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

there was a long scratch, just beginning to bleed a little.

"The nasty, spiteful thing!" exclaimed Miss Mervyn. "My darling Philippa! what will your mother say? Come, my love, we will bathe it, and it will soon be better, and the savage little kitten shall be sent away."

But Philippa would not have her arm bathed, and the kitten should not be sent away. She would show Dennis and Maisie what a bad scratch it was, and what a cross kitten they had sent her for a present, and meantime she would stand and sob.

"We'll ask them to take it back to Fieldside, won't we?" said Miss Mervyn soothingly; "we shall be glad to get rid of it."

The more Miss Mervyn suggested this, the more determined Philippa was to keep it. She even began to make excuses for it between her sobs. It did not mean to scratch; it was a dear little kitten. She was very fond of it. It should not be sent away. It should stay and sleep on her bed.

At last she submitted to have her arm bathed, and discovered that it was not such a very bad scratch after all, and soon the arrival of the musical box gave her something else to think of. For the time the white kitten was forgotten, and it took the opportunity of crawling behind the curtains, where it curled itself up and went to sleep.

But though the musical box had come, the rain still continued to fall, and as there was no possibility of going out, it was settled that Philippa should play with her friends in the long gallery.

The long gallery was a very delightful place to amuse one's self in on a rainy day. It was the only old part of Haughton which remained, and it was much prettier than the new. Six tall latticed windows stood in recesses all down one side, and facing them were dark old portraits of straight-nosed ladies with powdered hair, and gentlemen in wigs. These had the gallery all to themselves, for there were no furniture or ornaments in it, except some great china vases in the window-seats. At either end there was a high stone mantelpiece, carved all over in quaint patterns. The ceiling was oak, and so was the floor--this last very slippery, so that it was as good as ice to slide upon.

Dennis and Maisie were glad to hear that they were to go into the long gallery when they arrived, and they found all Philippa's visitors assembled there, with the musical box tinkling out its tunes in one of the window-seats. Miss Mervyn, who felt the long gallery very cold and draughty, was there too; she had brought in a chair from the play-room, and sat shivering by the huge fireplace, where a fire had been lighted; but the children, warmed with their games, looked merry and gay.

"Let's have a dance!" exclaimed Philippa, as the musical box began a lively waltz tune; "Dennis shall be my partner."

All the little figures in their bright dresses went whirling down the long shining floor, two and two, skirts fluttering and hair streaming out with the rapid movement. At the end of the long gallery the musical box was quite invisible, and its little thin voice could hardly be heard.

"It's like a fairy tune being played up in the air," said Maisie.

The musical box finished its waltz, and almost immediately struck up a solemn march.

"Now we're soldiers," said Dennis, "marching to the funeral of one of our comrades killed in battle. I'm captain."

All the games suggested by the musical box were successful: even Philippa was pleased and happy, and Miss Mervyn began to think that the party might pass off without any quarrels or disturbance. But, unfortunately, Philippa at last had an idea which led to the overthrow of this pleasant state of things. This idea was that they should join in with the musical box when it played the "Bluebells of Scotland," and have a concert. She herself would conduct, and play the violin. One child could sing the tune, another could whistle it, another could play it on a comb, another was provided with a small drum. Every one thought it a beautiful idea, and Philippa, very much excited, mounted on the window-seat by the musical box, violin in hand, with her band disposed round her.

But alas! Instead of the sweet sounds she hoped to hear, the most terrible discords arose at the first tinkling notes of the musical box. It was wonderful that such a small band could produce such a great noise, but perhaps this was because each child wanted to be heard above the rest. The whistling, screaming, squeaking, and banging, all in different keys and different time, quite overpowered the gentle plaintive notes of the violin and the correct melody of the musical box. Miss Mervyn at the end of the room covered her ears, and Philippa dropped her bow, and exclaimed angrily: "Stop! it's a horrid noise."

That was easily said, but no one paid any attention to it. The band went on screaming, banging, tootling, and whistling harder than ever.

"Stop, I say!" cried Philippa again, stamping her foot. "I'm the conductor. I say stop!"

But it had no result. She threw down her violin, and shook the musical box angrily, but there was no way of stopping that either: it went steadily on, regardless that she was beside herself with rage. In another moment she would have dashed it on the floor; but, fortunately, just at that instant Mrs Trevor appeared at the door. The sight of her had more effect than all Philippa's rage. The band suddenly stopped, the din ceased, peace was restored. Miss Mervyn took her hands from her ears, and advanced from the other end of the room. Philippa flew to her mother, and hid her face in her gown.

"What is it, my darling?" said Mrs Trevor, looking fondly at her daughter, and severely at Miss Mervyn. "Why have you been making this dreadful noise?"

Philippa poured forth her complaints. She had wanted to have a concert--a proper concert--and they had done it all wrong, and they wouldn't stop when she told them, and--

"Poor darling," said Mrs Trevor, stroking Philippa's hair caressingly, "she has such a sensitive ear.--It was hardly wise, I think, Miss Mervyn," turning to that lady, "to allow such a noise. Really, when I opened the door, it was quite like a number of cats quarrelling. Quite enough to give Philippa one of her bad headaches for the rest of the day."

Miss Mervyn looked as if that were likely to be her own case, but she only murmured that she had thought Philippa was enjoying herself, and that she had not liked to put a stop to the children's amusements. The band meanwhile stood disconsolate. Philippa's face had its fretful look, and everything was rather uncomfortable. Mrs Trevor glanced round in despair, and it was at this moment that Maisie gave things a welcome turn by stealing up to her cousin's side, and saying softly, "Where's the white kitten?"

The kitten had been on her mind ever since she arrived: she had not seen it, and did not even know that it had been received, for in the excitement of her party Philippa had quite forgotten to thank her cousins for their present.

"Ah!" said Mrs Trevor, in a tone of relief, "the kitten, to be sure.-- Take Maisie to find the kitten, my darling, and have a quiet little game together in the schoolroom. I daresay Dennis will like to stay here, and play with the others until tea-time."

For a wonder, Philippa was quite ready to do what was proposed, and the two little girls went away together.

"Did you like it?" asked Maisie anxiously. "It's pretty, isn't it? And it keeps itself very white. It's the prettiest of all the kittens--next to ours."

"I like it very much," said Philippa graciously, "but it scratches. Miss Mervyn says it's a savage kitten."

"They all scratch, you know," said Maisie seriously, as they entered the schoolroom; "when they're quite little, they don't know better. You'll have to teach it to be good."

"How?" asked Philippa, looking round the room for the kitten, which was nowhere to be seen.

"Entirely by kindness," said Maisie, using an expression she had seen in one of her books.

"It's hidden itself again," said Philippa discontentedly; "it's always hiding itself."

This time the kitten had found a good hiding-place, and the little girls searched everywhere in vain for a long while. At last Maisie thought of lifting the silk cover on the top of Miss Mervyn's work-basket, and there, snugly coiled in the midst of wools, knitting, and fancy work, lay the white kitten fast asleep! This was not the worst, for it had evidently amused itself first by a game of play. All the skeins of wool were twisted up in a tangle, and a quantity of silk was wound tightly round its claws.

"There!" said Philippa, "that's the third wrong thing it's done to-day! It's torn mother's lace, and scratched my arm, and tangled up all Miss Mervyn's wool. Now she'll want it to go away more than ever."

Maisie looked at the white kitten with dismay. It did not seem to have made a good beginning in its new home.

"Will Miss Mervyn be _very_ angry?" she said. "Can't we try to put the wool straight?"

"Oh, _that_ doesn't matter," said Philippa coolly; "but it _is_ a naughty kitten, isn't it?"

Maisie lifted the kitten carefully out of its warm bed, and gently disentangled its claws from the silk.

"Well," she said, "I don't really believe it _meant_ to be naughty. Kittens always like to play, and then, you see, it always slept in a basket, so perhaps it thought this was its own. You must give it a ball or a cork, and then it won't want to play with the wrong things."

Philippa generally looked down upon Maisie and thought her babyish, but she had such motherly ways with the kitten, and gave advice with so much gravity, that she now listened with respect to what she said.

"Now you take it and nurse it a little," she continued, putting the kitten, still half asleep, into Philippa's arms, "and I'll try to get the wool straight. What shall you call it? We call ours `Darkie,' because he's all black, you see. Dennis wanted to call him `Nigger,' but I didn't like that, and Aunt Katharine says Darkie means just the same."

Philippa thought of a good many names, but was not satisfied with any of them, and still less with those suggested by Maisie.

"_I_ know," she exclaimed at last; "I've got a beautiful name that just suits it. I shall call it `Blanche.' That's French for white, you know," she added for Maisie's instruction. Maisie did not know, for she had not begun to learn French, but she quite agreed that Blanche was a lovely name, and seemed made for the white kitten.

After much patient effort she succeeded in untwisting Miss Mervyn's wool from most of the knots and tangles, and putting the contents of the basket into something like order.

"There!" she