Daisy Part 23

The story I am about to tell you has for its chief interest a little lame girl, very sweet and lovely, who died in old Salem many years ago.

I think good children are almost as nice as good little kittens.

As Jett belonged to this little girl, I must tell you about her, that you may know how devotedly a cat can return affection and kindness. This is the moral of my story, and I tell it to you in the beginning, though I know morals usually come on the end. And then people have got all the interest of the story and they skip the moral. It is better that it should leaven the whole story.

Everything about Salem has a fascination for me, and I often think how nice it would be to fly through the air and take a peep at the people beneath me; but then, this pleasure is given only to black cats, and there is no use for any other colored cat to wish for it.

Little Hope Farley lived in a big, old-fashioned house, with a lovely garden around it. All the rooms were long and wide, with deep window seats, cushioned, and very comfortable--a nice place for a cat to sleep and enjoy herself.

In one of these nice roomy window seats little Hope would lie, with Jett curled up by her side. But I must not antic.i.p.ate; I will tell the story just as I heard it from Miss Milly.

Hope was motherless; her father's sister had made up to her as well as any one ever can the loss of her mother. Aunt Martha was a charming woman of about forty-five, and she took little Hope into her heart at once.

(Dear me! How I wish cats had aunts! I do think they are just the nicest people to care for the unfortunate that can be found.)

Hope's father was a literary man, buried in his studies and books. When a man is that way inclined, he might, for all the good he is to his family, be buried in earnest. Then they would have his memory, and one could read on his tombstone how great a man he was, and the papers could praise him and speak of virtues that nothing but his death would ever have brought to light.

Aunt Martha was abroad when his wife died, and Hope, who was but three years old, was left to the care of a nurse.

Some carelessness caused her to fall, and a curvature of the spine and lameness for life were the consequence.

Dear me! These "curvatures" and such big words will kill me; but I must tell this story just as my mistress told it to me, for if ever she reads this little book, I want her to know how well I remember all she said.

After Hope met with the accident that crippled her for life, her father wrote to his sister to return and care for his unfortunate child and his helpless self.

She willingly accepted the charge, and soon found she had a "white elephant" on her hands. Her brother buried himself in his books, and to her care was left not only his child, but the whole household. He did pay the bills, but it was because he had the money; else he would have left even that to her, for she had a good fortune of her own.

Hope repaid her for her care by loving her with all her heart, and they were very happy together.

The beautiful garden was a great source of pleasure to them all. Even the father would walk up and down with his hands behind him; and although he did not seem to notice anything, the air, the fragrance of the flowers, and the peace of the scene probably gave him strength.

Around the sides of the garden, by the high fence, were currant bushes thick and plenty. The fruit was large, red, and tempting, and the flowers of every kind growing in their native beauty made the spot an earthly paradise. There were tall hollyhocks, double leafed, red and white, bachelors'-b.u.t.tons, beds of pinks, and roses of every variety, lilies of the valley, modest but bound to be noticed for their rare fragrance, and beds of pansies that would have made the fortune of the florist. But here no thought of money crept in to mar the beauty of G.o.d's free gift, the beautiful flowers.

The garden sloped down, joining the land belonging to the next house, that faced on the side street. The low fence was broken, and just where the gate had hung, a hedge fence supplied its place, as the gate had fallen to pieces. The rank weeds and flowers grew in tangles; Nature seemed to have fought with Art, and to have gained the victory.

The estate had been unoccupied for years, the owner having just died far away from home, where he had been for years in pursuit of health. His heir, a distant cousin, was expected to make his home here; as his business was in Boston, it would be very convenient.

Great curiosity was expressed regarding the newcomers, particularly as there was a mystery regarding the neglect of the place for so many years; and a mystery in old Salem always wore a bewitching air.

About ten days after their arrival my story commences.

It was way down near the broken gate, under the sheltering boughs of an old apple tree, that a most luxurious seat had been contrived. Like a couch, it was protected at the back by cushions like the seat.

It was high noon of a sultry day in June, yet the thick leaves of the old apple tree formed a perfect shade for the dear little child reposing in this lovely retreat. The little silent figure and the crutches, leaning against the seat, told the whole melancholy tale: little Hope Farley was a cripple.

The soft hum of bees and insects filled the air, and the scent of flowers perfumed all around, and the bright blue sky above, lending its soft light, made her seem a part and portion of this charming picture of nature. Her doll, her dearest companion, was by her side. She had given her the quaint old-fashioned name of Joanna, and never suffered it to be abbreviated.

She held conversations with her, and confided all her little troubles to her wooden ear. (It would be well if wooden ears and cats' ears were the only ones to hear secrets, would it not? I must put in my cat's oar once in a while, for, you see, this story is a big one for a cat to remember.)

This day Joanna was particularly unsatisfactory, and Hope, getting tired of her airs, said:--

"Joanna, why are you so silent? Don't you hear the bees, and can't you see that great speckled toad under the currant bushes, hopping about?

Oh, no, you don't like such things. You prefer flowers. Well," after a pause, "so do I. And I do love you, you dear, dear dolly." And she hugged her in her arms.

A slight crackling of the bushes and a scornful laugh caused Hope to start and look up, just as a lad of about twelve years of age presented himself on the other side of the hedge. He was a big, fair-haired boy, handsome, but rough looking, and rude as a young bear.

"What do you do that for, you little silly? That old doll don't know anything! Come, and let's play something."

Hope looked at him with wide-open eyes.

"Sulky little monkey!" he indignantly exclaimed, "why don't you speak?

Say," after a pause, while he regarded her with surprise, "why don't you want to play?"

She looked at him in pathetic silence, then her eyes glanced at her crutches.

As he followed her glance, surprise, sorrow, and pity transformed his face. After a time he said in a subdued voice:--

"I am sorry I was so rude. I did not know. May I come over there?"

Hope saw how sincere he was, and in her quaint way welcomed him. He soon cleared the barrier, and seated on the stump of a tree they were very soon acquainted.

Every day after that they met, and soon became fast friends, exchanging childish confidences and mutually petting Joanna, for Jack was loyal to all of Hope's belongings.

(Now I must draw a breath, and put in my cat's oar. I have made you acquainted with Jett's two stanch friends, and you will better understand the story. I do pity Hope, for my shoulder troubles me very much, and I have to wait before I jump as I used to, and I know that she suffered, and I am very glad she had a cat to comfort her. I think sometimes if I could see these beautiful places and run around among the flowers, how happy I should be; but that is one of my air castles. But in the hereafter I know it will all be mine, and the gardens and fields of Paradise compensate for those we have not here. Now I will return to my story.)

One day, after Jack had been a long time silent, he suddenly said, "Have you got a step-mother?"

"A step-mother? What is that? My mother is an angel. She died when I was two years old."

"Well," he said, "you will have one, never fear; your father will get one. My mother died when I was five years old, and now--a year ago--my father went and got one. So will yours."

"You bad boy! He won't. My Aunt Martha won't let him. You are a dreadful boy to talk so!"

"Don't be down on a fellow so. Much you know about men. Your father's no better than mine. He'll get a wife yet, see if he don't; and you will hate her just as I do my step-mother.

"My father loved me till this woman came. He used to take me everywhere with him, and he cried when I begged for my mother after she died; he hugged me and called me his poor little chap. And _now_ it is all over.

I have never called her mother, and I never will. She killed Pipkin, my mother's cat, just as soon as she came. She made the servant drown her, because she was treacherous and broke a saucer, and she was afraid of her.

"She is a beast. Dear old Pipkin is better off away from her; but I do miss her and will never forgive that woman. My mother would kiss me, and then Pipkin and the kitty would lie beside me for company; and after my mother died that cat was all the comfort I had. The servants loved her.

Not one of them would have killed her, but this woman has servants who will do her dirty work.

"She has red cheeks and a white skin, and a big mouthful of teeth that she is showing all the time, just like old Towzer, the bulldog."

"Why does she hate you?" Hope asked. "Can't you make her like you?"

"What a little goose you are! Like me? Not she. She wants me to die, to get my money that my mother left me. She told my father he ought to take board for me, for I had more money than they had. 'What,' he said, 'take board for my own son?' This did touch poor dad; but she soft-sawdered him. And then I wanted to run away, and I will some day, and join Uncle Jack, for whom I am named. He is in India. He loved my mother, his sister, and he would care for me. But you see I do love dad; and now I could not leave you."

Hope smiled such a sweet look upon him, saying, "You are a dear good boy, and my Aunt Martha will be a mother to you just as she has been to me."