Those were wild, wicked days that followed, and those lawless attendants applauded his misdeeds. First the kittens disappeared, then the middle-sized cats followed, though these were a swifter lot, and he had to stalk and catch them unawares. Then, for he was a man-grown now, he tried the big old cats. If he could get them by the backs of their necks it was all over with them; but they grew wary, and the biggest ones would fight back, with claws and teeth, leaving many a scar of battle on his brown head, that caused Betsy to wonder.
Still, it was rare sport to chase these veterans, and Van’s days abroad were one long series of crimes. Home he would go at night, and sleep the sleep of an angel in his basket in the kitchen. In the morning he would be off to kill, kill, kill.
He did not stop at the Hill-Top. There were neighbors who had cats. These he found, and many a happy family was made desolate. Soon, instead of being a well-behaved little dog, beloved by all, he became a hated ruffian. Many a time it was only the name on his collar that saved him from being shot. For he wore a collar now, with a brass plate, which announced to those who could read as they ran, that he was owned by Dr. Johns, of the big Hospital.
It was a long time before the family knew of his sins, and when it finally came out it nearly broke the heart of Betsy, and made Dr. Johns look very grave indeed, and wonder if he had not done right in objecting to his coming.
It was a warm April day, nearly a year since Van had come to the Hill-Top to live. He was taking his peaceful daily walk, with Betsy for company, and they wandered down into the flower garden, where the pansies were beginning to bloom in the cold-frames. Three pretty kittens were frisking on the gravel walk, and Betsy stopped to play with them.
Piff! Right under her nose Van caught one, and had shaken the life out of it before she knew what had happened. He laid it proudly at the feet of her whose approval he desired.
“Van! Van! What are you doing? You bad dog!”
Betsy’s voice had never sounded like that before. To his surprise she caught him by the collar, and before he could get at kitten number two, she had given him a sound whipping.
This was most unexpected. He had thought to see her in ecstasies of delight, as she was when he had killed that first mouse. Now, how was this? One person had taught him something, and another was punishing him for it. Van was quite bewildered. Tail down, he went home with his mistress, ashamed and heart-broken over the first severe punishment he had received at her hands.
However, it remained like this—he was grown up, and no longer a baby and a coddled house-pet; he was not to be ruled by any one in petticoats. Betsy might know rules for house manners, but what could she know of the outside world! He would abide by the teachings of men, as behooved the son of royalty. Betsy’s little whippings were not much, anyway!