Chapter Six.
Lost!
“There!” said Dennis triumphantly, “we’ve got it right at last.”
“There’s only one tiny smudge on it,” said Maisie, looking anxiously over his shoulder at the Round Robin.
It had cost them nearly two days of earnest effort and repeated failure, for although Aunt Katharine had described exactly how it was to be done, she had left them to carry it out entirely by themselves. It sounded so easy to say: “Take a sheet of cardboard, and draw a large circle on it, leaving room for all the signatures you want. Then write the petition clearly in the middle, and that is a Round Robin.” But it was not so easy when you began to do it. First the circle was too large, and then it was too small, then there were mistakes in the spelling, and then there were too many blots; but at last, after wasting four sheets of cardboard, the Round Robin approached perfection. Aunt Katharine came in to see it, and smiled, and said she thought it would do.
“But you’ve got a good deal before you yet, Dennis,” she added. “Do you think you shall be able to get all the men to sign?”
“Every one of them,” said Dennis decidedly. “I shall begin with the bailiff, and end with the pig-man. He can’t write his name, but he can put a cross.”
“It won’t matter which you begin or end with,” said Maisie, “because there isn’t any first and last in the Round Robin.”
From this moment all Dennis’s energy and interest were spent upon getting the Round Robin signed. He could talk and think of nothing else, but though Maisie was eager for its success too, it did not entirely take her mind from other things. She often thought, for instance, of the two kittens in their new homes, and wondered how they were getting on, and whether Blanche was beginning to be a “comfort” to Philippa. Darkie was certainly growing handsome and more amusing every day, but perhaps he could not exactly be considered a “comfort.” Madam, his mother, at any rate did not find him one, and was often very vexed with him, because he would not give up the pranks and follies of childhood. She could no longer put up with it patiently, when he pounced upon her tail if she happened to whisk it, or played leap-frog over her back like a small black goblin. On such occasions she would spit at him angrily, and box his ears with the whole strength of her outstretched arm, but Darkie did not care a bit. He must play with some one, and as Peter the dog would not notice him, there was no one left but Madam. Dennis and Maisie were quite ready to have a game, but they were not to be compared to cats for fun and frolic, and besides, they began to have some tiresome ideas about training and education. Darkie must be taught to beg like Peter. Every morning, before he was allowed to taste his breakfast, he was made to go through certain exercises.
“Beg, Darkie, beg,” Maisie would say, holding the plate high above his head; and then Dennis would place him forcibly down on his hind-legs, and lift up his front paws. Darkie was a cunning cat, and he soon found that begging was to his advantage, so he learned his lesson quickly, but it was only one of many which followed, and he got very tired of them.
“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.