Martha and Mary both said “Miau,” but I guess it was because they wanted the fish uncle was dangling over their noses.
“There,” says he, drawing himself up as proud as a turkey-gobbler—“there. Intelligent, eh? Never saw cats like that before, I bet.”
The cats sailed into that fish as enthusiastic as we boys had a little while before. Uncle gave each of them a couple. When they were through he spoke to them again.
“That’s all,” he says. “I hain’t goin’ to give you no more and be responsible for ruinin’ your stummicks. Now go on off. D’you hear me? Go on off and catch mouses so’s I can come out.”
“C-c-can’t you go out while they’re there?” Mark wanted to know.
Uncle looked at him astonished. “What? Me? Go out with them two cats?” He shook his head two or three times and looked at Mark regretful-like. “I’m s’prised at you, Mark Tidd. O’ course not. Never. Why,” says he, “you can’t never tell what cats’ll do—especially white cats.” He wagged his head again. I most laughed right there. Think of it! Uncle Hieronymous was afraid of his cats.
Marthy and Mary trotted off out of sight as obedient as could be, and uncle unlocked the door. It was our first look outside. Right in front of the house, which was made of logs, was a little stream. You could hear it gurgling and pouring along, and it sounded as pleasantly and neighborly as could be. All around was woods. The house sat in the middle of a clearing a couple of hundred feet wide, and beyond that all you could see was trees, trees, trees. The clearing was on a little rise of ground, and from the door you could look off across the brook for miles over what looked like a kind of swamp—not a squashy, boggy swamp, but a damp swamp where trees grew, and where, most likely, there was bears and maybe deer.
“Have you lived here always, uncle?” I asked him.
“Always? Me? Not always, not always, by any means. Fifteen years ago I lived up in what they call the copper country now. Yes, sir, right amongst it, so to speak, only I wasn’t minin’. Not me. I owned a forty of timber and logged it a spell. Then along come a feller and offered me a price for it, and I up and sold to him. Yes, sir, sold out bag and baggage. No I didn’t, neither.” He commenced to laugh kind of as if there was a joke on somebody. “Friend of mine, he advised me I should keep the mineral rights, and, by gum! I own ’em to this very day. Me! Mineral rights. Haw!”
“What’s m-m-mineral rights?” It was Mark asked him of course. None of the rest of us cared a whoop what mineral rights were, but Mark wasn’t that way. You never could go mentioning anything strange around him without being made to put in a spell explaining it.