Miranda Eliot Swan

I DID not recover my cheerfulness after hearing the story of Tom, and Miss Eleanor said she hoped Miss Milly would never repeat it again.

The young lady friend had wiped her eyes often, and I was very glad when they made her some hot ginger tea and packed her off to her room. They said she had a cold in her head, but I know better. It was Tom and his death that had gone to her head and made her eyes water. It was what made me cough and sneeze and wink, to keep from the womanish weakness of tears.

Good gracious! I shall have hysterics next, if I have got to hear such doleful things. I am ashamed of myself. I thought I had more dignity. Pshaw! I was not crying. It is that horrid musk that I smell; it always makes my eyes water. I am glad my mistress never uses it, and I do wish, if people come here to be warmed and comforted and entertained, they would not wear perfume. I do despise it. I shall have to chew a lot of catmint and roll in it before I feel like myself again.

I know that when I went to Beverly I rode over that very river where Tom was buried. I am very glad I did not know it then, and I am very glad that some day I shall see all these dear people. Of course I know just how indignant some will be to read this. I think it very strange that there are so many who do not want any one to go to heaven but those they approve. They scorn the idea that God should save the creatures he has made, because they call them a lower order of beings.

I have said more than I ought to on this subject, for my mistress always says when any one begins upon it, "We will not discuss it, if you please, for we shall not agree." And I always like to please her and do as she says; and then, I do lose my temper and have such bad feelings that I fear I shall be counted with the bad ones, whom Dante says are shadows in the other world. And of all things I think a shadow is a "little too thin." I am glad my mistress cannot hear this, for she hates slang.

Some days ago a lady was here, and she started that endless subject of "servants." My mistress tried to turn the conversation, but it was of no use. The servant question, when one gets on it, is like a brook; it goes on forever. To be sure, I did hear a young man once say something that would stop it, and my mistress hushed him up at once; but not before I had heard it, and it sounded so forcible that I went under the bed and said it, and wondered if it would stop the women from talking about their servants. They did not say it often, as my mistress did not know I had heard it.

Always after the people who discussed their servants had gone, Miss Eleanor would say, "Now I will read something to take away the disagreeable impression."

It was usually Dickens, for he seems to have got at the very heart of things, and his poor are shown up with hearts, while the higher classes are heartless oftentimes.

Of course this is only given you second-hand, but I comprehend it, else I should not repeat it.

I do dote on Dickens, and I think "David Copperfield" is my special favorite. Aunt Betsey Trotwood seems like a real aunt to me. Dear little Dora! I was very wretched when she died, and I loved Jip. I know he would have played with me very nicely.

When Miss Eleanor read about his death, there was a lump in her throat, and Miss Milly's eyes were full of tears, and I thought it was time for me to go under the bed, not for any particular reason, only there are times when one likes to be alone.

While I am writing I would like, if possible, to correct any bad impression regarding cats and their habits. It has been said that cats will draw the breath of an infant and sometimes of older people while sleeping. I deny this, and will tell you a story which illustrates the superstition, and was told by one of our friends.

This lady visited us one day, and while talking about me and cats in general, she said she had always thought cats were not to be trusted, and never allowed her children to play with one, for the very foolish beliefs of which I have spoken. "But," she said, "I have changed my opinion, and now think a cat properly trained is a noble creature." Then she told us this story:—

"You remember my cousin, of course, for I know you probably have visited at my uncle's. They were very fond of cats, always keeping two or three. When my cousin was married, she took with her one of her old cat's kittens. She was quite well grown, and was called Dido. She was a great pet with my cousin's husband, and as it was his first experience of cats, he was delighted with her playfulness.

"They were fortunate in having servants who were kind to cats. Just after the first child was born one of the husband's relatives died, leaving him a large old country place—a farmhouse with a great many acres of land. He was very much pleased, for he said the country air would be good for baby and its mother, for she was very delicate since the birth of her beautiful boy.

"The house had not been occupied for some time, and was one of those old, rambling, picturesque places, a delight to lovers of the olden times. The furniture was substantial, but very severe in style.

"'You need not take the boy's bassinet,' said the father, laughing; 'for there was a cradle that looked as if it had come from Noah's Ark, and Shem, Ham, and Japhet, not to speak of all the two-by-twos, had been rocked in it.'

"'Oh,' said his wife, 'how lovely that will be! we can fill it with pillows, and baby will be delighted with it.'

"'Nonsense,' said her husband; 'don't go and build "castles in the air" out of that old cradle. It will do for Dido to sleep in; but on the whole, you had better take the bassinet and all the other folderols for Baby, else you will be homesick.'

"She decided, however, that she would take nothing with her, but enjoy all the old-fashioned surroundings.

"The place proved very satisfactory, and she found a nice large room leading out of hers for the baby's nursery.

"The large pointed-top mahogany cradle was duly polished and installed in the room, making a royal bed for his highness the baby. With its wealth of pillows and lace coverings it looked quite regal.

"The nurse girl was very devoted to Baby, always watching him while he slept. Dido had appropriated the baby ever since his birth, and would allow his little soft hand to take liberties with her, pulling her tail, when she would resent it in others. She spent much of her time in the house, watching the baby.

"About a week after they had settled comfortably at home they were called up from the piazza by the screams of the husband's sister, who was visiting them. All she could say was, 'That cat—that cat—has killed the baby!'

"They rushed into the room, and a strange sight met their eyes. Standing in the cradle, with a paw each side of the baby, was Dido.

"The poor mother rushed to the cradle, crying, 'Oh, my baby, my baby!'

"Her husband drew her back, saying, 'Look there.' At the side of the cradle were two great rats that Dido had killed just as they were about to attack the baby.

"Dido was bleeding from a wound in the neck, where they had bitten her, but she kept her watch over the baby till her friends arrived. She mewed out her thanks when they petted her and praised her. The baby had slept through it all.

"The aunt said she was just coming out of her room when she heard Dido give a shrill cat call, and she went in, but seeing her over the baby, supposed she had drawn its breath and killed it.

"They were so grateful to Dido that they would not rest till the doctor had been sent for to dress her wounds. They soon healed, and after this Dido seemed to have the care of the baby on her mind; and the cradle being long, a rug was put in at the foot, and after the matting was put over the top Dido would lie on it to keep it down. That she slept with one eye open, they were sure; for if the baby opened his eyes, Dido would either mew or go for them.

"They found the large closet in the room full of rat holes, and as the room had been unused for so long, they infested it.

"They removed to a smaller room, and as they took precautions, were soon free from rats. Probably the latter knew they had a powerful enemy in Dido, and left.

"There were three cats belonging to the house that had left when it was closed; but on finding it inhabited again, they had returned, as cats love to keep to one home. They were well treated, and repaid the kindness by clearing the house of rats.

"As the family left the man and his wife who had worked for them in the house during the winter, they never had trouble with rats again.

"They had a picture of Dido taken with the baby, and all their friends made a great fuss over her."

I did wish I could see this picture; for Miss Milly always shows me pictures, and I enjoy them very much. Why, I could take the photograph cases and tell you every one, if I could speak.

Sometimes we have real fun over the old-fashioned ones. My mistress laughs with us, and says, "This is the family 'Rogues' Gallery,' they do look so funny." And they never show them to strangers, for they say we love them too well to let any one else laugh at their old-fashioned looks.

I do love pictures, but I have been taken to places where they had horrid crayons on the walls, and the eyes stared at me so I did want to scratch them out. I hate a chromo, but a nice, peaceful landscape makes me happy; and I often see one where I would like to lie down and dream, for a cat can have real artistic taste.

I don't think I care much for babies. I suppose it is because I have never been around them; and when I have been, the mothers have never allowed me to get acquainted with them.

I was very cross one day when a friend of my mistress brought her baby to see us. It was all dressed in white, with a white astrachan hood with goats' hair fringe, and it looked just like a little poodle. I wanted to lick it all over when Miss Milly said, "Here, Daisy; come and see this dear baby." But its mother cried out, "Oh, don't let that horrid cat touch my baby!" just as if I was a bear or a tiger.

I was so insulted I just walked into a corner. But the baby had seen me, and held out its little hand and crowed. I looked away, but my mistress said, "Daisy will not hurt your baby," and she took me in her arms and let the baby put his soft little hand on my ear. It laughed and crowed, while I licked its hand. The mother looked as if she thought I would devour it.

When Miss Milly put me down, seeing the mother's uneasiness, the way that innocent little creature yelled, kicked, and beat his mother was dreadful. I fled under the bed, saying to myself, "How glad I am that we are unmarried people, with no children to raise a tempest for nothing."

The mother excused him by saying, "He was excited seeing that great cat." I thought, "And the great cat was excited seeing and hearing the Old Adam in that child."

I know my mistress was glad to get rid of them, and Miss Eleanor, who is very fond of children, said, "How beautiful that child would have been had it not been for its mother's foolishness."

Before I get too stupid or too old, I must tell you a delightful story of one of the witch cats of old Salem and her little mistress, sweet Hope Farley, a little lame girl my mistress knew and loved.

After I have had my "forty winks" and my nerves forget that baby, I shall remember it all.