Puppies and kittens, and other stories

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PUPPIES AND KITTENS — TWO PUPPIES — CHAPTER I TIM — CHAPTER II THE PUPPIES — CHAPTER III TIMETTE AND ANN — CHAPTER IV DOGS AND THEIR SENSE OF SMELL — CHAPTER V THE ADVENTURE — CHAPTER VI THE LOST PUPPIES — CHAPTER VII THE SEARCH PARTY — CHAPTER VIII TIMETTE AND ANN FALL OUT — CHAPTER IX TRAINING DOGS — CHAPTER X THE POET DOG

Some dogs love being photographed and others simply hate it. We once had a dog called Tim who was determined to be in every photograph. It didn’t matter what we were trying to take, Tim would do his best to push in. And the worst of it was that when you were busy with the camera you couldn’t be looking after Tim at the same time, and he would somehow manage to get into the picture. Perhaps he hadn’t got in quite far enough, in which case you would see only a bit of him, which was worst of all.

So you may be sure we had no trouble with him if ever we wanted to pose him for a photograph. Tim was a proud dog then, and he would sit or stand any way we liked; the only bother was to keep his tail still, for being so pleased, he couldn’t resist wagging it.

I believe you would have liked Tim because, of course, you are fond of dogs, and he was an adorable dog. He was very sociable and hated being left out of anything, so that if two or three of us were chatting, Tim would jump on a chair and join the party. He would lean over the back, gazing so intelligently into our faces, that it really seemed as if he were talking, too.

A dog’s love for his people is a curious and beautiful thing. Tim did not mind how uncomfortable he was as long as he could be near them. He had once been known to give up his dinner to follow them when they went for a walk. Perhaps he was not as hungry as usual that day.

He would lean over the back of a chair.

We had another dog with Tim called Tess who hated the sight of a camera. We wanted to get a photograph of her and Tim sitting up together, but she was determined we shouldn’t. As soon as we had placed them in a good position and were ready to begin, that silly Tess would tumble on her back with her legs sticking up in the air, and how could you photograph a dog like that! We tried scolding her, but that only made matters worse, for she simply wouldn’t sit up at all, and as soon as we had dragged her on to her feet—flop, over she would go again! At last we had to give it up as a bad job.

Tess had five jolly little puppies, three boys and two girls, and as soon as ever the pups could get on without their mother, she was sent away. She went to some kind people who never wanted to photograph their dogs and where she would get heaps and heaps to eat, for I must tell you, Tess was rather a greedy dog and not as faithful and affectionate as Tim.

Tim was very good to the puppies. Naturally, he didn’t trouble himself about them quite like a mother, but he was never snappy or disagreeable. Even when they played all over him and nibbled his ears he never growled like some father dogs might have done.

One day we wanted to take a picture of the puppies sitting in a row, little thinking the difficult job it was going to be. Of course, Tim kept sitting just in front of the camera, so before we began he had to be taken indoors.

The Puppies.

At first the puppies were all good except the two girls, Timette and Ann. They wouldn’t stay where they were put, but kept waddling away as if they had some very important business of their own. As soon as Ann was caught and put back, Timette would wander off, and when she was caught, Ann was off again and so it went on. It was lucky there were two of us, but we were both kept busy. Then the other puppies didn’t see why they shouldn’t have some fun and they began wandering away, too. There was only one thing to be done with the two naughty pups who had set such a bad example and that was to give them a whipping. Of course, not a real one, for they were such babies they couldn’t understand, but just a few mild pats to keep them still. You would have laughed to see their puzzled faces, for they were not sure what the pats meant and rather thought it was some new game. After this Ann was placed in the middle of the group, where she promptly went to sleep, and Timette was put at the end of the row, where she sat blinking as sleepily as you do when it is long past your bedtime.

Timette and Ann had never been so tired in their short lives. First of all, the running away and always being brought back, then being made to sit in one place, and after that the new game of pats had been too much for the babies, and when it was over they slept and slept as if they never meant to wake up again.

I wonder what they said to each other about it afterwards. I daresay the three other puppies laughed at them and probably made believe they had understood all along that they were expected to sit still. When old Tim came out again they told him all about it. “We tried hard to get away,” said Timette, and Ann joined in, “We tried and tried over and over again, but each time we were brought back.” Then the other puppies explained about the pats. “I see,” said Tim, “now I understand you have had your first whipping for disobedience; take care it is the last.”

They slept and slept.

When the puppies grew a little older, people used to come and look at them, and soon the three boy puppies were sold and taken to new homes.

Timette and Ann missed their brothers; it seemed funny to be such a small family and they did their best to entice old Tim to play with them. But he was too grown-up and dignified and rather slow in moving about, so it was not altogether a success. In the middle of a game he would prick up his ears and listen as if he heard some one calling him. And often he would trot off, pretending he was wanted elsewhere, just as an excuse to get away from the rough, romping pups.

Timette was given her name because she was so like Tim, and Ann hers because, as she was rather old-fashioned looking, it seemed to suit her. The puppies were very much alike, so only those who knew them well could tell them apart, but in character they were very different. Ann was gentle and timid, while Timette was a thorough tomboy, full of spirits and mischief and as bold as a lion.

And now I am going to tell you about the first adventure they had. They lived in a garden that ran into a wood. It was rather difficult to see just where the garden ended and the wood began, for they were only separated by a wire.

Now, Timette and Ann knew that they were not supposed to go out of the garden where they had plenty to amuse them: an india-rubber ball, a piece of wood that looked like a bone, and a bit of rag that did for playing “Tug-of-war.” Ann never had the least wish to wander, for she was much too timid. But, as I said, Timette was different; she was simply longing to go into the wood and have some adventures. She kept talking to Ann about it, making most tempting suggestions and persuading her to go.

TIMETTE AND ANN.

“Two little Airedale pups are we,

Shaggy of coat and of gender ‘she.’”

“Look at old Tim,” she said; “he often takes a walk by himself, and he never comes to any harm.”

“That’s all very well,” Ann answered; “he’s old, and he can take care of himself.”

“Well, and why can’t we take care of ourselves?”

“Because I believe there are wild animals that would eat us up.”

“Whatever makes you think that?” asked Timette, for she knew Ann had very sharp ears and keen scent; “do you smell or hear them?”

“Both,” replied Ann, “only this morning I smelt that some animal had been in the garden. I got on its track and followed it down to the cabbages and back to the wood again.”

“I don’t think much of an animal who only goes after cabbages,” Timette interrupted.

“There are others, too,” continued Ann, “I often hear very strange scratching noises like animals running up trees with terribly sharp claws,” and Ann gave a little shudder.

“Well, what of it?” said Timette boldly. “I shouldn’t mind their claws as long as the animals weren’t bigger than I am.”

“But they might run after us,” suggested Ann.

“They wouldn’t run after me,” boasted Timette, “for I should be running after them!”

“Would you really?” asked Ann, and she sighed, wishing she were as brave as her sister.

“I should say so,” said Timette, “if only you would come, too, we might even catch one. Think what fun that would be.”

“It certainly would,” replied Ann. “Oh, how I should love it!”

“Well, come along,” urged Timette, and Ann came along, and that is how the adventure began.

This conversation took place after the puppies had eaten their dinner and were supposed to be taking their afternoon nap. Tim was stretched out on the lawn in the sun, having a doze, and no one was about. The two puppies slunk off quietly into the wood and no one saw them go.

The wood was very exciting; there were such strange smells about, and when the puppies put their noses to the ground they began to find out all sorts of animal secrets. And now, before we go any further with Timette and Ann into the wood, I must just tell you a little about dogs and their clever noses or you will be wondering why these puppies talked so much about smells.

“Here you see us with Papa;

They sent away our dear Mamma.”

Hundreds of years ago, when there were no maps or books or papers, people could find out all kinds of wonderful things by their noses. Your nose now will tell you the difference between the smell of a violet and strawberry jam and other things, but when you know what a dog can discover by its sense of smell, you will see how feeble yours is.

A dog will know who has been along the road by smelling the footsteps. Although it cannot read the way on a sign-post it can smell out the way to places and follow any one who has been along, even if it was some time ago.

You wouldn’t know if a friend had been to see you while you were out unless you were told, but a dog would know as soon as he came back; he wouldn’t be obliged to ask, for he would know just who it was. If the friend had brought another little dog, too, your own dog would be so excited he would probably try to tell you all about it, and yet he was away when it happened.

The road is as interesting to a dog as the most thrilling story book is to you. It may look just an empty road, but to a dog it has all sorts of messages that conjure up pictures. He knows, for instance, that another dog has traveled there and can tell what kind of dog it was. By and by his nose tells him this dog found a rabbit and caught it. Then he finds out a bigger dog came along and chased the first dog and got the rabbit. At least, did he get the rabbit? He is puzzled and sniffs hard round one spot. It is exciting news he is finding out and you can see his tail wagging with eagerness. No, it seems, neither dog got the rabbit, for bunny was too sharp and between the two managed to get away. If a dog can find out all this by his sense of smell you may guess he can easily track the rabbit to its hole, and there he sits probably waiting for it to come out and give him the chance of a little sport, too.

Haven’t you often seen your dog stop suddenly when he is coming towards you and hold his head in the air? You must have wondered why he didn’t come straight on. He has probably had a message, a scent blown on the wind, which like a wireless, tells him a rat has just crossed the road and is somewhere in the hedge if he will only go and look. And so it goes on; there is not a dull moment in his walk.

To a dog every one has his own particular smell which never deceives him. If you dress yourself up you may puzzle your dog’s eyes for a little while. He may even bark at you as if you were a stranger, but once let him get near enough to smell you and it is all over. He will wag his tail and look up at you, as much as to say, “Did you really think you could take me in?” So you can understand why dogs when out hate to be made to come to heel, as they miss all the fun of the walk, and have no chances to stop and read the interesting smells that tell them so much.

“All the happy, livelong day,

We eat and sleep and laze and play.”

And now we must go back to Timette and Ann and their adventure.

“The tree-climbing animal has been up here,” cried Ann, sniffing at the bark of a tree. And when they looked up they saw a brown squirrel peeping at them from a branch.

“Come down! come down! come down at once!” barked the puppies, but Mr. Squirrel was too wise for that. He knew that even with such baby dogs it wouldn’t be quite safe to trust himself on the ground.

“I don’t call that playing fair,” Ann called out, jumping up at the tree and wishing she could climb it. But the squirrel just sat tight.

Presently Timette smelt an enticing smell and dived into some bushes, while Ann anxiously watched and waited. She could hear Timette working about and breathing hard.

“Hi, hi, hi!” shrieked a big bird as it flew out. Timette dashed after it, but it rose in the air and left her looking very surprised. “Well, that was a sell!” she said.

Ann meanwhile was busy with her nose on the ground. There were a number of insects crawling about; they had no smell to speak of, but they moved quickly, which was rather fun. Once she chased a big hairy buzzing thing. It settled on a bit of heather and she nearly caught it, but luckily not quite, for it was a bumble bee.

“Except when only one bone’s there,

And Sis takes care that I shan’t share.”

Timette didn’t care for the beetles; they were feeble sport for a dog, she thought, and putting her nose in the air she caught a most wonderful smell. She gave a short bark of delight and started running about to find it on the ground. Ann looked up and she too caught the message and was as busy as Timette. It was a most enticing scent: furry and alive and gamey so that it promised real sport. As soon as the puppies really got on to it, they put their noses to the ground and followed it up, their little stumpy tails wagging hard. Their instinct told them it was not an animal that could hurt them, but one their mother and father and grandfathers and great-grandfathers had chased, so you can’t blame Timette and Ann for following up the scent of a rabbit.

But although rabbits are often killed by dogs, they are not silly enough to allow themselves to be caught by two young, inexperienced puppies. The rabbit they chased was an old one who had his wits too much about him to be even very afraid. You will laugh when I tell you that he didn’t even trouble himself to hurry and just ambled along to a hole and popped down it.

This hole had been the chief entrance to his burrow, and he and his big family had used it so often that it was worn quite wide and smooth. The artful old rabbit, however, only went a little way down it, then he turned to one side and went up another little passage and out into the wood and off again.

The puppies came dashing along, giving little short barks of delight at the sport. They followed the scent to the hole, and without stopping they plunged right into what looked to them like a dark tunnel. Of course, they were in much too great a hurry to notice the little passage where the old rabbit had turned aside, and just pushed on as hard as they could. The tunnel wound downhill and grew narrower and narrower as they went on. Timette was leading and she called back to Ann, “Can you smell anything? I have lost the scent.”

“So have I,” Ann answered, and then as she was feeling nervous in the dark, she added, “Let’s go back.”

“No, it’s all right!” cried Timette, “we had better go on, I can see daylight and smell the open air.”

This was a good thing, for the fat puppies would have found it very difficult to turn round in such a small space. At the end the hole grew so narrow that Timette had to squeeze to get through, and when Ann crawled out, some of the roof fell in and there was no more hole to be seen.

The puppies found themselves in a hole in two senses of the word. It wasn’t a nice hole either, but a deep one, cold and damp, too, and with no enticing smells. It had once been the home of a lot of rabbits, but it had all been dug up, and the only smell about it now was that of a cold dull spade.

“I want to go home,” whimpered Ann.

“So do I, Cry-baby,” said Timette, “but we shall have to climb out of here first.”

“What a pity you should be

Such a greedy little she!”

Then they both stood on their hind legs and stretched up the sides of the hole, and when this was no good they gave little feeble jumps. A child would have managed to scramble out somehow, and kittens could have reached the top in a twinkling; but puppies are so clumsy and helpless, and poor Timette and Ann’s struggles were all in vain. They only fell on their backs, and at last got so hurt and tired they gave it up. It was their teatime, too, and they were feeling hungry as well as unhappy, and you know how bad that is.

Ann cried, “Oh, I do want my bread and milk! I’m so hungry. Oh! oh! oh!” And Timette began crying, too, “We’re lost, we’re lost! Oh, do come and find us!” and then they both howled as loudly as ever they could, “Help, help, help!” But no one came and all was quiet.

Poor puppies! how miserable and lonely they felt! It did seem hard that no one should trouble about them, and when they couldn’t cry any longer they curled themselves up as close as they could to each other and went to sleep. They were like the lost “Babes in the Wood.”

And now I want to tell you what was happening at home. A little girl called Ruth, who was very fond of the puppies, came to see them on her way home from a party. She loved playing with them, and the first thing she said when she ran in was, “I am just going to say good-night to Timette and Ann,” and was off into the garden to find them.

But, alas! there were no puppies to be found. There was the india-rubber ball and the stick and the bit of rag, all looking very lonely, but no sign of the puppies. Ruth was very puzzled. “What have you done with them?” she asked Tim, who was sitting up looking rather worried. He gave his tail a flop and his brown human eyes seemed to say, “It really wasn’t my fault; they ran away without asking me.”

Ruth felt sure they couldn’t be so very far off, as they were too babyish to be able to stray a great distance, and that with Tim’s help she would be able to find them. She ran back to tell us the news and that she and Tim were going out as a search party to look for the lost ones.

“Don’t be long,” we called after her, “remember your bedtime.”

“As if I could go to bed while the darlings are lost!” we heard her say.

We watched them go into the wood, Tim barking round Ruth most excitedly. He seemed to know there was serious business on hand, for instead of dashing off to chase rabbits, he kept near her and often put his nose to the ground. “We’ve got to find those puppies,” Ruth told him. Soon he gave a sharp bark and ran ahead of her, looking round and saying as plainly as he could, “You just follow me.” Ruth understood dogs as well as she loved them, and she trusted Tim and followed where he led.

In a few minutes they had reached the hole. The puppies woke up to see Ruth and Tim standing looking down on them. Oh, what a noise they made! I can’t tell you how delighted they were. It seemed like waking up from a bad dream. You couldn’t have heard yourself speak, for there was Tim barking, Ruth calling them all the pet names she could think of, and the puppies themselves simply shrieking with joy. Ruth soon jumped down into the hole, and when we came up there she was hugging the puppies who were covering her face with their wet sticky kisses, giving little sobbing cries as if they wanted to tell her over and over again how glad they were to be found, and to thank her for getting them out of the nasty hole. Ruth carried them home in her arms, talking to them all the way, while Tim stalked along by her side with a proud and injured air that plainly said, “Well, after all, it was really I who found them and I think you might make a little more fuss with me.”

“This they say is not quite right;

But who can keep still in the midst of a fight?”

Puppies don’t have meat to eat; they don’t really need it till they are grown up. However, sometimes as a great treat, Timette and Ann would be given a bone. They always had one each, because being rather jealous dogs they might have quarreled over one. Tim, too, always had a bone to himself. One day the cook threw Tim a bone, but he had gone off for a saunter in the wood, and the puppies rushed to get the prize. Timette was first and, with a bound, was on top of it. But she had jumped just too far and Ann quickly dived in and snatched it from under her. Poor Timette! her baby face looked so disappointed. “Well, you are a greedy pig,” she said; “you might let me have a bit.”

“Go away,” said Ann, and she went on calmly nibbling.

Then Timette made a dash for it, but Ann was prepared and wheeled round, the bone safely in her mouth. Timette tried again, but Ann was too artful; she just held on to the bone with her paws as well as her teeth and gave a little growl when Timette came too near.

At last Timette’s patience gave way, and with an angry cry she hurled herself at Ann. Ann at once turned on her and bit her ear, and then they got muddled up, both trying to bite as hard as they could. The bone was forgotten, for both puppies were in a rage. They fought almost savagely like big dogs and neither would give in. They made such a noise about it, too, that we came out to see what was the matter, and as they wouldn’t stop, we had to separate them. In the end Ann got rather the worst of it, which served her right for being so greedy over the bone. She was not much hurt, though, for Timette had only her puppy teeth, and they can’t bite really hard, although they are very sharp.

When it was over, they were both rather sulky and gave each other long scowling looks. Timette took the bone and kept it all the afternoon. Ann looked the other way, pretending she no longer wanted it. In the end we took it away altogether, and after that they were quite good friends again, ate their evening bread and milk in peace and went to sleep curled up together.

“We’re good dogs now, and once more friends,”

And so my doggy story ends.

Dogs are very like children who never grow up. But a child would have to have a very loving heart to be as fond of any one as a dog. A dog is so faithful, too; he never tires of people or thinks them wrong or unfair, and he is just as devoted and obedient to them however old he gets. He is always trying to please them and is miserable and unhappy when he fails. That is why it is so easy to train a dog; you only have to make him understand what you want and he will try and do it. If dogs could understand all our language, you would only have to say to your dog, “Don’t walk on the flower-beds,” or “don’t take anything off the table,” or “don’t bark when we want to go to sleep,” and he would obey you. This doesn’t mean that dogs are never naughty; I know they are sometimes, but before you punish a dog you should be quite sure he understands what it is for. If he is an intelligent dog, a scolding will often do as well as a whipping. Tim only had a whipping once in his life, and yet he was a very well trained dog. He was taught not to go across the beds in the garden by being called off and made to go round, and he never stole after he had taken one piece of cake.

I must tell you about that. It was really not quite his fault, for it was on a very low table, and being rather new I expect it smelt extra tempting. He was made to feel horribly ashamed. Ever afterwards the cake plate was shown him with reproachful remarks, such as “Oh, Tim, how could you! Oh, fie, what a wicked thief!” till he would turn his head away as if he hated the sight of the stupid old cake and wished we would stop teasing him. After this he could be trusted never to take anything however near the ground it was, and no matter how long he was left alone with it.

One day the tea had been taken into the garden. Tim, of course, could be trusted, but the puppies had been forgotten. When he came out there was Tim sitting up with a very dejected look, and the two naughty puppies busy with the bread-and-butter, some crumbs on their shaggy mouths being all that was left of the cake!

“Did they get a whipping?” you ask.

Well, when we found all our nice cake gone we did feel inclined to give them some pats, but then they were too much of babies to understand, so they had a shaking and a scolding and were shut up for the rest of the afternoon. Tim soon got more cheery when we petted him up and told him it wasn’t his fault.

When Ann grew up she was given to Ruth as a birthday present; or to be quite truthful, she gave herself, for she was so fond of Ruth that she followed her about everywhere, and would stay with no one else.

She was a very sedate and serious animal; she might almost have been an old lady dog. You would have thought by the look of her she was wrapped in deep thought and that if only she could have spoken it would have been about very clever things.

She looked so wise and grave.

Ruth would have it she was making up poetry. The fact was Ruth was making up poetry herself, and when we are thinking hard of any subject we are inclined to imagine other people are, too. Just now Ruth was busy making verses and rhymes and thought Ann must be doing the same.

Ruth was rather shy over her poetry; she hadn’t told any one about it, she was too afraid they might laugh at her. And yet she badly wanted to know what they would think of it.

One day she sat Ann up in a chair at a table with pen and ink and paper in front of her. She looked so wise and grave that you could quite well imagine her a poet. And when Ruth called us in to look at her, there sure enough were some verses written.

“Look what Ann has made up,” cried Ruth. “I told you she was thinking of poetry.”

“How wonderful!” we said, for we saw whose writing it was. “Clever Ann! who will read it out?”

“I think Ann would like me to,” replied Ruth, who was glad to get this chance to read her own verses, “the poem is supposed to be about Ann’s young days when she and Timette were puppies.”

“How very interesting,” we remarked.

“Now I’ll begin,” said Ruth, with rather a red face, “it is supposed to be Timette speaking.”

“But why Timette?” we asked. “Why isn’t it Ann herself speaking?”

“Because she is a poet,” Ruth explained, “and poets always have to pretend to be some one else.”

Then she read these verses:—

The Spider in the Web.

SPIDERS AND THEIR WEBS — CHAPTER I EMMA — CHAPTER II EMMA’S WEB — CHAPTER III A NARROW ESCAPE — CHAPTER IV ABOUT WEBS — CHAPTER V THE LITTLE HOUSE-SPIDER — CHAPTER VI BABY SPIDERS

“Spiders!” you say. “Ugh! what dreadful things. I don’t want to read about them.” But surely any one as big as you are need not be afraid of a poor little spider. Don’t you remember when “there came a big spider and sat down beside her” it was little Miss Moffat that was frightened away, and I don’t suppose she was much more than a baby.

You are quite a big boy or girl or you wouldn’t be able to read this, and spiders are really so clever and interesting that I believe you will enjoy hearing a little about them. Let us look at the picture of the spider in the web and pretend it is a real one; and shall we give it a name? I don’t believe Miss Moffat would have been frightened if she had known a little more about it, or if it had a name, so we will call this little spider “Emma.”

Emma is a girl spider and she will grow up ever so much bigger than any boy spider. It is rather topsy-turvy in the spider world, for the she-spiders are not only bigger but much stronger and fiercer than the little he-spiders, and they are quarrelsome, too, and love a fight. This need not make you think Emma is going to be savage with you; she would be much too afraid, for you are a big giant to her. It is only with other spiders and insects her own size she will fight.

When Emma was younger she was a light green color, but as she gets older she grows darker and darker and different markings come out on her back. As you grow, your clothes get too small for you and you have to have new ones or a tuck is let down. This is the same with Emma, only, as her coat happens to be her skin as well, it is no good thinking about a tuck. I don’t know how many new frocks you have, but Emma has changed hers seven times before she was grown up.

If you look closely at a real spider you will see it has hairs on its body and on its legs. Emma, too, has these same fine hairs which are very important. She can neither see nor hear very well, so these hairs, which are sensitive, can warn her of danger. They feel the least trembling of the web and are even conscious of sound, so you see how useful they are.

The spider is rather a lonely person and not at all sociable. Perhaps this is because she has to work so hard for a living. In fact, all her time, day and night, seems taken up either with making or repairing the web, and lying in wait, when she dozes far back in her little shelter out of sight, with one hand always on the tell-tale cord that connects with the web and lets her know of its slightest movement.

And now I am afraid you are finding this rather dry, and if I don’t tell you a story you will be frightened away like Miss Moffat.

A beautiful, regular pattern.

One day Emma felt very hungry; her larder was quite empty and she had been without food for nearly a week. It was a fine evening, with just a gentle little wind blowing, so she thought she would try a new place for her web, where it would have a better chance of catching something. She climbed up fairly high and then let herself drop with all her legs stretched out, spinning all the time the thread by which she was hanging. Then she climbed up it, spinning another thread, and when she had like this spun some nice strong sticky threads she waited for the wind to carry them on to some branches of furze. When these held, Emma ran along them, fastened them firmly and spun a fresh thread each time till she made a line that was strong and elastic, and so not likely to break easily. When she was satisfied it would bear the weight of the web, she spun struts from it to hold it firm and then began the web itself. She first made a kind of outline and then spun and worked towards the middle. It was wonderful to see what a beautiful regular pattern she was spinning, with nothing but her instinct to guide her.

You know when a house is being built it has tall poles all round it called scaffolding, which helps the building; well, the first outline of the web was Emma’s scaffolding, and when it was no longer wanted she got rid of it by eating it up!

“But how did Emma spin a thread?” I can hear you asking.

It is like this—suppose you had a ball of silk in your pocket and ran about twisting it round trees to make a big net. This is really what the spider does, but the silk comes from inside her and will never come to an end like the ball in your pocket. It issues from what are called spinnerets. When she lets herself drop, the spinnerets regulate the thread, but when she is running along spinning she uses two of her back legs to pay it out, just as you would have to use your hands to pull the silk out of your pocket. It is a pity spiders usually spin their webs at night, so that we seldom get a chance of watching them.

I said just now that Emma’s silk never comes to an end, but sometimes if a very big fly or wasp gets caught in her net she has to use a great deal of her silk, which she winds round and round the fly, binding him hand and foot, and then her stock of thread which is carried inside her may run low; but it soon comes again, especially if she gets a good meal and a nice long rest.

A fly struggling in her web.

When Emma had finished she was pleased with the look of her web and hid herself at the side of it under a furze branch. She watched and waited. She waited all night long and nothing happened.

In the morning she was still watching and waiting, but at last there was a sound. A deep humming was heard in the air as if a fairy aeroplane were passing. It was so loud that even deaf Emma might have heard it if she had not been too busy. Just then, however, her hairs had received a wireless message to say there was a catch at the far end of her web. Although a spider is much more patient than you, and can sit still a long time, it is a quick mover when there is need for speed. Emma darted out like a flash of lightning and found a fly struggling in her web. It was a very small thin one, and poor hungry Emma was disappointed not to see a larger joint for her larder. She quickly settled it, however, and spun some web round it to wrap it up, for, after all, it was something to eat and so worth taking care of. She was still busy with her parcel when “Buzz, buzz, buzz,” the whole web gave a big jump and there quite close to Emma was a huge, terrible beast. A great angry yellow wasp, making frightful growling noises and struggling desperately to get out of the web. Poor Emma wasn’t very old or daring and she knew the danger she was in, for this savage monster could kill her easily with his sting. He was fighting hard against the sticky meshes of the web and jerking himself nearer to her. She was too frightened to move, and for a minute she hung on to her web limp and motionless looking like a poor little dead spider. Then something happened. The wind blew a little puff, the wasp put out all his strength and gave a twist, the web already torn broke into a big hole and the great yellow beast was free. He glared at Emma and hovered over her, buzzing furiously. He would have liked to kill her, but luckily he was too afraid of getting tangled up again in that sticky, clinging web, so, grumbling loudly, he flew away.

“What did Emma do?”

Well, she quickly got over her fright and I think she had a little lunch off her lean fly; then she looked at her web and was sorry to see it so torn and spoilt. The best thing to do was to mend it then and there, and as a spider always has more silk in her pocket, so to speak, she was able to do it at once. She repaired it so well that it didn’t look a bit as if it had been patched but just as if the new piece had always been there, the pattern was just as perfect.

I don’t believe you are feeling a bit afraid of spiders now, are you? There is no reason why we should fear them, for they don’t bite or sting us; and if they did the poison that paralyses and kills their prey would not hurt us. Besides, they kill the insects that harm us. I saw a spider’s web once full of mosquitoes, and you know what worrying little pests they are. I was glad to see so many caught, but sorry for the spider, as they didn’t look a very substantial meal. Then you know how dangerous flies have been found to be, making people ill by poisoning their food, so it is a good thing that spiders help us to get rid of them.

Another reason to like spiders is for their webs. There is no animal or insect that makes anything quite so wonderful and beautiful as what these little creatures spin.

The spider’s web is really a snare for catching her food. The strands of it are so fine as often to be invisible in some lights even in the daytime, and of course quite invisible at night. Sometimes the beetle or flying insect is so strong that he can tear the web and get free, but not often, for the spider can do wonders with her thread. She spins ropes and throws them at her big prey and doesn’t go near it till it is bound and helpless.

Of course, there are many different kinds of spiders who spin different kinds of webs. In a hotter country than this there is one that is as big or rather bigger than your hand, and another called the Tarantula whose bite is supposed to be so poisonous that it can kill people, but this is very exaggerated.

A Beautiful Web.

As the spider’s web is only her snare, she naturally has to have some kind of home, which must be quite near to her place of business. If you look very close and follow one of the strands of the web you will find some little dark cranny where the huntress can hide. If the web is amongst trees it will probably be a leaf she has pulled together with her thread and made into a dark little tunnel out of which she darts when something is caught.

Now before we leave the spiders’ webs you may wonder why you never see them so clearly as they show in the photographs, and I will tell you the reason. You see if the spiders’ nets which are set to catch sharp-eyed insects were always to show as clearly as they do in the pictures, I am afraid they would really starve, for no fly would be silly enough to go into such a bright trap. But sometimes in the autumn, very early in the morning, the dew hangs in tiny beads on the webs, and makes them show up clearly, and then it is that the photographs are taken. If you get up early some still September morning, just about the same time as the sun, and go for a walk in a wood, or even along a country road, you may see the webs with what look like strings of the tiniest pearls on them, and you will find that until the sun has dried up all the little wet pearls, which are of course dewdrops, the poor spider has not a ghost of a chance of catching anything.

But to return to the spider herself. The one you know best is probably the house-spider. It has eight legs and a body rather the shape of a fat egg, with a little round bead of a head. It runs up the walls, sometimes hanging by a thread from the ceiling, and seems very fond of the corners of the room. How glad these house-spiders must be when they get to a dirty untidy house, where they will be safe from the broom. Most of us hate to see cobwebs in our houses, and get rid of them as quickly as we can.

I will tell you about a little house-spider who had a very exciting adventure. She had made a beautiful web in the corner of a bedroom, high up near the ceiling. One day her sensitive hairs told her there was some sort of disturbance in the room, and looking down from her web she saw all the furniture being moved out. The curtains and rugs had gone and the bed was pushed up into a corner. Then, to her dismay, a huge hairy monster came rushing up the wall. Of course, it was only a broom, but the poor little spider was so terrified she thought it was alive. It came nearer and nearer, and all at once there was a terrific rush and swish right up the wall where she lived, and web and spider disappeared. It was very alarming, but you will be glad to hear that the little spider was not killed but only stunned; and as soon as she came to her senses, she found herself right in the middle of the broom. She hung on and kept quite still, and soon the servants went into the kitchen to have some lunch and the broom was stood up against the wall.

Now was the little spider’s chance to escape, and out she popped. The coast seemed clear, so she scuttled up the wall and rested on the top of the door. Spiders haven’t good sight, so she couldn’t see much of the kitchen, but what she did see looked nice, and she thought it a much more interesting place than a bedroom, besides there were some flies about, so she determined to spin another web. No sooner had she begun when there was a crash like an earthquake. “Will horrors never cease?” thought the spider. It was really only the slamming of the door, but it so startled her that she fell and dropped on to the shoulder of some one who had just come in.

A Snare.

“Oh, Miss Molly!” cried cook, “you’ve got a spider on you, let me kill it.”

“No, no,” said Molly, “that would be unlucky, besides it’s only a tiny one,” and she took hold of the thread from which the spider hung and put it out of doors. Wasn’t that a lucky escape? She ran up the wall and got on to a window sill. Here she crouched down into a corner making herself as small as she could for fear of being seen, and then she fell asleep. You see she had gone through a great deal that morning, and the excitement had thoroughly tired her out.

When evening came she woke up and felt very hungry, so she quickly spun a web, and would you believe it, before it was even finished she felt a quiver, and there was a silly little gnat caught right in the middle. He was very tiny, but the spider wasn’t big, and he made a very good meal for her. She didn’t stop even to wrap him up, for she couldn’t wait, but gobbled him up on the spot.

Before a spider lays her eggs, she spins some web on the ground. She goes over it again and again, spinning all the time, till it looks like a piece of gauze. Into this she lays her eggs—often over a hundred—and covers them with more web and then wraps them up into a round ball. I don’t suppose you would think it, but a spider is a very devoted mother, and this white ball is so precious to her that she carries it everywhere she goes and never lets it out of her sight. She will hold it for hours in the sun to help to hatch the eggs, and she would fight anything that tried to hurt it or take it away from her.

It is the same when the eggs are hatched out, for her babies are always with her. Their home is on her back, and as there is such a swarm of them, they cover her right up and you often can’t see the spider for the young. Often some of them drop off, but they are active little things and they soon climb on again. As long as they live with their mother they have nothing to eat. This fasting, however, doesn’t seem to hurt them for they are very lively; the only thing is they don’t grow.

It doesn’t seem to matter very much even to grown-up spiders to go without their dinners for several days. And when they do at last get some food they gorge. They eat and eat and eat, and instead of making themselves ill like you would do, they seem to feel very comfortable and are able to go hungry again for some time. Perhaps it is because, as babies, they got used to doing without food.

Spiders love fine weather.

Spiders love fine weather, and they seem to know when to expect the sun to shine. When it is a bright day Mother Spider brings out her big little family. It is no good offering them any food, for they can’t eat it yet, so she finds a sheltered hot place and gives them a thorough sun bath, which they like better than anything else.

And now one more little story before we say “Good-by” to spiders. When Emma was a tiny baby she had thirty-nine brothers and sisters. And as she was just a tiny bit smaller than the others, she was very badly treated. The stronger ones would be very rough and cruel to her. They used to walk over her and push her near the edge where she would be likely to fall off. Two or three times they had crowded her so that she really had slipped off and lay sprawling on the ground. However, she was very nimble and agile, and she had always been able to pick herself up quickly and clamber up one of her mother’s legs on to her back again.

One day the little spiders were more spiteful than usual. “You are a disgrace to us,” they told Emma, “you might be a silly ant.”

“I’m no more an ant than you,” said Emma, “I can’t help being small.”

“Ant, ant, ant!” they cried, “ants belong on the ground and that’s your proper place,” and pushed her off on to the ground.

The unlucky part was that Emma’s mother didn’t know what had happened, and before Emma could struggle to her feet, she had hurried away having noticed a bird hovering near. There was Emma all alone, a poor lost little spider without a mother or a home.

She was feeling very sad and wondering what would become of her, when along came another Mother Spider with a lot of babies on her back. Two of these fell off quite near to Emma, and when they ran back to their mother she ran with them. Up an unknown leg she climbed and on to a strange back, and yet she felt quite as happy and at home as if it had been her own mother and the companions she joined had been her real brothers and sisters. How different spiders are from us! Emma’s mother never knew she had lost a baby, and the new mother didn’t bother herself at all that she had adopted one, and as for the strange brothers and sisters, they treated her rather better than her own, for they happened to be just a little smaller than Emma so were not strong enough to push her off. As far as Emma was concerned it was decidedly a change for the better, and she was really a very lucky little spider.

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WHAT THE CHICKENS DID — CHAPTER I JOAN AND THE CANARIES — CHAPTER II THE WORM — CHAPTER III JOAN SAVES A CHICKEN’S LIFE — CHAPTER IV THIRSTY CHICKENS — CHAPTER V THE FIGHT — CHAPTER VI FLUFFY’S RECOVERY — CHAPTER VII HATCHING OUT

I wonder if you have ever watched young chickens. You can’t help liking such babyish, fluffy little things; they are so sweet and so different from the grown-up hens. I know a little girl who cried out, “Look at all those canaries!” Of course, they are not really a bit like canaries, and it was only because of their yellow coats that she made the mistake.

Chickens are so lively and cheery, too; even when they are only a day old they are able to feed themselves, and will run about picking up grain. For such babies they are quite bold and will wander off a long way from the coop, but when anything alarming comes along they will all rush back to Mother Hen, making funny little peeping noises showing they are rather frightened; and she answers, “Tuk, tuk,” as much as to say, “You are little sillies, but I’m very fond of you,” and takes them under her wing.

Joan was the little girl who had called them canaries, and you may guess how she got teased about it. She had come to stay with an aunt who had a farm, and as Joan had always lived in a town, she couldn’t be expected to know very much about animals or birds. She liked the cows and the goats and the horses but she loved the chickens best of all. When she was missing, her aunt always knew where to find her, and the chickens seemed to know her too and were tamer with her than with any one else.

When anything alarming comes along they will all rush back to Mother Hen.

A little tapping sound.

Several of the hens were sitting on their eggs, and Joan was told she mustn’t go near them or disturb them at all. While a hen is sitting she doesn’t want to be bothered to think of anything else except how she can best keep her eggs warm and safe. She has to be careful and patient till the chicks are ready to come out. This is an exciting time, and Joan used often to think about it. She did wish so she might see a chicken burst through its shell. She imagined there would be a little tapping sound, and that the other chickens would be very interested and listen, and then the shell would suddenly open and out would spring a fluffy yellow chicken. She had been to a pantomime once called “Aladdin,” and there had been a huge egg, supposed to be a Roc’s egg. In the last scene this egg was in the middle of the stage. A dancer struck it with a wand, when it opened, and out sprang a full grown fairy, dressed in orange and gold, with a skirt of fluffy yellow feathers. Somehow Joan had always imagined a chicken would begin its life in this dramatic way.

As yet only one small family of chickens had come out of their eggs but they were quite enough for Joan to play with. She soon made friends with them and gave them all names. There were: Honeypot, Darkie, Piggy, Fluffy, Cheeky, Dolly and Long-legs. Darkie was rather different from the others; he was a lively little chick with a dark coat and white shirt front. Cheeky was the boldest and most impudent. He would cock his little head on one side and stare at Joan, and he was always the last to run to Mother Hen if anything was the matter.

Dolly found a worm.

Cheeky dashing off with the prize.

Joan never forgot the morning Dolly found a worm. Instead of keeping quiet, the silly chick made such a fuss over it that the others soon found it out. Cheeky was on the spot at once, and before slow Dolly could say a “peep” he had snatched the worm out of her beak and was off. I wonder if you have ever seen a chicken running with a worm; it really is great fun. Joan shouted with delight to see that rascal of a Cheeky dashing off with the prize while poor foolish Dolly only looked on. However, one chick is never allowed to have a worm to himself for long, and soon Fluffy and Darkie were after Cheeky trying hard to get the worm for themselves. Round and round they ran, into the long grass round the food pails, into the corners of the yard and out again, till at last poor Cheeky despaired of ever being able to eat the worm, there never was a second’s time. At last, he tried to take a bite, and at once it was snatched away from him by Darkie, and then the race began again and they all rushed about after each other till Fluffy got it. He was just going off with it when Mr. Cock came along, a very proud and dignified gentleman. “Ah, Ha!” he cried, “What have we here?”

“Please, it’s mine,” said Cheeky, “he snatched it away from me.”

The cock looked very surprised, for I don’t think any other chick would have been bold enough to speak to him at all. Every one was rather afraid of him, for he had a very sharp beak and would take no back answers.

“It isn’t yours at all!” cried Darkie and Fluffy. “You stole it, you didn’t even find it yourself.”

“Please, don’t make such a noise,” said the cock, “I never knew such rowdy, ill-behaved chickens, you have no dignity at all. Now, so that there shall be no quarrel, I am going to remove the cause,” and he stooped down and gobbled up the worm.

Made them take some grain out of her hand.

This is really what happened; it is quite true for Joan saw it all. I am not quite so sure that the cock actually used these words because, you see, Joan couldn’t understand his language, but she thought he said something very like it.

I wonder if you have ever seen a hen feed her chickens. It is a pretty sight. She scratches on the ground, and when she finds something to eat, she calls her children. “Tuk, tuk, tuk,” she cries, and all the little chicks come scurrying up, for they understand quite well what she means, and are always ready for something more to eat. They peep out all sorts of pleased things in chicken language, and each tries to push the others away to get most for himself.

Joan loved to see them, and she used to imitate the old hen and call the chickens and give them some chopped egg. They liked this and got so tame that they would eat out of her hand. Joan’s aunt was quite surprised, and one day she made them take some grain out of her hand. Cheeky jumped on to her thumb, and Piggy and Fluffy lost no time in getting to their dinner. The other three were not quite so trustful. Honeypot looked up in her face as much as to say, “I know Joan, she’s a friend, but I’m not quite so sure about you.” The others, too, were a little undecided and hesitated for a time, so Joan felt the chickens were really sensible enough to know her, after all.

The chickens were so pretty and attractive that Joan wanted them to be like real people, and she thought of all sorts of ideas which she pretended they were thinking. But even she had to own they were not very original. If one did a thing, they would all do it. Their favorite game was certainly “Follow-my-leader.” One would run into a corner and scratch, and at once the others would run and scratch, too. Then they would all run to the gate, and if anything came along there would be a quick scamper back to mother and not one would be left behind.

Joan watched them once playing “Follow-my-leader” round a barn door. It was standing wide open and Fluffy ran behind it and poked his head through the crack, just below the hinge. It was not a big space, but Fluffy could just squeeze his neck through. Of course, the others must follow his lead and try and do the same; and all would have been well if only Piggy’s head had been the same size as the others. I expect it was because he had eaten rather more than the rest that his head was just a tiny bit bigger. When it came to his turn, he pushed hard to get his head through, as all the others had done, but when he tried to pull it back, it stuck. It was terrible; there he was held as if he were in a trap. Oh, what a noise he made! Joan heard his shrill frightened peeping and thought at least he must be nearly killed. She came running up and was very alarmed when she saw what was the matter. But she was a sensible child, and instead of running away to call some one, she squeezed in behind the door, being very careful not to push it to, as that would have choked the poor little chick. Then she firmly took hold of Piggy, and putting two fingers through the crack she gently pushed the fluffy little head back through it and pulled the chicken out of danger. Just as she had put him on the ground and he had given another loud peep to show there was no harm done, the old hen came running up clucking in such an excited manner as much as to say, “it doesn’t do to leave these babies one minute, they are bound to get into mischief.” She had heard her chick crying and had hurried up to see what she could do. I wonder what she would have done to help. Something I feel sure, for it is wonderful how clever mother animals and birds can be when it is a case of taking care of their young.

Joan told her she had better lead her little family further away from such a danger trap, and to help her Joan called the chickens to the other end of the yard, and when they came running up, there on the ground lay a nice long worm she had found for them, and she took care that each had a bit.

It is very funny to see chickens drink.

It is very funny to see chickens drink. If you have ever watched them you must have noticed how they dive their beaks into the water and then quickly hold up their heads. They do this to let the water run down their throats for, you see, their mouths cannot shut up tightly and keep the water in like yours.

One morning all the chicks felt very thirsty. I expect eating worms makes you thirsty, and I am sure running about with a worm and never getting the chance to eat it must make you thirstier still. So first one and then all the rest ran to their saucer of water. Honeypot ran her beak along the water before holding up her head to swallow it. Of course, the others must imitate her and do the same. When Cheeky came up, of course, he tried to do it too, but there was very little room, the other chicks had got the best places and they crowded him. Honeypot pushed hard against him on one side and Fluffy bumped into him on the other, so that he kept losing the water he had collected in his beak to drink.

“This is a silly game,” he said. “Can’t you let me get a drink?”

The others pretended they hadn’t heard, and kept on bobbing their little heads up and down and took no notice at all. Dolly, whose worm he had taken, was rather pleased to annoy him and gave Fluffy a sly push so that he bumped into Cheeky and nearly upset him.

“Well, you are rude!” cried Cheeky. “I never saw such ill-mannered chicks.”

“Who are you to talk about manners?” said Fluffy, while the others stopped drinking to listen. “Who took Dolly’s worm?”

“And what business is that of yours?” cried Cheeky, getting in a temper and flapping his stumpy little wings.

“Take care or you’ll get a peck!” Fluffy shouted with a threatening poke of his head. It was quite a desperate quarrel, but if you had been listening all you would have heard was “Peep, peep, peep,” a great many times over.

You know, I expect, that cocks are given to fighting; that is why you seldom see two cocks in the same run. The hens are different and live together very happily; they are too busy with their eggs and looking after their baby chickens to be quarrelsome. But Fluffy and Cheeky were going to grow up cocks which probably made them more inclined to quarrel. Joan thought, perhaps, they still bore each other a grudge over the worm which neither of them had been able to enjoy. So what began as a quarrel ended in a regular fight. Weren’t they naughty chickens? Cheeky and Fluffy grew so fierce and angry with each other that they began to fight like grown-up cocks. They tried to fly up and pounce down on each other, but their little wings were too short and weak and they could only give little hops. They pecked and jumped and peeped loudly while the other chickens stood round looking on, for they had never seen such a fight before. Cheeky gave one fly up and came down on Fluffy, giving him a really hard peck full on his little breast, when he fell over and lay quite still just as if he were dead.

They began to fight.

I should like to be able to tell you that, when Cheeky saw what he had done he was desperately sorry because he had not meant to hurt Fluffy like that. If he had been a child he would have been terribly sad and ashamed of himself, I am sure, but chickens are different. In spite of Joan’s ideas of them they haven’t really much feeling and very little intelligence, and so Cheeky just strutted off and didn’t seem to care a bit. He even began scratching the ground as if the fight had given him an appetite and he was looking for another worm. The others, too, were quite happy and busy, and took no more notice of poor Fluffy lying in a little heap on the ground.

He fell over and lay quite still as if he were dead.

I don’t think this fight would have happened if the mother hen had been about, but through some mistake she had been shut up for an hour with some other hens who were not mothers. It was Joan again who came to see what was the matter. She was just too late to save poor Fluffy, and was heart-broken when she saw him lying on the ground so limp and still just as if he were dead. “Oh, you wicked chickens!” she cried, “what have you done to poor Fluffy?” Cheeky cocked his little head on one side as if he knew nothing at all about it, and the other chickens wandered off as if their brother who had got the worst of the fight was no business of theirs.

“What horrid, cold-blooded little things,” thought Joan, “how could they be so unkind?” But it is no good giving chickens credit for tender hearts and clever brains, for if you do you will be disappointed. And it will not be the chickens’ fault, for they can’t help it. Joan found this out after a time and she loved them for what they were and didn’t expect too much.

Very gently Joan picked Fluffy up and was glad to feel he was still warm. She carried him carefully to the kitchen where cook gave her a cosy little basket with a piece of flannel. She laid him on this and put him near the kitchen fire. Her aunt looked grave when she saw his limp little body, for she thought he was dead, but she let Joan do as she liked.

Poor Fluffy lay still so long that Joan grew tired of watching him and went off to see the cows milked. When she came in to tea she rushed first of all into the kitchen to see if he had moved. He certainly looked better, less limp and even a little fatter, and actually his eyes were open. Joan was delighted, and while she was looking at him he opened his beak and gave a kind of gape. “Oh, auntie!” Joan called out, “Fluffy’s alive, and I believe he wants something to eat.” Wasn’t it splendid? The warmth of the kitchen fire had revived him. After Joan had fed him with a little warm food he was able to get up and walk about. She liked having him to herself like that, but when bedtime came and the other chicks went under their mother’s wing she took him back and he ran in and settled down. I expect he made up his mind it would be a long time before he would have another fight.

Hatching out is an exciting time. The hen has to sit on the eggs and keep them warm and quiet for three whole weeks. It needs a lot of patience, doesn’t it? Joan knew there were some eggs due to hatch out very soon and she did wish she might see them. She knew it was really impossible though because the hen must be left alone then and not disturbed at all.

Joan was very fond of animals and always wanted to do the kindest thing for them; she was a nice child altogether, and tried to help her aunt with the farm. She was having such a good time and thoroughly enjoying her holidays. Her cousin Lulu had spent her holidays there too and been rather naughty, so Joan’s aunt told her. It seems Lulu had been asked not to go near, or in any way disturb, the hens that were sitting on their eggs, and had promised faithfully not to do so. You may guess the kind of child Lulu was when I tell you she broke her promise.

There was a speckled hen who was a very good mother and had brought up ever so many families, and when Lulu was there her eggs were due to hatch out very soon. They were not the eggs she had laid herself but some very special ones. When they were hatching out that naughty Lulu went to look. She simply didn’t bother about her promise and even pulled one of the eggs out from under the hen to see if it was already broken. The speckled hen was furious and terribly flurried; she had never been interfered with before and took it very much amiss. She didn’t mean to hurt her babies, of course, but she got so worried and nervous that she was not careful enough where she put her feet down and killed five of them. In her excitement she had trampled on them and the poor little things had scarcely lived at all. Of course, Lulu was very sorry, but that didn’t mend her promise nor bring the chickens back to life.

Joan was delighted when her aunt told her she might have a chance of seeing some hatching out. There were some eggs in the incubator which were due out very soon. An incubator is a sort of comfortable box which keeps the eggs as safe and warm as a mother hen, so that they come out in three weeks just as if a hen were looking after them. Only an incubator, not being alive, wouldn’t get flurried or excited at any one looking on. Joan was told there were eggs in it which were due to turn into chickens on Thursday or Friday.

One had still a bit of shell sticking to his back.

On Wednesday Joan kept running to look, on Thursday she still haunted the place, but on Friday she began to get a little tired of nothing happening. In the afternoon she was having a game with Cheeky, Fluffy and Co. when she was called in to see a pretty sight. Some chickens had just come out, and one had still a bit of shell sticking to his back. He was looking at the rest of it in such a comical way as if he were asking how he had ever been cramped up in such a little space. They were darling little chicks, and Joan was soon busy giving them names. She always loved them and often played with them, but somehow they never seemed quite as clever nor as human as her first friends.

Salome.

THE PERSIAN KITTENS AND THEIR FRIENDS — CHAPTER I TOMPKINS AND MINETTE — CHAPTER II TWO THIEVES — CHAPTER III MINETTE FINDS THE KITCHEN — CHAPTER IV THE KITCHEN KITTENS — CHAPTER V A SURPRISING CONVERSATION — CHAPTER VI THE RETURN VISIT — CHAPTER VII THE VISITORS’ TEA — CHAPTER VIII SALOME TO THE RESCUE — CHAPTER IX MISJUDGED KITTENS — CHAPTER X SALOME GIVES A LECTURE

I want to tell you about two little Persian kittens called Tompkins and Minette. They were the prettiest you have ever seen with their long fluffy fur, their small ears and little impudent stumpy noses. They looked such innocent darlings, you felt you must kiss them, but like most kittens, they dearly loved a little fun, and as for mischief—well, you shall hear all about them.

Their mother was a very handsome Persian cat Salome, with a proud walk and very dignified ways. She had four kittens, but two had been given away and, to tell the truth, Tompkins and Minette were not altogether sorry. Four kittens and a big fluffy mother take up a lot of room in a basket, and theirs seemed getting to be a tighter fit every day.

“We shan’t be quite so crowded now,” remarked Minette with a yawn after the others had gone away.

“And we shall have all the more to eat,” said Tompkins.

“Our mother will love us more, too,” purred Minette.

“The only bother is: she’ll have more time to wash our faces,” said Tompkins. So when Mary, their tender-hearted little mistress pitied them saying, “Poor darlings! how they will miss the others!” Tompkins and Minette were saying in cat language, “Not a bit of it.”

Besides, two kittens are quite enough for a game, especially such rascals as Tompkins and Minette.

The two kittens arched their backs.

Tompkins loved anything in the shape of a ball, and as there was a good deal of knitting going on in the house there were several balls in sight. The grown-ups, however, were careful with theirs; they knew kittens, but Mary, who was only eight and had just begun to knit, seemed the most hopeful, and it was her ball the kittens watched. Her wool was thick, and the scarf she was making never seemed to get beyond the third row, so there was always a nice fat ball of it.

“It does look nice and soft,” said Minette looking at it.

“And wouldn’t it roll finely,” said Tompkins.

One day Mary tried to knit, but her hands got so sticky that the stitches kept dropping off the needles. She got very hot and cross. “Bother, bother, bother!” she cried at last and flung the knitting down and rushed off into the garden.

The ball of wool was still on the table, but as the knitting was on the floor you may guess it didn’t take those kittens long to pull it down. It bounced off the table and came rolling towards them. It really looked almost like some live animal coming at them, and the two kittens arched their backs and looked quite fierce. When it stopped Tompkins said to Minette, “What a silly to be frightened of a ball of wool,” and Minette answered, “You were frightened, I was only pretending.” But this argument didn’t last long for there was the lovely fluffy ball on the ground waiting to be played with. Tompkins snatched it first and patted it round a chair. Then Minette tried to bite it, and when it rolled away they were like boys after a football, and it was sent all over the room and twisted round each leg of the table.

You see, all cats love pretending even when they are quite babies, so Tompkins and Minette pretended to be grown-up cats chasing a mouse until that bold Tompkins suggested, “It’s really too big for a mouse, let’s call it a rat.” And they grew quite fierce as they hunted it, giving savage miaous and growls just like big cats. But after a little the rat seemed to shrink into a mouse and the mouse into nothing at all for the wool had all come unwound.

It never does to give way to temper, does it? and when Mary returned she was to find it out. She came back and brought her mother to help her with the knitting, and pick up all her stitches for her. They found two tired little kittens with sweet faces and big innocent eyes, and the wool in a perfectly hopeless tangle all over the room.

“What did Mary’s mother say?” you ask. I am afraid she laughed. I know she didn’t blame the kittens, and Mary had to get her wool out of a tangle and wind it up herself. Not for very long though, because when her mother thought she had suffered enough for her temper and carelessness she helped her and they soon got it finished. Mary gave the kittens a good scolding, calling them “nasty, mean mischievous little things.”

I am afraid Tompkins was rather inclined to be greedy. He used to watch his mother Salome having her afternoon saucer of milk and he just longed to have some too. It looked so nice and creamy and he was so tired of his own food. He used to watch her lapping it and wish somehow he could get it instead.

Two little heads very busy with the saucer.

One day the milk was put down as usual, but Salome didn’t hurry to go to it. The fact was she had come in from the garden, and as she sat on the window-seat, she discovered her paws were rather damp and dirty. She was a fussy and particular cat who thought a great deal of appearance, and she was very busy licking her paws soft and velvety again before having her tea. Now was Tompkins’ chance. He watched his mother very carefully and then stole quietly up to the saucer. But Minette had seen him and she didn’t mean to be left behind, so soon there were two little heads very busy with the saucer. They lapped so quietly that no one noticed them, and it was not till their mother had finished her wash and jumped down to have her milk that she saw what had happened. And by then the milk was nearly all gone.

What did their mother do?

I know what she ought to have done. Scolded them well and given them a little scratch, but cats are very funny and not a bit like people or dogs. Salome just pretended she didn’t care a bit. She made out she wasn’t thirsty and never mewed for any more milk. She jumped on to the window seat again and stared out of the window, and the naughty little kittens thought themselves very clever indeed.

One day Minette smelt a nice fishy smell. It tempted her out of the room, down a passage and round a corner till she arrived at the kitchen. Here she came face to face with a strange cat. The cook was just making fish cakes, and Tibby the kitchen cat was asking for some with loud miaous. Minette was very alarmed at first, she thought this strange cat might scratch her, but Tibby was much too busy to take any notice of a little kitten and kept miaouing and staring up at the fish. Minette thought she would rather like to try a little, it certainly smelt very tempting. At last a scrap fell on the floor. Of course Minette rushed at it. But, oh, dear! how she wished she hadn’t! There was such a noise; Tibby flew at her with a nasty spiteful swear, growled at her, snatched the fish away and ate it up herself. Poor Minette felt so hurt and surprised, it wasn’t a bit how her dignified mother would have behaved.

Tibby was much too busy to take any notice of a little kitten.

The cook was not at all nice either, for instead of pitying Minette and giving her a tit-bit of fish as Mary would have done, she said, “Get out of my way,” and shooed her out of the kitchen.

It was a very subdued and sad little kitten that trotted back round the corner and along the passage, and to tell the truth, Minette was not at all sorry to get back to her own cosy little basket and home where no one was unkind to her.

Still though not very successful, this had been an adventure and Minette pretended to Tompkins she had had a perfectly lovely time.

“This is a dull old room,” she told him, “the kitchen is much finer. It is beautifully warm for there is a great big fire, and there are heaps of saucers and plates, and such delicious smells.”

“Did you get anything to eat?” asked Tompkins.

“Well, just a taste of fish,” Minette replied, enjoying the envious look on Tompkins’ face.

“Did you see any one there?” he asked next.

“Yes, a very grand cat, so beautiful and sleek, she was very kind to me and asked me to come again.” (Oh, Minette! what terrible stories!)

Poor Tompkins was so jealous he could have cried, and when Minette sat purring in the basket with such a superior look on her face, he felt he could have scratched her.

“Never mind,” he told himself, “it will be my turn next.”

His chance came that same afternoon. Minette, tired out with her exciting adventure and with all the stories she had told about it, was having a sound sleep, no one was about and the door was open. Tompkins crept through it and down the passage. He was making for the kitchen but on the way he heard a strange noise. It came from a little room next to the kitchen and it made his little heart beat and his tail swell out to twice its size. This curious sound was just the kind of noise that kittens make when they are in the middle of a furious game. Tompkins listened outside the door. “Oh,” he thought, “if I could only get in and join them! what fun it would be, and what an adventure to tell Minette!” and he gave a little plaintive miaou just near the crack of the door. There was a silence for a second, then he heard scratchings inside and a voice called out in cat language, “You push hard and we’ll pull, the door isn’t fastened.” So Tompkins squeezed hard against the door, and at last there was a crack just big enough for him to creep through.

Inside Tompkins saw, to his delight, three small kittens. They were about his own age too, and had got hold of the waste-paper basket with which they were having a splendid game. Next to a ball, I believe, kittens love nice rustling paper, and they were tearing and rumpling these to their hearts’ content.

They had got hold of the waste-paper basket.

Tompkins was a little shy at first, but he soon felt at home with the strange kittens and tore the paper as fiercely as the others. The basket, too, seemed made to be played with. They pretended it was a cage, and one of the kittens got inside and growled so fiercely like a wild beast that Tompkins was almost afraid. At last, when it was upside down and the papers scattered all over the room the kittens began to think they would like a little rest.

They all stared at each other for a bit till Tompkins thought it was time some one made a little conversation.

“What are your names?” he asked.

The kittens looked rather confused and didn’t know what to answer, for somehow no one had thought of christening them. However, they were not going to let a stranger know this, so the prettiest said, “I am generally called ‘Pussy,’ and this”—here she pointed to the kitten next to her—“is ‘Pet.’ Her real name is Perfect-Pet, but we call her Pet for short.”

“And what is your name?” Tompkins asked the third kitten. He, however, pretended not to hear and busied himself running after his own tail, which he caught so unexpectedly that it made him sit down with a bump.

“I can tell you his name,” cried Pussy; “he has been called ‘Ugly,’ and I think it rather suits him, don’t you?”

Tompkins was too polite to say how heartily he agreed for it would have been hard to find a plainer kitten.

“It was cook who called me that,” said Ugly quite cheerfully; “she said I looked scraggy as if I wanted feeding up, so I hope she’ll see it’s done.”

“Who’s your mother?” Pet asked Tompkins.

“She is Salome, a beautiful gray Persian,” and as Tompkins answered he noticed the three kittens looked rather merry.

“Do you mean that stuck-up silly old fluff-pot?” said Ugly. “We often watch her stalking about the garden, giving herself airs.”

“And looking just as if she wore petticoats,” Pussy joined in.

“What a dull mother to have!” remarked Pet. “Not much fun to be got out of her, I should think.”

Tompkins was thunderstruck. He had never been used to hearing his dignified mother spoken of like this, and thought the kittens were very rude. “My mother is very beautiful and very valuable,” he said indignantly; “besides, she is a nice warm fluffy mother to go to sleep with.”

“Maybe,” said Ugly, “but we shouldn’t care to change with you. Our mother Tibby is the right sort. She never forgets us and isn’t above stealing a little now and then, and if it’s too big for her she lets us help eat it.”

“And look what a sportsman she is!” said Pussy. “You should see her after a mouse. And once, she told us she almost caught a rat.”

“I should like to see your old fluff-pot of a mother running after a mouse,” laughed Ugly. “I am sure she would be much too ladylike to catch it.”

“Why, she would have to pick up her petticoats,” said Pet, and then they all three roared with laughter.

What bad manners they had, thought Tompkins and he felt furious with them. He wouldn’t play with them any more, and with his head up and his tail fluffed out he walked away, looking very like his mother when she was offended.

But Pussy, who was a kind hearted kitten and didn’t like to see him hurt, ran after him and said, “Please, don’t go, we were only in fun. Come back and tell us more about your mother, I’m sure she has her points, and anyhow I don’t expect she boxes your ears like Jane does ours.”

Tompkins was surprised. “Does she really?” he asked, for he had never heard of such a thing.

“Indeed, she does, with her claws out, too, sometimes,” said Pet.

“Yes, she nearly spoilt my beauty,” said Ugly with a grin; “she gave me a horrid scratch over the eye.”

As the kittens had given up teasing and seemed rather nice again, Tompkins settled down and told them how nice and sweet-tempered his mother was and that she was so admired that people always wanted to photograph her. “In fact,” he said, being just a little inclined to show off, “she got so used to the camera that she once tried to take a photograph herself and got my sister Minette to sit for her.”

“Whatever is a camera?” the kittens asked astounded.

“I am afraid I can’t very well explain just now,” replied Tompkins who didn’t know himself, “as it’s time I said ‘Good-by,’” and he trotted off home.

Tried to take a photograph.

A perfect bunch of bad temper.

When Tompkins got back, however, Salome was looking anything but beautiful. In fact she was looking as ugly and disagreeable a cat as you can imagine. You see, she wanted brushing very badly and she simply hated it. As soon as she saw her own special brush and comb being brought out, she would hump herself up with her ears back, and look a perfect bunch of bad temper. This time she was worse than usual, for her long fur had got tangled, and as the comb pulled, she turned round and spat at it.

Tompkins and Minette looked on tremblingly; they had never seen their mother in such a rage. Tompkins was glad the kitchen kittens couldn’t see the mother he had boasted about; how they would have jeered.

When all was over, Salome flounced back into the basket and curled herself up to forget her annoyances in sleep, and her children took care not to disturb her. They whispered together and Tompkins told Minette all about the kitchen kittens. Minette was so excited she forgot to be jealous and kept interrupting with: “Oh, can’t I see them too?” and “What fun we might all have together! Couldn’t we ask them to come here?”

“Wait till we are quite alone,” whispered Tompkins, “and then we will invite them properly to tea.”

“How lovely!” said Minette, but she couldn’t help wondering where the tea was to come from.

The very next day the chance came, for the door was left open, no one was about, and actually there was a tea tray on the table.

“Hunt the Thimble.”

Tompkins went to the door and mewed; at least you would have thought he was only mewing but really he was calling, “Come, come, come,” and the little kitchen kittens, right the other end of the passage, heard him. They mewed back, telling him they wanted to come badly but their door was shut and they couldn’t get out. “Well, come as soon as you can,” he called back.

They didn’t have to wait long, for very soon the cook came in and out again in such a hurry that she forgot to shut the door. You may guess the kittens didn’t wait long, and they were out like lightning and racing down the passage. You would have laughed to see them come tumbling into the room where the Persians lived, a perfect bundle of mischief.

They weren’t a bit shy and Minette loved them; she thought they were such fun and so clever and bright. Ugly and Pussy soon started a game of “Hunt the Thimble,” and Minette thoroughly enjoyed it. First of all they found a work-basket, then they knocked it on the floor and made hay of its contents till they found that little shiny silver thing that is so good at rolling. They chased the thimble all over the room till it disappeared behind a solid bookcase, and I shouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t there still.

Minette had never had quite such an exciting time, and she wondered why Tompkins wasn’t enjoying it too. She looked round for him, but he seemed to have disappeared. At last she heard a little “miaou,” and there he was right up one of the curtains. Pet was up the other curtain and they kept calling to each other, “Look at me! I’m highest!” There was no doubt that Pet was beating him, for she was near the ceiling, but they were both digging in their little claws and pulling themselves up. After watching such daring sport as this, “Hunt the Thimble” seemed very tame, so the other three joined the mountaineers, and soon there were five kittens tearing and scratching at the curtains trying to climb.

When Ugly had got a good way up, he looked down and saw the tea tray. “I know a better game than this!” he cried and got down as quickly as he could. “All this exercise makes me thirsty, and I spy some milk.”

“Hurrah, for a feed!” cried Pussy and Pet, and they too struggled down. Pussy fell the last bit of the way, but it didn’t seem to hurt her and she was soon on the table with the others.

They were all a little disappointed, however, for the tray was not as good as it promised. All they could get at was the sugar, and kittens don’t care a bit for that. The milk seemed out of their reach for the jug it was in was so small that not even Ugly could get his lean head into it. Pet was feeling very sad, for she did so love milk, and there seemed no way of getting any. However, Pussy had a splendid idea: she pushed the jug over with her paw and out ran the milk on the tray and all the kittens had to do was to lap it up.

“And why didn’t Tompkins and Minette come and have some milk, too?” you ask, and I should like to be able to tell you it was because they were such superior, well-brought-up and honest little kittens that they scorned the idea of stealing, but I am afraid this wouldn’t be true. No, the reason the two little Persians didn’t come to share the milk with the kitchen kittens was because they were still up the curtains.

She pushed the jug over with her paw.

It was not very difficult for them to climb up, but coming down was quite another thing. When they looked down it frightened them and they were so afraid of falling that they didn’t like letting go to dig their claws in a fresh place lower down. So there they hung, crying pitifully, “Help, help, help,” which sounded like “Miaou, miaou, miaou.”

I don’t know what would have happened if no one had heard them, for the little kitchen kittens were very busy with the milk, and even if they had wanted to, they wouldn’t have known how to help. But a mother’s ears are sharp, and before they had mewed ten times Salome appeared at a trot, asking anxiously, “What have those tiresome children of mine done now?” She soon saw the danger they had got into. If they had been more of babies, she would have climbed up after them and brought them down in her mouth, but they were too big and heavy for that. All she could do was to sit at the bottom of the curtain and give them courage by mewing and telling them what to do. It was funny how quickly their confidence came back. Directly the kittens knew their own mother was there watching them and ready to help, they forgot to be afraid and in a few seconds they had scratched their way down the curtain and were safely on the ground.

Salome didn’t make a fuss or punish them for being so naughty and wild; all she did was to give their faces a lick and tell them not to do it again or they might hurt their claws or have a tumble.

The little kitchen cats looked on and they thought what a good mother Salome was, for not even their Jane could have been kinder. They had to own, too, that she was rather beautiful and so quiet and self-possessed. Besides, she behaved so well to them and instead of chasing them away because they were strangers, like Jane would have done, she took no notice of them at all. She did not even seem to mind when Pussy pretended to be her daughter and sat close up to her.

“We were wrong,” said Pet to Tompkins later. “I think your mother is an old dear.” And although Tompkins thought it might have been expressed differently, he was glad to hear it.

“Miaou, miaou, miaou,” was heard in the distance.

“What an ugly, hoarse voice!” remarked Minette.

“Just like a croak,” said Tompkins. “I wonder who it can be.”

But the little kitchen kittens didn’t wonder, they knew it was their old mother, Tibby, who had missed her babies and was calling for them. They liked her ugly voice and they answered with little mews, and one by one they scuttled out of the room. Ugly was the last to go and he just lapped up a drop of milk on his way, for he never neglected an opportunity.

A few minutes after, the cook came in to find Mary’s mother, and of course, caught sight at once of the disgraceful looking tray. She was shocked to see it in such a state, with the sugar scattered about and a nasty sticky mess where the milk had been lapped up.

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” she cried, trying to tidy up, “whoever has done this?”

“Miaou, miaou,” said Tompkins, which meant “not us.”

Cook turned round and saw the kittens. “Well, of all the impudent little thieves!” she cried, “so you must go and steal the milk, must you? You little good-for-nothings!”

“No, really it wasn’t us,” mewed Minette.

But, of course, cook couldn’t understand cat language and she went on scolding. “You deserve a good whipping, that you do, and I’ve a great mind to give it you, greedy little things, when you get as much to eat as ever you can swallow.”

Pussy pretended to be her daughter.

“You may look like little angels, but you are nothing but little imps of mischief.”

Both kittens looked up at her with their sweetest expressions, trying to convince her how innocent they were.

“Oh, I know all about that,” cook went on, but already her scolding was getting more into a smiling one, “you may look little angels but you’re nothing but little imps of mischief.”

“Miaou, miaou,” said Minette in her sweetest voice, and Tompkins gave a plaintive little purr, for they were getting very sleepy after their exciting adventure. This was too much for cook; they both looked such darlings that before they could drop off to sleep she was down on her knees petting them and calling them her “saucy little poppets.”

The kittens were the first to wake up the next morning. They couldn’t resist talking about the kitchen kittens, there was so much to say. Salome went on pretending to be asleep.

“They were such jolly playfellows,” Tompkins remarked.

“I wish we knew such exciting games,” sighed Minette, “ours will seem so tame now.”

“We’ll manage to see them again, somehow,” suggested Tompkins.

“They very nearly got us into trouble over the milk, though,” said Minette. Salome gave a big gape. “Be quiet and go to sleep,” she said and shut her eyes.

Sauntered grandly out of the room.

The kittens were silent for a short time, then they began again. “I shall try and climb the curtain again,” said Minette. “I shan’t,” said Tompkins, “I shall think of some quite new game.”

Salome woke up again. “What are you two chatterboxes talking about?” she asked.

“About the kitchen kittens, mother,” Minette replied.

“I don’t wish to be proud,” said Salome, “but really you mustn’t associate with people like that.”

“But, mother,” protested Tompkins, “the kitchen kittens are so clever.”

“In what way?” asked Salome. “I don’t see anything clever in stealing milk; it is just a common cat’s trick.”

Tompkins began to feel rather annoyed; the kitchen kittens were his friends and he admired them. He thought them so bright and clever, and Salome rather unfair. Then a naughty, mischievous idea came into his head, and looking very impudent, he asked his mother, “Do you know what they called you?”

“Oh, Tompkins!” begged Minette, “please don’t be such a tell-tale.”

“I shall,” said that naughty Tompkins; “I think mother ought to know.”

“You needn’t trouble,” remarked Salome haughtily, “it doesn’t interest me in the very least what those vulgar little kittens call me.”

“Still, you had better hear,” persisted Tompkins, and before Minette could stop him he said, “they called you a ridiculous old fluff-pot, there!”

Whatever did Salome say?

Nothing at all, and if you know anything of Persian cats you will guess what she did. She got up and had a good stretch, then she shook out each leg and sauntered grandly out of the room. It was as if she meant that what the kitchen kittens had called her was so unimportant that it was not worth thinking or saying anything about.

And what did the kittens do? Well, I believe Tompkins felt rather small and wished he hadn’t spoken. However, they were alone in the room now, so it was a good opportunity for planning fresh mischief, and I only wish I had more pages in this book that I might tell you all about it.