Black, White and Gray - Amy Walton (online e book reader TXT) 📗

could not ask any questions. She followed her aunt into the sitting-room, with Madam still clutched tightly to her side.

"What is it, Maisie dear?" said Miss Chester. "Oh, the kitten, to be sure. I went to see it, but I'm sorry to tell you that they're afraid it has run away."

At this sad news Madam struggled so violently that Maisie was obliged to let her slip down to the floor. Run away! That was the last thing Maisie had thought of.

"Oh Aunt Katharine," she cried, "how did it run away? Why did they let it?"

But there was not much to be told about this. It was supposed that the kitten had run through the shop out into the street, and lost its way. At any rate, it had disappeared, and the tinsmith's wife was very sorry.

"Then," said Maisie, "it's lost! She might have taken more care of it. I wish we hadn't given it to her!"

Poor little grey kitten! Homeless and helpless in the wide world! It was so sad to think of it, that Maisie could not help crying, in spite of Aunt Katharine's attempts to comfort her.

"After all," she sobbed out, "it hasn't got a home at all, and we did take such trouble to find it one."

"Well, darling," said her aunt, "we must hope it has got a good home still. Very likely some kind person found it, and took care of it."

"Do you really think so?" said Maisie, rubbing her eyes and looking up with a gleam of hope; "but perhaps," she added sorrowfully, "an unkind person met it."

Aunt Katharine smiled and kissed her little niece.

"Unfortunately, there are unkind people in the world, dear Maisie," she said; "but I don't think there are many who would hurt a little harmless kitten. So we must take all the comfort we can, and perhaps some day we shall find it again."

Maisie did her best to look on the bright side of the misfortune, but she could not help thinking of all the dangers the grey kitten was likely to meet. There were so many dogs in Upwell, dogs like Snip and Snap who delighted in chasing cats. There were carts and carriages too, and many things which the kitten was far too young to understand. Its ignorance of the world would lead it into all sorts of perils, and there was little chance that it would ever be heard of again. She tried to break the bad news as gently as possible to Madam, who seemed to listen with indifference, and presently fell off to sleep, as though there were no such thing as lost kittens in the world. Dennis also did not show very much concern; but he was just now so busy with other matters that perhaps this was not surprising.


CHAPTER SEVEN.

FOUND!

Meanwhile, what had become of the grey kitten? To learn this we must go back to the time when it began its life in the tinsmith's house at Upwell under the care of old Sally's Eliza. It was kept in the kitchen at first, but by degrees, as it got used to the place, it was allowed to run about where it liked, and its favourite room was the little back parlour opening into the shop. Now the shop was forbidden ground, and it was always chased back if it tried to enter: so perhaps it was for this very reason that it seemed to have fixed its mind on doing it, and one afternoon the chance came. Its mistress was busy behind the counter serving some customers: the parlour door was open; no one noticed the grey kitten, and it marched boldly in.

Pleased to find itself in the midst of so many new and shining things, it played about happily for some time, trying to catch the merry shadowy figures which danced on all the bright surfaces around. It was great fun at first, to make springs and dashes at them with its soft little paws, but finding they were never to be caught, it got tired, and looked about for fresh amusement. Unluckily its eye fell on the open door leading into the busy street, and without a thought of fear it trotted out, and cantered, tail on high, gaily down the pavement.

Too young to understand that it was in the midst of dangers, it saw nothing to alarm, and much that was amusing in all it passed. Now and then it stopped on its way to play with a straw, or chase a fly, and by degrees got a long distance from the tinsmith's shop. It was now late in the afternoon, a drizzling rain had begun to fall, and it was so dull and cold that it was almost like winter. The kitten began to feel wet and miserable. It looked round for shelter and warmth, shook one little damp paw, and gave a tiny mew.

"Hulloa!" cried a rough loud voice, "what's this?" A rough hand grasped it, and held it up high above the ground.

A troop of boys was pouring out from a school-house near, shouting, whistling, calling out to each other, and making the place echo with their noise. The one who had seized the kitten was a big stout fellow of about fourteen, with red hair and small greenish eyes.

"Who wants a cat to make into pies?" he bawled at the top of his voice, holding his prize above the crowd of boys who gathered round him. The kitten, its little weak body dangling helplessly, turned its terrified eyes downwards on all the eager faces.

"Who'll buy?" cried the boy again.

"Mi-auw," said the kitten piteously.

"Give yer five marbles for it, Bill!"

"Give yer tuppence."

"Give yer a lump of hardbake."

One after another the shrill voices sounded above the general noise and clatter, but Bill shook his head.

"Not near enough," he said; "and come to think of it, I shall keep it myself, and have some sport with it. We'll have a cat-chase, sure's my name's Bill."

As he spoke, another boy joined the group. He was much smaller than Bill, slight and thin, with a brown face and very twinkling dark eyes. His clothes were poor, and there was more than one hole in the ragged jacket buttoned tightly round him.

"I'll give yer my knife for't, Bill," he said quickly.

This was a good offer. Bill hesitated; but casting a glance at the boy's dark eager face, he exclaimed:

"Ah, it's you, is it, Dan Tuvvy; then don't you wish you may get it? I'll just keep it myself."

"'Tain't yourn," said Dan shrilly.

"'Tain't yourn, anyhow," said Bill, with a glare in his green eyes.

The small boy's features worked with excitement. "I'll fight yer for it, then," he said, doubling his fists, and at this there was a loud laugh from the others, for he was about half Bill's size.

"Go it, Tuvvy," cried one, patting him on the back; "go in and win."

"I ain't a-goin' to fight a little chap like you," said Bill, moving off sullenly with the kitten under his arm. "So don't you think it."

"You give me the cat, then," said Dan, following him. "'Ere's my knife, with three blades, and on'y one broke."

"Git out with yer," said Bill contemptuously. "I tell yer I'm a-goin' to have a cat-chase with this 'ere kitten. So no more bother about it."

"You're afraid," snarled Dan, running along by his side. "I wouldn't be a big chap like you, and be afraid--that I wouldn't."

"Take that, then," said Bill, turning suddenly, "if you _will_ have it;" and he gave the small boy a blow which struck him to the ground.

In a moment he was up again, quite undaunted.

"Come on, then," he cried, doubling his fists and dancing round his enemy, "if you _aren't_ afraid."

"A fight! a fight!" sounded from all sides; and there seemed no doubt of it, for Bill's temper was roused.

"Ketch 'old for a minnit," he said, holding out the kitten, for which a dozen grimy hands were outstretched; "'twon't take long--"

So all the boys thought. It would be short but exciting, for the two were old enemies, and likely to fight with spirit. They placed themselves in a ring, with hoarse shouts of encouragement and approval, and the fight began; the kitten adding its plaintive mew from time to time to the general noise.

At first it seemed that one blow from Bill's heavy hand would be enough to finish the affair; but it was soon evident that Dan's lean figure and nimble movements were greatly to his advantage. He sprang about in such a swift and agile manner, that he seemed everywhere at once; and while Bill was turning to deal a blow, or to catch hold of him, he had ducked his small black head and escaped. Buttoned tightly in his narrow jacket, which he had not taken off, his straight thin figure offered nothing for the hand to grasp, so that it was like trying to lay hold of a wriggling, slippery eel. It was certainly a much better fight than could have been expected from the unequal size of the rivals, and Bill's face grew a deep red, as much with rage as with his vain efforts to close with Dan, who skipped round him breathless but full of spirit. Suddenly, however, while the excitement was at its height, there came a cry of alarm from the onlookers, "The bobby! the bobby!"

A blue uniform turned the corner. The crowd split up, and vanished like magic as the policeman came towards them. Bill turned away sulkily, and Dan seizing the kitten, which had been dropped on the ground, ran off at the top of his speed.

Without turning his head, to see if his enemy was in pursuit, he sped down the street past the school-house, clasping the kitten to his breast. Soon he had left the shops and busy part of the town behind him, and reached the outskirts, where the houses were poor and mean, and there were ragged people standing about on the door-steps. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder now, and seeing no sign of Bill or the policeman, slackened his pace, loosened the tight pressure of his hand on the kitten, and stroked it gently.

"Poor little kit," he said, "nice little kit. How pleased Becky'll be with it."

It was hard to say whether Dan or the kitten was most exhausted by all they had been through. His fight, his rapid run, and the excitement of the whole affair had made him so breathless, that he was glad to lean against a lamp-post and pant. As for the grey kitten, it lay almost lifeless on his breast, its eyes closed, its little body quite limp, and its heart beating so faintly that it could hardly be felt. The boy looked down at it with pity.

"Looks pretty bad," he murmured; "they've mauled it about so. P'r'aps a drop of milk would set it up."

Urged by this thought, he made an effort to go on again at a slower pace, still panting a good deal, and presently reached a row of