Black, White and Gray by Amy Walton (best novels to read to improve english TXT) 📕

so particular," said Maisie, "because it would look so very bad if it wasn't quite clean." It had rather a meaningless face, a long thin nose, and mincing, dainty ways of walking and taking its food. Secretly, Maisie thought it rather like Philippa, for its temper was somewhat peevish, and it often mewed in a dissatisfied manner for nothing at all; but she kept this fancy to herself, for she knew that Dennis would only call her silly if she mentioned it.

As for the grey kitten, it was the smallest and weakest of the three, the most easily imposed upon, and the most amiable. When the saucer of milk was put down, the others would thrust their heads greedily into it, and push the grey kitten aside, so that it could scarcely get any. Maisie was obliged to keep a close watch at such times, to see that it had its share, and to correct the conduct of the other two. It was the same thing in their gambols with their mother, or with a cork at the end of a string. The grey kitten seemed to be considered as a mere sport and joke for the other two, who tossed and tumbled it about as if it were nothing: even Madam did not take its part, and often boxed its ears for nothing but awkwardness.

All this, however, did not sour its temper in the least, and after the worst slight or roughest usage it was quite ready to purr and be pleased. Maisie thought this very nice of it, and she was sure it was anxious to do well, if it only knew how. It would allow her, with very few struggles, to dress it in a doll's nightgown and cap, and put it to sleep in a cradle; which neither of the others would submit to for a moment. By degrees she became very fond of it, and the more she took its part and defended it from ill-treatment, the more her affection increased. It was therefore distressing to remember, as the days went on, that though the white kitten had a home to look forward to, there was yet no such prospect for the grey one.

"It's getting dreadfully near the time," she said one morning to Dennis, who was trying to teach the black kitten to jump through his hands; "only ten days more, and we haven't got a good home for the grey kitten yet."

"It's such a common, mean thing," said Dennis, casting a scornful glance at it. "No one could want to have it."

"It's very affectionate, though," said Maisie, "and it purrs more than any of them. I believe it might grow pretty when it's older."

"Not it," said Dennis. "Why, there are lots of cats like it in the village now. Just long, lean, striped things. I don't believe you'd know it apart from them when it's grown up.--Oh, look, Maisie, look! He jumped, he really did."

Maisie looked, but the black kitten turned sulky, and refused to do anything but back away from Dennis's hands with its ears flattened.

"It's quite in a temper," she said. "Now the grey kitten _always_ tries to do what you tell it."

"Only it's so stupid that it never knows what you want it to do," said Dennis, as he gave up his efforts and let the kitten scamper back to its mother.

"Well, at any rate," said Maisie, returning to her subject, "we've got to find it a home, and we haven't asked every one yet. Who is there left? Let me see. There's the vicarage, and Dr Price, and, oh Dennis, perhaps old Sally would like it!"

Dennis shrugged his shoulders, but he was quite ready to agree that old Sally should be asked, because he was always glad of any excuse to go near the Manor Farm, which he thought the nicest place in the village or out of it. It was not only pretty and interesting in itself with its substantial grey stone outbuildings, and pigeonry and rick-yard, but Mr and Mrs Andrew Solace lived there, and they were, the children thought, such very agreeable people. There had always been a Solace at the Manor Farm within the memory of old Sally, who was very old indeed, but they felt sure none of them could have been so pleasant as the present one. "Young Master Andrew," old Sally called him, though he was a stout, middle-aged man with grizzled hair; but she gave him this name because she had worked for his father and grandfather, and could "mind" him when he was a little boy of Dennis's age. For the same reason, she never could bring herself to think him equal to the management of such a very large farm, "'undreds of acres," as she said. It was a great undertaking for "young Master Andrew," and though every one round knew that there were few better farmers, old Sally always shook her head over it.

Manor Farm was in every respect just the opposite of the "Green Farm," where the Broadbents lived. There was nothing smart or trim or new about it, and the house and farm-buildings were comfortably mixed up together, so that the farmer seemed to live in the midst of his barns and beasts. It was a very old house, with a square flagged hall and a broad oak staircase. There were beams showing across the low ceilings, and wide window-seats, which were always full of all sorts of things flung there "to be handy." Some of the rooms were panelled, and all the furniture in them was old-fashioned and dark with age. Dogs and cats walked in and out at their pleasure, and though Mrs Solace sometimes chased them all out for a few minutes, they soon returned again through windows and doors, and made themselves quite at home. Mrs Solace was too busy to trouble herself much about them, and also too good-natured, so that the animals knew they could do pretty well as they liked.

It was this complete freedom that made the Manor Farm so delightful to Dennis and Maisie, who ran in and out very much as the cats and dogs did, and always found something to interest and amuse them. If Mrs Solace were too much occupied in dairy, laundry, or store-room to give them her attention, they had only to go into the farm-yard to be surrounded by friends and acquaintances. Some of these, it is true, disappeared from time to time, but you had hardly missed them before there was something new to take their place. The great brown cart-horses, at any rate, were always to be found after their work, and always ready to bow their huge heads and take apples or sugar gently with their soft lips. And in summer it was pleasant to be there just at milking time, and watch the cows saunter slowly home across the fields, to stand in a long patient row in the shed, to be milked.

Indeed it would be hard to say what time was not pleasant at the farm, for in such a large family of creatures there was always something happening of the very deepest interest to the children. In the spring they were quite as anxious and eager about successful broods of early ducklings, or the rearing of the turkeys as Mrs Solace was herself, and she was secure of their heartfelt sympathy when the fox made away with her poultry.

For unlike Mrs Broadbent, Mrs Solace not only knew all about such matters, but liked nothing so well as to talk of them.

"When I'm a man," Dennis would say, "I mean to be a farmer."

"So do I," Maisie would answer.

"You couldn't be," Dennis would argue. "How could you go rook-shooting? You know you scream when a gun goes off; and besides, you're afraid of the turkey-cock."

"Well, then," Maisie would conclude, deeply conscious that both these facts were true, "I'll be a farmer's wife, and rear turkeys; that's quite as hard as shooting rooks, and much usefuller."

"That it is, dearie," Mrs Solace would agree, with her comfortable laugh. "Puley pingling things they are, and want as much care as children."

But apart from the animals, there was to Dennis one corner at the Manor Farm which had special attractions, and that was where the wheelwright worked. It was a long narrow barn fitted up as a carpenter's shop, with a bench and a lathe and all manner of tools: full of shavings and sawdust, planks of wood and half-finished farm implements. Here the wheelwright stood and worked all day. He made and mended carts, wheelbarrows, ladders, hay-rakes, and all sorts of things used in the farm, and had always as much as he could do. Dennis liked nothing better than a little quiet time with Tuvvy, as he was called, and though he did not talk much, he eyed all his movements with such earnest attention that it may be supposed he learned something of carpentering.

Tuvvy's movements were nimble and neat, for he was a clever workman, and knew what he was about: now and then he would cast a swift glance round at Dennis out of his bright black eyes, but he never paused in his work to talk, and there was seldom any sound in the barn but that of the saw and hammer, or the whirring of the lathe. His skin was so very dark, and his hair so black and long, that people called him a gypsy, and Dennis knew that he was a little wild sometimes, because old Sally shook her head when she mentioned him.

That meant that Tuvvy was not always quite sober, which was a great pity, because he was so clever, that he could earn a great deal if he kept steady. In the barn, however, he was as steady and hard-working as a man could be, and what his conduct was out of it, did not at all affect Dennis's attachment and admiration. Maisie always knew, if she missed her brother during one of their visits to the farm, that she should find him in the barn staring at Tuvvy at his work; and he had done this so much, that he began to feel as though he had helped to make Mr Solace's carts and barrows.

All this made him quite ready to agree with Maisie's suggestion, for although he was not very anxious about the grey kitten's welfare, he thought there might be a chance of slipping round to see how Tuvvy was getting on.

"Where shall we go first?" said Maisie, as they started on their expedition, with Peter, the little rough dog, barking round them. "The vicarage comes first, and then Dr Price, and then old Sally."

"All right," said Dennis; "that's the best last, and the worst first."

The vicarage stood on a little hill close to the church, looking down on the village street.

"I don't much think Miss Hurst will want it," said Maisie, as they turned up the steep lane; "because, you see, she's got such a very pet cat. Else that would be a very good home."

"She might like it for a kitchen cat," said Dennis, "to catch rats and mice."

"_Ye-es_," said Maisie. She did not much like the idea of the grey kitten in such a position. Still, Miss Hurst was so very kind and gentle, that it was likely