, and driven out by Peter, cackling and shrieking; companies of busy starlings working away on the lawn; it was all lively and cheerful, though Mrs Trevor always said it was "buried in the country." Haughton Park was considered a "beautiful place," and Philippa was used to hearing it spoken of as such, but just now she decided in her own mind that it was not to be compared to Fieldside. As she sat gloomily gazing out of the window, her eye was caught by something which she had not noticed before, and which she began to observe with some interest. It was nothing more remarkable than the figure of a boy in a ragged jacket, who knelt on the garden path below, weeding. Philippa studied him attentively.