Читать книгу The Rainbow Book: Tales of Fun & Fancy - M. H. Spielmann - Страница 8

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THE LOST CATSEYE

Something was in their path; the Twins stooped to examine it and found it to be a Hedgehog standing on its hind legs, motionless, as though waiting for somebody, and a smile was upon the face of that Hedgehog. All at once a Porcupine sprung up beside it, as if out of the earth, and the two appeared on the very best of terms.

"I must get to know what they are talking about," exclaimed Dulcie. "They seem to me to be arguing about something interesting. Oh, I do wish I could be all ears and understand them! If only I were something as small as a mole!" Before Cyril could remonstrate a mole she was, went off blindly, and was quickly lost to view amongst the thick brushwood.

"I say! I do call that mean," he complained. "Without even so much as asking my advice or saying good-bye. It's silly to become a stupid mole; it's a waste of a catseye. And all on account of a beastly spikey hedgehog and a beastly prickly porcupine. Halloa! Wherever have you all got to?"

Out of humour, he looked right and left. They were nowhere to be seen. "I hope she will soon come to her senses!" he muttered. "It isn't much fun being left like this."

He lay down on his back to await her, and kicked up his legs in the air as a pastime, whilst the tall trees above him waved their upper branches in the breeze. His glittering bracelet caught his attention, causing his thoughts to drift on adventures past and to come. He looked harder at it, and becoming concerned he carefully counted the missing catseyes. He had only wished to be a lark, and to be himself. Yet THREE were gone! The two first—and the last one! "Could this," he asked himself, "be some dreadful trick of the Wizard's—likely to occur at the last?" Cyril turned pale at the possibility. "Or could that last one have become loose and got lost?" he pondered. If so, he realised that it must be found. The thought about the Wizard worried him. He was uneasy, too, about Dulcie, and sat up eagerly listening for her coming, and wondering what he had better do.

Meanwhile, our little mole had groped its way to a hole whence could be heard sounds of a quaint voice. It was that of the Porcupine saying pretty poetry softly to the accompaniment of a slow musical titter.

"I'm a brave and dashing Porcupine—

Strong, elegant, and dandy;

And you a Hedgehog, bright as wine,

And sweet as sugar-candy.

Dear Hedgehog fair, say you'll be mine

And wed the dandy Porcupine!

Dear Hedgehog—bright as currant-wine,

Take me—as strong as brandy,

Be Mrs. Porcupine, I pray—

I've begged so often—don't say nay—

Be Mrs. Porky, sweet and jolly.

Nay—titter not,

Or off I'll trot

And straightway marry Molly."

"Ah!" he observed after a long pause, during which the Hedgehog had remained silent and had never moved a quill in response, "There goes Molly the Mole!"

Molly the Mole, who had distracted his attention, heeded him not, but went and struck up an acquaintance with the little stranger in the hole close by. For some time they remained in close conversation. It was not at all an amusing conversation, as Dulcie explained later, and she was not sorry when the danger of a horse's hoofs galloping nearly on top of them caused them to run off. They got separated, and Dulcie was glad to bring herself again into the possession of her own five senses. Peeping from behind a tree, she saw Molly and the Hedgehog walking off together, leaving the Porcupine disconsolate. And then she beheld a young girl with short red hair dismount from her horse, walk back rapidly towards some glittering object, and pick it up.

Dulcie recognised at once the curious colouring of a catseye. She glanced at the bracelet on her wrist; all was in order there. Could it possibly belong to Cyril? The thought became a certainty. "Stop!" she called out loudly.

Too late—horse and rider were off.

"Stop! Stop thief!" shouted Dulcie as she ran after them as fast as she could.

Now Cyril, who was not the soul of patience at any time, had come to the conclusion that it was of no use waiting any longer, and that it would be better to be up and doing. So he got up and pondered again and again what to do.

"Any way I'd better risk it and become a cat," he decided, "for like that I've more chance of finding Dulcie, and of finding my catseye. It would be useful to be able to see in dark corners. But I'll search about as I am first."

He spent some time peering and searching in the Wood. But without success. Neither Dulcie nor the catseye was to be found.

Just then he heard a noise. He stepped behind a tree, and peering round from behind it he beheld not far off a young lady dismount from her horse and pick up something. Cyril recognised it as his catseye. He approached timidly to claim it, when she leapt up and cantered off, evidently not seeing or hearing the boy who was running, shouting with lusty lungs: "Stop! Hi! Stop thief!"

Little did he know that his little sister, almost exhausted, was further behind gasping out the same cry—while big tears from helplessness and anxiety were coursing down her hot cheeks. For the trees hid the children from view at the distance they were apart, as well as from the rider; and shout as they would, their cries could not be heard by one another.

Cyril soon lost sight of the new owner of the gem, and didn't know what to do, or where to trace it, or, still worse, what had become of Dulcie. As he came to a narrow footpath which branched off from the main track, he went quickly along it in the hope that it might prove to be a short cut to somewhere. As it turned out he was lucky, for it proved to be a short cut to a Town, and hardly had he entered one of the streets than at the other end he saw entering it the rider on her horse. He ran towards her, but only arrived just as the girl with red hair disappeared through the door of a large white house, and the horse was being ridden off by her groom.

So Cyril sauntered on, anxiously meditating how to get his belonging back. The present possessor would never believe his tale, or if she did the less likely would she be to part with a thing so valuable—and then perhaps only for a hundred pounds. He concluded he must take it—it was his—at least it was more his than hers, and his life might depend upon it. So he decided that the best thing he could do was to change into a monkey, climb into the house by one of the open windows, grab the gem as soon as found, and escape as quickly as he could.

But no sooner did the quaint little monkey stand there than it was pounced upon by a dirty brown hand, whilst a foreign voice exclaimed—

"Ah, ha! So dere you are, my leetle friend! You shall not escape from me again so soon, Jacko. Ah no!"

It was a ragged boy with a hurdy-gurdy, who had caught hold of the little twisting, mouthing creature and was already getting it into a miniature soldier's coat with brass buttons. A ludicrous doll's hat with a long feather upstanding was quickly produced from his pocket, put on its head, and the elastic slipped under its chin. A long cord was whipped out, fixed to the red coat, and a sudden jerk hitched up the whole arrangement on to the barrel-organ in a twinkling.

Now Dulcie had also taken the short cut into the Town, and was just going to enter a large garden in order to rest her weary limbs after her useless chase, when the boy and monkey attracted her attention and she stopped. She would have laughed, so comic was the sight, but filled with concern at a rough jerk she cried: "Oh, please don't. You'll hurt it. Do let it go!"

"Let go, signorina? Ah no! Me take care never risk no more. No Jacko, then poor Pietro starve. Just you watch him, then give poor Pietro penny. Now, Jacko, we're 'ungry."

Had Dulcie only known the monkey was not Jacko, but Cyril, she would have been still more concerned. The lad turned the handle of the instrument, and to its cracked tune she was amused to see the monkey take off its hat with a jerky movement, replace it, dance about, salute, and perform other antics in the most approved and undignified manner.

The boy pulled his forelock. After much fumbling Dulcie found a penny and gave it to him. A sunny smile was on his swarthy face as he said "Grazia!" He kissed the monkey affectionately, and putting it in the inner pocket of his ragged coat, moved away.

And the monkey, peering out of that pocket, blinked twice so meaningly at Dulcie that she stood there and gazed after it, puzzled, whilst the boy trudged off whistling. Dulcie then found a shady seat, and having nothing better or more hopeful to do, determined to rest there. Now, however, that she had leisure to think it over, she didn't at all like the loss of that gem. Supposing by some trick or other of that horrid Wizard all the rest should drop out and not be found—at some dreadfully awkward moment! What would poor Cyril do? And she also might come to be in the same plight! These thoughts were too horrible! So she began saying some poetry she had learnt in order to keep her mind on other matters.

She wasn't enjoying herself very much. The time seemed endless, and a neighbouring clock which chimed the quarters didn't help it to pass any faster; and the longer Dulcie waited, the more anxious she became. She gave up reciting poetry, or what stood for poetry, and her only thought became: "If only Cyril would come back!" In her fear she began to give up hope of his ever coming back at all, and decided to try and discover if there were such a thing as a policeman about, to whom she might confide her troubles.

Suddenly there arose a hullabaloo. Such a barking and rushing, and the next moment a large black cat sprang on the seat beside her, frightening her very much. There was a terrified shriek—a gratified Wish—and Cyril found himself on a bench next Dulcie with a great hound clinging to his sailor collar at the back.

With a cry of fear she helped him in his struggles to get free; the animal, astonished and abashed, slunk away with its tail between its legs, and the brother and sister fell into one another's arms. Never before had they known how fond they were of one another—for never had they been so pleased to meet again.

"I waited so patiently," said Dulcie; she didn't add anything about thoughts of a friendly policeman, but inquired quickly—

"Do you know you've lost your catseye?"

He nodded and grinned.

"Have you got it?"

He parted his lips. It was between his teeth. He pressed it back into the empty setting of his bracelet, saying—

"I'd no time to wish sooner. I'll never set Towser to chase our poor little Miranda again, you bet! How horrid it must be to be a permanent cat!"

"However did you get it back?"

"Hallo! Hi!" was all she got in answer, and the next moment he was pommelling into, and being pommelled by, a lanky youth.

"I'll teach you—to shy stones—at a—poor defenceless—cat," gasped Cyril, hitting out right and left, his face scarlet, and his hair all ruffled. How they did go for one another! First one was down and the other on top; then the pair, all legs and arms, were the other way up; then they rolled together over and over, till at last Cyril had won a brilliant victory before he allowed Dulcie to drag him away from the defeated adversary, who, as soon as he was free, slunk off miserably, with one hand to his eye and his handkerchief to his nose.

"I'm all right," exclaimed Cyril, in answer to her anxious inquiry, shaking himself into order. "That was a lark! No—I'm not hurt, not really. Served him jolly!"

Dulcie noticed that he had a lump on his forehead from the fray.

"I'm glad you won the fight with that boy, but I don't know what it was about one little bit. And, Cyril, aren't these adventures rather too—too dangerous, don't you think?"

"Of course they're not, they're awfully jolly."

"Now tell me all about it from the very beginning," said his sister as they strolled off together. So Cyril gave her a spirited record of his adventures whilst she listened eagerly, anxious not to miss a single word.

"I'll begin at the beginning," he said. "Well, the funny monkey—me, you know——"

"You, Cyril?" and Dulcie gasped with surprise.

"Yes; don't interrupt, there's a dear. I quite enjoyed my little performance on the organ before you. But by the second and third time I had to do it I got sick and tired of it. The weather seemed to turn cold and made me shiver. Then I got fearfully hungry—coppers were given me, but no food did I get, and I felt I had had enough of the business. The boy's pocket, too, was draughty—there was a hole in it—besides which I got the cramp. It wouldn't have been much use trying to escape. Besides, the monkey idea was all wrong, for people were passing all the time, and, had they noticed a free monkey on the track of a catseye, a crowd would have collected, and perhaps that grinning idiot might have gone for me again. I couldn't very well change to myself inside of his jacket, nor during a performance in public, as it might have attracted attention. So I was obliged to wait for my chance, which came at last when he picked up an end of a cigarette and after begging a match was busy lighting it at a sheltered corner. I was on the pavement in a minute, managed to slip out of my idiotic red coat to which the cord was attached, flung off that absurd hat, and remembering my first idea I changed into a cat, calmly sat down on the inner side of some area railings, and peered through to watch the fun."

"Yes, and what happened then?" interrupted Dulcie excitedly.

"Well, you never saw such a face as that boy's when he found the monkey's coat and hat on the ground without any monkey inside of them! He said some foreign words and commenced running about hunting for me everywhere, whilst I trotted off before his very eyes. Ha, ha, ha!"

His sister pealed with laughter and delight.

"As quickly as possible I reached the big house where I had seen the girl with the red hair go in after she had picked up my catseye."

"I saw her pick it up, too," broke in Dulcie.

But Cyril went on: "The windows were still open. I jumped up from the balcony on to a stone ledge, and then by good luck right into the bedroom of that bothersome young lady. She was reading a book. We did startle one another!

"'Oh, you darling sweet pussikins!' she said. 'Ah,' I thought, 'not so darling as all that.' And the next moment I was lifted clumsily on to her lap and stroked and patted, whilst I looked anxiously around for my catseye in the intervals—when she wasn't kissing my nose, which was disturbing and uncomfortable, and girls do like kissing so. Then I saw it gleaming on the dressing-table close to the window all the time, and I became impatient. The stupid baby language and kisses bothered me, so I stopped it by giving her face an ugly scratch."

"Oh, how rude!" exclaimed Dulcie, shocked.

"Whereupon she gave me an angry slap, which I didn't feel a bit through the fur, and pushed me down roughly on the floor, looked at her face in the glass, and then I heard her bathing it in the dressing-room. I say! had I changed then, wouldn't she have been jolly surprised to find a strange boy in there! So, remaining her darling pussikins," he continued with a smile, "I just jumped on the table, took hold of my catseye in my mouth, and escaped by the window before she returned, and waved my tail in good-bye—stupid things, tails!" With a laugh, which was echoed by Dulcie, Cyril, grown serious again, went on with his narrative:

"But just as I alighted on the ground a boy began shying stones at me, which it was awfully difficult to dodge. One of them caught me such a whack on the side, and he laughed and shouted 'Hurrah, got him!'—Wasn't I glad when I saw him just now!—Well, I was just going to change then, when there was a great barking, and a whole lot of dogs seemed to be bearing down on me. I thought I'd make myself scarce, so I tore off, and as they were on my track I simply cut. I flew along the muddy streets with the whole pack at my heels, with shouts and laughter ringing in my ears, scampering past them, past houses, past traffic, whizzing along for my life with the barking din and the pattering feet always following. At last, as a last hope, I dodged round, doubled back, the noise stopped, and I took refuge in a quiet garden, awfully puffed, and jumped on a seat next some one resting there."

"Me," said Dulcie, with a sigh of relief.

"Yes, I found it was you, Sis. I Wished, and you're a trump, for I was tired, and you rid me of that big dog." Dulcie glowed with pride and pleasure at that. "I never knew, though, that that brute was following me. Fortunately for me he gripped hold of the bracelet round my neck."

"How well you tell a story, Cyril," she said simply.

Cyril smiled contentedly. "That's nothing."

Then she inquired anxiously: "Do you think it was the Wizard's trick, that losing of the stone?"

"P'raps," replied Cyril musingly. "He's quite ugly enough for anything. But I don't think so," he added reassuringly; "it must have been an accident—got loose, or something."

Dulcie's mind being eased, she then told her own story as a mole. She couldn't remember the Porcupine's verses exactly, but she repeated what she could, and they had a good laugh over them;—before, she had been blind to the fun in them. "I repeated them to Molly," continued Dulcie, rippling over with fun, "and she was so offended she vowed she'd never marry him. So I cured him of his vanity—and serve him right!"

"But why did the Hedgehog titter? That was what you wanted to find out, wasn't it?" asked Cyril.

"I suppose it was expecting the Porcupine's verses."

"Suppose?"

"I forgot to ask."

Cyril expressed his opinion that she had been a softy, that those creatures weren't worth while chumming up with, and they couldn't have much sense, and it didn't matter, after all, what they thought or did.

"I shan't tell you any more, then," replied Dulcie, offended.

"Yes, do," begged Cyril, curious to know the end. So after he had begged three times, she gave way, and informed him she was glad never to have been born a mole, for Molly was in terribly low spirits and had apologised for them, but the reason was because all her family's skins had been taken off their backs in order to keep fashionable ladies from taking cold—as these ladies seemed to think that it was a prettier and warmer skin than their own. And Molly hourly expected each moment to be her last—and advised her new-found friend to prepare for the same fate—which was all very terrifying. "So I made haste to wish to be my own self again," concluded Dulcie.

Cyril made her promise faithfully never again to run off like a mole or anything else, which—being only too anxious to avoid another separation—she willingly did.

"The poor animals," she remarked earnestly, "all seem so helpless. There's no one ever to take their part or help them."

"Ah, you think that because we've not yet changed into something really great," answered Cyril with conviction.

"What a gloomy looking place we've come to! I was so interested listening and talking, I didn't notice the way we've come," broke in his sister, gazing at what appeared like a Jungle in front of them. "Surprising how we got here, isn't it?"

"I never noticed either, but it'll do beautifully," replied the boy, quite satisfied.

"But it doesn't seem very nice to be a Beast," argued Dulcie reflectively, her thoughts harking back; "somehow it's so unpeaceful."

"I tell you that's because we haven't tried anything great," repeated her brother with an emphatic movement of his hand and a decided toss of his head. "If," he said, and hesitated—"if we were lions" (he waited, then finding they were both as they were he went on, reassured), "then we would know what it is to rule everybody, keep our friends in order, and eat up our enemies."

"But I don't want to eat up any one," protested Dulcie. "I think it would be very disagreeable."

"I should think it must taste rather nice—they like it. Besides, one never knows till one tries," remarked her brother. "I want to be a lion!!"

At once the King of Beasts confronted Dulcie. With a shriek she tore away as fast as her small feet could scamper. Then she changed her mind. And as a lioness, full of courage, she rejoined him.

Grand beasts they were as they bounded into the Jungle with a mighty roar. Startled creatures hurried out of their path, and the very landscape appeared insignificant in their presence. Monarchs of all they surveyed! This at last was splendid freedom.

At a river, sparkling like glass in the burning sun, they stopped and slaked their thirst, lapping up the water greedily. Then they turned again into the tangle of vegetation and laid themselves down to rest.

Purring with delight in the hot sunshine, they lazily lashed their tails. The lion was just dozing when he was roused by something heavy and strong winding itself in great coils around his limbs and body. He gave forth a roar half of anger, half of fear. Struggle as he would he could not free himself; it was a huge boa-constrictor that was closing about him like bands of iron, and was just about to crush him to death when the lion disappeared and a little boy in a blue serge suit wriggled away, sobbing out: "Oh, Mother! Dulcie!"

Just then Cyril's eye caught sight of a rifle pointed from a neighbouring tree. To his horror it was aimed straight at the recumbent, lazily-blinking lioness. His heart stood still with terror. He could neither scream nor stir. Quite forgotten was the huge reptile, which had jerked back its head in astonishment at the remarkable disappearance of its quarry, with an undulating movement of surprise in that part of its anatomy which might be termed its neck. But now the creature was quite close to the lad and rearing itself up to strike at him when—crack! crack! crack! Bullets were whizzing all around. Cyril, bewildered, stumbled over the dead body of the reptile and fell to the ground. The next moment he felt Dulcie's hair over his face as she pulled him on to his feet.

"Great snakes!" exclaimed Lord Algy. Captain Waring, who was eagerly peering through the branches of another tree close by, laughed as he rejoined, "Only one, my friend."

"Eh, what? Well I'm—" drawled his lordship, craning his neck and letting his eyeglass drop and dangle—he had stopped short in his sentence, not seeming quite to realise what he was. "By Jove!" he now added, "I certainly thought I hit one of those two fine brutes; most remarkable thing I ever saw in my life."

"Didn't see, you mean, my dear Algy," replied the Captain coolly and not without vexation. "I've seen a dead serpent before. Where have they moved to? that's the question: we shall have to track them again. A dead snake in the grass is not worth two fine lions in the Jungle."

"No, my dear fellow, I don't think so either—I agree with you there—it's quite the contrary, of course," remarked his lordship with a certain amount of energy.

Meanwhile, Dulcie and Cyril, with white, scared faces, were fleeing hand in hand like pixies among the trees.