 Chapter 17 of Pussy Blackface, The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Pussy Blackface, The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends by Marshall Saunders. Chapter 17, The Mischievous Guinea Hen. After dinner, Della and Mary went out on the front veranda, and after Mrs. Gleason had given me something to eat, I trotted after them. There were two hammocks on the veranda, and Mary was swinging in one, and Della in the other. How old are you? The farmer's little girl was asking as I arrived. 12, said Mary, and I'm 13, returned Della. I'm going to tell you a secret, just between you and me. And Pussy there, she added, looking down at me as I walked under her hammock. Very well, said Mary excitedly. What is it? You're going to be my second best friend. I've got a best one, but I guess I can pass her on to another girl. Then I'll have you for the first best. That's lovely, said Mary. I'll be true to you, and you'll be true to me. We'll have to write our names in gore. murmur Della in a blood-curdling voice. In gore, repeated Mary. Who's gore? Yours and mine. You take a pin and scratch your arm. Then when the blood comes, you get a pin and write your name and your best friend's name on a piece of paper. Then you fold it and wear it in a little silk bag around your neck, next to your heart. We never do that in Boston, said Mary in dismay. And I wouldn't scratch anybody's arm with a pin for the world. Why, you might get a germ in it. What's that? inquired Della. A germ is a microbe, I think, replied Mary. And what's a microbe? I fancy it's a bacillus. And what's a bacillus? I don't know, said Mary, frankly. Only it's something that might give you scarlet favor or smallpox or diphtheria or measles or lots of diseases. No, Della, you must never scratch yourself with a pin. If you just have to take a splinter out of your hand, hold a needle point in the flame of a candle before you stick it in you. That kills the disease germs. Why, I must be full of diseases, said Della in a queer voice. I stick a pin in myself every day of my life. Of course, there are little healthy germs in us, pursued Mary, that fight the unhealthy ones. There's always a battle going on or else we'd all die right off of some disease. Is that why I feel so queer sometimes inside of me? continued Della. I don't know. I dare say it is, replied Mary. I hear Mama and Papa talking about these things. Della looked thoughtful, but made no answer as she was watching a man drive into the yard. After jumping from his wagon, he lifted out a box and put it on the back doorstep. That's Bill Seaforth, said Della. He wants to see Daddy, I guess, and she sprang out of the hammock and ran to the kitchen door. Mary and I followed more slowly. Hello, Mr. Seaforth, said Della, how are you? Oh, I'm whipping the cat, he said easily. How's all your care, whipping the cat? I repeated in a shocked voice to Aunt Tabby, who was sitting on the doorstep. What does he mean? It's just a country expression, she said. He's always saying something queer. But it was Della who was saying the queer thing now. We're all stepping along, she said cheerfully. I could not help smiling. It sounded like tight shoes. Is your paw above ground? Pursued the man. No, he's in the barn cellar, said Della. Bed in the pigs. I'll resurrect him, said Mr. Seaforth. He owes me two dollars for them two hawk guards. Oh, the guinea hens, said the sharp young Della, who seemed to know all her father's business. Do you suppose, Bill Seaforth, that they'll actually scare the hawks? Well, if we ain't all black liars up on the little purple hill, they do, drawn the man. Dino says it's all bosh, remarked Della. However, I'll tell Paw. The man did not see him at all offended with her, and she hurried to the barn. In a few minutes Mr. Gleason appeared, and seizing the box and followed by the man. He made his way to the hen house. Mary, who was delighted with this new happening, followed closely behind, and I kept at the heels of her pretty Boston shoes. Della wore brass-toed ones. Arrived at the hen house, the farmer called us all in, closed the door, and let the guinea hens out. Mary was convulsed with amusement. It seemed she had never seen any creatures like this before, and her fascinated eyes followed them as they went round and round the hen house uttering plaintive little cries, and walking with menacing steps like two little old women. They looked as if they had little gray shawls on, said Mary. Oh, how queer they are, what tiny heads. Ain't as brainy as hens, said the man who had brought them, and they wonder, powerful, you'll have to keep them in limbo for a while. They all stood for a long time watching the guinea hens. I used to marvel at the amount of time everybody had in the country. Nobody hurried, and yet they worked for a longer time each day than the people in Boston. Finally, the man got his two dollars and went away, and Mary, Della, and I went back to the hammocks. Serena was very much interested in my account of the guinea hens. She wasn't going out much those days. She kept indoors. Except at night when she took a little walk all about the barn. This particular evening she stole up to the hen house to see the guinea hens, and when the time came for them to be out, as they had become wanted to the place, she used to lie under a clump of roast bushes and watch them. Their actions interested her very much. They trotted all around the house, the barn, and the carriage house, only stopping occasionally to eat. Their humbugs said Serena. I've seen a swift hawk take two chickens today when the guinea hens were only a few feet away from him. They never opened their beaks, and he wasn't a bit afraid of them. There he is coming back. Meow, meow, I said loudly, and I ran toward Mary who had thrown herself on the grass at the side of the house and was reading a book. She looked up. The bird soaring overhead appeared in the distance like one of Della's blue homing pigeons that nested in the loft of the carriage house. When it came near, we saw it was larger than a pigeon. Like a bullet it dropped over and on suspecting mother hen seized one of her baby chickens and bore the dear little thing up in the air with its legs dangling helplessly. Mary burst into tears and tried to find Della. I hate those guinea hens, said Serena contemptuously. You just lie down here beside me, sister, and watch. You have seen one of their sins of omission. Now find out one of commission. I didn't know what she meant, but I crouched down beside her. She was much nicer to me since the downfall of her pride, and I really enjoyed being with her. Now she went on. Keep your eyes on the smaller of those old maids. I always laughed when she called the guinea hens the old maids, for with their little primways and gray tippet-like feathers, they certainly did look like bachelor hen girls. Just see how one of those little wretches is persecuting that lovely big rooster, said Serena viciously. I could not help smiling. Dear Serena, I said, it is impossible that that small hen should worry that huge wine-dot. You just observe, she said decidedly, and I did observe. The hen, apparently trotting aimlessly, round the backyard and the woodhouse, and the young orchard, was really all the time in pursuit of the wine-dot. The rooster kept so far ahead that no one but ourselves suspected the mischief she was doing. I've watched her for two days, said Serena. She just trots after him. It makes him nervous, and he keeps going. Sometimes he gets so exhausted that he lies down. She'll kill him if someone doesn't notice. What makes her do it? I asked of my wise sister. I don't know, she said in a puzzled voice. Just mischief, I fancy. Why doesn't he stop and beat her? I went on. He could do it in a minute. She has got more brains than he has, said Serena. I don't care if her head is small. She is his master. I'd like to punish her, I said angrily. I love that big wine-dot. He is so noble and generous about the hens. He hasn't talked to them for two days, said Serena. I too like to hear him say, Come, girls, as he let them down to the meadow for worms. I can tell you how to get ahead of her. Blackface, if you will. I do it myself. Only I don't want to attract attention. How? I asked eagerly. Get up and travel after her, till someone notices you. If you take to chasing, you'll be remarked. My blood was boiling at the meanness of the guinea hen. Why didn't she go play with her sister instead of chasing the poor wine-dot? So I gladly adopted Serena's suggestion and started in pursuit of the little miscreant keeping about three feet behind her. She didn't like it and kept looking over her shoulder. But I didn't care. I kept on trotting, but I got terribly tired. For we went for an hour before anyone but Serena noticed us. My sister lay under the bushes, encouraging me by kind glances whenever we went near her. But the poor wine-dot, in his despair, led us a dance all over the place and we seldom got near the rose bushes. Strange to say, the first one to notice us was Mr. Denville. Like most men brought up in the country, he was a very shrewd observer. About the middle of the afternoon he came out of the house to get a drink from the old well, where he said a moss-covered bucket had hung when he was a lad on the farm. There was a fine pump in the kitchen now, but he always came for his drinks to the well that he had had cleaned out and equipped with a sanitary drinking fountain. After he had satisfied his thirst, his eyes roamed over the meadows and the pasture and the hills in the distance, all of which were visible from the high land at the back of the house. I saw his lips form the word beautiful. The wine-dot was just sprinting down the barn to the chipyard. Mr. Denville barely noticed the three of us as we tailed by, but when, after leading us round the house and the old orchard back to the side door, the wine-dot made again for the well, Mr. Denville gave us a puzzled glance. I threw him an appeal over my shoulder as we went traveling up to the spring where the trout lived. It was not a very hot day, but there is no fun in running when you don't want to, and I was getting tired. Mr. Denville took the hint and followed us. When we got back of the barn, the wine-dot flopped and lay with his beak open and his eyes shut. Ginny stood patiently watching him. I hissed at her, but she didn't care. Just as the poor rooster was rousing himself, preparatory to a fresh start, Mr. Denville arrived on the scene. When we started again, he joined us, and calling to Mary and Della, he had them come too. Serena hasn't much sense of humor, but I could see she was nearly killing herself laughing under the rose bushes. Della understood almost as quickly as Mr. Denville had done. Mary was mystified. Della and Mr. Denville put their heads together, and soon the chase was over. Ginny was caught and held firmly. While Della went to rummage in her mother's work basket, Mr. Denville took the empty spool and made a little clog. This he fastened to Ginny's leg. Then he set her down. The poor rooster, who was thankfully reposing under a tree, started up as soon as he saw her coming, but she did not pursue. Every step she took, the little clog flapped against her leg. She would stop to look at it and the rooster would stop to see why she wasn't coming. Dear little Mary just shrieked at the Ginny Hinn's foolish actions. She was so boisterous in her mirth that soon she had all the family out in the backyard. The men were coming home from work, and I think Ginny was well paid for her unkindness. Everybody made fun of her, and finally she slunk away very quietly and climbed to the top of an apple tree. There is a wild streak in Ginny Hinn's, and they hate Hinn houses. Della petted the rooster and gave him a special supper from the farm table. Next day he came out of the Hinn house refreshed from a good night's sleep and let his girls gaily down to the meadow. His head was up. He stepped high. Ginny was so taken up with her clog that she never noticed him. She had something to do now that kept her active mind out of mischief and later on when I got acquainted with her I found she was quite a nice sort of a creature as vowels go. There is good in every created thing even mischief Ginny Hinn's. End of chapter 17 Chapter 18 of Pussy Blackface The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends This is a Libra Box recording. All Libra Box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibraBox.org. Pussy Blackface The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends by Marshall Saunders Chapter 18 The Owl and the Chickens Serena liked me to go with her when she took her walks about the farm at night. At first I was flattered at her preference for me. Then I was interested and finally I was responsive. Serena was really getting fond of me and she was becoming unselfish and companionable. She knew that I admired her and she was so clever that when she said about trying to make me love her she succeeded easily. We're sisters, she said gently we ought to be great friends. Chums, I said. Chums, if you like. She responded graciously. The older I grow the more I recognize the tie of blood between relatives and you are really quite nice looking at times. Blackface. Just lower your head a little till I lick your fur into shape between your ears where you can't reach it with your tongue. Thank you, I replied. The tongue can dress things down much better than damp paws. Serena attended to my toilet beautifully. That was last night. Then we sallied forth for a moonlight walk. It was a beautiful night. There were a few other cats about but we stepped into the bushes till they passed by. We saw a weasel down near the river smelled a skunk listened to the deep breathing of the young cattle and the horses sleeping out in the pasture and saw with regret that the lovely white woolly sheep had broken into the meadow. We can't do anything about it said Serena. The farmer will turn them out in the morning meantime they're having a fine feed of rich meadow grass and they won't get whipped for it. No farmer Gleason never whips anything, I said. I wish he owned all the dogs and cats and horses in the world. What is that? said Serena excitedly. As we came up the sloping road leading from the meadow to the barn I looked at the top of the carriage house. There, perched on the ridge pole where the pigeons love to sit in the daytime it was a funny square looking creature that never moved. Is it a bird? I asked. I think from what I've heard. Said Serena that is a big owl. Keep close to the fence sister. If he sees our fur he may sees us. Tabby says Joker was nearly caught once by a big owl. Oh! And Serena gave a gasp. With her native caution as soon as she saw the owl she had led me under the snake fence. Fortunately a few poles had fallen out and had made a rough shelter under which we crept. I hadn't turned my eyes from the owl but for a second when I felt something strike the poles above us and saw the flash of two balls of fire which were eyes. Then I lay gasping with fright. He struck me moaned Serena with claws. They felt red hot. Oh! The wicked creature! I whispered. Then my conscience pricked me. I had just been looking for a nice, sweet little meadow mouse down by the river. Serena, who never ate mice, was following the workings of my mind. My back smarts terribly where he ripped it. She sighed I am very sorry for every creature that suffers. Wait till we get out of this. I said comfortingly I will give your back a good licking. Thank you, she murmured. Then she said, Alas poor beauty. Why did you say that? I asked. Beauty and her chickens are sleeping in that apple tree tonight. Said Serena, nodding toward the young orchard. She wouldn't go in the hen house. And Della laughed at her and said she could sleep out. Every chick skipped up the branches after her. That wretch chickens move about in their sleep sometimes. The way human babies nestle. Mona is sleeping up by the barn door tonight. I said, she likes to be there because it is high. And she can see all over the farm. I wish she were here. She can't fly, said Serena. No, but she could bark and rouse the farmer. I'm going to call her. And I mute loudly. Mona, Mona the good old dog, who does not sleep as soundly as when she was young heard me and came running to us. I soon told her the trouble. The owl, of course, knew all about it. But he was a very bold fellow and evidently scorned us all. While Mona was staring and sniffing the air in his direction, the great creature made another swoop. Not a sound was audible. Owls are very sneaky creatures. He hovered over the apple tree nearest the carriage house. There was a loud cackle from beauty and a sputtering from the chickens. We could hear some of them fluttering to the ground. Mona bounded away. She can't fly, I said. But that owl will be smart if he gets any of the chickens while they are near her on the ground. The owl knew better than to descend too low. But the bold fellow made one more dash at the apple tree. More chickens cried and flounced wildly about in the darkness. Mona just yelled with rage. And in a jiffy, Barlow was leaving and barking beside her. Mr. Gleason was at the window sending up a rocket that made Mr. Owl vanish like a ghost. I laughed the most delicious cat laugh that I ever enjoyed. I just fancied that owl's astonishment when the rocket was flying through the air in his direction. I don't think he will ever come back to the farm. Let him hunt mice and vermin in the meadow, said Serena, and leave our chickens alone. Part of the family was at the windows. The rest was out of doors. Serena and I advanced to the side of Mr. Dinville. He ran his hand over my back. Then over Serena's. This cat is bleeding, he said. And some of the chickens are gone, said Mr. Gleason. Look at these feathers. He whirled his lantern round under the trees where the moonbeams did not penetrate and showed what he had picked up. There isn't one gone, said Mona to me. When the owl flew away, he carried nothing with him. Count your chickens, said Mr. Dinville. Can't, said the farmer. They're scattered. Do you find any large feathers? Yes, Mr. Dinville. No, said the farmer. Not one. I guess you're right. Morning will tell. Anyway, Mona and Barlow will keep the old fellow from making any more visits. Morning did tell the same story. The owl had pulled a number of feathers out of the chickens. But he had not got one of the little creatures. They were wiser chickens after that. And beauty was a wiser mother. One night we saw her going to bed nice and early in the hen house with her fine brood behind her. She told Serena that it was a dreadful thing for a mother hen to lead her chickens into such danger. And she said that they suffered more during the night when they crouched in the grass and behind the wood pile and under the veranda than when the owl was attacking them. They were a scattered family. Beauty was a very young hen. Everybody called her old. But she really had not had much experience in bringing up chickens. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 of Pussy Blackface The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer. Please visit LibriVox.org Pussy Blackface The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends by Marshall Saunders Chapter 19 The Close of the Summer I am ashamed to say that weeks and weeks have gone by since I have sat down at night and had a good think over things that are going on about me. I have been happy and busy. All day long something was happening on the farm to keep us interested. And nearly every night Serena and I run about and play till we were so tired that we just tumbled into our nice beds. It seems impossible to think that the summer is about gone. Why? Aunt Tabby? I said to her just now. Surely it was only yesterday that I asked you by Farmer Gleeson made nice little beds for the seeds to go to sleep and then kept fussing with them till I was sure he would wake them up. Aunt Tabby smiled. You were a very ignorant little city cat. Now you know something about grubs and worms. And the constant care a farmer has to put forth to keep his crops from being eaten up. The hang was beautiful. I murmured. I wish the sweet smelling days could come again. A pity thumby has hay fever said Aunt Tabby. He is glad when the hang is over. It was pitiful to hear him sneezing when the men were unloading the hay carts. I admire a thumby. I said warmly. He is a brave cat not to desert his post when it becomes unpleasant. He is all right in winter said Aunt Tabby. He is out a great deal. And then when he is cold he sits on a cow's back. Bessie is his friend, isn't she? I said. Yes. The Jersey. She loves thumby. Here comes Joker. I said as he walked down from the barn and sat beside us. I said nothing allowed. But I thought to myself how much Joker has improved since we came to the farm. Aunt Tabby says it is because he has been much with Serena and me. Endless with the untrained blizzard and the slippery rosy. I think he is better because Sly Boots gave him such a beating for taunting poor Serena, however. I don't like to say this to Aunt Tabby. These country cats all stand by each other. I've got some news for you, said Joker to me. I'm afraid you're soon going away. From the farm I said in dismay. Yes. I just heard Farmer Gleason tell one of the men that soon you'll be going back to Boston. Why? The summer has passed like a dream. I said perhaps you'll come back next summer. Said Aunt Tabby. Oh, I hope so. I said I just love this place. Sly Boots is a lot better for her visit. Said Aunt Tabby. Her eyes look quite strong now. She strained them trying to see mice and rats in the Boston streets when she was cold and hungry. I said she was all run down. We are just like human beings in that way. Said Aunt Tabby. If we're not properly fed and housed all our bodily functions suffer. What's a function? Asked Joker slyly. You're trying to talk Bostonese like Serena. Aunt Tabby thoughtfully licked her paw and said nothing. Where is Serena? Asked Joker looking around. On the upper of her end I said she never got over that mole hunt. She went on. A cat that never has trouble doesn't amount to much. Said Aunt Tabby. You know that, Joker. He hung his head. Then his eyes twinkled. And he looked at me. We ought to wave blackface before she goes back to the city. She's gained about three pounds since she came. I gave a little sigh. My appetite is my weak point. I've never tasted such bread and butter in Boston. Nor such savory meat. Put a rain on your appetite, blackface. Said Joker. Or you'll have kittens scout. There are the denvils coming up from the meadow. Said Aunt Tabby. And little Mary with them. All as brown as berries. Said Joker. That child ought to live in the country. There was certainly an immense change in our dear little Mary. Her parents came up the hill. Went to the barn. Then began to descend the slope to the carriage house. Little Mary left her parents and ran ahead. Actually ran. A thing I had never seen her do before. Though she could walk very fast. I saw Mrs. Denville stop and snatch at her husband's arm as if she were going to fall. One hand pointed to Mary. Her lips were moving. We cats knew that she was saying my little girl can run. She is stronger than when she came. What wonders the country has done for her. You'll come next summer fast enough. Said Aunt Tabby. Oh, I wish we could stay till apple picking. I said. Casting a glance at the old orchard where each tree was a perfect sight with its load of red fruit. You might be cold. Said Aunt Tabby cautiously. Here in Maine cool winds sometimes blow and the farmers get their fingers nipped while they are picking the apples. Often Mrs. Gleeson sends out hot drinks to the orchard to keep them in warm while they are up on the letters at work. Well, we have had a lovely summer. I said. We shall have very pleasant things to think over during the long winter. I like that picnic down by the river about as well as anything. Said Joker licking his lips. I've often heard folks talk about picnics, but they always went so far off that cats couldn't go. Now, when Farmer Gleeson had that one right here at home after hanging and had all the men who helped him with their families I thought it was fine. I liked the big evening party. I said. When people drove in from miles around and they had speeches and singing. And I liked the school children's parade on the 4th of July, said Aunt Tabby when they all marched up from the school house with banners and had that play acting on the front lawn and the feast afterwards and nobody got hurt at fireworks. It was all good. I said. All this last part of the visit has been lovely. I think it must be easier to have happy times in a country than in Boston. Aunt Tabby smiled. You are young, blackface. When you are older, you will know that whether you are happy or unhappy depends on the kind of cat you are. Before I could answer her sly boots came trotting up. She seemed unusually excited for her. What's this? I hear about going back to Boston. She said. We told her what we had heard and I said. Oh, she shuddered as she said. I hate the train. Do you want to stay here? Asked Joker. Wouldn't be square, she said firmly. I'm the Denville's cat and I've got to stick it out with him. They'll always be good to you, said Aunt Tabby. You can trust those people. Sly boots looked at me. Is Serena going to live with us? She said. I suppose so, I replied in surprise. I never asked her. You just go find out, she said. I guess she'll jar you. I fled upstairs to the veranda. Serena was lying with half shut eyes and occasionally glancing up into the blue sky seen through the treetops. Something told her I was coming and without turning her head she said the hawk is around. Go warn Mona. I flew downstairs. There was great talk on the farm about the birds of the Saint Bernard whereas we cats told her when the hawk was coming and the birds told us. As I ran up to the barn I threw swift glances about me. The little birds knew wild sparrows, swallows, gold finches, purple finches, robins, and ever so many other birds were all flying toward the west. The pigeons saw them and they were high up as they could round and round the carriage house so the hawk could not drop on them from above. The hens didn't know yet for beauty and her brood were following Bobby, the tame pig, up and down the young orchard where he was rooting up worms. He wouldn't let any other hen and chickens get near him. Mona, Mona. I mewed as I ran to the barn floor. Hawk, hawk. Mona opened her grey jaws and bellowed. Bow, wow. As she ran from the barn to the house and then to the orchard every creature understood her warning note and she was not the only enemy the hawk had. There was a furious scolding and chattering from the pine trees beyond the orchard where a pair of crows had had a nest during the summer. They had seen the hawk and they worried him till he passed by the front door of their nest where the young ones used to be. He had a hard flight that morning by the time he reached the farm every chicken was hiding under bushes or in the buckwheat or under the veranda or on the wood pile and a pair of kingbirds were nearly driving him crazy. Aunt Tabby had explained to me when I first came to the farm about these brave little birds who are never frightened of a hawk and who do no harm though they are often accused of eating too many bees. Aunt Tabby who has watched them closely says they kill a thousand nauseous insects for every bee they eat. Mr. Hawk flew away to the westward but the little frightened birds were all scurrying ahead of him and he would not be able to do much damage in that direction as soon as I saw the last beat of his powerful wings. I ran back to Serena. Oh, sister, I said. Have you heard that we are soon going back to Boston? She turned her handsome eyes on me. No, but I imagined the subject would soon be under discussion. And are you going to live with the Denvils? I blurted out. She smiled half sadly. No, blackface. I'm going back to our parents. Oh, Serena, I said, I am much disappointed. That is nice in you, blackface. But I must do my duty. Our father and mother have missed me. And in thinking things over lately, I know I did wrong to leave them. I was so surprised that I did not say anything for a long time. Then I murmured, you will come to see us sometimes. Oh, yes, said Serena brightly. We are close by. Serena, I said, are you going back home because you want to? Or because you ought to? The latter first. But I'll make it the former. Before I'm done with it, she said with a laugh. End of chapter 19 Chapter 20 of Pussy Blackface The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Pussy Blackface The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends by Marshall Sounders Chapter 20 In the City Again Weeks more have passed and now we're in the city. Life is so quiet and happy that I don't seem to have much to think over. We eat, sleep, have a good time, and looking out the window at the snow and ice pity the poor cats who have no comfortable homes. That is our only trouble, sly boots and mine. She stood the journey back to the city remarkably well and as the day goes by we've become firmer friends than ever. I even proposed a while ago to have her sleep in my bed but she said, Blackface, you want half grown up. Us cats want our own bed and our own food dish. If you eat too much or you'll fight, we are better friends apart. Mona laughed when I told her this and said there was much truth in it. She and Dali are both well and enjoy long walks every day with Mr. and Mrs. Denville. Mona says it is all nonsense to say a dog cannot be kept healthy in a city. Good food and plenty of exercise will keep animals in condition anywhere. Unless the air is poisonous and air is as good as any air. Little Mary is much brighter and better for her visit to the country and your parents are planning to take her to the country again quite early next spring. Mr. Denville is going to have a furnace put into the farmhouse so they won't feel the cold. Just now Mary and her mother are very busy getting a Christmas box ready for the farm. Dela and the boys almost broke their hearts when little Mary left them in sleigh boots and I are lost in admiration of the beautiful and useful presents that are going into the box for those children. With all their care for the human beings, for the Denville's do much for the poor children in Boston, they do not forget the animals. The animal refuge where I was taken when I was a lost pussy is to have a joyous Christmas. Mary is going to help decorate a Christmas tree for the cats and the dogs are to have some new drinking fountains and a sum of money which will go to the rescue of suffering creatures who would otherwise perish in the streets. Mrs. Denville says that if boys and girls are kind to cats and dogs and other creatures they will be kinder to each other. She says we should all protect something weaker than ourselves. As I lie on my cushion on the window seat I watch the crowds hurrying across the common river. Suppose all the people were kind to each other. Suppose all the cats and dogs and sparrows and pigeons and squirrels on the common were well fed and happy. What a beautiful spot this beak and hill would be. Those people are not all kind. I can tell by their faces if I were a human being I would try to do something to make them smile on each other. I'm only a little cat with my boots and the dogs and the dear family in this house and in my parents house. Serena is the light of that home now. She is more beautiful than ever and more dignified. No one here knows of her troubles in the country and she is a leader in a cat society on the hill. My mother and father are so proud of her. She never tries them now by being affected or conceited. She says she doesn't want to go to the country again but she is glad that she won't this time. The Denvils had a great joke about when she left them for her old home. They did not understand. Many things in the cat world are hidden from human beings. We suffer and rejoice and scheme and plan pretty much as the higher order of creation does if only more people would take the trouble to study us. Serena says there is a whole book of cat psychology to open it and read aloud. But there is that all created things should work together from kings to earthworms. She says they were started to accomplish great things in unison but some wicked people threw things out of joint. She is preparing a lecture on the subject for the Beacon Hill and Gora Club. I am to have a ticket. I hope everybody in Boston is going to have a pleasant Christmas. That is a foolish wish Sly Booth says for everybody can't well then everybody that can just as many as possible. Someday I may have some more adventures to think about. Just now there's nothing to tell except that we haven't anything to tell and we're all very happy and wish the whole world were the same. The End End of Chapter 20 In The City Again End of Pussy Blackface by Vakitin and Her Friends by Marshall Sounders