“It’s such a common, mean thing,” said Dennis, casting a scornful glance at it. “No one could want to have it.”
“It’s very affectionate, though,” said Maisie, “and it purrs more than any of them. I believe it might grow pretty when it’s older.”
“Not it,” said Dennis. “Why, there are lots of cats like it in the village now. Just long, lean, striped things. I don’t believe you’d know it apart from them when it’s grown up.—Oh, look, Maisie, look! He jumped, he really did.”
Maisie looked, but the black kitten turned sulky, and refused to do anything but back away from Dennis’s hands with its ears flattened.
“It’s quite in a temper,” she said. “Now the grey kitten always tries to do what you tell it.”
“Only it’s so stupid that it never knows what you want it to do,” said Dennis, as he gave up his efforts and let the kitten scamper back to its mother.
“Well, at any rate,” said Maisie, returning to her subject, “we’ve got to find it a home, and we haven’t asked every one yet. Who is there left? Let me see. There’s the vicarage, and Dr Price, and, oh Dennis, perhaps old Sally would like it!”
Dennis shrugged his shoulders, but he was quite ready to agree that old Sally should be asked, because he was always glad of any excuse to go near the Manor Farm, which he thought the nicest place in the village or out of it. It was not only pretty and interesting in itself with its substantial grey stone outbuildings, and pigeonry and rick-yard, but Mr and Mrs Andrew Solace lived there, and they were, the children thought, such very agreeable people. There had always been a Solace at the Manor Farm within the memory of old Sally, who was very old indeed, but they felt sure none of them could have been so pleasant as the present one. “Young Master Andrew,” old Sally called him, though he was a stout, middle-aged man with grizzled hair; but she gave him this name because she had worked for his father and grandfather, and could “mind” him when he was a little boy of Dennis’s age. For the same reason, she never could bring herself to think him equal to the management of such a very large farm, “’undreds of acres,” as she said. It was a great undertaking for “young Master Andrew,” and though every one round knew that there were few better farmers, old Sally always shook her head over it.
Manor Farm was in every respect just the opposite of the “Green Farm,” where the Broadbents lived. There was nothing smart or trim or new about it, and the house and farm-buildings were comfortably mixed up together, so that the farmer seemed to live in the midst of his barns and beasts. It was a very old house, with a square flagged hall and a broad oak staircase. There were beams showing across the low ceilings, and wide window-seats, which were always full of all sorts of things flung there “to be handy.” Some of the rooms were panelled, and all the furniture in them was old-fashioned and dark with age. Dogs and cats walked in and out at their pleasure, and though Mrs Solace sometimes chased them all out for a few minutes, they soon returned again through windows and doors, and made themselves quite at home. Mrs Solace was too busy to trouble herself much about them, and also too good-natured, so that the animals knew they could do pretty well as they liked.
It was this complete freedom that made the Manor Farm so delightful to Dennis and Maisie, who ran in and out very much as the cats and dogs did, and always found something to interest and amuse them. If Mrs Solace were too much occupied in dairy, laundry, or store-room to give them her attention, they had only to go into the farm-yard to be surrounded by friends and acquaintances. Some of these, it is true, disappeared from time to time, but you had hardly missed them before there was something new to take their place. The great brown cart-horses, at any rate, were always to be found after their work, and always ready to bow their huge heads and take apples or sugar gently with their soft lips. And in summer it was pleasant to be there just at milking time, and watch the cows saunter slowly home across the fields, to stand in a long patient row in the shed, to be milked.