Miranda Eliot Swan

THE story I am about to tell you has for its chief interest a little lame girl, very sweet and lovely, who died in old Salem many years ago. I think good children are almost as nice as good little kittens.

As Jett belonged to this little girl, I must tell you about her, that you may know how devotedly a cat can return affection and kindness. This is the moral of my story, and I tell it to you in the beginning, though I know morals usually come on the end. And then people have got all the interest of the story and they skip the moral. It is better that it should leaven the whole story.

Everything about Salem has a fascination for me, and I often think how nice it would be to fly through the air and take a peep at the people beneath me; but then, this pleasure is given only to black cats, and there is no use for any other colored cat to wish for it.

Little Hope Farley lived in a big, old-fashioned house, with a lovely garden around it. All the rooms were long and wide, with deep window seats, cushioned, and very comfortable—a nice place for a cat to sleep and enjoy herself.

In one of these nice roomy window seats little Hope would lie, with Jett curled up by her side. But I must not anticipate; I will tell the story just as I heard it from Miss Milly.

Hope was motherless; her father's sister had made up to her as well as any one ever can the loss of her mother. Aunt Martha was a charming woman of about forty-five, and she took little Hope into her heart at once.

(Dear me! How I wish cats had aunts! I do think they are just the nicest people to care for the unfortunate that can be found.)

Hope's father was a literary man, buried in his studies and books. When a man is that way inclined, he might, for all the good he is to his family, be buried in earnest. Then they would have his memory, and one could read on his tombstone how great a man he was, and the papers could praise him and speak of virtues that nothing but his death would ever have brought to light.

Aunt Martha was abroad when his wife died, and Hope, who was but three years old, was left to the care of a nurse.

Some carelessness caused her to fall, and a curvature of the spine and lameness for life were the consequence.

Dear me! These "curvatures" and such big words will kill me; but I must tell this story just as my mistress told it to me, for if ever she reads this little book, I want her to know how well I remember all she said.

After Hope met with the accident that crippled her for life, her father wrote to his sister to return and care for his unfortunate child and his helpless self.

She willingly accepted the charge, and soon found she had a "white elephant" on her hands. Her brother buried himself in his books, and to her care was left not only his child, but the whole household. He did pay the bills, but it was because he had the money; else he would have left even that to her, for she had a good fortune of her own.

Hope repaid her for her care by loving her with all her heart, and they were very happy together.

The beautiful garden was a great source of pleasure to them all. Even the father would walk up and down with his hands behind him; and although he did not seem to notice anything, the air, the fragrance of the flowers, and the peace of the scene probably gave him strength.

Around the sides of the garden, by the high fence, were currant bushes thick and plenty. The fruit was large, red, and tempting, and the flowers of every kind growing in their native beauty made the spot an earthly paradise. There were tall hollyhocks, double leafed, red and white, bachelors'-buttons, beds of pinks, and roses of every variety, lilies of the valley, modest but bound to be noticed for their rare fragrance, and beds of pansies that would have made the fortune of the florist. But here no thought of money crept in to mar the beauty of God's free gift, the beautiful flowers.

The garden sloped down, joining the land belonging to the next house, that faced on the side street. The low fence was broken, and just where the gate had hung, a hedge fence supplied its place, as the gate had fallen to pieces. The rank weeds and flowers grew in tangles; Nature seemed to have fought with Art, and to have gained the victory.

The estate had been unoccupied for years, the owner having just died far away from home, where he had been for years in pursuit of health. His heir, a distant cousin, was expected to make his home here; as his business was in Boston, it would be very convenient.

Great curiosity was expressed regarding the newcomers, particularly as there was a mystery regarding the neglect of the place for so many years; and a mystery in old Salem always wore a bewitching air.

About ten days after their arrival my story commences.

It was way down near the broken gate, under the sheltering boughs of an old apple tree, that a most luxurious seat had been contrived. Like a couch, it was protected at the back by cushions like the seat.

It was high noon of a sultry day in June, yet the thick leaves of the old apple tree formed a perfect shade for the dear little child reposing in this lovely retreat. The little silent figure and the crutches, leaning against the seat, told the whole melancholy tale: little Hope Farley was a cripple.

The soft hum of bees and insects filled the air, and the scent of flowers perfumed all around, and the bright blue sky above, lending its soft light, made her seem a part and portion of this charming picture of nature. Her doll, her dearest companion, was by her side. She had given her the quaint old-fashioned name of Joanna, and never suffered it to be abbreviated.

She held conversations with her, and confided all her little troubles to her wooden ear. (It would be well if wooden ears and cats' ears were the only ones to hear secrets, would it not? I must put in my cat's oar once in a while, for, you see, this story is a big one for a cat to remember.)

This day Joanna was particularly unsatisfactory, and Hope, getting tired of her airs, said:—

"Joanna, why are you so silent? Don't you hear the bees, and can't you see that great speckled toad under the currant bushes, hopping about? Oh, no, you don't like such things. You prefer flowers. Well," after a pause, "so do I. And I do love you, you dear, dear dolly." And she hugged her in her arms.

A slight crackling of the bushes and a scornful laugh caused Hope to start and look up, just as a lad of about twelve years of age presented himself on the other side of the hedge. He was a big, fair-haired boy, handsome, but rough looking, and rude as a young bear.

"What do you do that for, you little silly? That old doll don't know anything! Come, and let's play something."

Hope looked at him with wide-open eyes.

"Sulky little monkey!" he indignantly exclaimed, "why don't you speak? Say," after a pause, while he regarded her with surprise, "why don't you want to play?"

She looked at him in pathetic silence, then her eyes glanced at her crutches.

As he followed her glance, surprise, sorrow, and pity transformed his face. After a time he said in a subdued voice:—

"I am sorry I was so rude. I did not know. May I come over there?"

Hope saw how sincere he was, and in her quaint way welcomed him. He soon cleared the barrier, and seated on the stump of a tree they were very soon acquainted.

Every day after that they met, and soon became fast friends, exchanging childish confidences and mutually petting Joanna, for Jack was loyal to all of Hope's belongings.

(Now I must draw a breath, and put in my cat's oar. I have made you acquainted with Jett's two stanch friends, and you will better understand the story. I do pity Hope, for my shoulder troubles me very much, and I have to wait before I jump as I used to, and I know that she suffered, and I am very glad she had a cat to comfort her. I think sometimes if I could see these beautiful places and run around among the flowers, how happy I should be; but that is one of my air castles. But in the hereafter I know it will all be mine, and the gardens and fields of Paradise compensate for those we have not here. Now I will return to my story.)

One day, after Jack had been a long time silent, he suddenly said, "Have you got a step-mother?"

"A step-mother? What is that? My mother is an angel. She died when I was two years old."

"Well," he said, "you will have one, never fear; your father will get one. My mother died when I was five years old, and now—a year ago—my father went and got one. So will yours."

"You bad boy! He won't. My Aunt Martha won't let him. You are a dreadful boy to talk so!"

"Don't be down on a fellow so. Much you know about men. Your father's no better than mine. He'll get a wife yet, see if he don't; and you will hate her just as I do my step-mother.

"My father loved me till this woman came. He used to take me everywhere with him, and he cried when I begged for my mother after she died; he hugged me and called me his poor little chap. And now it is all over. I have never called her mother, and I never will. She killed Pipkin, my mother's cat, just as soon as she came. She made the servant drown her, because she was treacherous and broke a saucer, and she was afraid of her.

"She is a beast. Dear old Pipkin is better off away from her; but I do miss her and will never forgive that woman. My mother would kiss me, and then Pipkin and the kitty would lie beside me for company; and after my mother died that cat was all the comfort I had. The servants loved her. Not one of them would have killed her, but this woman has servants who will do her dirty work.

"She has red cheeks and a white skin, and a big mouthful of teeth that she is showing all the time, just like old Towzer, the bulldog."

"Why does she hate you?" Hope asked. "Can't you make her like you?"

"What a little goose you are! Like me? Not she. She wants me to die, to get my money that my mother left me. She told my father he ought to take board for me, for I had more money than they had. 'What,' he said, 'take board for my own son?' This did touch poor dad; but she soft-sawdered him. And then I wanted to run away, and I will some day, and join Uncle Jack, for whom I am named. He is in India. He loved my mother, his sister, and he would care for me. But you see I do love dad; and now I could not leave you."

Hope smiled such a sweet look upon him, saying, "You are a dear good boy, and my Aunt Martha will be a mother to you just as she has been to me."

And in truth this childish friendship had worked wonders in Hope. She was able to walk about the garden with her crutches and his help, for he was very careful of her, and proud to be of use in amusing her. Aunt Martha took the bright, honest boy into her heart, and he loved her dearly.

One day when Jack came over the hedge he found Hope in great excitement. Her apron covered some mystery that was very soon revealed—a coal-black cat, perfect in every way, a real witch cat, with not one mark about her from the tip of her ear to the end of her tail. Yellow eyes of the most unfathomable depth and a spasmodic wag of the tail proved her temper to be of the peppery kind.

"Where did you get her?" asked Jack.

"She came to us. When Aunt Martha opened the door this morning to take in the paper, she walked in. She came into the dining room, and when I called her, she jumped up in my lap and drank milk from a saucer. She bites and claws the rest if they touch her, but licks my hands and purrs when I talk to her. Where she came from I do not know, but I love her already almost" (with a remorseful look at Joanna) "as well as I do my dear dolly."

"I should think so," replied Jack. "I can't see how you can care so much for that old doll."

"Oh, don't, Jack! She is a dear, lovely, good old girlie" (with a hug and a kiss on Joanna's old battered face).

This Jett resented. Flying at Joanna, she stuck her sharp claws in her blond hair, dragging out a big tuft of it.

Jack shouted, "Go it! go ahead! tear her old wig off!"

Hope relieved and comforted her dear dolly, pushing the black termagant from her lap, and saying to Jack: "You are a cruel boy. I will have nothing to do with you."

This Jack could not bear, for he was a tender-hearted little fellow.

"Oh, come now," he said, "don't be so hard on a fellow. I never knew anything about dolls. I daresay Joanna is very nice. See here, perhaps I can mend her head." And he did very skilfully, and thus restored peace.

Then came the question of naming the cat.

"How would Nig do?" said Hope.

"Oh, don't! She had a dog called Nig, and it died. I was glad of it."

"Oh, no; if she had anything named Nig I will not have Kitty called so." Hope was firm in her belief in Jack's wrongs, and disliked his step-mother with all her heart. "We must call her something of that kind, for she is jet-black."

"Well," said Jack, "you have just said it. Why not call her Jett?"

So Jett she was named, to their great satisfaction.

"She must be half mine, and I will bring her all the scraps I can, for cats want no end of meat. That is," he said, "if I can get anything. She would like to starve me. She says I have such a rude appetite that it makes her sick."

"What a horrid woman! I don't believe your appetite is big; and if ever you are hungry, just let me know, and my Aunt Martha will give you all you can eat, for she loves to see me relish anything." And it was quite noticeable how often little nice things were brought out for Jack, quite accidentally, to save his pride.

"Oh, never mind," he said; "only it's a bothering shame father is so generous he never can see what is going on. We never had such meanness and scrimping before. There was always enough and to spare. Now there is not enough to feed a cat on. And a dog she will not let me have. She says that they are gluttons."

But I must curtail my story; it is getting too long.

Jack had a parrot called Bimbo. As it was a gift from his rich uncle, he was allowed to keep it.

With Joanna, Jett, and Bimbo the children were very happy. Bimbo was very happy on the bough of the old apple tree. He was deeply interested in Hope, and eyed her in a most sympathizing manner.

The first time he saw her use her crutches he gave vent to a succession of groans, and moved first one foot and then the other as if in pain, and after that he would move to a branch over her couch, and look down upon her in the most affectionate manner. Often he would astonish them by some remark drawn from the storehouse of memory.

No wonder Jett was jealous of him. When she first heard him speak, she opened wide her eyes, and stared at him in astonishment. The children shouted with laughter, and Bimbo kept up a silly cackle, encouraged by their approval. This was very provoking to Jett, as cats do not like to be laughed at, and she resented it in Bimbo.

After she had given him a scratch that he remembered he looked at her with fear and trembling. He soon learned to say "Jett." Though he said it in a soft, hesitating manner, she was deeply offended. She would give him a look that would keep him silent for hours.

She never could understand why such an uncouth-looking bird should have the power of speech given to him, while a handsome, intelligent cat could not speak at all; and the mystery of it made her very savage to poor Bimbo.

Of course the children shared their confidences with their pets, and if Mrs. Thornton had fallen into the clutches of Bimbo or Jett, she would probably have borne marks of the encounter. Joanna's wrath was suppressed; sometimes, however, silent wrath is the deepest.

One day they were in earnest conversation, Jack relating his wrongs; while Bimbo, seated on his bough, listened in silence. Suddenly, to their surprise, he said in a subdued voice: "She's an old devil! so she is! how droll! Ha! ha! ha!" ending with, "Well, I never!"

The children were convulsed with laughter. Even Aunt Martha could not resist the ludicrous situation. Bimbo, in great delight, gave a succession of "ha-ha's," ending with "Oh, she's a devil!" Aunt Martha covered him with her apron, and silence at once ensued; for he knew that was a mark of disgrace.

"Oh, Aunt Martha," said Jack, in a whisper, "don't you think it strange that Bimbo knows all about her?"

"Nonsense!" she replied. "Did you ever hear Bimbo swear before?"

"Never. He used, when I first had him, to say a few bad words, but covering him up made him know he must not repeat them; but to-day he has applied them where they are true. Whenever she is around, he swears all the time, and I keep him out of her way, for he knows her. She says I taught him. It is false. Uncle Jack bought him of some sailors. They gave him a good character, and Uncle Jack said if he ever used bad words, it would teach me a lesson never to say anything I did not want him to repeat."

"Very wise of your uncle. You must do as he has advised, and you will soon teach him better."

Just here, Jett, who had been a silent witness of the scene, could bear it no longer. She flew up the tree and out on the bough where Bimbo sat in disgrace, and drawing off the apron with sheathed claws, she boxed him right and left.

Poor Bimbo retreated to the very edge of the bough, screaming "Jett, Jett! oh, oh, Jett!" This offended her so much that Jack had to pull her down by her tail, to save Bimbo's life.

She was of course very much disgusted at such unusual treatment, and went off in the sulks. After a time peace was restored, and Bimbo was happy, for they were all very kind and sympathizing, and Hope smoothed his feathers where Jett had attacked him, and Jack told him he was forgiven provided he never swore again.

Aunt Martha told the children a nice, interesting story, while Jack held Bimbo on his arm, and Hope cuddled Joanna in her lap.

This home picture was interrupted by Bridget, the cook. She came, full of wrath, to enter her complaint of Jett, who followed in the distance as bold as a lion. Bridget said she put some squash pies she had made to cool for dinner, and she found Jett sitting in the middle of one while she was eating from the other, her paws and tail going as fast as her tongue.

Jack shrieked with laughter when he saw her glossy black fur covered with squash. Her nose and whiskers were dotted with it, and even her ears had little yellow decorations.

As soon as Aunt Martha could command her voice, she consoled Bridget by telling her she would make a dessert in place of the pies. Then she told Jett she had better go and get into the waste barrel. And a sight she was—a picture in yellow and black.

She went away, ashamed,—not, however, without casting a look of fury at Bimbo, who was whispering with a smothered chuckle, "Oh, she's a dear! she's a dear! Oh, oh, Jett! I shall die!"

Jett preferred a crooked path. Stealing was her delight, for boldly, in the face of all, she would bring home a chicken she had stolen. No one molested her, for Aunt Martha paid for the chicken, and as Hope said, perhaps Jett thought it was like having a bill at a store. She had a running account at the neighbor's hen-coops, knowing the bill would be paid.

The children called her a "grave robber." For once one of the neighbors lost a little bird. Their little boy was very fond of it, and was allowed to bury it in the garden. He folded it up in his little pocket-handkerchief, and put it into the hole he had dug, and covered the earth over it. He put up a little wooden paper-knife over the grave, making a nice tombstone, and the design was very appropriate. The top of the knife was carved with a bush, and a bird was sitting on the branches. The point of the knife was down deep in the earth, and he thought everything secure.

Now Jett knew everything going on in the neighborhood. The bird's empty cage had been cleaned, and was standing on a bench outside the kitchen door. Jett had interviewed the cage and tried to get in, but finding the door too small, she had seated herself to think it out, wondering in her mind where the bird had gone. When she heard footsteps, she mounted to her post of observation on the fence; and when she saw the boy bring out the bird and bury it, she was perplexed.

A cat never allows a mystery to go unsolved. After it was all over she waited a suitable time, and then she made an investigation. She walked around the monument, she smelt of it, and she clawed it a little. By the time she had satisfied her curiosity it looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. That it moved was probably a suggestion to her, for she began scratching the earth; and it soon fell over, leaving a bit of the grave clothing of the poor little bird exposed. This at once was proof positive, and after scratching away the earth she found the mystery.

Jerking up the handkerchief, she soon landed the little corpse, and then she examined it with a critical eye. No coroner inquiring into the cause of a sudden death could have been more careful. After she had inspected it thoroughly she took one claw in her mouth and started for the house, and never rested till she had with great difficulty deposited that bird in its cage and pushed to the door. Then she went home, satisfied that she had done an act of justice and humanity.

It is needless to say how surprised the family were to find the dead returned to them, and they suspected a mischievous boy who lived near; but when Jett dug up that bird for the second time, there were witnesses, and the deed was brought home to her.

The last burial took place while Jett was shut up. They dared not put up the monument, for they knew she would discover the grave by that. She hunted for a week, but she never found that bird again.

All the neighbors looked upon her as a mysterious element that had come into their midst. They believed in the witches having unlimited power over black cats, and never dared interfere with her; indeed, her good will they were very glad to gain.

Jett was devoted to Hope. She never killed a rat without bringing it with a purr of satisfaction, and was not satisfied till her little mistress had noticed her, and said, "What a good kitty to catch the naughty rats."

There was one place the children called the "cats' paradise." It was down in the corner of Jack's garden. Here catmint grew in rank profusion. The place was neglected, but nature had rioted there, and it was all abloom with wild flowers and weeds.

Here Jett held her afternoon teas and musicales, and she would frolic with her friends in the sweet-smelling grass. Her high soprano would mingle with the contralto and other nondescript parts till they produced a "passion music" so terrible in its results that it required all Jack's strength to separate them.

Why these musicales always ended in a free fight, Hope wondered. Jack suggested that the catmint intoxicated them, for they were usually captured with their mouths and paws full of it, and as much on their fur coats as they could hold. But this state of happiness was not quite as satisfactory to others as it was to the cats and the children.

Jack announced one day that she had been disturbed by the musicales, and the catmint period was drawing to an end. Jack said:—

"She won't outwit me. Aunt Martha will let me plant some over behind your large barn, in that field, and we will dry all we can. Jett shall have her winter supply, and I will treat every cat in the neighborhood."

Jack worked with a will, and before the man Mrs. Thornton had hired to remove and destroy the catmint bed had arrived, it was nearly all transplanted or cut off to dry. They did enjoy that work.

Hope was seated in a wheel chair her father had bought for her, and Jack delighted in wheeling. She superintended all the work.

Aunt Martha allowed the man of all work to plant all that Jack brought him, though she did not think it best for him to take the catmint from Jack's garden.

Jett and Bimbo were very much interested. Bimbo eyed them in solemn silence for a while, then he yelled, "Go ahead! Hurry up! hurry up! She'll get you!" till it did seem as if that clever bird knew everything.

Jett's help was rather doubtful, though her interest was not. She followed Jack back and forth, and at every fresh root he would take up she would turn a somersault in the hole, scratching the earth with all her might; then she would rush back—a picture of yellow earth, black fur, and catmint.

These were happy days, too soon followed by sorrowful ones. As summer waned, and autumn advanced, the first frost cast a blight on the little life so fondly cared for by her friends.

Jack's sorrow, when he was made to realize her danger, was pathetic. He was now constantly with his little playfellow when she was able to see him. It was a picture to see her propped up in bed, Jack sitting by the side, in a little rocker, Joanna in her arms, or if too feeble to hold her, lying by her side, while Jett was curled up at her feet.

Poor, sorrowful Aunt Martha hovered around her darling, ready to attend to her slightest wish. Jett was devoted to her. In this case can be seen what devoted creatures cats and dogs can be if they are made friends of. They seem to realize the approach of that dread messenger, and to be "faithful unto death."

Jett only left the sick child long enough to take a constitutional and her meals. Then she would go back and mew piteously, if the door was closed, to get in to her little mistress. If Hope was asleep, she would jump up on the bed, stand and look at her a little while, perhaps lick her hands, and then lie down where she could watch every movement. If Joanna had fallen on the floor, she would pick her up with her teeth, give her a real shake, as if to say, "What did you fall down for?" and then, jumping up on the bed, deposit her in Hope's arms or by her side.

Never was there a case of greater devotion. She was always pleased to see Jack. She would lick his face and sit in his arms, but on the least movement of her little mistress back she would go and watch her with the deepest affection.

The end came very suddenly. Just at the close of a lovely October day sweet little Hope Farley fell asleep. She had seemed to know that the end was near. She had spoken of her death to her Aunt Martha, saying, "I am so tired, but I do not want to leave you and my dear ones."

She had made her auntie promise that Joanna should be dressed just as they dressed her, and be buried in her arms, saying, "I shall not be so lonesome with my dear dolly, and I know Jack and Jett will come and see me often."

So Joanna had a white cambric embroidered dress just like her little mistress's, that Aunt Martha made (with tears falling on her work), and she was laid in her little mistress's arms. Aunt Martha covered her with flowers, and sheltered her under the sleeve of her little mistress's dress as well as she could, knowing how much would be said about her indulging such a queer fancy of the dear child. As Jack said to her, "I do feel glad Joanna is with her. It seems so hard to put her away alone;" and Aunt Martha agreed with him.

They had the greatest trouble with Jett, to keep her out of the room. Every time the door was open she would hide under the bed. She had taken Joanna twice out to the seat in the garden, where she had so often seen her in Hope's arms, and Aunt Martha had to shut her out doors while she dressed Joanna.

Hope looked lovely, with beautiful flowers around her, and leaves from the plants she had loved. Her father was dazed at her loss, but Aunt Martha and Jack were the real mourners.

How it happened they never knew. They had kept track of Jett all they could, and Jack had petted her, and tried to comfort her, but all to no purpose. She was like a wild cat, crouching down in corners and watching them all. The last night before the funeral Hope was placed in the casket, and it was closed. Jett must have crawled into a corner under the sofa when the door was open, for she was found in the morning, sitting on the head of the casket, as solemn as if she knew she had been watching her dear little mistress.

She was not willing to go to any one, and disappeared till just as the funeral left the house, when she was seen on the opposite side of the street. When they reached the old cemetery, she was noticed behind some shrubs.

Jack got out of the carriage to see if it was Jett, and take her home, but could not find her. They thought it could not be she; but when days passed away and she did not return, they were sure it was Jett who had followed to her little mistress's grave. They sought her everywhere, leaving the outbuildings open, so in case she returned she could get in; but they never found any trace of her again.

There were stories, that they did not give credence to, of a cat's being seen hovering around the grave; but many people did believe that it was Jett guarding the grave of her dear one.

Superstitious people said that she was a ministering spirit sent to guard and comfort the life of that dear little child. That her mission being fulfilled, she went back to those who sent her, perhaps to be still with the dear child in Paradise. Others said she was a witch cat, spared for a little while, to be happy in this beautiful home; but her mission being over, the witches called her back. That perhaps at night she was allowed to visit the grave of the one she had served so devotedly.

But my opinion is, she was just a good, loving cat. She was grateful for all their kindness, and loved little Hope just as all cats love those who are kind to them. She had not been born in that home, as one would know by the strange way she often behaved that she had no training.

Of course her disappearance is hard to account for; but I do believe she could not bear to live in that home after Hope had left it, and she found another one for herself. Of course a cat has a right to an opinion. This is mine.

But does it not show how kind, loving, and faithful cats can be? If properly trained, they make the best companions for children.

Who that ever has seen dear little kittens, so loving and trusting, climbing in the arms of those who are kind to them, can doubt they are given to them for friends?