Kittens | Project Gutenberg (2024)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74356 ***

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

GRIM: The Story

of a Pike

Illustrated by Dorothy P. Lathrop

$2.00 net at all bookshops

NEW YORK: ALFRED A. KNOPF

Kittens: A Family Chronicle

Translated from the Danish of

Svend Fleuron

by David Pritchard

Foreword by Carl Van Vechten

New York Mcmxxii

Alfred · A · Knopf

CONTENTS

KITTENS

Those who have been content to regard thecat merely, æsthetically, as a household ornament,economically, as a mouse-killer, orfantastically, as an adjunct of witchcraft, willdoubtless read this book with some surprise.For Svend Fleuron has imagined (or observed)a cat more or less cut off from relationshipwith men, bringing up her kittensin the fields, against all the odds that any wildanimal, surrounded by the destructive terrorsof nature, has to face. If this novelwere a true picture of human life, it wouldshow, relentlessly and bitterly, how natureovercame the mother and her children. As,however, it is a picture of cat life, the end isa happy one. Grey Puss is successful in thestruggle and so are all her kittens. “Theother farm cats’ kittens were born in barn andloft and were drowned litter after litter—butshe would see that her kittens grew to becats.”

[Pg 14]

In spite of the complete veracity of thischronicle, I can realize the shock which thebook offers to those uninformed or insensitivepersons who persist in regarding the cat as asoft plaything or a decorative coward, for,without a touch of sentimentality, Fleuronhas very strikingly portrayed the courage,the resourcefulness, the patience, and theindependence of Grey Puss and her multicolouredbrood. They are forced to battlefor their food, to compete with the crow andthe owl, to fight the fox; they are maltreatedby the farmhands and pursued by the dog,Box; even their father makes a frustrated attemptto eat them; but they emerge triumphantlyand each kitten, in his own manner,succeeds in making his way in the world. Itis well to remember that the picture is notextraordinary or the case abnormal. Eightyout of every hundred cats, who grow up, maketheir way valiantly under similar dishearteningcirc*mstances.

Just as certain tame cats sometimes havedecided to leave the hearth for the adventuresof wild life, so Grey Puss, who had once[Pg 15]been a children’s pet, occasionally, in spite ofrebuffs and the remembered treachery ofman, hankers after domesticity, the milk-pail,the kitchen stove, and the soft warm hay inthe barn. Several of her kittens, Grey,White, and Tiny, inherit this vague longingand eventually settle down in human habitations,but human beings, on the whole, playsmall and entirely inferior rôles in this finenovel. They seldom step across its pages andwhen they do appear, we see, with Grey Puss,only their feet and their legs as high as theknee. Box, the dog, a more important characterin this essentially feline drama, ispainted as a good-hearted, blundering brute,always in trouble, punished for following hisinstincts, and finally meeting his end in anaquatic encounter with the mother heroine.

The cat as wild animal has been treated infiction before, notably by Mary E. Wilkinsin The Cat, by Charles G. D. Roberts inHow a Cat Played Robinson Crusoe, and byF. St. Mars in Pharaoh. These, however,are short stories with a single hero. Fleuronhas employed a broader canvas. His sub-title,[Pg 16]A Family Chronicle, explains hisscheme. He is writing the story of a family.It would have been easy to confuse kittenwith kitten. Lesser writers in writing aboutcats have readily fallen into this error.Fleuron, however, paints distinct portraitsof each separate puss. Each of these kittensdiffers from the others not alone in appearancebut also in character and each isconfronted with the rewards and punishmentsof his own vices and virtues. They emergeat the end of the book as rounded and recognizableand memorable as any of the charactersin The Way of All Flesh. Striped Big,“thick-set and sturdy, with short tail, stronglegs, and a back which merged smoothly intoa plump round stomach; big attentive eyeswith intelligence and intensity in their glance;small ears never at rest ... the master-hunterof the litter,” who becomes a wild catin a deer park; Black, the quarrelsome, who“returned snarl and spit for kind word—andhe never hit softly on the nose but scratchedso that it hurt,” who battles with crows andrats, and ends his days in the barracks among[Pg 17]the soldiers; Tiny, the weather-prophet, atimorous hanger-on, who becomes the pet ofa midwife; Grey, “with her quiet, thoughtfulnature, who ponders carefully every step shetakes,” catches fish and eventually goes to livewith a fisherman; Red, juggler and hypocrite,subtle and deceitful, who wins all her triumphsby stealth; and White, a merry andfriendly kitten, who makes a joke of everything;neither big nor strong, her grace andgood humour serve to advance her station inlife: these are Svend Fleuron’s Kittens. Inthe end, Grey Puss, rid, at length, of theresponsibility of this particular litter, succumbsagain to her prize-fighting lover, thegreat piebald hero, that rarety, a male tortoise-shell,wooed by the soft seduction of thedream of renewed motherhood. This, to me,is one of the most delightful episodes in thehistory.

Fleuron’s method is realistic and dramatic.He devotes comparatively little space todescriptions of his characters; he tells us whatthey do and feel and they do and feel nothingthat it is impossible to imagine cats doing[Pg 18]and feeling. Human characteristics are notascribed to them. The philosophy inherentin the book is cat philosophy rather than theauthor’s. All this would avail nothing, wereit not obvious to any one who reads avery few pages that Fleuron has observedthe animal very closely and sympathetically.Sentimentality is entirely lacking from thisbook, as it should be, but sympathy, we maybe sure, is never very far away.

This novel, I like to believe, will pleaseW. H. Hudson, who, abhorring the idea of“pets,” enjoys watching an animal living itsown life, unrestrained. Grey Puss and herkittens forge their own destinies, create theirown careers, restricted only by their respectivecharacters and their environment. Theirlives are not regulated by owners or masters.No more, it is well to remember, are those ofpet cats (The Monsieur Sidi of Côte-Darlyhas said truly, Nous sommes des êtres libres,même dans l’esclavage), but a house-cat is accordeda certain protection which, perhaps,softens his real nature. This, then, marks thegreat distinction between Kittens and such a[Pg 19]cat biography as Pierre Lôti’s Vies de DeuxChattes, in which the writer very beautifullysets down an account of the lives of two of hiscats: those were Lôti’s cats and in his book hedescribes, for the greater part, their relationswith him. Grey Puss and her kittens areobserved in their relations with nature.Their relations with man are recorded fromtheir point of view rather than his. This isthe new note in this very authentic cat story,authentic, at least, within the limitations theauthor has set himself. In much of the previousfiction involving the cat, puss has beenhandled quite in the manner of a Ouidaduch*ess; Kittens is the feline Esther Waters.

Carl Van Vechten.

New York.
September 27, 1921.

GREY PUSS

The May moon is still shining white andround in the sky; but eastward beyondthe hills, silhouetting a farmhouseroof, the first faint light of dawn tinges thedistant horizon.... Along a hedge leadingfrom the farm a house-cat comes creeping.At intervals it stops and casts a watchful glancebehind ... then hurries on again.

The advancing day slowly spreads its wakeningtouch over the land. In the zenith thesky is already blue, and the stars are going torest; but all human talk and noise is stillburied in the feather-beds of the farm ...only a mighty vibrating chorus of invisiblelarks fills the air.

The animal is apparently quite an ordinarycat. Its small round head rests on a thick,shapely neck; the legs are short, the tail roundand smooth, and the curve of the neck gracefuland harmonious.

[Pg 22]

But on the underside puss* is quite bare andnaked. Her stomach is distended from breastto groin like an overfilled sack. The cat hashad kittens in her time; the fact cannot bedenied!

The squeak of a mouse from the shadow ofthe hedge brings her to an abrupt halt. Herears spring to a point and appear all at oncedisproportionately large, like those of a rabbit.In shape they resemble lynx ears morethan a cat’s; the only thing lacking is the tuft.

The night-mists roll slowly from the valleys,revealing the green, dew-spangled bladesof the fresh spring crop. Along border andhedge the wild flowers begin to clothe themselvesin the sun’s variegated hues. The colours,too, in the cat’s coat begin now to bevisible.

She is mouse-grey, with black stockings andwhite shoes. But round her breast and sidesruns—like a mark of distinction—a band ofrust-red fur.

Soon Grey Puss resumes her interruptedjourney from the farm; the mouse has beensuccessfully captured and eaten. At first she[Pg 23]had been tempted to play with it; but the barkof a dog from the direction of the farmbrought other thoughts into her head. She nolonger steals along—but runs....

THE WILLOW STUMPS

At the farthest end of the hedge loom threeancient willow stumps, like monster mushroomsspringing from the ground.

For more than a century they have beenregularly clipped, a process which has giventhem weirdly distorted heads. In each oftheir bowl-shaped tops is ample room for acouple of men.

Black ants live in the trunks beneath, andform paths up the furrowed, moss-coveredbark; on the wind-dried branches and alongthe withered twigs the male ants assemble inswarming-time, giving the group of ancienttrees an extraordinarily lifelike appearance.

But spiders spin their webs from every knotand curve, and in them ant corpses hangthickly in bunches. In one stump a redstarthas built its nest; in another, which is big andfull of touchwood, grow burdocks, mugworts,and nettles.

[Pg 24]

The old willow stumps are never at rest....Hairy, yellow-speckled willow-mothswander all over them from top to root, devouringthe leaves, until, later in the summer, onlythe stalks are left—then they spin their cocoons,and one day rise on their soft whitewings to desert the stripped, maltreated larva-trees,the ground beneath carpeted with theirfilth.

The central stump, the one with fat, crookedstem, is hollow right down to the bottom.

Outside the entrance to the hole—a split inthe top of the head—grows a large, thickgooseberry bush, which gives shelter fromthe wind and rain, and serves as a perfect door.Once upon a time the bush must have flownup here as a seed; now it has developed a long,thick aerial-root which runs down inside,clinging to the wooden wall until it reaches itsmouldering base.

In the thorny branches a linnet has built itscircular, down-lined nest—and here the birdhas been sitting fearlessly for eight days andnights without caring in the least about the[Pg 25]old grey cat, which at this very moment issqueezing its way through the narrow entrance.

THE KITTENS

A shadowy bundle at the bottom of the bolecomes to life: human eyes would have taken itfor a number of mouldering sausages lyingamong moss and touchwood.

The she-cat cautiously approaches the bundle,letting herself down backwards by theroot of the gooseberry bush—at every thirdor fourth step uttering a low, soft miauw.

The bundle becomes conscious of her, andstill half asleep, begins to move.

Now a little leg with tiny, extended clawsis stretched into the air, now a sleepy, yawninghead pops into sight. Then the old cat glidesbehind the heap and pushes herself carefullyunderneath.

The young ones, listening delightedly to thesoft, ingratiating miauws, scent immediatelythe spiced milk-nipples and swarm into herembrace—with relaxed thighs she cuddles stillfarther beneath them. They crawl forward,[Pg 26]fumbling blindly and seeking to get hold ...and she purrs to them contentedly a long, longlullaby.

Outside, the day rises from its cloudy bed onthe horizon. The stork’s cackle resoundsfrom the farmhouse roof; the bird, emitting avolley of notes, appears simultaneously on thetop of the chimney like a small black papersilhouette. Its crackling castenets wake thefarmyard co*cks—and now a running fire iskept up all over the village; co*ck-a-doodle-do,co*ck-a-doodle-do. Small strips of cloudwhich seemed before so water-logged and greybecome fleecy and reddish, while the horizonis filled like a deep dish with the dazzlingshafts of the rising sun.

Above the fields trills the now visible chorusof larks, and the waking cattle greet the daywith subdued grunts and bellows. Linnets flytwittering through the air, and a company ofpeewits flap like a black, drifting cloud acrossthe sunlit sky. Along the grass-borderedwheel-tracks the hare comes hopping, hisstomach stuffed with food, his long ears straddledwide; the fellow is courting in these days[Pg 27]and has scarcely time for sleep. He squatsdown and stares at the big red bull, wonderingwhere his little, light-footed hare-girl canhave gone. The bull gets up and stretcheshimself lazily....

Now the edge of the sun appears behind thehills; the partridge whirrs and the wild ducksin the swamp sweep round in circles. Hedgeand fence are thrown into sharp relief, andthin, crooked shadows from the farm treesjump up on the white gable of the house.

The horizon is on fire! It is sunrise. Thekittens down in the willow stump have allfound their nipples; they lift their tiny pawswith joy and stretch out their little claws; theycling greedily to the old she-cat’s body andnestle warmly in the shelter of her loins.

Big, the largest, now places a forepaw oneither side of his milk-spring, and pushes andpulls with all his strength, while with distendednostrils he sucks and squeezes until hegasps for breath and the milk gurgles in histhroat.

Occasionally one of the kittens, its tinytongue licking its small, pointed muzzle,[Pg 28]thrusts up a red nose for a breathing-space.

No mercy is shown! Another kitten atonce seizes the still running nipple—the poor,greedy one, occupied for the moment in coughing,must be content temporarily to standaside.

The happy little mother lies purring withdelight over her maternal duties—and at intervals,when one of her little blind childrenutters a tiny miauw, she miauws back tenderlyand consolingly.

Old Grey Puss has the sweetest cat-face possible.The chin and lower lip are white, asis also the upper lip with its shining whiskers.But above the slightly mahogany-colouredsnout she seems almost to be wearing a mask.It is dead black—and gives a veiled, deceitfullook to the gleaming, golden-yellow eyes.

GREY PUSS AND HER PAST

She had been the children’s kitten; had beenpetted and played with and had free run ofthe living-rooms. She could never forgetthose wonderful days—and the room there—justthe other side of the threshold, where no[Pg 29]hen or co*ck, cow or horse, not even Box himself,ever set foot—where only “humans” came.Old as she was, it still lingered in her memory.

Often during the chill of spring or the frostof winter she would see it hovering above her,dreamlike, with its endless bowls of milk andits everlasting summer.

The days of luxury had lasted little morethan a month; after that the command was“Get out!” And with boot and broomstickshe was ruthlessly expelled.

“Grey Puss is such a thief!” complainedthe housewife.... “She is always after themeat and cream on the kitchen table. GreyPuss steals ... we can’t have her in thehouse!”

What did she know about human laws?What were meat and cream meant for if notfor a cat?... She took what she could; itwas her nature.

After being expelled from the house shebegan to avoid people; soon the habit becamesecond nature. From the house she waschased to the farmyard, from the farmyardto the cow-stall.... The smoke from the[Pg 30]chimney was now the only thing in sight toremind her of her childhood’s luxury.

She was often to be found of a summermorning basking in the sun outside the stall.Together with the other she-cats of the farmshe lay here giving suck to a motherless kitten.They shared the child between them, and fedit alternately, listening the while for the returnof the milk-cart from the fields.

Now they hear it in the distance—yes, thatis old Whitefoot’s trot! And soon afterwardsit rattles and bumps into the yard. All thecats’ tails rise straight in the air like trees;their legs grow quite stiff—the great eventof the day is at hand.

The cart has barely stopped before they areup in it; they must immediately sniff the odourof the sweet, fresh milk.

The foreman of the dairy gives them a littlein a bowl to share among them....

But the bowl is soon licked dry—and nowthey are on the lookout to get whatever theycan.

The moment the dairyman puts aside an[Pg 31]empty pail, a cat pops in like a flash, head first,and licks it clean to the last drop; they leapup and hang by their forepaws to the drippingmilk-sieve; they do anything and everythingto secure a taste of the delicious milk.

They all allow the foreman to lift them upby the tail; they only straddle their legs....

“Puss, puss!” cries the good fellow affectionatelyas he raises them; and adds to awondering onlooker, “They know I won’t hurtthem!”

Yes, so shamelessly did they soil themselveswith milk, that afterwards they spent hoursand hours washing each other clean and dry.

She felt now so utterly out of touch withall that,—that she could have been a party tosuch goings on! To permit herself to belifted up by the tail—and then, actually, towash another cat’s kitten!

She still went regularly to the farm, usuallyin the early morning or the late evening. Butshe never ventured out into the open yard,and was in general very shy of showing herself.She preferred to stand up in the hayloft[Pg 32]and peep through the trap-door into thestall; but the moment she caught a glimpse ofa “human” she vanished instantly.

Whenever one of the farm hands came up tofetch hay or straw for the cows and caught herunawares, she would hiss at him. Nevertheless,the foreman, who was fond of cats, alwaysput a little milk in the loft for her; it remainedinvariably untouched during the day, but atnight it was drunk up.

“Hanged if I know what is the matter withGrey Puss!” he often muttered to himself. “Iwonder if Box has been chasing her ... she’sso scared; she’s more like a wild cat, the littlefool!”

Yes, wild she had been for a long time!From the cow-stall she retreated to the loft,where she learned to hide among the beamsand rafters. She got into the habit of climbingtrees, walking up and down thatched roofs,and sleeping behind chimney-stacks.

And as time went on she became more andmore peculiar....

She was not like the other farm cats, who let[Pg 33]their children be drowned litter after litter,without doing anything more heroic thanmiauw over their corpses. No, she allowedthat to happen once, after which she understoodthat she had hidden her kittens badly!Of course they could not be expected to escapeby themselves!

The next time she had young she hid themdeep down under a heap of straw; but theforeman’s small boys, who always played inthe loft, heard their squealing and fished themout—and then they were murdered. One onlywas left, overlooked in the straw.

Most other she-cats would have been gratefulfor the survivor and forgotten the rest.But she did not forget; she went about seekingand seeking, miauwing and complaining incessantly.Finally she took the one kitten inher mouth and carried it away to an emptydovecote in a deserted labourer’s cottage.Here it grew up without seeing a single “human.”Until one fine morning it was killedby Box....

Now, this spring, when she is once more to[Pg 34]have kittens, she hides inside the old hollowwillow out here in the fields.

No living soul shall find her young thistime!

THE BLIND SEE

In addition to Big, who was striped, therewere five other kittens in the litter: ablack, a white, a grey, and a red—besidesan indescribable little production about thesize of a man’s thumb, with fur whose colouringresembled patches of all the others puttogether.

Tiny lay always half smothered under theheap of kittens, and had to be content with theworst nipple, which, although nearest themother’s heart, nevertheless flowed weakly.That he had not long ago been crushed todeath by the others must remain an insolublemystery!

The little, blind creatures were just developingtheir sight. The faint, subdued light hereinside the willow stump made this tryingperiod unusually agreeable. Even when thesun was shining strongly outside they could[Pg 36]lie staring about them without discomfort.Each of the tiny eyes was covered with acurious bluish film, through the damp, glazedsurface of which the slanting pupils began topush their way. The eyes appeared extraordinarilylarge in comparison with the head,and gave the impression that the kittens werein a state of perpetual surprise.

On the whole, the babies had grown. True,their coats were not quite in order, for the furstill stuck out patchily all over their bodies;but the hair was there right enough, and thecolours too ... the white was as white asday, and the black as black as night; even thecross stripes on the grey kitten showed upplainly.

Their hindquarters alone remained noticeablyundeveloped; they were still quite conicaland stunted, and jerked up stiffly and clumsilywith every movement of the body. It wouldbe a long time before that part attainedperfection.

The imps were still far from being activeand graceful! They reeled and rolled as theycrawled over the lumps of touchwood; they[Pg 37]could not jump at all, indeed they couldscarcely walk. It seemed as if, once havingacquired eyes, they had neglected everythingelse. They used them incessantly ... andwere never tired of looking and looking!

They had no opportunity to gormandize.They drank greedily, and soon sucked oldGrey Puss dry. Then she shook them off andclosed the milk-spring. This she effected byrolling herself into a ball and pressing herforepaws tightly to her breasts—and howevermuch the little ones exerted themselves towiden the opening with their snouts so as toget inside and continue drinking, they neversucceeded.

Then they had revenge by clambering upand nestling on her back and neck; where theylay licking their chops.

This sort of thing didn’t upset her in theleast. In fact, she was delighted at beingmauled about by her offspring; she stretchedherself at full length, purring and hummingthe while—she knew now that they had settleddown for a while.

Occasionally she blinked her tight-shut eyelids,[Pg 38]twisted her head round, and fastened herkeen, brassy orbs on the long row of funnylittle patches of colour on her back. Therewas every imaginable feline colour-schemethere, and she studied each one separately,noticing any peculiarity of colouring or divergencefrom type....

Extraordinary.... It seemed to her thatshe had seen all these little fellows before!

THE FATHER

One afternoon very early in spring a small,snow-white he-cat came strolling carelesslyalong the road. His ears were thrust forward,betraying his interest in something ahead: hemeant to take a walk round the farm, whitherthe road led ... there was a grey puss therewho attracted him!

He ought to have been more cautious, thelittle white dwarf! A giant cat, a colouredrival, with the demon of passion seething inhis blood and hate flaming from his eyes,caught sight of the hare-brained fellow fromafar off and straight-way guessed his errand.

With rigid legs, lowered head, and loins[Pg 39]held high, he comes rushing from behind ...runs noiselessly over the soft grass at the sideof the road and overhauls the other unperceived.

With one spring he plants all his foreclawsdeep in the flesh of the smaller cat, who uttersa loud wail and collapses on the ground.

The big one maintains his grip on his defeatedfoe’s shoulder, crushing him ruthlesslyin the dust. Then he presses back his tornears, giving an even more hateful expression tothe evil eyes, and lowering his muzzle, gloatinglyhe howls his song of victory straight intohis fallen rival’s face.

For a good quarter of an hour he continuesto martyr his victim, who is too terrified tomove a muscle; he tears the last shred of self-respectand honour from the coward—thenreleases him and stalks before him to the farm,without deigning to throw him anotherglance. He was too despicable a rival, thelittle white mongrel! The big, spotted he-catconsidered it beneath his dignity even tothrash him.

But the little grey puss had other suitors[Pg 40]still.... There was the squire’s ginger catand the bailiff’s wicked old black one; so thatboth daring and cunning were necessary ifone’s courtship was to be a success. At sunsetthey invaded the farm from every direction,stealing silently through corn or kitchengarden until they reached the garden path bythe hedge.

The black ruffian, who considered himselfthe favourite suitor, arrived, as he imagined,first at the rendezvous. But simultaneouslyhis ginger rival stuck his head through thehedge bordering the path. At sight of eachother both halted abruptly, thrusting up theirbacks and blowing out their scarred, battle-torncheeks.

For many minutes the two ugly fellowsstood glaring silently at one another....Then their whiskers bristled, their tatteredears disappeared, and their eyes became mereslits in their heads; hymns of hate wailed fromtheir throats, and their tails writhed andsquirmed like newly-flayed eels.

Suddenly the big, spotted cat appears inthe garden. Tiger-like, with body almost[Pg 41]brushing the ground, he glides silently pastthem.

They hate him, the low brute!... He istheir common enemy! The sight of himcaught in the act makes them allies in a flash....They tear after him and surround him.Then they go for him tooth and nail.

All thoughts of the fair one have gone fromtheir minds. War-cries cease; gasps andgrunts of exertion punctuate the struggle;chests heave and ribs dilate with compressedair; whilst naked claws are plunged into skinand flesh. They are one to look at, one circularmass, as they whirl round inextricablyinterlocked, puffing their reeking breath intoone another’s faces.

The spotted devil’s powerful hind legs arewedged in under the red cat’s body. With hisforepaws he grips him as if in a vice—and nowthrusting the needle-pointed, razor-edged horndaggers from their sheaths, he straightens hishind legs simultaneously to a terrible, resistless,lacerating lunge....

With a stifled hiss of fury the squire’s catfalls back. It limps moaning from the battlefield,[Pg 42]with blood pouring from its stomach.

Now comes the old black thief’s turn!First the hair flies ... it literally steams fromthe two rivals as they rush at each other.Their incredible activity is expressed in everymovement.... After lying interlocked forsome time on the ground they suddenly breakaway, and, as if by witchcraft, stand on allfours again.

The piebald is winning!

His claws comb like steel rakes. They tearthe hair from the bailiff-cat’s flanks, leavingthem bare and shining. The latter often succeedsin parrying, and returns kick for kick,but his hind legs lack strength, and he cannotcomplete a full thrust.

Madness gleams in their eyes; they are besidethemselves with frenzy; fear flies fromtheir minds; they are exalted ... for nowthey are fighting!

Until a sudden scuffle advertises that thebailiff-cat has had enough. He tears himselfloose and bolts for his life.

The big piebald has won. He shakes himselfand rolls over, gives a couple of energetic[Pg 43]licks to his paws, and carefully brushes hiswhiskers; then he hastens through the gardenup to the farmyard, where a little later he isto be seen promenading the pigsty roof.

With alert expression and nervously vibratingtail he looks inquiringly at all trap-doorsand open windows. Suddenly he gives a start;there is Grey Puss on the manure-heap beneathhim.

Without a moment’s hesitation he leapsdown.... It was the decisive meeting!

She had always been true to this one lover....And yet there had been times when allthe gentlemen of the neighbourhood had paidcourt to her. Often she had reclined on theplanking with one in front of her, one behind,and three or four in the elder tree above herhead.... She had been literally besieged.

But however many suitors might appear—eventhough they came right up from the seacoastand the fishing village—she still lovedhim and him alone, the great piebald hero!

He was an exceptional cat: the ears, farapart and noticeably short, were set far backon the broad head; the neck was thick and[Pg 44]powerful, the body long and heavy. Whenhe ran, he moved with such swiftness that heseemed to glide, and he could leap two yardswithout effort.

He was all possible colours—black, red,yellow, and white. A tinge of green shonein the wicked golden eyes; they sat deep in hishead, so that his cheeks stuck out each sidelike dumplings.... And in the middle ofhis bristly moustache protruded a small laceratednose, which was always bright red andcovered with half-healed wounds. He wasalways at war....

Once he received a deep, horrid bite justunder the throat, where he could not lick it.So he went to his sweetheart; she helpedhim....

She was faithful and true to him ... butshe did not trust him beyond the threshold.

THE PIEBALD DEVIL

Had she reason to doubt him? He waschock-full of lust and vice, and great in meritas in fault; nevertheless—had she actual prooffor doubting him?

[Pg 45]

One night her eyes were opened in the mostsinister manner. The last rays of the settingsun had departed from the fields, leaving themwrapped in the summer evening’s mist andobscurity. Only some horses greeted the solitarynocturnal marauder with warm, friendlyneighing.

They knew him well, although he was onlya cat, whose many-coloured body seemed grey,like all other cats, in the twilight. In doorway,at the pump, in yard, and in stable he wastheir daily companion. How nice to see himhere on the meadow too! “Ehehehe,” theyneighed ... welcome to the tethering-ground!

He ignored them completely, neither breakinghis stride, nor wagging his tail, nor givinga single miauw. Past nuisances like foalswhich greeted him boisterously he went unresponsiveand bored. He was out huntingnow—nothing else mattered!

With gliding step he passes from cloverfield to seed ground, jumping with noiseless,tense spring over brook and ditch. His progressroused the lark from heavy slumber.

[Pg 46]

He reaches a copse—and soon afterward isheard the death-shriek of a captured blackbird.With covetous grasp he seizes his victim,buries his sharp teeth in its breast, andsucks with long sniffs the warm, odorous bird-smell....

It was not hunger which drove him to thecrime: he has just made a full meal off acouple of fat mice. But when coming unexpectedlyupon the bird in the copse, he couldnot control his murderous impulse.

He sits with the booty in his jaws, purringcontentedly, and ponders frowningly where heshall conceal his capture.

The summer moon shines big and roundfrom the pale blue, starless sky—and white,pink-underlined layers of cloud hover likefeathers far out on the horizon. Warm puffsof wind come and go, enveloping him in themeadow’s silver mist, making the dim shelterof the hedge seem hot and oppressive.

His eyes fall on the three ancient willowstumps at the far end of the field! He, too,knows how rotten and hollow they are, andhow well adapted for a hiding-place. True,[Pg 47]it is rather a long way there ... through thesoaking wet rye—but that can’t be helped!

The night is absolutely silent, broken onlyby the rasping song of the little reed-warblerfrom a swampy hole among the rye. Thedin of the farm has long since died down; noteven the bark of a dog is heard, and neitherwater-pump nor wind-motor can summon upanother note. How splendid to have ears, tobe able to listen! Now he hears only the playof the grasshoppers, the love-song of the co*ck-chafer,and the high-pitched music of the ant-hills.

Here, behind a knotted root at the base ofthe largest of the old willow trees, he concealsthe blackbird, afterwards covering it carefullywith earth and moss. Then he reaches hisforepaws up to the trunk to stretch his limbsand sharpen his claws.

He gives a violent start! The scarred, ruggedskin on his head wrinkles thoughtfully, asit always does when something attracts his attention.His multicoloured tail jerks uneasily,as he peers about him with upliftedears.

[Pg 48]

The subdued rustling and squeaking noisesfrom inside the tree trunk continue....

Now there is no longer room for doubt....

With a giant leap he springs up the tree,and next moment he is down in the bole.

Grey Puss is not at home....

The little kittens swarm up to him. Tinyseeks to drink, while Black and Big make ajoyful assault on his swiftly wagging tail.He lowers his nose to each of the little fellowsin turn as if tasting their smell. Then, as ifsuddenly gone mad, he begins clawing aboutin all directions at the defenceless kittens.Mewing and squealing, they roll away to allsides like lumps of earth—but the he-cat’sfrenzy increases.

He seizes Tiny by the mouth, fixes an eyetoothin his scruff and hurtles out of the willowwith him. The little tot hangs limp andapparently lifeless in the jaw of his brutalsire; but, fortunately for him, the old cat isnot hungry, and so is content with burying thekitten at the foot of the willow, by the side ofthe dead blackbird.

In justice to the criminal it must be stated[Pg 49]that he has no conception of the enormity ofhis crime; only when he is on his way up thewillow for the second time is he enlightened—andthat in a most ruthless manner. Tworows of gimlet-pointed claws descend fromnowhere and almost nail him to the bark....Furious, he turns his visage ... and thenext second all his old half-healed wounds aretorn open again!

Grey Puss has surprised him—and recognizeshim instantly. So it is he who comeswrecking her maternal happiness; yes, shethought as much! And like a vice she clingsto his back, biting and scratching and tearingas he flees panic-stricken along the hedge.

Away, away, home, anywhere!

He is more afraid of Grey Puss’ mother-clawsthan of the raven’s beak or the blade ofthe reaping-machine; he has learnt to his costthat a she-cat knows not the word mercy whenher swollen udders are carrying milk for heryoung.

He lacked a conscience, this big, piebaldhe-cat—and he respected nothing except hisown skin! The egg of the lark, the chick of[Pg 50]the partridge, the young of the hare, wereeach and all grist to his mill; he took everythinghe could find, catch, or steal.

On the rafter at home in the farmyard,where Grey Puss used to lie, he had beenallowed free passage, until the very momentwhen some small bundles lay shivering on thehay in the corner. Then the fascination ofhis black face and shining coat seemed to vanish;she would not allow him to approach; hewas not even admitted to the barn. If hejust showed himself at the trap-door shewould become seized with frenzy, spring up,and fly at him as if he were a dog! He hadalways to beat a hurried retreat!

Did she read his character; did she knowthat the feeling of paternal love was foreignto his nature? In any case, she took no risks;she never trusted him over the threshold....

THE RESCUE OF TINY

Grey Puss’ milk tasted sour for a whole dayfollowing the adventure; she was frightfullyrestless and upset. Several of the young oneshad wounds and had to be licked. Time after[Pg 51]time she ran her glance over the small, rolled-uppatches of colour; greedily her eyes devouredeach little furry coat; but it was withno trace of the sweetness of recollection or thejoy of recognition.

Were they all there ... all? Their villainof a father she had already forgotten; notuntil she was giving suck did she become suddenlynervous. She felt that one of theswollen udders remained swollen, and now shenuzzled with her nose along the row. Big,Red, White, Grey ... yes, she found themall! But where was the little piebaldone?...

The kittens buried their noses deep in herfur to get a good hold of the small, sproutingmilk-springs. All was quiet inside the willowtrunk; only now and again was heard thesucking of the eager little lips....

Yes, to be sure, she missed a colour ...missed just that one which—in spite of all—sheunconsciously preferred to all the rest;that seemed made up of bits of colour from allthe other colours.... Then suddenly a thin,feeble crying reached her ever-listening ears.[Pg 52]It seemed to her to come from under the willowbole. Perhaps there was a crevice in thenursery?

Cautiously getting up, she begins to scratcha little with her forepaws in the floor; butfinds no hole.

She dismisses the thought that one of theyoung ones is really missing, and lies downagain and resumes her maternal duties. Fora time all is peace, and she abandons herselfcompletely to the pleasure of being at themercy of her kitten flock, but again comes thefaint cry for help. This time it is so heart-rendingthat she springs up, and then, halfcrouching, listens breathlessly.

“Mew, mew!” it tinkles to her from thedistant depths. And now she begins to answerin anxious, encouraging tones, meanwhilepushing her snout among the young ones tocount them. The tinkling from below upsetsand worries her; but presently she stiflesher anxiety by rolling right under the heap ofkittens and congratulating herself that she hasso many dear children safe and sound.

Meanwhile from his living tomb by the side[Pg 53]of the dead blackbird, Tiny continues foghornlike,to emit at regular intervals hisceaseless signals for assistance. He has lainfor a long time buried alive; but, accustomedas he is to having his brothers and sisters ontop of him, the thin layer of moss and earthover him does not embarrass him particularly.Now he has recovered so much that he can notonly squeal but wriggle also—a fact whichserves to increase the air supply in his lungs,so that his weak cries gain momentarily instrength and resonance.

Suddenly the heap of earth is swept fromhim, and he hears his mother’s soft voice rightin his ear. Oh, what a stream of happinessflows through him! He stretches his tinybody towards the strong, comforting miauw,and like a freezing man making for the fire, heputs his wet, earth-cold head against themother-cat’s soft neck and feels her warmbreath ripple over him.

Grey Puss’ eyes shine green and evil; theyspeak plainly of surprise and emotion. Shebegins purring angrily, so that the young onesinside the tree lift their ears anxiously and[Pg 54]wonder, “What’s happening down there atthe foot of the tree?”

Tiny’s wound is licked, and the mother preparesto return. He must be carried, of course, ...and the problem is to find a hold whichwill not destroy the creature. She tries tograsp him by the scruff, but here he is so sorethat time after time the attempt fails. Cautiouslyshe presses her teeth into his back andshoulder; but cannot find a hold, although heseeks instinctively to help her by stiffening hisbody as she lifts.

However, it must be done somehow; thereis not the slightest doubt that he is to be carriedup! So she opens her mouth wide andputs her jaws round his neck. Then, disregardinghis lively protests, she cautiouslycloses her mouth.

He becomes suddenly quite quiet. Sheneeds all her presence of mind to judge howtightly she may grip him without making ithis last journey.

He hangs there in his mother’s jaws andcloses his earth-clogged eyes, clutching her[Pg 55]body tightly with his little legs. But he surrendershimself to her without complaint andwithout movement, bearing the pain in blindfaith in her omnipotence.

In two jumps she reaches the top, slidesdown into the bole, and a moment later depositshim carefully on the ground among theothers. A healing warmth envelops him—and,as the kittens are already satisfied, hesecures an unusually large share of milk.

THE FLIGHT FROM THE WILLOW

Truly that morning the kittens had trembledin the shadow of death!

And Grey Puss always regarded the he-catas the first betrayer, the cause of all hersubsequent sorrows and misfortunes.

Only a week later a farm hand saw her asshe sneaked into the willow. Putting his earagainst the trunk, he heard the kittens stirring,and so, hanging his hat and coat on a branch,he ran home to the farm to fetch the dog....

Box was not to be found; and not till themidday meal did he get hold of him—and[Pg 56]when at last the fellow returned to stamp outthe “vermin,” the trunk was deserted andempty.

He explored the neighbouring fields. Thedog found the scent at once and gave tongue—thendeep among the corn was fought aterrific battle. The dog’s barks turned tohowls, and soon afterwards Box returned asif shot from a cannon, with his tail-stumpcurled between his legs.

THE BURIAL-MOUND

She came to a mound which rose, peacefuland untrodden, in the middle of thefield. On every side of it corn wasgrowing, but the mound itself was green withgrass and smothered in wild flowers: sorreland heather grew side by side with the brightyellow calyx of the dandelion. A border ofblackthorn wreathed the base of the mound,and a pair of great moss-covered boulderscrowned the top.

Grey Puss sat down on one of the stonesand stared out disconsolately over the landscape,whose colours were just retiring fortheir nightly rest.

Half unconsciously, she began to scratchamong some tufts of grass and dried leaveswhich covered a depression in the turf; theycame away very easily. She noticed how[Pg 58]quickly she delved deeper and deeper down.

She became thoroughly interested....

She had happened upon an old, thinly-coveredfox-hole, and when at last she hadcleared the entrance, a narrow spiral passagelay open before her. She was accustomed todarkness; and happy at the possibility of findinga new home for her kittens, she bravelyentered the opening.

After a short distance the tunnel made anabrupt turn, continued downwards in a curveover some enormous boulders—and thenplunged straight into the vault.

Huge boulders with half-hewn surfacesstood as if growing from the ground. Abovethem were others of a similar kind, the wallscontinuing in an unbroken curve until theymet at the top, thus forming the solid vaultedroof of the sepulchre. In the splits werewedged smaller stones, the whole making asmall square chamber.

Had body-snatchers at some time desecratedthis grave? Or perhaps some lawful visitoron his departure centuries before had neglectedto close it properly behind him! In[Pg 59]either case one of the corner stones was displaced;so much so that a fox had continuedhis burrow right into the very burial-chamber.

A gruesome place of death even for a cat tohappen upon!

A weird, vicious, humming noise greetedher the moment she thrust in her nose ... afluttering of something that was, and yet wasnot, surrounded her and filled her ears, nose,and mouth, making her cough and spit.

Had she been a human being she wouldhave been horrified, and imagined it to be theghost of the dead sounding her doom fordisturbing its peace; but she was only a cat,and knew nothing of the beyond.

As she jumped down into the vault, and inso doing brushed the wall with her tail, thedin about her head reached its climax: hundredsof mosquitoes and bats inhabiting thegrave protested vigorously against her entrance.

She stood for a moment undecided, takingstock of her surroundings....

The floor was firm, and as hard and unevenas a threshing-floor. A hollow echo vibrated[Pg 60]through the air at her every movement, thehissing of her breath or the grating of herclaws.

Just before the sun went down, a thin ray oflight filtered through a crevice in the stonesopposite the tunnel. Thousands of tinypoints of light, the watchful eyes of the denizensof the tomb, leaped into being.

Otherwise the shadows prevailed, and wereonly conquered little by little by her piercingglance. Later she distinguished fragments ofbones and skulls on the ground, and sawsupine toads fumbling their way along thewalls.

In some inexplicable manner a heap of elmleaves had found their way into one of thecorners; they crackled and shrieked “Halt!”when she trod on them, but promised, nevertheless,a warm and dry couch.

The conditions were acceptable—besides,there was no alternative! As soon, therefore,as she had remained there long enough to feelat ease, she made her decision.

Here in the old viking’s tomb she made herhome. On the leaves and fragments of straw[Pg 61]she dropped her kittens, fetching them one byone from their various hiding-places in furrowsand behind stones, where she had beenforced to harbour them in her headlong flightfrom the old willow stump.

LIFE IN THE BURIAL-MOUND

The fugitive little mother-cat had broughther kittens under cover just in time. Thatnight a storm broke loose and thunder crashedincessantly, accompanying heavy showers ofrain. Warm, heavy drops streamed down inbucketfuls; the earth drank until the crevicesin its broken crust were filled to overflowing,while a slimy, bottomless fluid filled all holesin the roads.

But not a drop found its way down to thiscentury-old sepulchre—the resting-place wastoo well built for that!

Towards morning the tempest died down.The June sun slowly swept the warm, bluishhaze from the landscape, and poured its whiteshining beams over the fertile green cornfields.Strong, delicious odours, held inbondage by the mist, are suddenly released,[Pg 62]and float through the air in small, scentedclouds.

It was too wet for a cat to venture out;better wait a little and let the sun dry things abit!

In the farthest corner, where the darknessis deepest, Grey Puss is sitting. She relaxesher muscular body completely on the leafycouch, and stretches her forepaws lazily infront of her. The entire kitten flock is lyingin her lap.

Since daybreak she has had such a nicequiet time; the others have all been sleepingsoundly, tumbled in a heap. But now peaceis at an end; the dear children are all awake,and almost killing her in their exuberant joy.

Not even Tiny spares her, but seizes theopportunity of pursuing the exhausted milk-springs.Lying on his back, and using hishind legs as levers, he toboggans in short slidesfrom one nipple to another. It couldn’t betrue that there was not a drop left!

From the playful horde arise hissing andspitting, punctuated by occasional dull bumpsas they miss their footing and tumble on the[Pg 63]floor. All at once Grey Puss gets up fromher corner, walks out into the middle, andthrows herself down in the thin streak of lightwhich fumbles its way through the roof.Look out—now she is going to play their favouritegame; now they are in for a treat!They shall play “catch mouse” with the tip ofher tail.

Comfortably stretched on her back with allfour legs wide apart, she lies perfectly still,not moving a limb, not a hair. Presently theend-most tip of her tail begins very, veryslowly to wriggle to and fro; then it falls witha firm little thump on the floor.

It is the signal for the game to begin!

Immediately the tiny, living colours surroundthe tail. And in turn, usually two ata time, they make their attempts.

The supple tail-end writhes and squirms atlightning speed over the floor, the kittens’ eyesfollowing its twists and bends in fascinatedsilence. Suddenly it disappears from sight;there is a breathless pause ... then the furrytip slowly emerges from under the heap ofleaves. They strike at it with their paws,[Pg 64]rush at it, catch hold of it, and—if it unfortunatelyescapes—rush upon it again. Theybite it, clutch it, shake it.... At last theyhave secured a firm grip. The tables aresuddenly turned! Now it is the tail whichgrips and shakes and rocks them to and fro inthe air; they are fighting with a real, live,reckless enemy of equal strength, and are permittedto experience the joy of victory.

No spitting or growling is heard; all takesplace in dead silence—only the smacks of thetail and the bumps of the paws betray thepresence of living beings. They are likeshadows tumbling about....

The game goes on in half-hour spells—untilexhaustion overtakes first one, then another,and sleep again sweeps them together into alifeless heap.

Now Grey Puss gets up and makes for theentrance—it is her turn to play “catch mouse.”

THE FIRST MOUSE

Several weeks pass happily....

The corn round the burial-mound ripens,and all sorts of grasses compete to lengthen its[Pg 65]luxuriant green covering. The stones on thetop become more and more hidden from thefield-path below.

The lark comes and trills at sunrise andmidday; and in the evening the whinchattwitters its mournful song. The little, lowgrass mound has not yet betrayed itssecret....

The kittens in its bowels are now abouttwice the size of moles; their bodies havebecome a trifle longer and more elastic, and ontheir short, plump hindquarters the worm-likeappendages of childhood are beginningto thicken into soft, furry tails. Their eyesshine like stars, and on each of the small,bullet-shaped heads a little wrinkled snoutforms a centre for a bunch of stiff, shinywhiskers. It is about time, the old cat thinks,that they begin to take solid food.

At first she brings them eggs and unfledgedbirds, which their baby jaws soon learn to masticate.Later on their diet becomes coarserand more varied.

Early one morning she appears with asmall, greyish-brown creature in her jaws, its[Pg 66]white stomach shining like a puddle of waterreflecting the sun. Its short, little forepawswith the pink claws hang limp in surrender,and its long hind legs stick out stiffly like stilts.A thin, hairless tail dangling like a brokenstraw completes the picture.

The kittens at once respond to theirmother’s food-signal, and, falling over oneanother in their eagerness, rush headlong tothe entrance.

With their small behinds stiffly elevated,they rub themselves affectionately against theold cat’s legs and body; she positively disappearsin a forest of tails. Purring loudly, herhead erect, she remains standing before them,turning and twisting the interesting creatureto give them a full view of the spoil.

At last, after what seems an endless wait,each receives his mouthful.

Big crouches on his haunches and plays delightedlywith the mouse’s tail, which heholds in his paws. When, at a smack fromhim, it gives a jump, his eyes glow and hehops round his new toy on his hind legs.Suddenly he runs away to a corner and begins[Pg 67]digging a hole—Grey Puss sees that he hashis father’s appetite!

The first few times she herself kills themouse with a bite, but later on the young onesare permitted to share in the fun. Soon alsoshe allows them to play a little with the unfortunates,so that they may learn the firstprinciples in the art of trapping. To encouragethem still further to forage for themselves,she buries her victims round about thebase of the burial-mound.

The struggle for food has left its mark uponthe little mother-cat. She has become noticeablythinner, and her coat no longer has itsglossy sheen. The crowd of rapidly growingchildren, who make constantly increasing demandson her skill, is telling on her strength.It is almost impossible for her to secure all themice necessary for them—and therefore, inher dilemma, she sometimes leaves thestraight path of virtue and does what secondnature urges her.

THE THIEF

One day about noon she is skirmishing inthe neighbourhood of the farm.

[Pg 68]

She lies hidden in the grass, her head in theair, keeping sharp look out for booty. Ineach of the pancake-coloured orbs lies a vividcoal-black streak which divides the pancakeinto two halves. Cunning and deceit streamfrom her eyes.

Behind the garden hedge bordering theloose, dry, potato-planted earth a farm henclucks her thirteen chicks together. The henhas just finished an exhaustive scratching ofthe soil—and now is taking a simultaneous sunand sand bath, lying luxuriously with widespreadwings, her plump, featherless bellyfully exposed. The hen is asleep—her head,with its anæmic comb, sticks up stiffly in theair. Her eyes are fast shut.

The wind carries to Grey Puss fragmentsof dear, home-like sounds; but they do not,as in former times, soothe her nerves. On thecontrary, they rouse and excite her with thepromise of food. She creeps nearer andnearer in short bursts towards the sleepinghen. Each time she stops to listen—but hearsonly the chicks enjoying life: her blood races.

Is it tame, that one sitting there? She has[Pg 69]forgotten; she no longer distinguishes betweentame and wild! She distinguishes only betweenwhat is good, and what is not good, forher children to eat.

The soft, pregnant signs of June meet hereyes on every side. Between fresh green oatfieldsand succulent clover-carpets the ryewhitens and blackens. There along the hedgeby the old willows the line of cattle stretches;and down in the meadow, where calves andfoals play in their pens, the long-nosed storkwalks sunning himself.

The heavy-laden milk-cart drags itselfthrough the stifling noon homeward to thefarm. In front of it two red-cheeked, heavy-bosomedgirls are seated; an old cow followstottering behind.

Grey Puss’ opportunity has come—shemakes a lightning spring forward....

With a resounding “cluck” the hen jumpsup, puffs out her feathers and spreads wideher wings. Her anxious cry of alarm ringsover the potato-field, whither she rushes feverishlyto collect and protect her children.Grey Puss with a plump young co*ck in her[Pg 70]jaws disappears with a mighty spring amongthe rye.

A quarter of an hour later she emerges fromthe hawthorn clump at the base of the burial-mound.The swallows are making theirsweeping curves round about the top, veeringand shrieking incessantly—there must besomething up there to attract their attention!

The furry inhabitants of the mound, whohave been lying in a group sunning themselves,see the old cat approach, dragging the greatchicken after her; she holds it by the neck, itsbody and long, naked legs hanging limp andpitiful to either side.

Big, the glutton, at once seizes hold of awing, and, with closed eyes, grinds and tearsthe soft-stemmed feathers, making a greatdeal of noise about it.

Big’s assault causes the chicken to swing towardshim; at this, Black begins to feel nervousabout his share of the spoil—with a jumphe runs forward and hangs tightly to one ofthe legs.

With flattened ears and wide-stretchedpaws Black tugs with all his might. His[Pg 71]neck is stretched forward and the front partof his body raised, but his stomach and hindlegs drag along the ground. He resists strenuouslyand takes a firm hold—he will takecare that Big doesn’t steal all the spoil; or ifhe does, then he must pull him along too!

Grey Puss has let go her hold of the neckand now stands with the chicken’s head in hermouth; she also will make certain of something—andshe likes the head best of all.

Now the remaining kittens come forward.Grey buries her little black muzzle in thechicken’s body-feathers. Following her custom,she goes very cautiously to work, andsniffs for a long time before taking hold. ButRed, who is more impetuous, digs away withher foreclaws, trying to make a hole as quicklyas possible; and, having at last succeeded, she—eagerlyassisted by White and Tiny—pullsout endless lengths of warm intestines.

DROWN THE BRUTE

Chicken after chicken kept vanishing fromthe farmyard ... mysteriously ... withouttrace.

[Pg 72]

The farmer’s precious racing-pigeons alsodisappeared, stolen, one by one, in broad daylight.Some of their feathers were found bythe fence—it was there that Grey Puss lay inambush, and fell upon the birds before theyhad time to rise in the air.

They kept watch for her early and late—andthe farmer often did sentry duty half theday with loaded gun; he would settle her, sureenough....

But she was cunning and cautious—and thehours of vigil too long for the farmer! Sothey decided to set a trap.

She walked straight into it! That was notsurprising, for she was completely withoutexperience of traps.

There she was; at last they had the criminal!

“The grey she-cat! Yes, I thought asmuch!” shouted the farmer, swearing....Yes, he remembered that gourmand well!

It was she who ate only the heads of rats.And once, two years ago, she had been foundwith a chicken in her jaws. She would havebeen shot there and then, had not the foremansworn that the chicken was dead before she[Pg 73]found it. Well, now at last they knew thetruth—the beast must be drowned!

Grey Puss suspected no evil when she wastaken to the scullery, which she knew so well,and released from the trap. Furthermore,thirsty and ravenous as she was, she acceptedtheir hospitality in the form of a large bowlof milk.... They thought she should havesomething in reserve for her long journey.

She sat down, cat-like, with her tail curledround her behind, and in a moment of weaknessallowed her former friend, the foreman,to stroke her back.

Just as she was finishing and was contentedlylicking her mouth, stiff, horny fingers grabbedher and picked her up as if she had been akitten. Other fingers opened a black abyssbeneath her—and, with Box yelling and leapinground her, she was thrust quickly into asack.

For the first time she began to suspect somethingwrong. She struggled violently andclutched with her claws—but down she wentnevertheless.

She scratches madly at the sack.... Her[Pg 74]twenty crescent-shaped claws stick out throughthe canvas in white clusters. However muchthey shake she won’t go to the bottom, butremains obstinately clinging half-way up theside. It dawns suddenly upon her that thehumans have deceived her by their unusualkindness; now at last is confirmed what shehas so often suspected, that humans, when theytry, can be even more cunning than she.

All is pitch-black around her.... Herpupils contract, and her sight, which has alwaysserved her so well, now works a veritablemiracle: she sees right through the canvas,sees clearly the gleam of water appearbeneath her.

When they swing her to and fro, in just thesame way as the wind has so often swung herin the treetop, it becomes more difficult tosee; everything grows dark again.

Suddenly she is falling ... yes, she feelsat once that she is falling! She clings evenmore frantically to the side of the sack.

But the sack is falling too! She withdrawsher claws from the canvas and holds out herpaws ready to land, just as she used to do in[Pg 75]the old days when she was kicked throughthe trap-door in the loft. Suddenly she feelssomething hard and cold touch her.... Sheis not alone in the sack—she has a comrade!

The comrade is a brick....

The next moment she reaches the water!An ice-cold shower streams in on her, witha smell so horrible that she quite forgets toshiver. She is on the point of suffocation,and leaps up and down the sides of the sacklike a fly in a bottle....

The sack is a new one. It has been sacrificedspecially for her; they don’t want tosee her again! But just as the canvas hash*therto defied her claws, so, to a certaindegree, it defies the water; she still finds alittle air to breathe, in her mad death-dancein the dark....

All the time she tears at the sack.... Sheis lucky, and makes an opening in the seam.She struggles through, comes to the surface,sucks in air, sees land, and paddles hurriedlyto the bank.

The farm hand who was sent to drown GreyPuss obeyed the order much against his will.[Pg 76]He had been a sailor in his younger days, andknew what a lingering torture death bydrowning was.

Why were land-crabs always so keen onthis way of ending life? Because mankindhad a natural tendency towards cowardiceand laziness, he supposed. To smash a cat’sskull or put a bullet through a dog’s braindemands an effort—besides, it was unpleasantto see the expression in the victim’s eyes! No,it was so much easier to drown the thing....

“I’ll be hanged if this isn’t the last time!”said the man shamefacedly, as he watched thesack disappear from sight; and immediatelyswung round on his heel and walked away.

So that no one saw the little head whichpushed its way breathlessly through the greenduck-weed; nor the thin, bedraggled bodywhich a few moments later stood shakingitself dry among the weeds.

A GREAT RECEPTION

Grey Puss went straight home to herkittens, and that by the main road.

No sneaking along the ditches or crawling[Pg 77]through the furrows, as so often before whendragging her spoil. No, to-day she cameempty-handed, alas! besides being batteredand breathless. She ran with all her might!

A great reception awaited her.

A whole long night and the half of a dayshe had been away—what a relief when sheappears; thank goodness she has come backat last!

Big, the strong man of the litter, rushesecstatically to meet her, and flings both pawsround her neck, dragging her tired, wet headfrom side to side until he nearly kills herwith joy. The other kittens run straight toher udders, each trying to drink the most milkin the shortest time.

Quite bewildered, but without furtherthought of her experience, Grey Puss sitsdown and gathers the little kittens in herarms, while Big, filled with holy zeal, beginslicking her wet black and damp, bedraggledcoat with his tongue.

It is true that as a rule a cat washes herkitten, but with Grey Puss things are reversed:Big makes his mother’s toilet daily—and is,[Pg 78]moreover, so generous with his tongue thathe washes all the kittens too.

And now on this occasion, when his kindmamma—besides arriving depressed and withouther customary miauw-signal—has comehome soaking wet, the son’s energy knows nobounds.

Unfortunately, although going over hertwice, he finishes washing his mother beforethe children have completed their drinkingoperations; and so is compelled to find anotheroutlet for his exuberance. He rushes roundand round the room at full speed....

The fact of the whole family being in hispath does not deter him in the least. Hejumps recklessly into their midst, and “takesoff” again with a long jump from his mother’sforehead.

Later, upon making the discovery that twoof the little ones have become separated fromthe rest, he thinks at once of something new:he plays “catch mouse” with them....

In a flash he has captured Black under onepaw and White under the other, and holdsthem pressed down ruthlessly to the ground.[Pg 79]Black spits and bites recklessly at his captor,but the good-natured little White only criesmiserably. A moment later Big gets a goodbox on the ears from the old cat’s paw.

He was so very robust—just like his father!

After that day Grey Puss never dared ventureinto the farmyard, not even by night; sheconsidered herself banished once for all....

She became a total outcast, spitting andswearing at man’s approach. “Fiew!” shewould hiss, crouching back, as if pulled frombehind; and then turn and vanish in a flash.

She forgot her happy days of kittenhoodand went back to nature and independence,her claws turned against every living being.

It was not an easy path she had chosen.The work of catching and killing at timesentailed almost insuperable difficulties.

After all, what wild-beast attributes wereneeded to capture a little half-tame mouse orpigeon in a barn; to sneak in and lick upmilk from the stall; to dig out bloater-headsfrom the manure-heap? No, now she had tobegin all over again and practise the most[Pg 80]elementary things: to creep noiselessly forward,make her spring, and disappear likelightning.

She adopted the method the retriever employsto carry small birds, and applied it tomice. As soon as the rodents were caughtand killed, she arranged them in a row on theground; and then packed them side by side inher mouth, so that only the heads and tailshung out.

One morning she took a hare home to theyoung ones, and, a few days later, a full-grownweasel—tangible proofs that she hadlearnt now to overpower and kill the most refractoryopponents.

After a short time she learned even to bringdown the swallow as it swept with dazzlingspeed over the earth.

THE TRICKSTER

On the top of the mound the kittens areplaying, in and out among the oldtombstones.

The sun has risen. It shines in long,golden stripes on the stones and lights up thedeep, gloomy sepulchre; pools of waterglisten, and fields and meadows are alreadygreen-white with light.

Big sits on his haunches with a clover stemin his claws. He looks as if he is studying theflower, while at the same time he nips off theleaves one by one with his sharp little teeth.The others watch him, gaping with astonishment.

Suddenly he throws the stalk away andleaps over the heads of the others.... Oneof the granite stones at that moment reflectsthe sun and attracts his attention; he cannever look at a stone without at once making[Pg 82]a dash to reach the other side of it and hide.His disappearance is so provoking that acouple of the others cannot resist jumping upand joining in the game.

They gallop after him, and now they playhide-and-seek round the stones, until Bigtakes advantage of his long start and climbsinto an old empty pail in an adjacent thicket.His playmates run about all over the placelooking for him....

Shortly afterwards the jester’s white sockspeep over the edge of the pail; a pair ofyellow-grey ear-tips follow—and now springsinto sight a happy, laughing cat-face!

Black’s claws begin to itch; he wants verymuch to play, but in his own manner. Hehas been up to the clover stem and smelt itcarefully; he has also taken it between hispaws, but thrown it away contemptuously. Aplant stem, a mere flower, seems to him quiteuseless; a thistle, on the contrary, whichpricks his nose when he smells it is much moreexciting. He can at any rate get angry withit.

Suddenly he sees Red and Big engaged in[Pg 83]an angry wrestling match, while White andGrey stalk them from opposite sides.

With a spring he is upon them; flings himselffirst upon White, turns her head overheels, and then falls upon Grey. In a furry,fighting ball they roll over and over down thehill....

Grey gets on top, and Black suddenlyrealizes that he is getting the worst of things.He at once brings his hind legs into play andclaws his adversary’s stomach and nose mercilessly—inreal earnest with naked claws!

Grey wails miserably, and at the sound thewhole flock comes rushing forward withjoyous recklessness. But Black does not waitfor the assault; with doubled-up body andcurved tail, he stalks sideways towards them.They expect him to jump, but instead he stickshis claws right into their eyes.

But the battle is too unequal; Black has toretreat hurriedly. He flees to the top of asmall aspen, creeps out along one of its upperbranches, and from there jumps into the hawthornthicket encircling the base of the hill.He does not stop even there, but continues his[Pg 84]flight through the thicket all the way roundthe hill. Every thorn that pricks him teaseshim and fills him with delight. He crawlsfrom branch to branch like a great blackcaterpillar, while the others, who have longsince forgotten all about him, go on withtheir game.

The rays of the morning sun sweep gleamingover the fields; the barley shines like spunsilk, the oats like molten silver, while lakeand pond and pit lie like mirrors. The buzzingof flies and the humming of bees riseincessantly into the hot, motionless air; abovethe burial mound the gnats dance in a swarm.The air is filled with sounds: the sweet trillingof the larks; the snorting of the harnessedhorse from the road; the bleating of calvesand the rattling of pails from the distantfarm....

A halt has been called in the game; thetired kittens are resting.... Grey andRed, who had got the worst knocks, sulk togetherwith their tails encircling their littleround behinds.

[Pg 85]

Then Big Puss gets up.... The othershalf raise their sleepy eyelids; what on earthis he going to do now?

With the side of his paw he begins softlypatting a little lump on the ground; the loosemould slides forward and the bump collapses.

At this he goes suddenly mad with excitement.Holding his forepaws stiffly in frontof him, he leaps forward, like a monkey on astick, in a series of jumps, at each plungepushing up a little mouse-grey cushion ofsand, which he simultaneously flings behindhim with the backward sweep of his paws.

His brothers and sisters are now thoroughlyroused; their eyes, which but a short timebefore were dull and bored, shine eagerly,their curled-up backs straighten out, and theirpaws are held stick-like in front of them,ready for the new, fascinating game.

He really is an Edison-cat, is Big Puss!There they had all been sitting bored to death,and now ... now he comes and makes greymice spring up out of the ground and thendisappear again! They must try the newgame at once....

[Pg 86]

The next moment the six little splashes ofcolour are again rushing round like mad....Even Black has jumped down from hisbranch to the ground, where he is soon busilyengaged in crouching and leaping, creatingand destroying the new little, maddening,earth-born mice. A splendid game for littlepuss*-cats!

The midday sun pours its hot breath downupon the earth; the air quivers out thereabove the fields as if boiling. The sand andstones are burning hot....

But the grass shines smilingly back at thesun, and the rye bursts into flower.

The kittens lift their heads as they hear arustling in the corn: along the secret pathwhich has gradually formed itself, GreyPuss returns home with her catch.

Not chicken for dinner to-day, but—herring!The fishmonger’s cart upset last nightat the turn of the road, and dropped a box ofsplendid fresh herrings. Grey Puss, who hadstuffed herself to bursting-point on the spotand dug down half a score besides, appearsnow with a couple hanging out of her mouth.

[Pg 87]

At first this new kind of food is greeted withcontempt; it is cold and slimy—and doesn’tsmell! But when the mother starts munching,the young ones soon follow her example, andjoin in the feast.

Delicious food! After the first taste eachof them grabs a big lump; even Tiny, whohas never taken kindly to solid diet, displaysunusual eagerness. He devours not only hisown share, but in addition, is foolhardyenough to covet some of Black’s.

Then, for the first time in his sheltered life,the little kitten sees the furious, grinning face,and the flattened, pressed-back ears, of anangry cat. And when, in spite of these, hecontinues innocently to reach in under thehead, and is even lucky enough to pull out apiece of herring, down flashes a vicious forepaw,and he feels the scratch of a sharp,curved claw upon his tender nose.

Tears of pain spring to his eyes as he recoils,mewing piteously; while Black resumeshis meal, emitting at intervals weird, mufflednoises like threatening thunder.

[Pg 88]

THE LID OF THE WELL

As soon as the after-dinner siesta was at anend, Grey Puss, contrary to custom, called herkittens together with soft, alluring miauws,and took them for the first time along thesecret, winding path she had trodden throughthe corn.

In the baking sunshine, while the countrysidewas enjoying its Sabbath-day’s rest fromtoil, she led them out to a large, sweet-smellinghaystack. Farther they were not allowedto follow her.

She placed them in a hollow, which shemade deep and roomy, at the foot of the stack.It was as if she understood that they needed tosee something fresh and for a time get rightaway from their gloomy grave-home. Theyspent the afternoon lying together in the sweetyielding hay.... Presently the babies fellasleep, and Grey Puss stole away.

Oh, the luxury of lying at rest on a summerday, dozing in the soft, warm breeze as itsighs between hill and dale; to escape for oncefrom one’s tail and the never-ceasing crawling[Pg 89]of one’s paws; to float body and soul alonga broad, shining river of light and not know asingle want or care!

The whisper of the reeds from the pond,the song of the larks from the heavens, thewhistle of the wild chervil stems, and therustle of the osier leaves, unite in a hymn ofpeace, caressing and soothing the slumberers’ears—until the booming of a passing bee callsthem back to consciousness for two long,drowsy seconds....

“Ears—must you hear? Eyes—must yousee? Nose—must you smell?”

“No, no—just rest, slumber, sleep....”

The fluff of the dandelion floats slowly past;over them chases the swift, scythe-wingedswallow; while the lark’s eternal, monotonoussong slowly mends the thread broken by thekittens when they fell asleep.

They wake; glide imperceptibly from thefar into the near; yawn and stretch each limb;and finally open their eyes, saturated with thesweetness of that kind of repose which urgesinstant action.

The heat of the sun toasts them until their[Pg 90]fur sparkles.... They get up and look atonce for something to do.

Not far from the stack was a large liquid-manurewell with a rotten, worm-eaten lid.

In places the lid dipped dangerously; itwas a wretched bridge over a dangerous well—butit could bear a little kitten’s weight,surely?

Flies gathered in masses on the sun-bakedlid, forming black, restless shadows on itstarred-felt covering. Big-kitten saw at oncethat they offered sport. And he soon foundit just as nice to eat them as it was exciting tocatch them.

He had not been at it long before the othersfollowed suit. But no one could competewith him in accuracy; he displayed at oncethe master hand....

Sitting quietly on his tail, he brought downhis paw with unerring accuracy, as if it werethe most natural thing in the world, uponevery fly that ventured within range.

White, wishing to emulate his performance,came and sat beside him; but before[Pg 91]very long had to acknowledge that the newgame was more difficult than it appeared.

She then tried crawling on her belly inpursuit of the restless creatures, and managedindeed to approach quite near to them; buteach time she made her spring they flew awaytoo soon.

Grey and Red were more fortunate. Eachone took up a position on the lid, and withraised paw waited until the fly of its ownaccord came within striking distance. Inthis way they managed to catch a few flies,but far from all; Red was especially erratic,and missed two or three shots out of everyfour.

Black, on the other hand, after a littlepractise, proved himself an excellent shot;but, unhappily, he struck with such violencethat the victim was smashed into a black spot,the edible fragments of which were buriedin the tar.

Fly-catching did not interest Tiny. Hehopped and jumped in happy ignorance on theyielding well-cover, playing prettily with hisown tail. He also derived much pleasure[Pg 92]from a rickety old hoisting-apparatus, climbinggaily up and down the disused pump-spear.

Round the rotten cover grew a border ofsweet-smelling wild camomile, in the midst ofwhich stuck up a few stray blades of rye. Anoccasional bee or butterfly, attracted by thescent, settled on the odorous blooms.

When a little pearl-winged “Blue-bird”appeared dancing above them, the kittens alldeserted their fly-catching and with oneaccord sprang high in the air after it.

On this occasion Black disappeared abruptlyand mysteriously into the bowels of theearth! A little dust from the broken boardrose in the air behind him.

The others continued the chase, and Big-kittensucceeded in capturing the butterfly;he was lucky enough to clap his paws upon itas he clutched wildly in the air. In thesilence following the capture, it was carefullyand thoroughly investigated. The wingscame off, and the body came in two ...and Big, in his scientific ardour, even tried tofind out what was inside!

[Pg 93]

They missed Black occasionally; but afterall, there was plenty without him!

Exhausted with fly- and butterfly-catching,the children lie down on the lid and rest inthe sun, listening with puzzled frowns to anew and strange sound which comes from beneaththem. It sounds like a toad splashingthrough wet grass in the rain....

Black-kitten paddles round in the filthyliquid manure. He has not the slightest notionof what it is he is treading in; but heuses his legs vigorously, for otherwise his nosecomplains that it lacks air. He has severaltimes reached the walls and sought vainly toescape; but now luckily he stumbles againstthe wooden pump, the wood of which offersa better surface for his claws than the hard,unyielding bricks.

He pulls himself up out of the cesspool andclimbs towards the streak of light, until hereaches a cross-piece, where he is able tosnatch a breathing-space. He whimpers andmiauws, summons up strength, and climbsfarther—and as there is ample space betweenpump and lid, owing to the straw that once[Pg 94]supported the pump in the hole having almostrotted away, he suddenly dumbfounds hiscallous relatives by pushing up his head intotheir midst.

It is the only part of him which is still atall recognizable: the rest of his black fur hasbecome quite brown! He looks like achocolate cat—but he smells otherwise! Hisbrothers and sisters shrink back from him, andspit and hiss as if he were a stranger.

When Grey Puss later on miauwed herselfinto view with a captured mouse and warmmilk, he was at last declared genuine, and inaddition enfolded in her arms. But Bigshirked his washing duties that afternoon!He licked his mother, it is true, but only onthe neck and in the ears; no one else receivedattention from his lavish tongue.

The clever little cat-mother, realized quitewell what had happened, and at once shiftedher family from their dangerous summer-houseback to their old home. Well satisfiedwith the security of the burial-mound, sheleft her children clustered round the giantstones enjoying the sunset, while she herself[Pg 95]curled up in the entrance hole and fell asleep.

THE DRAGON-FLY

A red-gold beam of light came fromheaven, poured over the landscape through amighty window in the clouds, and tinged withmauve the heavy well-lid’s brittle edges. Itlit up Grey Puss’ colours and the kittens’glossy coats: Black remained black and Greyremained grey; but Red turned to deeper redand White changed to gold.

The evening breezes began to blow, settingthe ryefield’s crowded stalks a-whispering, andcarrying in their wake the strong, deliciousodour of new bread. The aspen leavesblinked and waved, sending the departingsummer day a last farewell.

A large brown-gold “bird,” with four wingsand a long, stiff tail, came pitching withjerky, irregular flight towards the kittens.The lure of the chase seized them all, andthey crouched down among the stones andwaited....

The dragon-fly turned with a cracklingsound; White and Tiny shrank back; Grey[Pg 96]drew his hind legs farther in under him;Black’s tail thickened and his hair rose. OnlyBig-kitten’s fighting lust remained unshaken;he gathered himself together for a spring, andthe others noticed that his eyes shone with acurious flickering gleam.

The next time the dragon-fly swooped,White, Red and Tiny bolted hurriedly intocover. Grey felt shaky, but stood his groundbravely, while Black hissed, and lunged withhis paw.

The dragon-fly pitches farther ... and,rolling perilously over as it turns, makes awide circle through the gold, flaming lightcrowning the sea of rye ... then comescrackling swiftly back again, fleeing alreadyfrom the approaching twilight. But this timethe insolent, many-winged “bird” does not escape!While Black snorts and strikes withhis paw, Big leaps aloft and hangs his clawstogether on the luckless creature in its flight.

It was Big-cat’s first important catch. Andit was devoured with general satisfaction,especially its fat, large-eyed head.

[Pg 97]

THE OLD CROW

Thus continued week after week the happyfamily life on the mound.

Still no sign of any danger from without.The corn is now so tall that no “human”would think of tramping through it merely toapproach a common, tumble-down burial-mound.It forms a stormless ocean roundtheir island home.

The merry, light-hearted little puss*es nowbegin to show signs of growth. Their facesare larger and more intelligent, their bodiessmooth and supple, their legs disproportionatelylong, and their tails less short andscraggy. Each kitten’s character and personalitygrows more apparent with every daythat passes.

When evening comes they creep away fromthe mound to play, and all night long theyprowl about near their home, exploring theimmediate neighbourhood. They examinecarefully everything of interest they find, andare soon well acquainted with the mouse’s[Pg 98]hiding-place and the small bird’s favouritehaunt.

In addition they make longer expeditions—sometimesin twos and threes, sometimes alone—downacross the fields, through the plough-furrows,and along the hedge and ditch.

One day they make their first importantcatch—a mouse which has been left, half-crippled,by a crow. Grey hears the mousefirst, Big springs upon it, while Black dealsit a blow which makes it roll over. Redalmost succeeded in bolting off with it, butWhite and Tiny blocked the road. Whofinally ate the mouse could not be decided.One thing, however, they were all agreed on:a moment later there was no mouse left!

Some time afterwards, Black, who alwayspreferred prowling about alone, was passingthe place where the mouse had been slaughteredwhen he met the original captor of themouse, long since digested.

It was a grey bird with black wings, anda black, long-nosed head. It fluttered superciliouslybackwards and forwards from onemolehill to another. Several times it turned[Pg 99]its head and looked attentively at the kitten;and, when Black continued to creep along inits wake, it hopped up on an adjacent molehillto get a closer view of its pursuer.

This put Black on his mettle! He droppedflat to the ground and crawled forward on hisstomach; but just as he arrived within springingdistance it spread its wings and flappedwith ostentatious slowness to another molehill.

Thus ended Black’s first encounter with thecunning old crow.

BIG-KITTEN

Thick-set and sturdy, with shorttail, strong legs, and a back whichmerged smoothly into a plump, roundstomach; big, attentive eyes with intelligenceand intensity in their glance; small ears neverat rest; this was Big!

He was the born master-hunter of the litter,and spent nearly all his time lying in waiton his belly, his tail stretched out behind him.He captured in a flash every bit of fluff carriedpast by the wind; he pursued passionatelyevery butterfly and bird that came near him.When one of his brothers or sisters got upand walked away, Big-kitten would look upwith a start and steal cautiously in the wakeof the “meat.”...

He was always the one to start a new game... and he commenced every game of “tag”with a leap right over his playfellow; a deliberate[Pg 101]insult which emphasized his opponent’sinferiority.

Although Big was still only a little half-grownfellow, his paws itched with the lustof the chase, and in his mind smouldered aconstant desire for adventure. During thenoonday hour of rest he would push out recklesslyfrom the island-fortress, and, when theweather was dry and warm, creep far awayout along the hedge and ditch bordering thecorn.

Inbred in him was the ability to make useof every scrap of cover offered by MotherNature, whether a tiny depression in theground, or a tuft of grass, behind which hewould hide and listen patiently beforeproceeding on his way. With doubled-uplegs and body dragging along the ground hecould creep for half-hours at a time, hidingin a bush or copse when he wished to rest orstretch his muscles.

His movements were so light and deft thathe barely disturbed the grass—no shakingflower or trembling stalk ever betrayed hispassage!

[Pg 102]

One day he went farther than usual alongthe ditch.... He had found a splendidhunting-ground! Flies and swallows sweptover him in crowds. Now he must do somethingbig!

He exerted all his powers to the uttermost:lifted his feet high to avoid scraping andrustling, crawled up at frequent intervals onstones to look around, and often sat still listeningwith his head stretched high above thegrass. His ears were instantly directedtowards every sound, while simultaneously hecrouched ready to spring....

His efforts were crowned with success; hecame upon a weird, earth-like little animalwhich sat digging at a hole. He should havesprung upon it at once, but he hesitated.Then the earthy one started up and ran off,disappearing with a final hop into an adjacentbush.

In the bush sat a young starling with brokenwing, enjoying the view, and under theimpression that it had reached safety at last.

Not many days before it had slipped out ofits nest; the down of childhood still lingered[Pg 103]on its body. What a long, long time it hadalready lived, thought the little fellow!

How it had wonderingly stared out of thenest, peeping through the branches after itsmother as she flew away in search offood!...

With what a shiver of dread it had, onefine morning for the first time in its life, setfoot upon the ground!... There was somethingabout the ground which frightened itdreadfully; true, the earth could not run andjump, but nevertheless the little bird didn’tfeel at all safe there. It longed to go aloft—aloftand flying!

The first minor difficulties were soon overcome.It learnt to glide through the air frombranch to branch. Then suddenly it founditself really flying, able to turn and twist andsweep round in curves, to swerve upwards inspirals and suddenly turn and corkscrew downagain. It had become master of its destiny—theworld was big and the earth beautiful,for real life had begun.

Then one day it had flown into the farmer’skitchen garden, which twinkled with flowers[Pg 104]glowed with fruit; red and tempting theylay upon the ground, for it was strawberryseason. There came a shot!

Something queer happened: all at once,after a loud noise, it found itself unable torise and fly aloft; it could only hop clumsilyin the air.

It ran and ran, tearing away in the directionof the long-drawn whistle of terror whichthe other birds uttered as they flew away.Now it sat quite still under the bush, awaitingthe inevitable doom which comes to everycrippled bird.

For days it had hopped about, gettingfarther and farther out into the field....

Big-kitten made very short work of it; hisvictim sat waiting as if put there for him bythe Creator. To capture it was child’s play.

Thus did the world with its colours andsounds vanish from the consciousness of thelittle brown starling.... Sharp teeth buriedthemselves in its neck and greedy lips suckedits blood.

THE CONQUEROR

Big-kitten would not devour his booty on[Pg 105]the spot. In addition to being a great hunter,he was very fond of bragging of his exploits.He started, therefore, on the return journeyat once, in order to display his booty outsidethe cat borough.

Forward through the green grass he treads,slowly and carefully. His white forepawsappear first ... as if feeling their way; thenfollow the round head, plump body, andgently swishing tail. His jaws seem enormous,and his neck looks swollen—but this isbecause he is carrying the bird in his mouth.

He grips it by the middle; head and neckdangle down on one side, legs and tail stickout on the other; while along the ground dragits limp wings, on which his forepaws keeptreading and delaying his progress....

Presently he puts his burden down for abreathing-space—now he picks it up again;his hairless little red nose-tip flattens out, andhis yellow, slanting eyes close viciously as hecrunches it in his teeth.

As it happens, none of the others are outsidethe hole when he arrives, so that hereceives no immediate applause; he thereforebegins to run about miauwing, which soon[Pg 106]fetches out the whole band. They shall viewhim as conqueror!

With the young starling dangling from hisjaws and his tail hoisted proudly he swaggersin among them. He twitches a wing tantalizinglyunder their noses, making them snapjealously at it. At last he lies down anddevours his booty with exasperating calmnessand deliberation.

However, the young starling is more thanhe can manage at one sitting, and when heis satisfied he begins to play with the remains.

Unfortunately, of course, it is dead; but hedoes everything possible to make it seemalive!

He takes it between his forepaws and castsit high in the air, then catches it with a deep,savage growl. He puts it in front of himand gives it a push, causing it to jerk forward.This stimulates his imagination enormously;he thinks the bird is about to escape, andquickly thrusts his claws into it.

Again, with rapid touches of his paws hebrushes the starling towards him, at the sametime jumping back quickly—and now in his[Pg 107]haste he rolls over backwards and lies there,juggling ecstatically with the dead bird.

Surrounding him, but hidden behind stoneand hillock, his brothers and sisters, with earsstiff and whiskers quivering, wait and watch... perhaps a miracle will happen and thebird fly towards one of them....

Just then a sea-gull comes sweeping pastthe mound, and, startled at seeing the kittenflock just beneath it, drops a jet of white,which hits the victor on the forehead andnose....

Big makes a leap upwards at the sharp-shooter,and afterwards, feeling the need ofa good wash, forgets for a time all about thestarling.

When he returns it has vanished! Tinysits with a most innocent expression on hisface, and Red had a feather in his whiskers!

He ought really to have trounced the twoimpudent brutes; but it was beneath his dignity—besides,he was full to the brim. Hecould go out into the field and catch anotherone if he liked—he was quite certain hecould!

[Pg 108]

BLACK-KITTEN

This was a fellow to be handled carefully!

He returned snarl and spit for a kind word—andhe never hit softly on the nose, butscratched so that it hurt. He did not understandfun, but took everything in dead earnest;and in consequence was always quarrellingwith his brothers and sisters. They knewhim well enough by now, and only as a lastresource, when there was nobody else aboutto play with, would one make the best of abad job and take Black. In revenge hemixed in a game of his own accord wheneverit suited him, and that in a most aggressiveand unpleasant manner.

He was strong and well built; but he hadlarge paws—and worse still, an ugly face!

A high-arched forehead protruded abruptlyover unusually deep-set eyes. The eyes themselveswere golden-green in colour—and something angry and evil perpetually obscuredtheir glance, like a murky cloud over a clearhorizon. And the wildness in the eyes wasemphasized by the almost constantly pressed-backears.

[Pg 109]

He was extremely skilful at climbing trees!His insulting and provocative behaviour oftenresulted in a general assault upon him, andwhen things became desperate he invariablywent aloft.

To get up was easy enough—all the kittenscould do that; but none of them could comedown like Black. The others slid and scrambleddown, thereby ruffling their fur andblunting their claws; he, on the contrary, hadthe real tree-climber’s blood, having inbornin him the art of descending in successivejumps, a number of short falls, which hechecked at the right moment by sticking allfour batches of claws into the tree-trunk.

As time passed, he became as much at homein the trees as a marten, and could springfrom top to top with the skill and agility of asquirrel. It is doubtful whether any othercat than he could have escaped from themanure-well.

Just as the secret of Samson’s strength washidden in the giant’s growth of hair, so wasBlack’s concealed in his claw-daggers; hespent, indeed, every spare moment in sharpeninghis claws!

[Pg 110]

He was nearly always to be seen by the oldgate-post, where he squatted down and reachedup with his forepaws, listening contentedlyto the scratching of his claws on the hard,bone-dry wood. He always finished off bystropping them, stroking them forwards andbackwards over the corner of the post untilthey were as sharp as shoemakers’ bradawls.

None of the others possessed weapons likethese!

And as he grew up and began to catchthings, he deceived by means of them evenexperienced old birds! Thus, one day an oldmale sparrow taking a leisurely dust-bath fella victim to his precocity. The sparrow, withthe wisdom of his years, thought, “Piff! it’sonly a kitten!” And it flew up just in timeto escape—if Black had been an ordinarykitten!

But that was its mistake—just as the chameleonwith its lightning-like tongue reaches thedistant insect, so did Black at the criticalmoment succeed in thrusting forward hisclaws and reaching the bird.

These terrible claws of his in reality madehis forepaws abnormally long—a fact which[Pg 111]his brothers and sisters also had long sincediscovered!

When Mother Puss sat dissecting her spoiland Black-kitten came too near, she used atfirst to lash out at Master Impudence. ButMaster Impudence lashed back! It was asif he said, “You must make room for me,too!” And the old she-cat soon learned torespect him for his swift, scratchy boxes onthe ear.

In general he was timid and solitary....The moment the kittens heard people on thefield-path near by, he would arch his back,thicken his fur, and hurriedly run to cover.

MIAUW-MIAUW—MIAUW-MIAUW

Black made one of his first expeditions atthe time when the wheat was just high enoughto hide him. He sauntered defiantly throughit, caring not a jot whether the groundbeneath were wet or dry. Long, dark cloud-shadowscame hurtling along and surroundedhim; the bluish-green wheat became black,making it impossible to distinguish him as hecrawled through its depths.

But once, when the sky was clear and the[Pg 112]sun unrolled its carpet of light before hiseyes, he caught sight of a little brown speckamong the green stems. His legs disappearedin his fur, and his body lengthenedout, as he pushed chin, neck, belly, and tailslowly along the ground.... Now he couldsee that the spot was a bird, so fat and heavythat it weighed down the thistle-top on whichit sat.

Suddenly came a hoarse scream from theair: “Kra, kra!”

Soon afterwards a peewit fluttered roundhis ears. It had come from behind andcaught him in the act; he had been soabsorbed in his sport that he had forgottento keep a look out.

He refused to flee; he just sat there slashingwith his tail while the wide-awake flying-corpsof birds did sentry duty above!

Two crows hung low on flapping wingsjust over his head, scolding and cursing himuntil his hair vibrated with fury. The pairof peewits goaded him to frenzy by attackingalternately from behind and before, while thestupid larks came and sat on the gate-postnot far off to watch the fun.

[Pg 113]

He had to give up all hope of that speckon the thistle-top; but just to have seen it andto have got so near to it seemed to him, nevertheless,something of an adventure.

For a long time he wandered about in vain,sniffing the flowers, but at last, just by a heapof stones, he found a new brown speck. Hadhe been experienced and realized what hewas after, he would perhaps have hesitated;as it was, he rejoiced in happy ignorance,and sprang.

The brown speck—which was a youngweasel out on the same errand as himself—sprangwith a whine into the air. It wasinstantly fully alive to its danger! Althoughthin as a lath and not longer than a mole, itshowed him at once by its grin that it possessedteeth by no means inferior to his own.

But Black did not mean to be cheated ofhis spoil a second time; he attacked suddenlyand recklessly, metamorphosed in a flash froma black shadow into a living, vicious beast.

With hair on end and eyes gleaming phosphorescentin the twilight, he made hisspring.

The young weasel jumped aside, giving[Pg 114]him at the same time a sharp little nip inthe neck. Its methods resembled rather thoseof a pole-cat; for it did not attack openly, butkept darting in from the side and from behindwith quick, cunning little feints.

The little vermin was possessed of a devil;but Black for the moment was possessed oftwo! He could be a young tiger when hechose—and, undaunted by the wound in hisneck, he dealt the weasel a lightning blow withhis forepaw, following it up with a murderousbite through the snout which renderedhis enemy helpless.

The weasel writhed frenziedly in his grip;but the tiger-kitten killed it off-hand, as if itwere a mere mouse. He thought that hisspoil smelled rather strongly; but he was tooyoung and hungry to be dainty....

He picks it up and makes for home ...arrives via ditch and furrow in the vicinityof the burial-mound. Anyone on the field-path?He is quite close to it, and knows hemust cross it. In the ordinary way he preferswalking along it, but not when carryingbooty. Supposing one of his brothers or[Pg 115]sisters should meet him and try to take it fromhim! He wants to enjoy his meal in peace—withhide and hair and intestines and all!He has no wish to fight twice over for thesame spoil; nor does he want to lose his feastand spoil the pleasure of victory by beingcompelled to share with others.

The electric sheen in his black fur becomesmore brilliant, and his eyes strain forwardon the alert, as he steals cautiously alongabsorbed in his thoughts of his victory and thefeast to come.

Again comes that hoarse “kra-ing” fromthe air!

The previous day he had been shown thenecessity of concealment when tracking hisgame; now he was to learn that it was evenmore necessary after the game was caught.

That fool of a crow has once more sneakedup behind him! It hangs over his head jealousof his prize, while it advertises to thewhole world what he has in his mouth.

His triumph is to be marred, then, afterall!

From all directions stream his brothers and[Pg 116]sisters, headed by old Mother Grey Puss; sheapproaches with electrified back-fur anxiousas to what may be the matter.

They come nearer, but they cannot understandwhat he is doing! He sits doubled oversomething he is trying to hide. His ears areflattened and his eyes glitter with anxiety,and they can hear from afar off how he snarlsand threatens.

Now Grey Puss herself dares not approachnearer; his multifarious noises of warningbecome more and more continuous....

The frightened kittens press closer to her;the entire family is overawed and silent; forthe first time they hear an angry he-cat’ssombre, booming music. “Su-wau-wau-wau... mau, mau, mau....”

And he gnashes his teeth until it harmonizeswith the plashing of his slaver.

GREY-KITTEN

Such a short-legged little cat was surelynever seen before! She seemed rather tocrawl and glide over the ground than to walk.She had inherited her mother’s disproportionately[Pg 117]large hare-like ears, and had a farkeener sense of hearing than any of the otherkittens. The slightest sound brought herhead up with a jerk, her ears directed instantlyin the exact direction of the sound, whilecunning and deceit flashed into her usuallytrustful eyes. Hers was a quiet, thoughtfulnature, which apparently never waxed veryenthusiastic over anything; it was as if shepondered carefully every step she took!

She could sit still for hours at a time, withher tail curled carefully round her neatlygathered paws, and watch the doings of theothers. An enormous degree of patience andthe ability to wait characterized her nature;they all thought she slept, but it was not so;she saw and heard everything.

She often crept round the foot of the moundand down along the ditch and fence—andwhenever she found a little hole in the earthwhich looked as if it were inhabited, shewould sit down and watch, if necessary forhours. This monotonous waiting for gamesuited her nature perfectly; however bad thestate of the ground or of the weather, it made[Pg 118]no difference to her—she bore it all withgood-natured indifference.

Lying thus in wait was a treat to her. Hersense of hearing was so keen that she foundsufficient entertainment in listening to thesubterranean rumblings of her prey. Minutelinked itself to minute with lightning speed;and although to an onlooker it seemed thatnothing in the world was happening, in realityshe was experiencing thrills of anticipationall the time.

She was also an expert at catching dragon-flies,although indeed in another manner thanbrother Big. She could, as it were, hypnotizethem down to her. When a dragon-fly wasperforming acrobatics above her head, shejust sat still and stared and stared, untilpresently the insect, whether attracted by hercolouring or by her eyes, came so close thatshe had only to put out a paw and knock itdown.

One evening, while the setting sun bathesthe burial-mound in its red splendour, andthe giant stones shine as if coated with pinkenamel, she creeps out to the field.

[Pg 119]

The windows of the farm flash with light,and over the white, bulging summer cloudsfalls a scarlet, claret-bordered veil. Everywhereshe goes she hears the munching ofgrass: horses and cattle are feeding after theday’s exertion....

She peeps to the right; to the left—andlistens.

Then sits down softly—and listens, listens....Is there anything? No! Then forward,silently forward....

With crouching loins and curved tail, butwith chest raised and neck stretched high,she writhes through the grass, as if treadingon flames.

A sudden halt—a careful investigation!No; false alarm again! And Grey creepsalong until she finds another mouse-hole....

The twilight falls, and the great black maybugsbegin to wind their sound-threads roundher. A horse has dropped some manureclose to where she sits—the mice like makingtheir holes under that!

The dike-chat flutters past with its young.The little grey birds are swallowed up in the[Pg 120]darkness, leaving behind only a flicker fromtheir white tails.

The slim young hare hops with supple graceacross the field, stopping to sniff at each rootand plant....

Grey sits patiently before her mouse-hole,listening to the faint scratching of its owner’sfeet deep down in the earth. The minutesrace; her mind is utterly absorbed with theone thrilling subject—mouse!

Presently a distant rumble rises to her ears;grains of sand are rolling down the tunnel.The sound, which no human ear could hopeto distinguish, increases in volume until itculminates in a faint flap: a baby mouse withthin white legs and a tail three times as longas its body crouches curled up at the entrance!

Without straightening its body, it beginsat once to propel itself forward through thegrass-stems, looking for all the world like aliving bullet on legs....

Now the noise of its running has stopped... the mouse swarms up and down thestraws, so that they whine like violin-stringsin the cat’s ears. Her soul is a sound board[Pg 121]on which each whine impinges, magnified andvibrating.... In the most approved fashionshe creeps upon her prey, and, in spite of aclumsy spring, manages to nail it down underher paw....

It was Grey-kitten’s first mouse; and shefelt she would never tire of gazing at it. Hertail wriggled without ceasing and her eyesshone with delight ... to think that thosetiny mouse-legs could make such a frightfulto-do!

She could not bring herself to eat it, butmust keep it to rejoice over on her way home.Every few minutes she stopped, dropped theluckless victim in front of her, and began toplay with it.

And, like Big, she was stupid enough toappear with it before the whole family; evengoing so far as to throw it down on the groundfor general admiration.

She paid dearly for that! She never did itagain!

WHITE-KITTEN

When the wind brought word ofhuman beings on the field-path, thekittens always stopped their play.

Grey Puss had warned them in theirearliest days to beware of people, and as arule her angry growling called them downinto the hole. Now, however, when she spentless and less of her time at home, and thekittens were left to themselves, their behaviourvaried according to their natures.

Big Puss and Tiny still ran for the hole;Black thrilled—he sank down on his loins anddragged himself along the ground, keepinga sharp lookout and disappearing periodicallywith a spitting noise. Grey and Redas a rule remained placidly lying still; butWhite stiffened her tail with delight andtrotted to and fro, mewing and purring.

[Pg 123]

She was a merry and friendly little kitten,who made a joke of everything. Her strongdesire for amusem*nt and her inability toappreciate the stern realities of life expressedthemselves at a very early stage of her existence.Just as she regularly seized the opportunityof chasing her mother’s tail, so didshe often make a plaything of the old cat’snipples, a sacrilege which more than once losther her due share of milk.

She was not specially big or strong inappearance, but doubtless her grace andgood humour would carry her far in theworld.

She spent most of her time making hertoilet. She could not bear the smallest pieceof fluff on her coat without at once licking itoff. If so much as a single hair of herssmelled slightly, she felt upset until she hadsucceeded in removing the cause of her indisposition.During her idle hours—andthey were many—she would sit a little apartfrom the others, spit on her paw, with whichshe would wash her breast and stomach,freshen up her eyes, smooth the fur on her[Pg 124]face, and make a parting right across themiddle of her forehead.

In her charming little cat-face, with itssoft, affectionate expression, were set twoglistening, watery-blue eyes, which slanted asprettily as those of a clean and well-groomedlittle Geisha girl.

In company with Tiny she still took suckfrom her mother, and there was as yet no signof this form of nourishment being abandoned.Being so much together with her little brother,she did her best to chum up with him.But the latter, who was cleverer than helooked, realized too well the disadvantage ofsuch an entanglement, and rejected her advancespoint-blank; she should rather do as hedid, find a big brother with whom to joinforces.

TINY

Tiny was, neither in appearance nor reality,a Hercules, being thin and stunted, with alarge head and big, intelligent eyes.

For the most part he lay still and slept.He had an attitude of his own which he preferred[Pg 125]when resting: doubled up, with hishind legs well under his body, and hisabsurdly big head between his paws. Itseemed almost as if he were trying to shut hisears against the ceaseless hurly-burly aroundhim.

He gave rather the impression of beingslow-witted and sedate; but in reality he wasnot such a fool as he appeared.

For example, he possessed one uniquecharacteristic: he was an infallible weather-prophet!

His talent in this direction, however, wouldhave remained quite useless had he kept hisprophecies to himself; but, on the contrary,the moment a change of weather was impending,he could not resist giving vent to his feelings.The others then knew at once what toexpect.

For example, supposing he felt rainyweather approaching, he would walk aboutshaking himself, dragging his tail, and mewingcontinuously. Then he would seek out agood hiding-place where he could lie inwarmth and shelter when the rain came.

[Pg 126]

But when fine weather was to be expected,he would appear with tail at the perpendicular,purring and humming with satisfaction.

In reality he was not only a professor ofweather, he was more: he was a regular littlemeteorological observatory! Possibly the terribletreatment once meted out to him inhis earlier days by his brutal father accountedfor his weak, supersensitive nerves.

Brother Black—the fighter—whose frequentmad expeditions he followed at adistance in order to be at hand at the righttime to beg his livelihood, soon learned toutilize his small brother’s eccentricity.

Black preferred hunting at nightfall; butif, during the day, when crouching at his gate-poststropping his claws, he observed Tinywalking about miauling and crying, he knewat once he must get away as early as possible:it would rain that night.

Black could never resist Tiny’s cadging.His admiring looks and respectful mien weretoo much for the fierce warrior.

In addition, the little fellow sufferedseriously from vomiting. The excess of[Pg 127]feathers and the insufficiency of meat comprisinghis diet soon ruined his digestion; he hadto go out and chew harsh, bitter co*ck’s-footgrass the moment he awoke.

In spite of this, he was the sole humoristof the family—thanks to his unusually longtail, the vigour of which was so extraordinarythat it gave the impression of being a separatepersonality. He would wipe his paws on it,or twist it right round his neck; it was a constantsource of amusem*nt; he could evenplay “postman’s knock” with it.

But on the whole, his abilities and characteristicswere much below the average, andhe might safely be expected to turn out afailure.

When, by chance or design, he did go outon his own, he succeeded occasionally inmaking a catch of some sort by means of hisabnormally acute powers of observation.

Thus, one day he saw a yellow-hammersettle in a tuft of withered grass; he hurriedto the spot—and gulped down a most deliciousomelet!

Another day he met a bunting fighting with[Pg 128]a lark. By tacit understanding the hedgebelonged to the bunting just as the field belongedto the lark, and neither permitted theother to trespass in his sphere of action—sothey fought, and whirled round and round,until they both lay dead-beat in the grass.

Such a battle Tiny was a master-hand atturning to his own advantage.

He began to consider it worth while toslip out and look round. There was alwayssomething or other to be caught!

RED-KITTEN

Whatever doubt there may have been as toTiny’s being a sly puss, it was quite certainthat Red-kitten was a deceitful hussy!

Her coat alone stamped her as a mountebank,being fox-red in colour, with brightyellow stripes which turned to rings roundher legs and tail.

Her body also was unique, being long, thin,and supple, and gave as she walked, like afreshly stuffed sofa.

She had a mania for stretching herself, asif she could not get her body slim and supple[Pg 129]enough. None could compare with her inactivity; she was incessantly playing tricks onthe others—and when they attacked her shecould easily wriggle out of their clutches, evenBlack and Big being unable to hold her.

A gymnast, a juggler, was Red!

In addition to her bodily virtues she hadtall, slim legs, which, when necessary, enabledher to escape from the swiftest opponent bysheer speed.

She was still quite young when Box oneday surprised her in the middle of the field;but, thanks to her speed, she saved herself atthe last moment by scrambling up on a strawthatch, her mouth extended and the waterrunning down her red tongue. Had therebeen a man on the scene he would have saidthat it was the first time he had seen a catsweat!

Her cunning, flame-coloured eyes are seldomreally open; she usually goes about withthem screwed up, as if desiring to concealtheir lowering, deceitful glance.

She is always to be seen sneaking roundstones and molehills, and likes jumping out[Pg 130]suddenly and unexpectedly. When the othersplay puss-in-the-corner, she prefers to lie inambush and spring upon the nearest from behind,knock him down, and maul him about.

She beats all the others in cunning, andthey do not like her to be near when they areeating; they know from experience her extraordinaryskill in stealing.

On the day Mother Grey Puss broughthome the herrings, each kitten was apportioneda lump of the delicious food. Big,who had received the head, sat a little apartfrom the others, nibbling it thoughtfully.

There was still a piece of the jaw left; itlay just in front of him, as with closed eyeshe swallowed blissfully a tasty mouthful.When he opened his eyes again the herringjaw was no longer there—and a red tail-tipvanished silently behind the nearest boulder.

Nature, as a rule, equips each of her creaturesgenerously with at least one specialtalent; and, provided only it uses that talent,the struggle for life is an easy one.

And Red’s talent was—thieving!

One can never take her by surprise: she[Pg 131]possesses extraordinary decision of character,coupled with extreme cautiousness; and shenever resorts to force until her prey is at hermercy. Her daily struggle for food and herconstant intercourse with her talented brothers,whose highly specialized skill in trappingwas so much superior to her own, havedeveloped her inbred tendency to steal, wheneverher special characteristics make it possible.

She is an expert at starting a quarrel whenthe others sit devouring their spoil; and whilethey fight, she fishes in troubled waters. Shehunts indeed, but after her own fashion; andmost of her spoil is second-hand!

Her sympathies are unstable; she lackspersonality! Sometimes she helps Blackagainst Big, at others Grey against Black; beingalways on the side of the one who ownsnothing against the one who has for themoment something to steal.... She is infavour of common ownership, and is the redcommunist of the litter!

But she is an adept at dissembling; she isnot only a great juggler, but also a great[Pg 132]hypocrite ... her tail betrays this, for inthe most exciting moments it is as stiff as apoker!

In the long run, however, the narrowbounds of catborough do not offer sufficientscope for her predatory instincts, and she iscompelled to eke out her spoils. When Big,Black, and Grey, with White and Tiny intow, slink out in the gloaming over field andmeadow and follow the twisting, irregularpaths of the village copse, Red loungesthrough the field until she meets a humantrack.

Experience has taught her that such a trackusually leads to a place where there is somethingto be picked up ... some cast-awayfood-paper or other, which, on investigation,often proves to contain tasty morsels, such asherring-bones, cheese-rind, or scraps of fat.

Sometimes, also, an old wooden clog or apair of cast-off stockings lie on the groundnear by, but they appeal to her less, and serveonly to increase her faith in human footsteps.

But it happens, too, that the tracks lead to[Pg 133]dainties such as would make even gourmandslike Big and Black turn blue in the face withenvy!

The errand boys of the neighbourhood arevery keen on wandering round the hedges forbirds’ nests—not to destroy them, but merelyto feel the thrill of peeping at the eggs. Red,aided by her cunning and her deductive faculties,finds every single one of these nests!

On one occasion she raided a lark’s nest.All night long she had followed a human“spoor,” which led over grass and clover andturnips. At a certain place the track stoppedand turned off abruptly towards a clump ofwhite marguerites.

Three nights in succession she came acrossthe same lonely track, and found it stop oneach occasion exactly at this place. Andyet there was nothing there; that was peculiar!

She examined the immediate surroundingseven more thoroughly, poked her nose in thesteaming scent-waves—where human footstood long in one place, the scent was warm;she knew that well enough!

At this a bird sprang up. She thrust her[Pg 134]teeth into the nest and lapped down the nearlyfull-grown young greedily....

She had been right after all; food alwaysflowed where human footsteps trod!

THE GREAT EATING-HOUSE

During the long, still evenings soundscould always be heard far away in the huge“stone-heap” where most of the tracks foundby Red sooner or later ended. Often sheapproached courageously quite close and satoutside listening. Perpetual noise and disturbancereigned within; shrill whines, deepbellows, crowings, and cacklings penetratedits walls. A strong animal smell, as if thestone-heap were wrapped in an enormousfood-paper, permeated the surrounding atmosphere.

One evening, as she sat hidden in the corn,she saw a man, with clogs clattering and forepawscovered with fur, come out and walkpast.

The stableman had Box with him....

The dog scented cat, and caught a glimpseof red fur—and now Red had to gallop forher life through the corn.

[Pg 135]

Long-legged Box had almost overtaken herwhen she ran up into the top of a smallwillow tree, where, by exerting all herstrength, she managed to hang fast, swayingto and fro. Box executed a wild war-danceround the trunk, leaping up as high as hecould; when he grew tired of that, he turnedhis back to the tree and howled towards thefarm for help....

Suddenly he hears a noise behind him.He whirls round, but can see nothing onaccount of the thick corn. He throws aglance up at the willow-top. It is empty!

At last he realizes what has happened.The red scamp has outdone him; with nose tothe scent he rushes after....

The spoor leads into a ditch—and Boxfollows!

Now through a culvert under a road—andBox rushes at full speed into the culvert! Itis lined with stones, and narrow—too narrowfor the dog’s well-nourished body; he sticksfast, and can move neither forward nor back.

He has not even room left to bark; his ribsare gripped as in a vice; it is all he can doto manage a feeble, frightened whine.

[Pg 136]

All that evening he remains a prisoner inhis stone cell; during the night the water risesand covers his paws—until at last, late nextafternoon, his body has become so emaciatedthat he succeeds in squeezing backwards outof the trap.

Delighted, he runs home at once to thefarm, where, however, he is subjected to theadditional humiliation of being well scoldedfor his absence. How had his lordship enjoyedhimself all that time? He had perhapsbeen making love in the next parish? Orhad he been camping out with the fisherman’syellow mongrel? Yes, he was a Don Juan,that’s what he was; a thoroughly wickedfellow!...

“Be careful!” he was threatened vaguely.His place was in the farmyard at night tokeep guard!

Next day he was chained up.

One would think that Red would have beenso frightened by this narrow escape that shewould have avoided the farm and its surroundingsfor the future; but it was far from[Pg 137]being the case—that sort of mishap had noeffect on her at all.

In fact, with her system of going to work,such things were sure to happen; no need,therefore, to take them too seriously!

A few evenings later she is sitting again atthe edge of the cornfield, and as nobodycomes out and no dog chases her away, it isobvious that she is meant to gain admittance!

She creeps along the garden fence andsneaks calmly past the stall to the manure-heap,where she spends the whole night inundisturbed peace ransacking “the big foodbag.”

She came back night after night; and becamemore and more daring....

One morning early, the housewife comingsuddenly into the larder, discovered a strangecat sitting on one of the shelves, eating. Shegrabbed the broom and lunged out after thebrute, but in her excitement aimed so badlythat she transformed a large bowl of creaminto a cataract!

Now the farmer’s wife became reallyangry! If that red devil stole cream, she’d[Pg 138]soon begin taking puddings and meat....

She hit about her wildly and futilely....While Red escaped by the grating throughwhich she had come.

“Was it a cat?”

The good woman became suddenly doubtfulwhen she had cooled down. Nobodyround about owned such a cat, as far as sheknew....

Was it not rather a young fox she hadseen?...

BOX

Box was a mixture of every possiblerace of dog.

His head was pointed, but his ears,nevertheless, long and drooping, resemblingthose of a Gordon setter. His short, thick,bulldog neck was joined to a retriever body,from beneath which shot out four long, thingreyhound legs, and behind which dangled along, thin, mop-ended tail.

His eyes were wolf-like and shifty, andblinked treacherously when he looked at one.Any attempt to pat him was repulsed with agrowl and an evil suspicious glance.

His coat was doubtful; but his mind wasdefinite enough: quarrelsome, ferocious, andsnappish—ready to attack anyone or anythingupon the slightest provocation!

He had never been able to stand cats, a traitdoubtless inherited from some aristocratic,[Pg 140]sensitive-nosed ancestor.... From his veryearliest days he had found it impossible to beon friendly terms with such musky beasts.

In addition he hated sheep, and loathed theodour of cows and the stink of swine; buthowever much his aristocratic instinctswere offended, he was always conscious at theback of his mind of a certain agreeable,meaty smell about them. The cat’s scent,however, was sour and old; it smelled ofmouse, which he despised from his birth.

Besides, they were always wanting to sharehis food with him—a habit to which he objectedstrongly. They thought him asleepwhen—as occasionally happened—he dozedover a bone at noon outside his kennel; buthe was wide awake enough, and knew exactlywhat their game was!

He really belonged to the farmer’s wife,and was always released at her request. Hethen tore round doing his amiable best to exterminatethe farm’s feline inhabitants.

The foreman is sitting milking in the stall,when he is suddenly overturned and kickedinto the gutter. The cows roar frenziedly....[Pg 141]Box has just rushed by in pursuit of acat!

As soon as the foreman has picked himselfup, a clog comes hurtling at Box—and justas he is disappearing crestfallen through thedoor, a milk-stool catches him in the rear.

After this exploit he seldom ventured insidethe stall-door; but the foreman knewwell enough when the ruffian stood outsidepeering through the chink, for the stall-cat’stail always swelled and stood to attentionimmediately.

One day he surprised the good wife’sfavourite kitten, a little white he-cat, as it laysleeping in the barn; it was too slow in waking,and was captured. The farmer chasedhim with a shovel, and succeeded in recoveringthe kitten, but it was dead. There wasnothing to do except break the news to hiswife, and bury the corpse.

After that outrage Box was chained up fora very long time indeed. But gradually hismadness subsided so much that he learned torecognize the “musk animals” attached to thefarm; and although he could not of course[Pg 142]regard them as friends, he yet respected themfor the sake of the general peace.

But beyond the bounds of the farm, out onthe road and in the fields, he showed nomercy. Every cat he met there was his swornenemy—and he was master-hand at runningthem down and killing them.

CATS OF ALL COLOURS

Among the wheat, which is now almostripe, flame the poppy-torches ... the blue-stalkedcorn is so thickly massed that GreyPuss disappears completely in its depths.

The seething of the rye from the adjacentfield fills her sensitive ear; it is the keynote ofthe summer music.

Out on the grass between the heaps of hayBox sits majestically on his tail. He hasaccompanied the men working in the fields,and he feels himself one of them, especiallytaking into consideration the important natureof his sentry duty.

He has just been trying to facilitate thefarmer’s ploughing by digging a deep hole insearch of a mole. But the ground is too dry[Pg 143]and the work on the whole too tedious—hedoesn’t care about it any more! Then, faraway out on the road he sees a man walking,and so barks at him for a time.

In this manner he is constantly useful!

At last he feels he would like a trot round....Scarcely has he crossed the potato-fieldwhen two partridges come running towardshim. Wow! he is upon them with a jump—andafter them in the direction in which theyshoot away on their stiff, short wings!

Then he catches sight of an animal emergingfrom the corn. It creeps along, its bodyclose to the ground.... It smells, henotices; ha, cat ... cat!

Box has forgotten the partridges and racesafter puss. But it is difficult for him to makeprogress, for the corn is thick and is higherthan the cat’s back. Only with extremedifficulty is he able to follow the scent.

Grey Puss for the time takes things easily....She canters quietly away from thedirection of the burial-mound. Several timesshe passes ditches and bunches of thistleswhere she could easily have lain in ambush[Pg 144]and attacked the dog; but she knows Box wellenough from old times, and does not take thepursuit very seriously.

For a time they play hide-and-seek; thenthe affair bores her, and she turns and makesa bee-line for home.

The children, not realizing the state ofaffairs, swarm out to meet her.

They see gliding towards them a daylight-coloureddog with big lumps of night stuck toits coat. Its legs move very quickly, and itstail whips and whistles like the wind. Itcomes with wide-open jaws, and tongue hangingout of its mouth. “Ha, ha, ha!” it gasps,as with half-shut eyes it sniffs eagerly throughits big, split, padded snout.

Box suddenly sees the kittens. He literallyquivers with ferocity; but before hecan reach them the entrance-hole is deserted.

For a long time he remains standing outside,barking and scratching up the ground—thenhe rushes home to the farm and whinesand jumps about; he has something to tell—andhe makes a jump towards the field; he hasseen cats out there, cats of all colours!

[Pg 145]

Grey Puss pondered a while over the occurrence—thisBox, near whose kennel she usedto sleep, on whose straw she had lain, andwhose food she had sometimes shared, whatdid he want here sniffing at their mound?She could easily understand all the others, hernatural enemies in the fields; but this dog,who, like she, had once been in favour with“the cunning ones”—was he friend or was hefoe?

One still, sunny morning she lies by herselfat the edge of a ditch, listening to the cows’eternal chewing of the cud, when the soundsuddenly ceases.

She wonders why the cows stop eating—andwhen, in addition, one or two of thembegin to run about, she puts up her head—andsees Box lurch out of the corn towardsher....

During the whole of the week she has beenpersecuted by the dog and chased about like afox. Just as well have it out with him nowas later!

For awhile she retreats before him, but[Pg 146]upon reaching a small mound she sits andcomposedly awaits her pursuer.

The plump hooligan, who has lost sight ofhis quarry behind the waving grass, comesalong, his nose close to the ground, fullyoccupied with following the scent....

So unexpectedly has Grey Puss changedher tactics that he cannot make up his mindto stop, but swerves to one side as if about torun past. She turns as he swings round, thuskeeping her face steadily to the foe....

It is quite a new experience for Box to seea cat sit and wait to be taken in his jaws.

He prefaces his attack with a volley ofhoarse dog-oaths....

Grey Puss stands with head low and mouthopen; dull thunder rumbles from her throat,and her tail whips restlessly from side toside....

Box, who is unfortunate enough to have thesun full in his eyes, opens his jaws wide andmakes a ferocious snap; which the cat evadeswith a high jump which terminates on hisback. Facing backwards on him, she lets flywith fore and back claws simultaneously,[Pg 147]combing his flesh time after time from neckto tail.

He howls, and shakes himself, and throwshimself down, and rolls over and over; butthe moment he rises to his feet, Grey Puss ison his back again.

The ruthless cat-exterminator is drivenalmost out of his wits with pain, and rushesblindly away, burning with lust for revenge,and raging impotently at such treatment froma much-despised cat, whom he now tries toconvince in a plaintive whine that he nevermeant the slightest harm.

Twice he succeeds in shaking off the vileshe-devil; but she is utterly relentless—andso, when the old manure-well appears in sight,he turns there instinctively for help. Withouthesitation he tears at the crazy lid withhis strong, sharp claws—and plunges throughhead first, while Grey Puss hops off like theflick of a whip.

A dull plash follows, and a tall spurt ofred-brown fluid, emitting an insufferablesmell, rises behind him....

Grey Puss sneaks round the opening listening[Pg 148]to his splashings; then when no more Boxappears, she returns straight home to herkittens.

THE LIFE-SAVING CHAIR

In the evening, when the men were returningfrom their work, they heard a miserablehowling and splashing from the old manure-wellin the field. They stopped and listened;they seemed to know the sound. Wasn’t itBox’s voice?

One of them went nearer, and saw at oncefrom the state of the boards that someone hadrecently fallen through.

The moment Box heard help approaching,he began barking loudly. Thanks to his longstilts, he had, fortunately for him, been ableto reach the bottom; but he could not escapeunaided from the foul cesspool.

The man called to the others, and they hastenedto help the unfortunate bather.

An old fire-hook, attached to a bucketwhich was used to hoist manure when thepump went on strike, was let down, and Box[Pg 149]was not long getting into the “life-savingchair.”

His lacerated and bleeding back was coveredwith a generous layer of frightful-smellingmuck; nevertheless, he felt deeplyhurt when his rescuers repulsed his eager,well-meant thanks for the service they hadrendered him.

“Puh! Box ... you pig!” they shouted,kicking out at him with their wooden clogsas he rushed forward to embrace them.

And on arrival at the farm he was, withoutthe slightest warning, thrice swilled overwith pails of horrid, icy-cold water.

And, to add insult to injury, he was forbiddenadmission to the house for several daysafterwards....

After this, “Dirty-pig Box” superseded theusual call of “Good Box” ... dirty-pig Boxwho fell in the cesspit!

Grey Puss is ruler of the fields; no otheranimal than Box dare face her claws.

Once there came a fox; but Grey Puss[Pg 150]settled with him long ago. Prowling aboutone night he found the cat-family’s deliciousscent; followed it up to the burial-mound,and stuck his nose in the entrance ... spittingand wheezing noises exploded from everyhole and crevice!

When he ventured farther, a claw-speckledwild beast flew out and slashed at his headbefore he had time to bite. He had seen thespitting fury plainly—but now after the impacthe could not catch a glimpse of it, althoughhis nose and ears told him plainly thatit was still just in front of him.

Reynard shook his head and blinked hiseyes incessantly, but without effect; heremained steadily blind. The blood poureddown his face—and in the entrance beforehim stood Grey Puss, with back and bellyarched like a tightly strung bow. Her murderousclaws had mutilated her opponentterribly—both his eyes were torn out....

It would have been a life of idyllic peacefor Grey Puss if only that stupid Box hadkept away....

Her old sweetheart, the kitten’s father,[Pg 151]seldom leaves the shelter of the farm nowadays,and never ventures as far as the oldwillow stumps, let alone the burial-mound.Besides, the mother-cat no longer has reasonto fear him; he won’t try to eat his childrennow that they are so big!

She has long since banished from the fieldsthe numerous other cats from the village andthe neighbouring farms. The mere sight ofsuch a sleek, milk-fattened house-cat, whohunts and kills only for the sport of the thingrouses a furious hatred in her breast. Besides,she is just a wee bit jealous of theirsheltered, luxurious lives!

It irritates her that she is forbidden accessto the sweet milk-pails, and that she is homeless,and doomed to eternal wandering. Theshelter of the barn, the warmth of the stall,the peaceful gloom of the loft, have never losttheir attraction for her....

During the day she now leaves the kittensto take care of themselves, and spends most ofher time sleeping under a hedge or fence nearby, lulled by the rustle of the leaves and thesoft rasping of the corn-stalks. At nightfall,[Pg 152]however, she returns regularly to the mound,bringing always some dainty or other withher. Then the young ones jump and danceround her in delight, pulling and biting ather fur.

But in the depths of the night, some straywayfarer, hurrying home with lighted lanternalong the road, sometimes sees a cluster offiery balls glowing in the darkness of thehedge. Two by two they hang, as if fastenedto the wall of gloom....

It is Grey Puss out hunting at the head ofher band of kittens!

She catches hares, so big that she cannotdrag them with her, but must tear them asunderon the spot and parcel them out amongthe youngsters.

THE CROW AGAIN

The kittens are now compelled more andmore to find their own food; and in consequenceare often reduced to a very meagrediet. Maybugs, grasshoppers, and snailsfloat about inside each of them!

[Pg 153]

Occasionally, however, the old cat gathersher flock around her.

When she has made an exceptionally bigcatch, which she herself cannot eat up, shemiauws them together for a great banquet.They behave in exactly the same way as whenthey were small kittens: each of them grabsa lump, and sits down gnawing it, always onthe alert, growling, scowling, and spitting—and,if necessary, fighting.

Black, especially, has developed extensivelyin the matter of quarrelsomeness—and he isnow the terror of his brothers and sisters onaccount of his strength and brutality. Hedeprives both Grey and Red mercilessly oftheir portions; he is not even afraid of lettingBig’s back make the acquaintance of hisclaws; which results as a rule in that portion,also, dropping from its rightful owner’s jaws.

And if his claws do not suffice, his strong,pointed teeth are brought into play, and infalliblysucceed in convincing his victim thatpart of the spoil is not what he is after; hewants the lot!

[Pg 154]

Naturally, everyone protests—and as a ruleBig springs at his throat; but when it is aquestion of fighting, Black is all there. Hebites hard, and has a habit of following it upat once with a second bite, if the first doesnot take immediate effect.

As a result, he can take whatever libertieshe chooses! One never knows what he willdo next: he tackles things which no ordinarycat would dream of attempting; all his brothersand sisters, except Tiny, fight shy of him....As soon as they see him they shriek out“Fiew!” And “fiew” is the cat language for“madness.”

Every morning and evening he takes hisusual walk. Unseen and unheard, heapproaches his quarry, and before the lucklessmouse or bird dreams he is near, he isupon it with a spring. He never plays withhis victim, but disposes of it at once. Notuntil late in the morning does he return home,for he never goes to rest except on a fullstomach.

Just as Big is the scourge of all birds livingin the field, so is Black the scourge of all[Pg 155]those living in hedge or wood. He wandersfrom tree to tree, and not even the densestthicket can resist his progress. He glidesthrough the thorny, jealous heart of a hawthorncopse like a panther, insensate andinvulnerable. Tears in skin or snout pleasehim and urge him to greater efforts; it is asif his body cannot feel pain. Black as thebranch itself, he lies stretched at full length,searching out the little birds’ homes—andonce he catches a glimpse of wings settlingin hiding-place or treetop, he never rests satisfieduntil he has made closer, thoroughinvestigation.

But the old crow defies his strength andskill. It plays him all manner of tricks, anduses every imaginable opportunity to bespatterhim with the foulest language.

One day it added to these an unspeakableinsult!

It is early dawn.... All the birds are stillhalf asleep, and flutter clumsily as they fleefrom his path. Even the lark makes such adin in rising that Black gives quite a jump.

He arrives with a young rat in his mouth[Pg 156]at the entrance of the village wood, whensuddenly his old enemy the crow attacks himin his usual unexpected, disconcerting manner.

He drops the rat for a moment and makesa foolhardy dash at the bird; but it merelyspreads its wings and, floating leisurely sidewaysa short distance, settles on a bigstone....

He would just run over there and shift theugly devil!

His temper begins to get the better of himand he becomes more and more foolhardy;the rat must look after itself for a bit, whilehe gives that beast a real scare for once in itslife! He races like a mad thing after thebird, from grass tuft to mound, from stone tostone—and when the cunning old crow hastempted the inexperienced hot-head farenough away, it flaps back over his head andbags the spoil of war.

That was a surprise; nay, more, an eventunparalleled in the black cynic’s whole experience!His back rises and his hair stands on[Pg 157]end with fury; but it does not bring back theyoung rat from the air.

Nevertheless, in spite of all, he felt veryproud of himself. Big-cat could catch birdsand Grey could catch mice; but he couldcatch rats....

His short, strong jaws could inflict a terriblebite—and his teeth gradually becamehis most formidable weapon. It seemed almostas if there were weasel’s blood in him,so quickly did he fix in his teeth; and heemployed just the animal’s tactics: spring andbite—and then back out of reach again.

As soon as he found that rats had teeth, hebegan to use this method of attack regularly.

Grey Puss often sat looking doubtfully athim.... No, she was sure he was not quitecat-normal in the head!

THE KITTENS GO OUT HUNTING

Grey Puss had not been home fortwo whole days and nights.

And the unaided efforts of thekittens to secure food had not resulted in anythingmore satisfying than the usual maybugsand dragon-flies, with some extra big grasshoppers.

This morning it is such fine day weatherthat, after having waited in vain till sunrisefor their mother’s return, they resolve to setout on a hunting expedition alone. Necessityis teaching even these four-month-old babiesself-reliance!

They start all together and wind their waysuccessfully through the corn; they reach aditch, and soon after a road—faster and fasterthey go....

Big is the leader. Red follows close behind,ready to help in the event of her brother[Pg 159]being specially lucky. She seconds him carefully;stops instantly when he stops; croucheswhen he crouches. All the time her flame-colouredeyes sweep round searchingly—andshe wears her most knowing expression.Farther back comes Grey with her long hare’sears thrust forward, her whole attentiondirected far ahead. She moves forward inspasms, sinking down every other moment tothe ground to listen.

A little behind her saunters dreamy littleWhite; she glances carelessly about her at thelarks, bumble-bees, her sisters ... anything.

Last of all, far behind the rest, looms“Madness,” shadowed by Tiny—surnamed“Terror.”

“Terror” has of late risen more and morein his brother’s estimation; the cunning littleweather-prophet exercises a wonderfullysoothing influence on the ever-angry warrior.Possibly it is because the little fellow neverwith so much as a scowl or an arching of theback dares to oppose him, but when attackedinstantly rolls over abjectly in the dust.

Black likes the little coward’s companionship.[Pg 160]It is true that he preferred huntingalone—he was naturally of a solitary dispositionand could not work in a crowd; but, onthe other hand, it was always pleasant to havesomeone upon whom to vent his anger whenhis hunting was a failure.

The dawn is beginning to break!

Behind a group of long, irregular cloudswhich stretch in streaks right across theheavens, the rising sun’s reflected rays shinered and gold. But below the clouds all isdarkness, from the depths of which loom thevague outlines of the immediate foreground.

White daisies twinkle round the thicketsand wallflowers border the rye-field, whilesnakeweed and cornflowers shine forth alonghedge and path.

A little reed-warbler gives a voice to a holein the swamp and sings and trills in thinstaccato. The sight of an insect causes itsimultaneously to increase its volume of soundand to curve upwards from the ground. Fora moment it hangs with outspread wingsmotionless in the air—then sinks slowly andgracefully, singing all the time.

[Pg 161]

White watches the bird’s movements lazily;her interest is so small that her tail-tipscarcely curls.

The fly is not captured, nor was that reallythe little songster’s intention.... The insecthad merely roused its desire to leave itsgloomy hole and climb up into the fresh airand sunshine.

But now partridges begin to lend the fieldsvoices; yellow-hammers twitter in the hedges;starlings in the village wood; linnets in thedepths of the hawthorn thicket.

In a patch of weeds near one of the swampsa sucking-calf wakes from its slumber. Ithas a skin like a lion and a pair of glittering-black,leopard’s eyes; but in other respectscould not possibly be mistaken for a beast ofprey. Although they have never seen such acreature before, the kittens practically ignoreit; except for White, who feels enormouslyattracted the moment she catches a whiff ofthe sweet cow-smell.

The calf is still so feeble that it cannotstand upon its legs. Its eyes follow the smallwhite visitor languidly, as the kitten with[Pg 162]arched back and rigid tail rubs herself affectionatelyagainst its neck.

White delights in the warm animal-odourwhich streams in over her; closer and closershe presses herself against the calf, miauwingall the while coyly and ingratiatingly.

The flies assemble in multitude on the babycalf’s wrinkled, red skin; White catches ascore of them with ease, and thereby satisfiesher appetite; then, discovering a thick layerof milk scum on her host’s muzzle, she cautiouslylicks that off too. Finally she curlsherself up between the animal’s legs and goesto sleep.

The others continue hunting....

Scattered about at irregular intervals inthe form of a fan, they spread themselves outover the landscape.

On arriving at a wheat-field bordering thelittle village copse, Big and the thief-cat findfresh human “spoor” on a narrow, windingpath. Anything human repels Big—but Redfollows them up towards the farm.... Suddenlya flock of sparrows buzz out from ahedge and settle in the wheat. A thrill runs[Pg 163]through Big; his eyes gleam with the lustof the chase—and he follows noiselessly intheir wake.

Grey has long ago heard the squeak of amouse in the hedge, and found an inhabitedmouse-hole near which he sits in ambush.

THE ATTACK ON THE CROW’S NEST

Black, shadowed by “Terror,” walksstraight towards the village copse; a littlewilderness of elms and ashes, with a thickundergrowth of nettles, meadow-sweet, andbuttercups. A flower-bedecked box-thornhedge guides them from the fields into thetwisting wood-scented tunnels, where a subduedgreenish glimmer succeeds the strongwhite light of the meadow.

From a poplar over in the corner are heardgurglings and flutterings; the young crows,already big and able to fly, are receivingtheir first beakful of breakfast.

Black and Tiny sit down and listen eagerly....Suddenly an old she-hare, homewardbound, comes running along the path towardsthem. At the sight of the giant animal[Pg 164]“Terror” rushes off into hiding, but Blackputs on his war-paint and stands his ground:he raises his back and shows his teeth, hoistshis tail and erects a stiff bulwark of “brushes”all over him.

The hare stamps his forefoot on the ground;then vanishes like the wind.

Before Black has quite recovered from thisshock he gets another: his enemy the old crowhas spotted him, and hangs poised in the treetop.

A horrid red-green haze overspreads“Madness’” eyes; he shakes and quivers allover his body each time the bird utters itsloud, grating cry.

He hates that crow! His skill in climbing;his courage in attack; his swiftness ofspring; are useless against it. Noisy andbragging, conscious of its enemy’s powerlessness,it balances high up in the air, shoutingto the whole world that he, the cat, is about,that he is on the warpath!

Black’s whiskers quiver; he growls withsuppressed savagery and passion.... Howhe would like to catch that crow; torture it,eat it—eat it very slowly!...

[Pg 165]

Now he slips into hiding in a burdockclump and waits patiently for the squallingdevil’s curiosity to subside.

A blackbird whistles from a willow and amagpie warbles from the copse; he followscarefully by means of sounds what is happening... and when all is quiet again, hesneaks on once more—with his faithfulfollower at his tail-end.

A strong, earthy smell mingled with thescent of flowers fills the tunnels. The twocats have constant difficulty in breathing, andagain make towards the outskirts of the copse.

“Madness” is already making for theboundary-hedge when he suddenly sees ayoung crow, with something heavy in its beak,flap into the top of an elder tree. His glancegrows as black as a thunder-cloud—and withouta second’s hesitation he leaps back fromthe hawthorn and gallops to the tree.

“Terror” patters in his wake ... until hereaches the root of the elder, where he sits upon his hind legs and watches the ascent.

Black climbs rapidly with short, agilesprings. When he is half-way up the youngcrow flies away to another treetop....

[Pg 166]

Black tries to follow by means of the lateralbranches, but finding none of these strongenough to bear, he is compelled to descend tothe bottom and begin all over again at thenext tree.

The pursuit is carried on noiselessly. Thebird has no suspicion that it is being pursued;otherwise its wild war-cry would begin instantly.

The elders are half grown and ratherdifficult to climb. Nevertheless, the cat’szeal is unabated; although he has soon canteredup and down three of them—but then,trees are for him nothing more formidablethan extra steep hills.

In the fourth elder he gives up, and hangspanting, with claws anchored in the stem—whilebrother Tiny waits below, wildlyexcited as to the result of the expedition.

Very often whilst waiting in this same manner“Terror” has received his—in his opinion—well-earnedreward in the shape of adropped egg; or a wretched fledgling bird,which, horrified by the sight of the two evil,greedy eyes rising over the side of the nest,[Pg 167]has flapped vainly into space on its half-formedwings, leaving Black to devour itshelpless brothers and sisters. All such windfallsTiny takes as thank-offerings from hisbig brother and promptly puts them out ofsight....

Was dear old “Madness” about to makeanother haul? The poltroon knows well thatin any case there is nothing to do but sit andwait!

Whilst doing so, he dares not for his lifemake a sound—not the least hint of a“miauw!” Once, long ago, he did so—thenext moment “Madness” left his ambush andfell on him tooth and nail. Tiny supposed atfirst that he was being attacked in mistake forthe quarry. Would he be eaten? But no,he should only keep his mouth shut!

After a long “breather,” the climber unclampshimself and resumes his progressthrough the treetops. He comes soon to aplace where the trees stand extra close together,so that Tiny constantly receives twigsand bits of bark in his face. Under this treatmentthe little rogue’s keenness gradually[Pg 168]diminishes—nothing good to eat comes down!

By chance Black stumbles on the tree wherethe crow’s nest is situated. Walking along across branch he lowers himself into it. It isbeautifully soft and comfortable—but, alas!long since empty. A good idea strikes him... the sunshine is so gloriously warm uphere ... why not take his midday nap in thenest!

He lies down and, shutting his eyes, fallsinto a half-doze, without taking the slightestregard for Tiny, who sits patiently waitingbelow. Comfortably rolled up on his side, hisnose thrust between his thighs, he is wafteddreamily through space.

The sun goes gratefully down, saturating hiscoat with warmth and filling his mind andbody with content. The rushing of the windand the sighing of the long curved branchesadd to the sensuous enjoyment of his slumber....

He has always loved thus to swing andsway. At home at the burial-mound hisfavourite position is right at the very topof the little, wind-blown poplar. On the[Pg 169]occasions when he has quarrelled with all therest he likes to creep up there, and sit like amarten, with his paws drawn well in underhim. For hours at a time he sits there withwrinkled scruff and half-shut eyes, enjoyingthe view out over the undulating land. Atlong intervals he lowers his head and peepssolemnly down, like an owl waking fromsleep.

“Terror” finds the wait endless!

And the only explanation he can think offor his brother’s lengthy residence above isthat he has found something exceptionallygood. “Terror’s” large, wondering eyes sparklewith anticipation and excitement ... atthe worst he is sure to get a few bones orfeathers!

He keeps scratching his claws impatientlyon the tree-trunk; attempts also to clamber up,but soon gives it up as hopeless.

Suddenly his spine tingles with fear; hehears the old crow’s hateful, angry shout—hescurries away and hides in the cornfield.

Black, also, jumps up hurriedly. He leapsout of the nest and clings to the trunk beneath,[Pg 170]while with flattened ears he peers scowlinglyinto the air....

Yes, there is the beast, hanging above himwith its black wings outstretched. It opensits beak and shrieks mockingly down at him.It’s black, glittering eyes follow him viciously,totally unabashed by his own raging, murderousglare.

“Madness” reaches a difficult fork in thetree and hesitates....

The crow instantly seizes the opportunity!

Conscious of its superiority in the air, ithurtles down upon him. The cunning birdhas long ago noticed that Black is an earthboundanimal—and now he has been so foolhardyas to leave the ground and venture upinto his opponent’s hunting-ground—yes, intoits very nest—he should soon be made to regrethis insolence!

The old crow is also strongly influenced bythe prospect of an easy victory and a goodfeast afterwards. With all its might it fastensits claws in the black cat’s shoulder.

The shock shakes Black from the fork, buthe does not lose his balance; he just slides[Pg 171]down backwards until he reaches an out-juttingbranch. Clinging to this with his forepaws,he uses his back legs to such good effect,that the crow is forced to let go his hold.

The kitten feels no fear; on the contrary, heis filled with hate. The fury of madnessflames in his eyes, and a white scum begins tofroth round his mouth.

The crow sits just before him on the branch,making vicious pecks at his nose and eyes inthe hope of overbalancing him. SuddenlyBlack gathers his back legs beneath him and,in the same moment that his enemy makes afresh dart at him, launches himself forward.

The old crow is swept helplessly backwardsby the reckless fury of the assault. The nextmoment they are both whirling through theair towards the ground.

Black, however, knows nothing of this. Heis utterly engrossed in the large, warm pieceof meat, into which he now plunges his hindclaws also, biting and tearing all the while atthe bird’s neck-feathers with his short, pointedteeth.

They crash to the earth ... but continue[Pg 172]fighting with unabated fury, wrestling androlling over and over, feathers and fur-tuftsflying in all directions.

The crow caws hoarsely, and struggles tobreak away from the kitten, whose fightingprowess it has so disastrously underestimated.

With widespread tail-feathers and franticallyflapping wings it tries in vain to regainits feet, and shake off its maddened littleopponent. It bites and pecks unceasingly atBlack’s fur, aiming cunningly at the softplaces; for it knows by instinct the cat’s mostvulnerable points—eyes and nose.

But Black does not budge until the lastbreath is squeezed from the crow’s lifelessbody.

“Madness,” having killed his foe, straight-waysits down and begins gnawing its head.At the sound of the crunching several of theother kittens, who have watched terror-strickenthe great black clump flutter throughthe air, understand at last the nature of thesituation.

Big rushes to the spot with giant leaps;[Pg 173]Grey sneaks cautiously after and springs uponthe spoil, as if she herself had made the coup.“Terror” swaggers from his hiding-place andfixes his teeth in a wing, the toughness ofwhich almost shakes his conviction that he isthe very devil of a fellow!

THE CANARY

Round the outskirts of the farm thewallflowers crowd in full bloom,flaming and glowing in the nearlyrisen sun.

A little fox-coloured cat curls in and outamong the flowers, sniffing the yellow goose-grassand the purple thyme. With its owninimitable deftness it avoids the dew.

It follows a human “spoor,” the pursuit ofwhich its big brother has long since abandonedon account of its acid smell.

Red reaches a garden; she enters—and nowshe scents spoor after spoor, all of which leadalong the hedge towards a heap of branches,where they stand still for a long time.

She makes, as usual, a thorough investigation,sniffing each single stone and leaf; butthis time she is unlucky, and fails to remark alittle grey-brown partridge, which now, for[Pg 175]the third year in succession, hatches its eggsunder the branches on the opposite side of thehedge.

Here, in the leafy soil, the bird has formedits nest. The maid had found it one day whenhoeing the weeds from the path, and now shegoes there every day to look after her bird.

The ceaseless, soothing rustle of the poplar-leavesand the hollow, satisfied purring of therye filter through the hedge and distract thescavenger’s attention. Then she surprises adragon-fly with the morning dew still on itswings....

Suddenly a burst of chirping and whistlingstreams out from an open window: a bright yellowcanary hops joyfully in its wire-boundcage.

Not a single “human” to be seen or heard!Red leaves the dragon-fly to work out its ownsalvation and wriggles like a worm towardsthe unsuspecting bird.

But how can she capture it?

Ah, that is her specialty! Out in the wildsshe fails time after time; she is not quickenough, not bold enough, not sure enough![Pg 176]She does not understand how to work; but sheis a genius at thieving!

The fear of detection stimulates her specialpowers and characteristics to an incredible degree.During these brief periods she becomesfar more cunning and far more ferocious thanany of the other kittens.

If only the bird could fly up and away—shewould be foiled at once! Or if it could onlykeep calm and remain sitting in the middle ofits perch in its safe, wire-bound cage—all herefforts would be useless.

But the terrified canary begins to flutterabout wildly—and Red’s tactics make her stillmore confused.

The cat keeps jumping from one side to theother; and then up on the top of the cage anddown again....

The more maddened and confused the poorbird becomes, the calmer and more composedis the cat. With cold-blooded precision shewaits until her victim comes within reach,then thrusts her strong paw against the cage.The thin wires separate, and through theaperture her scythe-like claws impale the[Pg 177]canary and haul it towards her. One mouthfuland it is gone!

Now for flight....

Like a streak of sunlight she glides alongthe window-sill and leaps to the ground—whilesparrows from the gutter fight for theyellow feather, which the warm summerbreeze loosens from her whiskers and bearsaloft.

Once in the garden she gets up speed,scurries along the hedge, through into thecornfield, and so along the hedge again.

But why run? No shout or bark breaksthe silence ... it does not look as if mankind’sfour-legged police have seen her thistime!

BOX AND THE RED COMMUNIST

Red became more and more reckless—andthe wretched Box, who often saw her from hiskennel, suffered the agonies of Tantalus!

His defeat in the manure-well had not reformedthe cat-nihilist. He was still in themood for war, and bent upon taking a bloodyrevenge.

[Pg 178]

For two whole weeks he has been chainedup—but now the farmer’s wife herself resolvedto take him in hand. His constantassaults on all cats, and especially his occasionaloutbreaks on her own, have for a longtime given her great annoyance.

Every day he spends several hours sitting ina basket of hay in the kitchen together withfive little newly-born kittens, which crawlsqueaking round his legs and body. By thistreatment they hope to make him accustomedto cats!

He is watched very closely; the slightestsuspicious movement on his part brings acrack on the head from ladle or poker. Thelittle ones also treat him with the utmost disrespect:they hiss at him and spit right in hisface!

When the “lesson” is over for the day andhe is shut out of the kitchen, his sensitive mindis in such a turmoil that he scarcely knowswhat he is doing. The most weird thingshappen: he sees cats everywhere—the sun itselfturns into a huge, shining cat-face—andwith hair on end and tail between his legs hemakes a frantic charge towards it....

[Pg 179]

One day just after his lesson Box meets alittle red cat-devil out in the garden with aneel-skin in its mouth.

Black cats and grey cats were bad enough—butred cats turned him into a raving maniac!

He chases after the thief, who makes for therye-field. The cheeky little red-skin does nottrouble to abandon her “catch,” and even hasthe sangfroid to stop in her flight to dig itdown!

The delay was almost fatal—and had shenot been lucky enough, when crossing a stripof fallow ground on her way to the cornfield,to run across Grey Puss, who was stalkingyoung peewits, there is little doubt as to howthings would have ended.

The old she-cat, realizing the state of affairs,unhesitatingly takes her kitten’s place.She runs right across Box’s nose and inveigleshim after her into the cornfield. To do battlein the open is not her intention at all; sheknows far subtler tactics!

Once among the corn, she quickly contrivesto lose sight of the dog; and then lies down inambush, waiting an opportunity to attack inthe rear.

[Pg 180]

Box is not smart enough to suspect her design.Feeling, as always, that he is the undisputedlord of the fields, he rushes aboutbarking angrily and aggressively. Mattersare taking their usual course, he thinks!

That devil of a cat has of course hiddenherself somewhere, and imagines his nose cannotfind her—as if a cat were not the simplestof all creatures to track down.... Why,every straw touched by a cat simply stank!

Box is easy to deceive, and runs right intothe trap set for him by the little field tiger.

He has not the slightest idea how it happened—butthis he knows: that the clawedshe-devil is sitting on his back again, and isalready tearing his skin to shreds.

His howls are so loud, and Grey Puss’growls so deep and threatening, that they areheard at the burial-mound. The kittens startup from their day-doze and, fully understandingwhat is taking place, begin to strut aboutwith stiff legs and erect tails, uttering littlehalf-growls at intervals. “Madness” goes onebetter: he makes off through the corn towardsthe scene of action....

He is a real little cat-sportsman!

[Pg 181]

THE SMOKE-DOG

The nihilist was really beginning to reform.What the farmer’s wife failed to achieve withher dog lessons, Grey Puss succeeded in doingwith her needle-like claws.

But Box had his allies!

One Sunday afternoon, when the farmhands felt the time hang heavily, one of themsuggested a visit to the burial-mound. Boxwas always running out there and barking atsomething—probably there was a fox in thehole.

To be prepared for emergencies, one of themen snatched up an armful of hay, and offthey went, the dog dancing excitedly in front.Box, who understood at once what was on foot,felt fearfully important—and the moment themound came in sight he set up a mighty war-cry;and by so doing gave the kittens plentyof warning.

For a long time the inhabitants of themound lay listening to the loud barking; thenthey heard the dull tramp of “humans,” anda little later the crackling of hay—and now ahuge, foul-smelling creature entered the tunnel.

[Pg 182]

Slowly and silently it crept forward; dirtyand grey, it swayed and swelled; soon it completelyfilled the passage.

Grey Puss growled threateningly andcrouched low on the ground, her face towardsthe oncoming monster. Big-kitten lay at herside, ready to lend instant assistance; while“Madness” hissed and bared his teeth, preparedto fight to the death.

He had fought with moles, with rats, andeven with a crow—but never with an opponentwhich stared so keenly back as this one.Although he could not see its eyes in thegloom, the smoke-dog’s glare made his ownsmart until they watered, so that he had tokeep wiping them dry with his forepaw.

Now the mysterious beast was upon them!“Madness” saw his mother spring to her feet—andhe rushed valiantly towards the enemy,his mouth opened wide to seize it by thethroat. Instead, he himself was seized by thethroat! He had to open his mouth stillwider; he felt as if his tongue were being tornout; he coughed and spluttered; a suffocatingfeeling racked his nose; he could not draw[Pg 183]breath; his nostrils pricked and smarted as ifclutched by the monster’s invisible claws.Snorting and sneezing, he turned and fled forhis life.

He has managed to escape; luckily the monstercould not hold him! Also, it does notdrive him to frenzy, like that confounded oldcrow, by jabbing at his tender whiskers all thetime. It is more merciful, and allows him toretreat in peace.

He regains his breath and is almost himselfa*gain. He rubs his head well with both forepawsand prepares for another attack. Thistime he is determined not to run away—and heshakes his head up and down to see where heis.

Fortunately for little “Madness” as well asfor “Terror,” who together with Grey andWhite lay crouched in a corner of the tomb,their eyes flashing green with fright ... fortunatelyindeed for the whole happy family,the “smoke-dog” abruptly ceased barking itsstinking breath down towards them.

The bundle of hay brought by the labourerswas consumed. They could have procured[Pg 184]more easily enough—for there was plenty ofcorn round the hill, and it lay in sheaves—butthey had found out by now that smoke wasthere in abundance—what was lacking was adraught to carry the smoke down into the hole.

And besides, what if they did manage tosuffocate the beast—they would never be ableto get it out and skin it; so that there would beno pelt to make an odd shilling or two out of!What was the use of it all?

Well, after all, they had killed time for acouple of hours ... and they threw themselveson their backs and began to play withBox, stroking his back and ears. Yes, he wasa fine dog! “Here, Box, Box!”—and theysmacked their trouser-legs—“seize cat, seizecat!”

That day was the last the kittens spent in theold viking-grave!

Just as once before in their lives Grey Pusshad rescued them from the willow stump, sodid she rescue them now from the burial-mound.

This time it was so simple! They knew all[Pg 185]about it in advance—and she had only to placeherself at their head and lead on....

They left the Hill Farm’s fertile fields, andcrossed right over to the other side of the village.There, near a disused peat-pit, theyfound a dilapidated turf-house, in the desertedloft of which they made their home.

THE BEST CAT

Big-cat knew the neighbourhood thoroughlyfor a distance of at least twomiles in every direction.

Along fence and ditch, which were hishunting-paths, he crept in search of hisprey....

Then he disappeared in a cornfield, andcommenced his laborious stalking operations,the thick forest of corn-stalks making constantdemands on his skill.

The green, brown-jointed stems stoodquivering and swaying in the wind; theirwithered, rust-spotted leaf-tips scratched hisnose and poked him in the eyes, while inflictingconstant torture to his soft, sensitivemoustache. But once in the field he was unmindfulof such trifles, and with noiselesssteps he stole along utterly absorbed, like the[Pg 187]true sportsman he was, in the breathless exaltationof the chase.

He was alone with Nature ... and in hisears sounded her unique harmonies: theswishing of the wind through the poplar-top—thatfull, rich music with its sharp undertonewhich could only be fully appreciatedby senses as finely attuned as his—and thethin, eternal seething of the barley or the rattlingof the oats, were to him the earth’s songof love; he was its best cat, its greatest andhappiest hunter!

He felt in touch with Nature; inspired byher music to great deeds.... Tiny red ladybirdswith black-spotted body-shields wanderedup and down the corn; and when hestopped to think, or to peer ahead throughthe waving green multitude of straws, hecould see the little red fox-tongue of thepoppy and the rough-haired cornflower’s deepblue snake’s-eyes. At intervals the whitemarguerite flashed like a lark’s breast momentarilyinto view, fixing his gaze for onefleeting moment with hypnotic attraction.

The depths of the corn vibrated with mystery....[Pg 188]Sounds which lived and died beforehe could guess their maker, throngedhis ears on every side! Uncanny things happenedout here in the jungle of the summercorn—he felt sure of it!

A sudden rustling followed by a crashingretreat sounds in front of him; it is the cornshrieking under the foot of a fleeting hare!Presently a loud turmoil in the air breaks forthe moment Nature’s harmonious melody: hestarts up, and the nervous twitching of hiswhiskers betrays his overwrought condition;soon he hears the warning call of an approachingpartridge—and now he recognizes thenoise, and sits down again while his sensitivenerve-strings gradually resume their normalvibration.

Finally, when a long-legged frog, panic-strickenat his approach, leaps with its coldbody right into his face, he has, fortunately,recovered from his previous shock, and continuescalmly on his way.

A large flock of tame pigeons from thefarm sweep past just overhead, bringing aglow to his eyes. Soon afterwards he hears[Pg 189]the flap of their wings as they land among thepeas. In the flock are white, red, and bluepigeons....

His body sinks to the ground. Now isthe chance to prove that he is a born master-hunter.He feels his pulse hammer and hisheart thump!

After a quarter of an hour’s stalking hepokes his head out of a heap of cut-downpeas. He is panting for breath with a half-openmouth, and his eyes shine with a greenishlight. His muscles are tense to the uttermost—thegreat thing now is not to surrenderto his exhaustion and so spoil everything hehas already done....

The pigeons rise and float round in a circle—ahabit they have—and the next moment adazzling white turbit flaps within reach.

No need for him to spring; he just lashesout and hooks three of his curved claws intoits breast! The claws go in easily enough;but they will not come out again so willingly!In fact, the more frantically the victim strugglesto get loose, the more firmly his nailsseem to hold; they literally stick to everything[Pg 190]they touch. Now his jaws flash forwardwith their strong muscles—and the pigeongives up the ghost at the first bite!

With the spoil in his mouth Big-cat retireshurriedly into a recess between two burdockplants; here he devours his catch.

“MADNESS” AND THE OWL

In the evening it is brother Black’s turn!

Reckless as “Madness” was in the daytime,it was nothing to what he became when darknessfell. The moment the sun had set, hisclaws itched to be out on the warpath....

At first he captured maybugs and grasshoppers;but when the darkness began togather he prepared for serious work. Fromthe top of the turf-house roof or from thebrow of some hill he peered out over the landscape,listening: were there “humans” or dogsabout?

Worming and creeping between molehillsand grass-stems he made his way, stopping atfrequent intervals to look round or listen.Where did the lark go to bed? Where didthe partridges assemble? He was not in the[Pg 191]least afraid of weasels and stoats; he let flyat them with his claws, spitting and hissing....

One night when the sky is lowering andthe clouds are scudding he goes out as usual.He moves along on his soft, noiseless pawslike a part of the silent darkness itself. Theowl over in the village copse hoots hideously,making other creatures rush into hiding; butBlack does not hide; the sound makes hisblood rage!

He steals into the copse, choosing the leaflessplaces near the boundary hedge and alongthe paths. “Ow!” Now he will be quitelame and crippled; for he is compelled toremain motionless and silent at the very momenthe steps on a sharp-pointed stone.

The next second he is crouching flat on theground, his ears directed ahead.... Somethingis moving in front of him!

Oh, it is only the little baby hare whichhe has seen several times already! It gambolsround him—until the owl dives out ofthe darkness and blots out the hare with itsblack wings. Then it utters that diabolical[Pg 192]shriek again. Black goes mad; it calls tohim, he feels; it pulls him ... and he hurlshimself forward—to be reduced to sheer spittingand spluttering at the sight that confrontshim.

A cat like himself, but with feathers andwings, rolls a beaked head forward out of thebundle before him! It hoots mournfully, likethe wind sighing among the giant stones—andtears his nose with its claws....

Black, also, blows himself out and glaresfiercely at the enemy, while his tail whipsrestlessly to and fro. He is suddenly a cat ofnine tails standing there! What is more, hisbody does not stand on all fours; only thetwo hind legs and the left forepaw bear itsweight—his right forepaw is, as usual, slightlyraised ready for his lightning spring!

Then his face twists sideways, and heintones the war-chant which he has inheritedfrom his father: “Auw-auw-auw—o-o-o—ttt!”

Can he capture spoil by hanging back andhesitating? Can he gain meat by beingafraid and running away?...

[Pg 193]

His thoughts drive him to frenzy!

He flies at the owl, and transfixes one ofits ears. He attacks again—and the flyingcat decides that things are getting too warm.It swings itself up to a branch and begins alsoto wail its war-cry:

“Auw-auw-auw....”

“Oo-oo-hoo-oo....”

“Tt-ttt....”

During the pauses Black devours the bestparts of the hare.

THE HANGER-ON

Black is a fighter: brave, daring, sometimesfoolhardy; but “Terror” is, and alwayswill be, a hanger-on.

When all danger is past, and the owl hasflown away, he sneaks forward and receiveshis usual share of the booty. He assists theangry warrior in every possible manner: lickshis wounds, rubs him dry, and offers him hisstomach as a nose-warmer.

Unfortunately for the little fellow, he doesnot understand in the least how to profit bythe talents bestowed on him by Mother[Pg 194]Nature; neither as humorist nor as weather-prophetcan he earn his daily bread.

All the more desperately, therefore, heclings to his brother; seeking, by means ofconstant vigilance and servility, to make himselfindispensable to the fighter.

A few days later they are both lying asleepunder a hedge, when “Terror” hears a twitteringand sits up. Raising his head, he peepscautiously out over the grass, and sees a blackbirdcatching worms on the turf.

Just then another blackbird joins the first,forcing Tiny to duck down hurriedly.

While still in his hiding-place, he turnshis head slowly to one side, pushing his earsat the same time, if possible, still farther forward.The slightest movement, he knows, isdangerous if done openly....

Now he is ready to let his yellow orbs, liketwin searchlights, sweep in a new direction;again he sticks up his head.

“Hurrah!” He almost jumps with joy atthe sight that meets his eyes. The freshlyharvested pea-field before him is literallycarpeted with small hedge-sparrows! Oh,[Pg 195]how his heart beats! He can feel its tickingin every toe-tip ... small hedge-sparrows,the best of all! Um-m-m!

His sinews twist and stretch in sympathywith his mental exaltation, and his coat bulgeswith his expanding muscles.... Blackbirdson one hand, sparrows on the other—and nowa little dike-chat just overhead! He can’tresist craning his neck to watch the littledear.... How his stalking qualities arebeing tested to-day!

But it is too big a job for “Terror”; hemust wake Black—and he touches the slumberinggod gingerly with his paw.

“Madness” laboriously raises one sleep-ladeneyelid; and at first is inclined to thrashthe other for his supposed clumsiness. Butupon catching sight of his assistant’s strainedexpression he understands that somethinggood to eat must be in the neighbourhood.

He jumps up and looks round.

Then, to Tiny’s almost tearful amazementand disappointment, the great man, insteadof holding a council of war, curls up againand goes to sleep.

[Pg 196]

Black is an old hand; he knows that birdsare best stalked after dark!

GREY ON THE WARPATH

Over hill and dale as far as the eye canreach stretch line after line of stacked-upcorn-sheaves. The golden oats and the light-yellowbarley and wheat, have fallen asleepat last—heavy and listless under the clear,blue harvest sky. The spring’s soft call togrowth and love, the summer’s vibrant noteof lust and passion, have worked their willand ripened every ear. Out here in thefields, in Nature’s sun-baked forcing-house,are none—none who have not found anddrunk to its dregs the strong, sweet wine offruitful life. They have sprung into being,grown up, fructified—now they bring forththeir seed and yield themselves to fate....

One sunny afternoon, while the spidersspin their webs and the pimpernels blinktheir little red flowers, Grey sets out huntingthrough the rye stubble.

Suddenly she hears the squeak of a mouse[Pg 197]from a heap of rakings—and becomes instantlystiff and rigid, her ears forward andtail bent.

The mice are indeed holding a feast in therakings; the company is joyous and boisterousat the sight of such a good spread.

With shining eyes Grey cautiously lifts herforepaw and moves it slowly, very slowly,forward; silently she puts it down on theground—and now she brings her back legforward too, raising it high in the air to avoidthe stubble. But just as she is about to putit down, the mice become suddenly silent—andshe has to remain for a long time in heruncomfortable position.

At last the happy squeaking begins again—andGrey completes her step and commencesa fresh one.

It takes her a whole quarter of an hour tomove two yards; but to her it seems no longerthan a minute.

When stalking, she falls into the most extraordinaryattitudes: she crooks her back,stretches forward her neck, and curls like the[Pg 198]bed of a stream round stray stones and looseears of corn; but at last she is so close that themouse-feast is directly under her nose.

Noiselessly she leaps forward ... plungesinto the heap of straw; makes one swift, fatalstroke with her forepaw—and pulls out asmall, earth-coloured mouse, which she putsstraight into her mouth.

As she walked away she felt and lookedvery proud of her victory. True, she wouldhave liked to torture her victim; but she hadbeen too ravenous to wait!

It was soon an everyday event for Grey tocapture a mouse! She, the little, short-legged,big-eared kitten, who was herselfrather like a big rat, had become indeed theterror of the small nibblers.

But she had another string to her bow!

For hours she would lie in wait by the sideof the big bog-pool, and fish the gleamingshell-fish out of the water with lightningstrokes of her paw. Regularly in the earlymorning she would creep down to the pond,and sit on the extreme edge, without payingthe least attention to the splashing of the[Pg 199]small waves. On one occasion she evenplunged head first into the water—and cameup again with a large, wriggling carp in hermouth.

She was not only a mouse-cat, but a fish-cattoo!

THE THIEF-CAT

While the others sneaked round in copseand cornfield, following their crooked, windinghunting-paths, Red-kitten usually madea bee-line to the nearest house or farm.Sometimes, at rare intervals, she venturedinto the village itself. She liked best toapproach by means of the high road and thepath through the churchyard ... but it hadto be very late at night, when it was quitedark!

In broad daylight she preferred keepingunder cover as much as possible, and followingcattle-paths, wheel-tracks, and ditches.The nearer she approached to the village, theshorter and slower became her steps—untilat last she sat down to consider matters andspy out the land.

[Pg 200]

She was cautious almost to absurdity; butcaution as well as courage were necessary ifshe were to succeed. She knew that thevillage bristled with obstacles: dogs by thedozen to chase her, and other cats who wouldbar her progress from sheer evil nature andjealousy. But life is full of such worries!

She had developed a taste for “kitchen-game”:roast herring and lumps of eel, boiledmeat and delicious-smelling ham! She foundthat kind of thing much easier to capturethan mice or birds. She regarded cream,especially, as a great delicacy—and her red-stripedcoat could therefore often be seenwhere this brand of “kitchen-game” lay inhiding.

The bailiff kept a sharp lookout for her.Once he kept watch the whole day frommorning till evening outside his back door,where an old, dilapidated meat-safe of hishad recently been plundered. In it lay afreshly roasted pork chop, the smell of whichhe hoped would attract the thief.

About noon, however, the bailiff becamehungry and went indoors to refresh himself[Pg 201]after his morning’s tedious exertions—andwhen he came out again half an hour later toresume his watch, he was just in time to seethe “red devil” vanish through the gardenwith the pork chop in her jaws.

Red had scented the “kitchen-bird” in itscage on the wall and had broken her way in;well for her that she had heard the footstepsin time....

Whenever she found anything that suitedher fancy she took it at once. To do otherwise,it seemed to her, would be stupidity—andof stupidity no one had yet accused thethief-cat!

WHITE-KITTEN AND THE CALF

In the neighbourhood of the pool also,where the red baby calf was tethered, autumnbegan to wave its withered hand. The greatburdock plants were dying of consumption;their huge flat leaves were faded and contracted.When White brushed against themin passing, they crackled irritably.

White-kitten came down almost daily tothe pool; the little red ruminant and she became[Pg 202]quite friendly after a while. Theyrubbed noses together and galloped away atfull speed, the calf in front with its stiff,clumsy hops, and White just behind.

One day, as the calf rose to its feet, thekitten seized hold of the tuft at the end of itstail and let herself be dragged some distancealong the ground.

After that, “joy-rides” at the end of thecalf’s tail became one of her greatest delights.

She knew exactly when the calf’s owner—thesmall farmer from the cottage by the sideof the bog—came out with the milk-pail; butshe had not yet summoned up courage to greethim. But as soon as the man went awayagain she sneaked forward to lick up anystray milk scum.

She felt enormously attracted by the man—andlong after he had left she wanderedabout feeling a strange longing to make hisacquaintance.

One day she found an old brown switch,which had been thrown on the field one winterwith the manure, and had now taken rootin the earth with its weather-beaten remaining[Pg 203]twigs sticking up in the air. White-kittenran and rubbed herself against thisbroom every time the man had been withthe calf!

In spite of the wild environment in whichshe had grown up, White was quite tame.Her dreams always centred round whatseemed to her the greatest luxuries in life:dry shelter and delicious heat. Althoughshe had never been inside a house, she wasconstantly obsessed with the idea of a warmstove with glowing sides, before which shelay curled up roasting herself.

One morning, when the crofter was bringingmilk to the calf, she could hold back nolonger. She left the shelter of the dock-leavesand hopped quickly past him—butstopped for a moment before bolting intocover again.

The man called to her as she went; andthen, softening his voice and drawing out thesound alluringly, he repeated, “Pu-s-s! Pu-s-s!”

It was the first time the kitten had everheard these human sounds—and the new,[Pg 204]delightful music charmed her. She felt hertrust in mankind growing....

And the next time the man called she wentnearer still.

THE KITTENS HUNT BY NIGHT

The September moon rises red-goldand majestic from the mists of thehorizon, and lights up the harvestedfields where the five big kittens are stalkingtheir prey. They no longer hunt in a body,but are spread out all over the field, workingindependently....

A soft, many-hued light bathes the undulatinghills; only the hollows and valleys aregloomy and colourless. Voices from the surroundinghomesteads echo through the motionlessair, mingling with the mooing ofcalves and the bleating of lambs. The gunsof the duck-shooters drone faintly from themarsh. But here among the barley stubblewhere the partridge coveys settle, all is stilland silent....

Along one of the many paths left by thebroad wheel of the reaping-machine Grey-kitten[Pg 206]glides, her whole soul absorbed in therustling of invisible mice....

Big is out after partridge; he hugs theedge of the ditch, stopping frequently to peerover the tall golden-rod and the knap-weed’sempty pods. He sees the coveys of partridgerunning to and fro among the rakings; theyoung males are quarrelling, while the oldco*ck looks on and crows. His aim now is tofind out where they mean to “pack” for thenight.

Black hangs about near a drain-pipe inwhich lives a fox-cub, with whom he hopesto pick a quarrel! In the wood a few daysago the cub had bagged a sparrow from rightunder his nose—an event which upset thekitten so terribly that he has quite lost hisappetite!

A little way off a flock of terrified sheepstand gaping at him; they have heard hisweird hissing and spitting....

But on the top of the hill Tiny sits on astray sheaf and makes a grab with his pawsat every maybug that hums its way past. Heis waiting patiently for Black and Big to[Pg 207]make a haul—when he hopes to get somethingmore satisfying to eat.

The moon, which immediately after risinghad dived into some black clouds, now thrustsits yellow-green face from its sombre garmentsand stares fixedly at White-kitten, whohas just finished a cheese-rind left behindfrom the harvesters’ lunch.

White then discovers a tuft of grass, onwhich an old woman has recently been sitting—andbegins rolling over and rubbing herback on the place.

Red is nowhere to be seen—probably outon one of her usual thieving raids in thevillage.

The full moon again veils herself; andthen, peeping out for a moment, silhouettesthe form of an old cat on the turf-house roof.The cat scrambles down the thatch and leapsto the ground—then sneaks off in the directionaway from the kittens.

The kittens are now seldom seen together:each spends the day according to his bent,flitting along ditch and hedge, or nosingaround farm and outhouse. They all find[Pg 208]their own food, using the means best suited totheir different natures and capabilities.

THE DEATH OF BOX

Grey Puss becomes lazier and lazier, andno longer takes the slightest interest in heroffsprings’ food difficulties. Whereas formerlyshe used often to go hungry herself inorder to feed her kittens, she now almost invariablydevours her catch herself. Yes, ithas even happened that, upon surprising oneof the children with an extra tempting mouse,she has taken rather than given! She behavesall at once as if she were not theirmother at all.

Through the regiment of withered thistle-topslining the path by the marsh she patterspeacefully along to the broad high road,where her grey coat soon disappears in thetwilight.

From the opposite direction Box comeswalking dejectedly. He is now no longerthe terror of the cat neighbourhood; and besides,at the moment there burns inside him[Pg 209]the strong but unsated fire of love. After athree days’ fruitless vigil outside the vicaragegates of a distant village he is now returninghome.

Without thought of evil he slinks leisurelyalong the main road towards home, and hasjust reached the bridge over the stream whenhe finds himself suddenly face to face withthe “claw-beast,” who emerges from theshadow at the side of the bridge with the intentionof crossing the road. Box, from forceof habit, gives the alarm, and chargescourageously forward—the cat straightens herlegs and becomes all at once big and glistening,at the same time exploding with spitsand hisses....

When too late Box recognizes the ferociouscreature!

He has lately succeeded in convincing himselfthat he no longer cares for gadding aboutthe fields after cats and other “vermin.”And now, suddenly remembering his dearlybought experience in connection with thisfield-tiger’s claws, he makes his good resolutionan excuse for shunning the she-devil.[Pg 210]The stream is handy—and he is not afraid ofwater.

True, his canine self-respect protests, butonly for a moment; a glimpse of the curvedyellow-green claws, whose capacity for inflictingpain he knows so well, gives him a suddensinking feeling—and the next moment he hasplunged into the water.

But he is mistaken in thinking that GreyPuss will not follow him!

The brave little mother-cat, overwroughtas she is with the strain and anxiety of thesummer, is transformed into a fury at thesound of her old tormentor’s ill-natured bark;she springs after him, just as in his time hehas sprung after her—and seeing him like alittle floating island beneath her, she is seizedwith the devilish inspiration to land on thatisland.

With a beautifully judged spring she landswith all four claw-bunches smack on the dog’sforehead; and he disappears in a long, suddendive which stifles his howls of misery.

Now follows an extraordinary life-and-deathstruggle!

[Pg 211]

Box is quite mad with terror....

Every time he shows himself above waterthe cat climbs up on his back from behindand scratches and bites him so mercilesslythat he has no choice but to dive again.

He treads water, bristles up, and arches hisback; while Grey Puss spits, gurgles, andsplutters. He makes an attempt to bite;but a claw plunges into his snout and stopsthere....

He puts up a forepaw to free his snout; buta lightning bite paralyses the paw....

He is breathing water now instead of air.... He is slowly losing consciousness—butthe claw still hangs fast....

He flounders no longer; he sinks, but thistime he does not rise.... The poor old cat-nihilistis reformed at last!

HOME-SICKNESS

Now that Box was dead Grey Puss hadonly mankind to fear!

She hated mankind, which surpassed evenher in cunning and rapacity—and yet, she[Pg 212]could never forget that she had once been amember of the human household.

Mankind was her strong, invincible rival!Once for all, on the occasion when it hadlured her into the sack and flung her into thewater, it had imbued her with such terror ofits incredible treachery that she could notbear to hear, smell, or see it. But none theless in the depths of her soul she admired itimmensely....

She hated it, so that she could have torn itsthroat asunder, and yet she loved it so intenselythat she erected her tail and purredcontentedly at the mere thought of rubbingher back once more against a pair of trouseredlegs.

This never-ceasing struggle between herown personality and the instinct inheritedfrom a thousand generations of man-servingancestors was at times so intense that onmany a still, dark night she had sneaked hometo the farm fully determined to remain; butat daybreak the rough sounds of woodenclogs and men’s voices broke the spell, andshe had fled again to the fields....

THE DEMON MOUSER

The crofter lived down by the marsh,where he owned some fields withblackish-brown soil, which he wasploughing for the autumn sowing....

The ploughing progressed spasmodically;for he had only one horse, and that a smallone, that had to stop every few minutes forbreath.

“Get along!” said the man to it lethargically....“Gee up!”

But the horse declined; it considered thatit should be allowed a little longer respite.

“Gee up!” came the order again—and nowthe man took hold of the reins which hungloose on the horse’s back.

The nag continued to breathe heavily.The whip had to be produced.

“Get along!... Gee up!”

The old crock lunged out behind and gave[Pg 214]a hop into the air—the preliminaries to starting.

At last they got going again.... Slowly,very slowly, the ploughshare pushed up thewet earth. The horse pulled itself togetherand strained at the harness until the tracesquivered; it lunged with its legs and threwits weight forward, making the plough gofaster and faster, so that the little man had tohurry to keep pace, and once or twice had torun.

Things went like a house afire for abouttwenty yards; then the horse stopped abruptly—timefor another rest!

“First-rate!” thought the crofter—andrested also.

Thus, each perfectly understanding theother, they ploughed away patiently the wholeday long....

One evening the crofter stopped earlierthan usual.... The heavens were ablazeand the horizon seethed with flame; the lastremnants of day were being cremated!

Having settled his assistant comfortably inthe stall, he set out over the hill to a meadowwhere he had grazing rights.

[Pg 215]

A little later he appeared again leading asmall red cow-calf, his bent back and bowedlegs silhouetted gnome-like against the sunset.

The weather was too cold now, besides beingtoo rough and stormy, to leave youngcattle out after dark!

After bolting the calf in, he stands a momentoutside his door and reads from a scrapof newspaper. Suddenly he notices a slightmovement at his feet, and, looking down, seesa little white kitten with arched back andlifted tail rubbing itself affectionately againsthis wooden clogs.

“Well I never! Where did you springfrom?”

White becomes nervous at hearing ahuman voice and hops away a little. Thecrofter bends down and makes coaxing noisesto her.

She comes nearer again, and now she feelsa hand grasp her round the body—howdeliciously it tickles!...

The little farmer’s house, which formed[Pg 216]one with the stall and barn, was overrun withmice. Of an evening when he sat readingthey would often come peeping over the edgeof the table and crawl over his trousers.

He never told how they behaved when hewas in bed!

At intervals he brought the farm-cat intothe rooms; but it never had the faintest notionof what was required, and rushed about terrified,knocking everything down until it waslet out again.

White-kitten, therefore, was not unwelcome!

She behaved at once as if she had lived ina house all her life! She learned to chaseafter mice on the chest-of-drawers withoutoverturning the shell-mounted frame containingthe photograph of the man in his soldier’suniform, and to catch flies on the table withoutstepping into the dripping-dish or tea-mug.

She was industrious, affectionate, and anxiousto please, besides which, she knew whento keep out of the way when not wanted. Infact, she behaved in every respect just as the[Pg 217]slave nature in man prefers his dependents tobehave!

The mice soon disappeared completely!Not because they were captured, but becausethey could not endure the constant persecution....

And White was named the “demonmouser!”

EXIT RED

Sulphur-yellow, gall-green shafts minglewith the scarlet of the sunrise, and slowlywrest a large quadrangular farmhouse fromthe cloudy October dawn’s foul wet mists.

Outside the cow-stall, an old-fashionedmilk-jar with its narrow neck appears out ofthe grey dawn. The milk-woman uses itevery morning to take a pint of milk home toher children. A few traces of milk still clingto the bottom—enough, at any rate, to tempta sweet-tooth!

The woman is inside milking, when Redcomes sneaking along the barn, catches sightof the jar, sticks her nose in, and smells distinctlythe milk on the bottom. She rests[Pg 218]her forepaws on the round, bulging body ofthe vessel, and tries hard to push her headthrough the narrow neck.

After several attempts she manages, byturning her head vigorously from side to side,to slide it in, her ears pressed tightly backand her furry cheeks brushing the smoothearthenware.

She has succeeded—and she licks the jarcleaner than it has ever been before since theday it was made.

Then she prepares to retreat. But now,suddenly, she cannot get her head out; herthick neck and gristly ears are wedged fast!She becomes flurried ... and instead of tryingto wriggle out gently, she begins to tugand wrestle; with the result that she fixes herfrightful mask more firmly still. She topplesover on her side, and rolls about clawingdementedly at the stone cobbles—until at lastshe regains her feet and staggers blindly intothe yard.

The weird figure is soon seen from one ofthe windows. Now they’ve got her at last!

They recognize her at once—so a sack is[Pg 219]soon fetched and slipped over her hind parts.For now she shall be drowned!

Just then a rag and bone man turns intothe yard.

Once or twice a year he comes and buysold rags and bottles, and all sorts of worthlessrubbish.

The fellow at once notices the cat’s shiningfox-red coat—and the quick-witted farmerconceives a brilliant idea. The fellow hascheated him so many times; now he shall bepaid back in his own coin!

With a cautious tap of the hammer hereleases the cat from the jar....

“Do you want to buy a splendid mouser?”

“You bet I do!” replies the ragged one ...it was just what he was looking for.

The farmer piled on the agony. “Yes,she’s a record killer! You will scarcely believeit, but just before you came into theyard, she nearly strangled herself capturinga mouse which had dived into this milk-jar!”

The rag and bone man was completelytaken in; he bought the cat eagerly and immediately.

[Pg 220]

He put Red in his sack, and the two thievesleft the yard together.

BIG-KITTEN TURNS WILD CAT

One autumn evening, as huge, billowyclouds are drifting across the orange-goldwestern sky, Big-cat wakes in his lair andfeels the call to action. The noise of dayhas died from the fields, and the cows withtheir watching eyes have gone to rest for thenight....

He slinks across naked, deserted fields,where the wild camomile lifts its cheerfulface above the white-grey stubble. Like allgreat hunters, he feels the need of a constantchange of hunting-grounds; hence his journeythrough the cold, dry September night,lighted by the pale, shining, half-grownmoon.

Over hill and along hawthorn hedge hehurries; catches a lark in her nest, and amouse by a daring leap from a post—and atdaybreak lies down for his day’s rest behind ayellow grass-tuft in a dry, secluded gravel-pit.

[Pg 221]

Towards noon he is awakened by the soundof paws in the shingle. He should just haveremained lying still among the grass—whichwas grey-yellow and withered black in colour,and not unlike his own marking—but he forgothimself and ran.

The big, spotted hound got quite a shock;he stepped for a moment and looked back.Two men with guns, one of whom was“Uncas’” master, were approaching, talkingtogether and pulling at their pipes.

Uncas seized his opportunity and tore afterthe cat.

The men began shouting and whistling;but as far as the dog was concerned the diewas cast. Nothing could stop him now—awayhe went at a wild gallop!

Just ahead, the river flows in a long, gracefulcurve, its cold, black waters scaring theyellow autumnal landscape.

Big knows the river well; he knows, too,that not even his jump can clear it. Hetherefore makes for the wooden bridge.

The main road crosses the bridge....

When the cat is half-way over, he feels[Pg 222]the woodwork vibrate in a curious mannerbeneath his feet; he sees a spitting, humming,machine-animal whizzing towards him....

Just behind him is the dog, barking excitedly....

For a moment Big-cat hesitates; then, seeingno alternative, leaps bravely between theiron railings and falls with a splash into theriver.

He sinks like a stone through the water,but the moment it closes over his head hecommences kicking instinctively with his legs.At last he gets air again; he sees the sky abovehim. He swims mechanically—but believesthat he is running through the water....

The motor-cycle rushed on over the bridge—thedog crossed its path; a howl, a crash,oaths and curses....

Meanwhile a dripping, bedraggled catgalloped away across the fields. He shookhimself, and ran, and then shook himselfa*gain.... He has managed to come out ontop as usual!

He kept on at full speed until he reachedthe boundaries of a large, private wood some[Pg 223]distance away, by which time his fur wasquite dry from his exertions. After severalvain attempts he succeeded in scaling the tall,wooden palisade surrounding the wood, and,plunging in among the trees, soon came to atumble-down game-keeper’s hut, in the loft ofwhich he remained in comfort for a week.

From here he made excursions in all directions;but the old willow stump and the long,winding hawthorn hedge were no longer insight to remind him to return, and with thedisappearance of these and other landmarksthe threads that bound him to his homesnapped for ever.

He drifted farther and farther away outinto the wide world, and finished his careeras wild cat in a distant deer park.

THE HOME OF THE FISHERMAN

After leaving the village the main roadrose over the brow of the hill and ran downagain between rich, fertile fields until itcrossed the river which hugged the valley.

At the bottom of the hill a small, idyllicbrook had once flowed into the river, but it[Pg 224]had dried up, leaving behind only the shallowwatercourse, which now served as a drain.

The road crossed the river by means of aflint-paved bridge, and swung round a fisherman’scottage before continuing farther acrosscountry.

The fisherman had been a widower forthirteen years, and he had lived in the housefor twenty—so that he knew its ins and outsfairly well. A small garden and a few rodsof ploughed land supplied potatoes for himand oats for his horse. Three or four timesa week he drove round the countryside sellingthe fish he caught in the fjord. It was along way for the horse to pull—sometimes asmuch as twenty-five or thirty miles a day; butin return the beast was often allowed to slackfor several days on end.

The gables of the building faced east-west,and all its doors and its small windows openedtowards the south.

The west end, which was nearest the road,formed the stall and pigsty—in which a pigwas always grunting. The outhouse, consistingof woodshed and barn, was situated on[Pg 225]the east, from which direction the winterstorms usually raged. Between the two nestledthe inhabited quarter, comprising corridor,tiny kitchen, and living-room.

For seven years it had been vouchsafed thefisherman to live in this room with his wife;then she died, leaving behind her seven children,who had long since deserted the parentalroof. From the quiet, peaceful countrysideto which their father clung with hiswhole nature, they had emigrated to the bigtown, which they could not imagine themselvesleaving.

“I’ve had enough of all that fuss with children,”said the fisherman. “Thank goodnessit’s over and done with!”

Now he lived totally alone. He kept thehouse in order himself, and made the foodhimself—and smoked his way with cheaptobacco through the long, winter evenings.

It was quite cosy in the living-room, wherea pair of large pictures of himself and hiswife when young hung on the wall, and wherethe inevitable soldier-photographs of the boys—whoall later on became navvies or brick-layers—stood[Pg 226]upon the chest-of-drawers. Inthe window beneath the short cotton curtainsstood well-tended pot-plants on neat woodenstands.... It was all meagre enough, butdecent and orderly.

In addition to the horse, which was the oldman’s jewel, and the pig, which was treatedas a son, he owned a little dog called Bibs.The latter guarded the house when his masterwas away.

Bibs reigned in the living-room. Outside—inthe stall, barn, and loft—a cat was incommand; but in reality the post was vacant,for old Peter, with his pale, lack-lustre eyesand moth-eaten tail, was now so decrepit andworn-out that he could no longer hearwhether mice or other vermin scratched ornot.

For fourteen years the cat had lived withthe fisherman, who alleged that he was sointelligent that he understood what was saidto him. For instance, if the cat sat by thestove and the man bent down and shouted,“Peter, get out!” he got up and went out.

He always ran to meet the fish-cart when[Pg 227]it came home from the fishing-place ladenwith eels or herring—and as reward thefisherman would fling him a squab or a dab,or perhaps a small eel. He could recognizethe horse’s trot from a great distance, andwhen it came in sight he miauwed with delight,opening his mouth so wide that onecould see far down into his stomach.

In his palmy days he used to run a milealong the road to meet the cart—but now hecould only manage a couple of hundredyards.

Peter was the apple of the fisherman’s eye,and Grey would never have found favourwith him had not the old cat himself receivedhis successor, when she suddenly walked inone freezing autumn morning, with the utmostgraciousness.

For Grey-kitten was a lady, and old Mr.Peter’s ingrained tendency towards gallantryacquired new life at the sight of the pretty,little, long-eared puss*-cat. A golden gleamfilled the fellow’s pale eyes, and the fishermanoften saw the stiff, rheumatic old tykesitting for hours at a time under a tree up[Pg 228]which his new, agile little lodger had fled.

But one day when it is raining hard, Grey-kittencannot escape from the old stink-pot;she has to run up into the hayloft.

Peter crawls up the ladder in pursuit, andGrey springs out of the window on to a headlesspoplar growing beside the house.

Peter, forgetting his age, makes a rash leapafter her ... but misses his footing and fallsinto the water.

However, he is quickly on land again,where he sits down and waits faithfully underthe tree in which the object of his senile affectionis enthroned.

He shakes with cold, but endures bravely—andwhen the fisherman returns home inthe evening, he finds his old comrade stillsitting there, stiff and dead....

After that Grey inherited his office as amatter of course, and as time passed succeededin discharging it entirely to her master’s satisfaction.

She was called “Puss” and “puss*-girl”—andshe had a busy time ridding the old,[Pg 229]neglected hovel of mice. She soon madeherself at home in the stall, barn, and loft,which were just as dark and dirty as theburial-mound and the willow bole.

One day, only six months later, she camerunning with her tail proudly hoisted, to meetthe old fisherman as he was driving home,and jumped up beside him in the cart. Andthen, after the horse had been put in the stalland the fish-boxes unloaded, she was giventwo or three little eels or dabs.

Fish had always been her favourite food!

BLACK JOINS THE ARMY

At last “Madness” has succeeded in comingto grips with the young fox....

They do battle on a grassy field, boundedon one side by yellow straw and on the otherby dried-up, rust-coloured clover.

Black crouches on three legs, swaying hisdoubled-up body, and prepares to give Reynarda sample of his patent attack, whensuddenly the earth shakes with the beat of ahorse’s hoof.

[Pg 230]

The beats come nearer ... and becomequicker and quicker.

The two madcaps call a truce and listen....

The hoof-beats are coming straight towardsthem—and now they can see the head of ahorse with its rider.

The young fox slips instantly into the nearestditch—its instinct is sure—but Black, whofeels bound to find a wood or tree, tears offalong the path. With tail on one side hechases along, easily visible among the witheredgrass.

The horseman is an artilleryman from anadjacent garrison town, a young sergeant outexercising his colonel’s horse. The poorbeast was so seldom allowed to let himself go—herewas a splendid chance....

The speed of the cat, as it gallops alongthe path, infects the man; he digs his spursdeep in Tambourine’s sides, and away theygo as hard as the horse can pelt.

Black puts his ears back and makes springsfully three times his own length. He feelslike a hare in front of an express train. His[Pg 231]eyes are magnetized to the smooth, open pathbefore him; he cannot, if he would, leave itto plunge aside into the corn. A tree hemust have—and trees are not found until thehedge is reached; already he can see one; hisclaws itch to bury themselves in its bark!

Suddenly he rolls over and over! Hisbrain, which keeps running on trees, has justtime to complete the thought, “Now, you’vefallen down!” when a kick on the headknocks him senseless. He remains lying inthe path, his whiskers twitching, his legs kickingspasmodically....

Tambourine, who has joyfully given everymuscle full play during his reckless gallop,jumps clean over his victim, causing the supplerider to fling himself backwards in thesaddle. The man catches a glimpse of whathas happened, pulls up, turns, and dismounts.

“What a shame! Poor little beast!”

He picks up the cat by its tail between hisforefinger and thumb, and turns its bodyround. It bleeds neither at the nose nor atthe mouth, but it does not move a hair. Thesergeant feels it to see whether any bones are[Pg 232]broken, then holds it by the scruff and examinesits yellow eyes. Yes, it must be dead,after all—probably from a hoof-kick....Well, to blazes with the beast!

He is just about to fling it in the ditch whenthe cat’s smooth, jet-black coat catches hisattention!

“By Jove, what a splendid skin! That’ssure to be useful!” And without further adohe opens the left saddle-bag and lets the lifeless“Madness” sink to the bottom.

The old saddle-bag is worn thin, and theinside seam nearest the horse is gaping; butwhat does it matter—a cat, and what’s more,a dead cat, is safe enough there!

And the man pulls the strap extra tight.

Tambourine has been ordered a good runthis morning, so that he shall go quietly atthe next morning’s general inspection—andwhen at last, sweating and frothing withdilated nostrils, he is walking homewardstowards the barracks, the reins hang loose onhis neck.

Suddenly he feels some pointed “spurs”prod him in the side....

[Pg 233]

The skittish thoroughbred, who shies at amere touch of the curb, now receives one“spur” jab after another! He gives a leap,and bucks sideways like a flash of lightning,and the sergeant, who is totally unprepared,reels out of the saddle.

“Madness” has recovered consciousness,and, true to his nature, pays back the horse inhis own coin. His disturbed state of mind,rendered still more frantic by the darkness ofthe saddle-bag, finds the necessary outlet inhis claws and teeth.

Meanwhile, Tambourine, riderless andwith flapping reins, gallops away to the barracks,where he is captured. He had probablybolted from the sergeant, they thought,while that worthy was swallowing a “corpse-reviver”at an inn!

“Give him a good rub down and afterwardslet him have some water!” comes aroar from the office where the “Staff” sits andadministers. He has heard the horse thunderinground for some time, and now stickshis fat, bald head through the door....

The long-aproned stable orderly bangs his[Pg 234]heels together with a “Very good, sir!” givesthe hunter a couple of soothing pats on theflanks, and leads him away.

But the orderly nearly had a fit when, unsaddlingthe horse, he saw a coal-black catflash out of one of the saddle-bags and leaptowards him; he thought it was the evil onehimself....

With a furious hiss “Madness” sprang overthe man’s shoulder, ran along the side of themanger, and leapt out in the middle of thestable.... He was in a terribly batteredstate, and felt utterly confused by his newsurroundings. The fall from the tree, whichwas the beginning of his misfortunes, seemedto have spirited him into another world. Hehid himself in a corner under some hay, andspat out venomous oaths at all whoapproached.

When the sergeant returned home he camevery near smashing in “Madness’” head withhis sword—not unnaturally his feelings towardsthe cat were the reverse of friendly!But the battery commander, who came in at[Pg 235]the moment and heard the story, regarded theblack devil as sent from heaven.

Weren’t the old barrack stables simplyswarming with rats and mice? It would bea splendid thing to have a cat which wasworth its salt!

The tall, bony battery commander stoodlooking down searchingly at the savage, coal-blackbeast as it crouched glaring at him withits wicked, yellow-green eyes.... Suddenlywith a ferocious scowl he thrust his long,heavy riding-boot right in the cat’s face.

But neither the scowl nor the boot frightenedBlack: a claw transfixed the patentleather, while sharp fangs bit into the uppers....

“Damn it, if he isn’t a soldier!” exclaimedthe commander—and the cat’s fortune wasmade.

Living among these strong, healthy menBlack performed prodigies of valour....

He wasn’t satisfied with catching one rat ata time—but usually managed one with eachclaw-bunch. Indeed, occasionally when someone[Pg 236]took the trouble to shift the oat-bin forhim, he had been know to secure a third withhis jaws. He became less wild after a time,and would even allow himself to be strokedand picked up—and here, where the idea ofmadness was unknown, he was christenedanew: they called him “Fizz.”

“TERROR” TURNS HOUSE-CAT

At the cross-roads some way from thevillage lived the midwife.

She was a slim, fair person, with largeeyes and thick, curly hair.

She was not so fearfully old; but neitherwas she so fearfully young; in short, she wasa lady in the prime of life.

She had never taken a husband to herself,although there had been plenty of suitors—thesnug little home and the smart, prettygirl were tempting enough for anyone.

Why she had not married was the secretof her life; and everyone in the neighbourhoodhad tried to guess it!

One evening in late autumn, when storm[Pg 237]and rain raged without, there came to her alittle kitten in the last stages of exhaustion,which crept into the shelter of the outhouseand next morning introduced itself to her asa new arrival into the world.

It was extremely timid, but starving andhungry—it gulped down everything sheplaced before it.

She saw that it was a little spotted he-catwith almost as many colours as the rainbow,and with a tail so long that it could wind itround the neck like a feather-boa.

The midwife adopted “Terror,” not becauseshe was particularly fond of cats, but becauseof late she had begun to feel so terriblylonely....

After Black’s departure from home Tinyhad a very rough time. He was soon pursuedby hunger, and there was no one there to helphim, for his other brothers and sisters hadalso left. Even Grey Puss, who occasionallylet him share her spoil, had vanished withouttrace.

One day, just as he is sneaking through the[Pg 238]doorway of the turf-house—under whosemouldering thatch he still remains—he findshimself suddenly face to face with a tall, two-leggedbeing who is too big for him to seeall at once. The man throws his coat overhim and he disappears as into the blackestnight. He is squeezed and stifled, and meanwhilecarried along—until at last he succeedsin diving head first through a long, danglingnozzle—a coat-sleeve.

Then he ran, and ran—and never knewwhat fate he escaped!

He hid in a turnip-field, where for a timehe dragged out a wretched, half-starved existence.His lonely expeditions in companywith Black had taught him to avoid the dwellingsof mankind; and it was not until hungerconquered fear that he dared to enter thecottage.

His position as midwife’s cat suited “Terror”down to the ground—his complete inabilityto earn his own living excused himfrom rendering his mistress the slightestassistance!

[Pg 239]

Later on, the midwife discovered that shehad a living barometer in the house—a factwhich raised his value in her eyes enormously!She always consulted him before setting outon her duties.

As regards his humorous tendencies, theytoo came into their own—but not before avery painful accident occurred.

One day when the wind was playing withthe outhouse door, “Terror” suddenly felt thedoor bite his tail! He whirled round immediatelyand let fly with his claws—thathelped matters. The door opened its mouthand he was free!

But in spite of that, the tail still felt as ifit were held fast; he ran round and roundwith a pain all over his body—and later ona red, swollen ring appeared round theappendage.

At last the tail-end withered away and felloff; and where the red ring had been, a tuftof hair sprouted over a black spot.

Tiny-kitten had become still tinier!

But his luxurious mode of living made his[Pg 240]stomach fat and his body broad and short—which,taken in conjunction with his extrahairy ears and his stumpy tail, gave him astrong resemblance to a young lynx. Thegood midwife’s clients, who not infrequentlysuffered from the most frightful delusions,often mistook him for one in their excitedstate of mind....

Many an idle evening in the cottage by thecross-road did the still pretty spinster sit incosy companionship with the kitten, thinkingover her life’s secret. Should she have marriedThorkild Skov after all—he was now awell-to-do butcher? Or Frederik Hansen—hewas now owner of Hill Farm? Or ...ah, she had had so many wooers once upon atime!

No, no, she thought, jumping up restlessly—farbetter off as she was! All that terriblefuss over the arrival of each little citizen intothe world, with which she had been in suchclose contact since her early girlhood, hadquite frightened her.

She sat down again and fell into deepthought, her hand gently stroking “Terror’s”[Pg 241]soft fur, as he lay purring on the sofa at herside....

And yet—she sighed deeply—and yet, shewished in spite of all that she had not beenso afraid of life!

GREY PUSS’ FUTURE

The late autumn showers were beginning....Heavy, violet-blue cloudsswollen with moisture drifted about—andoften two rainbows stood simultaneouslyone behind the other in the sky.

Grey Puss could no longer forage in thefields—it was wet and muddy everywhere.

The wretched wild bees, whose earth-hiveshe had dug up, hastened to cover their remnantsof honey with layers of moss....

The chirp of grasshoppers and the buzzingof mosquitoes no longer filled the nightair; unquiet and discomfort reigned in theirstead. The cows mooed for shelter and theyoung cattle coughed and sneezed with cold—whilstthe bulls in the meadows boomeddeeply and mournfully.

The fields became more and more deserted,and the ditches and hedges more muddy and[Pg 243]bare; only the shelter in the lee of the risingstacks grew and grew.

Mice were also scarce! The lucky oneshad completed the miraculous journey withthe wagon, hidden in the middle of thesheaves, after having successfully evaded theeagerly sniffing noses of the farm dogs. Theothers were now emigrating towards the big“human” dwellings.... They scented thewarm, heavy odour from the stacks andfollowed in the wake of the corn.

And Grey Puss followed in the wake ofthe mice; and came each evening a littlenearer to the farm ... the dear old farmwith its dry beams and warm, quiet barns.

She longs to move among the cobwebs inthe loft once more, to hear the everlastingrushing of the wind through its thatch. Mostof all she thinks of the pot-bellied, piebaldtomcat, whose drawling, wailing love-songseems to her irresistibly alluring. Withevery day that passes she seems to hear hispleading voice more and more plainly, andshe sees him in her mind’s eye with his restless,swinging tail and his wild, burningeyes....

One October evening, when all colours[Pg 244]have withered from the marshes and the deep,black shadows along the tufted banks makethe water gleam still more brightly, Grey Pussslinks home through the fields towards HillFarm.

All day the long waggons have rocked theirloads of yellow turnips along to the shelter ofthe poplars, where the turnip-heaps grow insize and number.

She watches the tame cats sit in ambush atthe foot of the stacks. They have only to sitthere and doze, and the mice, which are notyet accustomed to their elevated residence,will tumble down on their heads.

Listen! The children are singing in thefarm.... “Three blind mice; see how theyrun.”... Dear little children, who used sooften to play with her when she was a tinykitten in the house, and give her sweet milk todrink!

But now the dog is barking ... a new Boxprobably—one she has not yet seen. Andclogs clatter suddenly on the bridge—no, no,she can not, she dare not—she must go out tothe fields again....

[Pg 245]

But she longs....

In the turf-house loft, as well as in theburial-mound, and down in the willow bole—whereshe has also paid a visit—all is coldand lonely and full of damp and discomfort.

She longs for the spacious, broken-downfarm loft, where the moss-covered thatchclings to the broad, low chimney-stacks;where the clay-lined walls are warping andthe small-paned windows hang askew.

There is her real home, the home of herrace....

The new farm-buildings, where bricks replaceclay and wood, don’t attract her; theyare much too cold, and too clean! No; wherethere are hatchways instead of doors, hooksinstead of locks, pegs and staples instead ofkeys, that is where she feels at home. Shecan always be relied upon to find her wayin through some split in the roof, some air-holein the wall....

And the “cunning ones”? Oh, perhaps itwould not be so bad to live among them again,after all!

Yet another week she hesitates on the[Pg 246]threshold—then one afternoon her longingfor the room, with all its sweet memories ofkittenhood, overwhelms her....

A storm raged over the fields! It swepthissing along the shaggy ditches and writhedscreaming and whistling through hedge andfence.

At one moment whitish-grey, swollenmasses of cloud came pouring like a flood ofliquid lead across the sky, to fling down ashower of seething rain ... at another theclouds split and parted, and the sun createdheaven out of chaos: a strip of blue appeared,a stream of dazzling light—and the earthbroke into a smile of joy!

For one short minute the farm’s whitegables and moss-green roofs with their frameof yellow poplar-tops sprang into life andcolour....

Then the picture broke, shattered into athousand fragments; the white gable, thewhole farm, sank into the ground—and oncemore the rain fell in torrents.

A storm raged over the fields; all creaturesfled for shelter—and Grey Puss had to hie herto the willow bole.

[Pg 247]

She shivered as she sat there with eyes half-closedand tail curled round her paws....She was day-dreaming: it is early spring, andshe lies in the shelter of the kitchen garden,sunning herself and rolling to and fro on thewarm ground. Suddenly her old prize-fighteris sitting before her! She goes crazywith delight, and rolls with still greaterabandon from side to side on her back.

He sits before her ready to spring....

A new, violent shower drummed on the oldwillow bole’s withered bark and tore her fromher dreams. Wet spray from the raindropssplashed in her eyes....

She had never been a mother to kittens ...she had never had a grudge against the “cunningones!” She thus deadens her conscience,for she is drawn irresistibly to the place whereshe was born and bred—to the shelter of thestall, the barn, or at a pinch, the roof.

That evening a red, flaming shaft of sunlightpierces the ragged horizon. Long,black wisps of cloud hang across the heavensand draw a veil over the frost-moon’s cold,curved sickle.

[Pg 248]

At midnight she makes her return to thefarm, following the familiar path over thepigsty roof, through the trap-door, and upinto the loft over the cow-stall. She feels thewarm air enfold her; the sweet, deliciousodour of hay and fresh, dry straw meets hernostrils. The soothing chewing of the cowssounds beneath her....

There comes a rustling in the straw—andthe multicoloured he-cat steps forward andgreets her with every sign of delight. Hesprings towards her and strokes his cheek lovinglyalong her side right from her neck toher tail.... She is welcome to the farm; sheis home!

As she gazes at him, it seems suddenly as ifthe whole kitten flock is standing before her.

She sees them all in him: Black’s temper,Tiny’s fur, Big’s strength, and White’s cunning.Like Grey, he is patient and shrewd;and fully as reckless, if not so active, as Red.

“Auw-auw ... ooh ... uuh!”

And she fell in love with him once more—thedear, old spotted darling!

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74356 ***