Читать книгу Pussy-Cat Town - Marion Ames Taggart - Страница 5

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Three days later the moon looked down on a more wonderful sight than she had seen since the cow had jumped over her,—more wonderful even than she had seen then, for this sight was much more than one cat with a fiddle.

Six cats and three kittens led a procession of at least a dozen more cats out of the town and along the wooded country roads. Ban-Ban was ahead. He had a big red bow on his collar, which poor Rob had tied on, intending the Maltese cat to look his best when expected company should come that evening. He little thought that he was adorning Ban-Ban for a journey, and a parting that was going to cost himself keen grief!

But Ban-Ban had no room in his mind for Rob’s anxiety; he trotted proudly along, with his short, velvety ears pricked up, his nose alert for dangers. Close behind him marched Wutz-Butz, in case he was needed for a fight. Tommy Traddles came next, in case he was needed for advice. Kiku-san—he wore a beautiful pink ribbon, because Lois loved to see him well dressed—Kiku walked between Bidelia and Madam Laura, the only one of the party with a regret. His thoughts dwelt on Lois, and how troubled she would be when he did not come to bed that night, and she could not find him in the morning. Behind Bidelia came the three kittens, driving their young mother half crazy with their antics. They would not walk soberly, but frisked and played, and ran out of sight into the shadow, and sometimes half-way up a tree, until little Bidelia was sure that she would be quite as gray as Ban-Ban, but with another sort of grayness, from her worry, by the time she got to wherever they were going.

The stranger cats walked behind their leaders. They were all thin and sad-looking, for they had had no homes, and life had been most hard to them. They were glad enough to think that they were on their way to make their fortunes in a city of cats, where there would be no stones thrown, no dogs to chase them, no cruel boys to frighten and hurt them.

One of the stranger cats.

The six cat leaders all carried something. Ban-Ban had a big piece of beef. He had not stolen it, because it had been bought for him, but he had whisked it out of the refrigerator when the cook left the door open for a moment.

Wutz-Butz had dragged along a piece of red flannel. He was inclined to be stiff in his legs from rheumatism and his frequent battles, and he had no mind to sleep on the cold ground, though many a soldier before him has had no better bed.

Tommy Traddles had a pail of milk fastened over his shoulders,—Laura had tied it on for him,—and in his paws he carried an umbrella, because he knew that if it rained they would all hate to be out in the wet.

Bidelia, like the gay young thing that she was, brought only neck-ribbons for her children, and some worsted balls with which they—and she, too, if she would own it—loved to play. But Madam Laura, like an older and wiser mother, brought catnip roots, as well as some dried catnip to start on, in case the kittens were ill. She also had a little bottle of castor-oil, because she knew how good that was for kittens when they overate themselves.

Kiku-san carried his crocheted shawl. It was one that had been dyed red, and which Lois kept in a rocking-chair for Kiku’s daytime naps. Kiku wore it now around his shoulders, and wondered doubtfully if he could get another crocheted shawl in Pussy-Cat Town when this one was worn out.

They walked and they walked for what seemed a long, long distance even to the cats. As to the kittens, they had long ceased frisking, and crawled along slowly, mewing pathetically, and taking hold of Bidelia’s tail to help themselves as they went.

“Little Dolly Varden fell asleep.”

Tommy Traddles looked around and saw how tired they were. “If some of you gentlemen in the back there, who have no food or beds to carry, would lay your forepaws on one another’s shoulders, and take turns in letting the children sit on them, you would be able to get the poor little kitlets over the ground, saving them suffering, and not hurting yourselves,” he said.

The stranger cats were glad to do this, though they would never have been wise enough to have invented this way of carrying the babies. Little Dolly Varden fell asleep the instant she was put up on the paws of a big black cat and a black and white one, who offered to carry her. “She was that done out,” said the black and white cat. He had a kind heart, but his English was not very good, because he had learned it in the streets.

It was about twenty minutes past ten when the cat pilgrims reached a lovely spot. It was a clearing in a wood, almost an acre wide. It stood right on the bank of a tiny stream, which Bidelia called a river, but which was really rather a small and quiet brook. All around this cleared spot were beautiful woods, and only a grass-grown road ran through it, such as is made by broad wagon wheels when men go to cut down trees in the woods.

“This is the very place for us,” declared Ban-Ban, looking around him with great content.

“It isn’t far from the town,” objected the black cat, who was helping carry Dolly Varden. His name was ’Clipsy, short for Eclipse. He had not always been poor; he was born in a very nice home, where he had been given his name, but he had got lost when he was very young, and had had a hard time ever since. He was a gentleman always, though; the cat leaders all saw that he was the best of all the stranger cats who had joined them.

“I know it is not far from town,” said Tommy Traddles, planting his umbrella in the ground, and setting down his pail of milk beside it, with a wink at Wutz-Butz to keep his eye on it—no one could tell what some thirsty stranger cat might be tempted to do. “It is not far from town, ’Clipsy, but it is rather better for that. Did you never notice that when human beings have lost something they always look everywhere else for it before they look near home? I suppose you haven’t noticed that, because you have not lived with human beings since you were so little, but it is quite true that when anything is lost and can’t be found, it always turns out that it is because no one looked just at hand, where the lost thing always hides. So it is better for us to settle nearer our old human town than to go away off—to another State, for instance.”

There was no disputing with a cat that could allude so carelessly to “another State.” ’Clipsy at once gave up arguing; he didn’t know what “another State” meant, and he wondered greatly how Tommy could be so wise.

“Oh, it’s all right as to that,” said Ban-Ban, speaking in his quick way. He understood about states, because he had so often sat by Rob when he was learning his lessons. “I don’t think any one would find us in this place; but I wonder if there is a good market here.”

“There ought to be fish in that river,” said Madam Laura, who liked fish even better than most cats. “I know how to catch fish with my paw.”

“There are fish in that stream,” said Tommy Traddles, decidedly. “And field-mice in the woods; the market here will be excellent. I am convinced that the guardian fairies of good cats have led us here. It is well to be near town, because our city must be easily reached by homeless cats who may wish to join us. I advise you, my friends, to decide upon this spot at once as the site of the city. Do you agree to stay here?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” cried all the cats together, their voices making a chorus of soprano, alto, bass, baritone, and tenor. Even the kittens joined with their thin little pipes, though they may have been crying from sleepiness.

“We’ll make a camp!” cried Ban-Ban, putting up his back and dancing around on his toes the way he had always done when Rob offered to play with him. “We will camp out for the night, and in the morning we will ask the carpenter cats to begin to build our houses.”

“It won’t take us long,” cried the carpenter cats, five of the strangers who had joined the party.

“I told a friend of mine I would write at once after we settled on a site to let him know where he could join us. What are you going to call the town?” asked one of these cats.

“Purrington!” cried Bidelia, triumphantly, looking around for the praise she felt sure that this happy name would win from all her companions. She had been thinking up a name during the three days that she was getting together her kittens’ neck-ribbons, mending their clothes, and packing for the journey.

All the cats raised such a yowl of delight that if there had been any human being within hearing he would certainly have thought that some awful thing had happened to all the cats in the world at once. But it was merely keen pleasure that such a fashionable-sounding, yet happy, homelike, catified name had been hit upon by Bidelia, whom they now felt surer than ever must secretly be a successful author.

“Purrington by all means,” said Tommy Traddles, with the grave approval of a great scholar. “I should suggest that we also give this stream a name, and call it the Meuse. Purrington-on-the-Meuse will be a delightful heading for our note-paper.”

“Mews! Yes, that is a nice name for our river,” said Madam Laura. “Yet I don’t like, don’t quite like, calling the river after mews only. We are often so unhappy when we mew!”

“My dear lady,” said Doctor Traddles,—Tommy Traddles had been honoured with the title of Doctor of Claws by a feline college,—“we are not calling it after our own mews; we do not spell it that way. This is M-E-U-S-E, not M-E-W-S, and there is a river with that name in France. I confess I had the double sound of the word in my mind when I suggested the name, however.”

“How did you become so learned, Tommy?” sighed Madam Laura, much impressed.

“I used to sit on a dictionary a great deal of the time while I was growing,” said Thomas Traddles. “I then lived with a student of law, and I absorbed learning, and especially a knowledge of words, by sitting, and even napping, on his dictionary.”

“We are going to live in Purrington-on-the-Meuse!” cried Ban-Ban, with a flirt of his tail. “Wutz-Butz, bring your red flannel over here. Those kittens must be put to bed. Kiku-san, will you let Dolly Varden and Puttel sleep with you in your crocheted shawl, while Nugget curls up with Wutz-Butz in this red flannel?”

Before Kiku-san could reply, Bidelia started to say that she must keep her children with her, and Wutz-Butz to say that he intended to watch all that night with ’Clipsy and some others of the stranger cats; but nobody could hear a word that either of them said, for all three kittens set up a perfectly deafening trio of miaous:

“We want mamma, we want mamma; we won’t sleep with Y-O-U-U-U!” they shrieked.

“Oh, dear,” sighed Bidelia, “they are so tired you must pardon them! My darlings, you are going to sleep with mamma; please, please be quiet.” And she gave three hasty but tender licks down the noses of each of them, which quieted the kittens and comforted them.

“I was about to say that Bidelia may use my blanket to-night,” said Wutz-Butz. “I shall stay awake and watch. By to-morrow night she will have her own house all furnished.”

“You are most kind, Wutz-Butz,” said Bidelia, feeling rather ashamed that she had looked down on Wutz-Butz, thinking him only a stupid soldier. She curled herself down at once on his red flannel and drew the three kittens to her, one under her forepaw, one close to her head, and one tucked away under her chin—this was Dolly Varden, the smallest and sweetest of the three.

Kiku-san and Ban-Ban laid down close together in Kiku’s crocheted shawl. Kiku was very silent, and even Ban-Ban had nothing to say, but drew the white cat’s gentle face close to his saucy one. They remembered Rob and Lois, and it is more difficult to be brave at night, than it is in the broad daylight, when the sun is shining.

“We will sing you to sleep,” said Madam Laura and Tommy Traddles, kindly, guessing that these petted cats might be lonely. And they sang to the tune of “Santa Lucia:”

“Little cats, dearest cats, sleep on your pillows,

Under the stars and ’neath green pussy-willows.

Sweet should your rest be and peaceful your slumber,

Dreaming of cream-pans and mice without number;

Rich your reward for your courage and pity,

Giving the homeless a home and a city.

Ban-Ban and Kiku-san, all cats shall bless you,

Lois and Robin again will caress you;

Bravest cats, dearest cats, sleep on your pillows,

Kissed by the winds and the soft pussy-willows.”

Sung to a low, sweet tune, this song proved soothing, and Kiku-san and Ban-Ban fell asleep as soon as it ceased, borne away to dreamland by the rise and fall of many purrs mingling with the murmur of their rippling river Meuse.