Chapter I: Part 1

KITTY-CAT TALES.

KITTY-CAT TALES

BY

ALICE VAN LEER CARRICK

ILLUSTRATED BY

HOMER EATON KEYES AND BERTHA G. DAVIDSON

BOSTON

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

PUBLISHED, AUGUST, 1907.

COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD COMPANY.

_All Rights Reserved._

KITTY-CAT TALES.

Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

To

MARGARET AND JOHN

CONTENTS

PAGE

THE FIRST NIGHT 7

THE WHITE CAT 13

THE SECOND NIGHT 39

THE KING OF THE FIELD-MICE 41

THE THIRD NIGHT 55

THE DISCONTENTED CAT 57

THE FOURTH NIGHT 122

THE CAT WHO MARRIED A MOUSE 123

THE FIFTH NIGHT 139

MOTHER MICHEL AND HER CAT 141

THE SIXTH NIGHT 177

VENUS AND THE CAT 178

THE CAT AND THE FOX 181

THE SEVENTH NIGHT 186

DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS WONDERFUL CAT 189

THE EIGHTH NIGHT 203

THE FUNERAL OF TOM GRIMALKIN 204

THE KING OF THE CATS 210

THE NINTH NIGHT 216

PUSS-IN-BOOTS 218

ILLUSTRATIONS

IMPTY CURLED HIMSELF UP CLOSE TO THE PILLOW, AND
BEGAN THE STORY (Page 12) _Frontispiece_

FACING PAGE

THE PRINCE MOUNTED THE HOBBY-HORSE, AND FOUND
THAT HE HAD NEVER RIDDEN BETTER 20

“KNOW, THEN, THAT I AM THE KING OF ALL THE
FIELD-MICE” 44

THE COUNTESS CAME IN, FOLLOWED BY A LAPDOG 98

“I UNDERSTAND NOW,” SAID THE LITTLE MOUSE, QUITE
GENTLY 136

HE OPENED THE BAG, AND TOSSED MOUMOUTH INTO THE
WATER 150

VENUS TURNED HER AT ONCE INTO A CAT AGAIN 180

SOME BROUGHT ONE THING, SOME ANOTHER, BUT DICK
WHITTINGTON HAD ONLY HIS CAT TO SEND 194

“HAVE YOU ANY SPARE TIME?” ASKED THE OWL 206

“MASTER,” SAID PUSS, “YOU HAVEN’T FARED SO BADLY
AS YOU SEEM TO THINK” 220

THE FIRST NIGHT

Dolly sat up in bed, and stared gravely at the shutters where the last sunset light was trying to slip through. She was not at all sleepy, and, because Sandman had not come to shake his magic dust in her eyes, she had time to think what a lonely and very, very unhappy child she was. For Dolly’s mother and father had gone away suddenly to her grandmother, who was ill, and Miss Jane had come to take care of the little girl until they came home. Miss Jane was good to her--Dolly knew that--but, then, Miss Jane had never had any little girls of her own, so she could not know how nice a lump of sugar felt in your hand at bedtime, nor how a tight, lumpy braid of hair could get down your back at night, and keep you awake for ever so long. Miss Jane had given Dolly a drink of water, and heard her say her prayers, and then gone out.

“She never kissed me good night, nor told me just even one story,” the little girl said to herself. “And she wouldn’t shut the door loose, though I said ‘Please,’ ’cause she was afraid Impty would get in. O dear! How I wish I did have him with me!”

Now Impty was a black, black kitten, with long, thin legs, and a thin, curved tail that made him look like a witch’s cat--ready to jump on a broom-stick, and sail off through the air--and he stared solemnly out of such round, yellow eyes that he seemed to understand everything that happened about him.

“Dear me! I wish Impty _was_ here!” said Dolly again, and then something rubbed against her sleeve, and said, “Purr-rr-rr,” a long purr that slid at last into words, and sounded like this, “Purr-rr-rr, poor Dolly, poor Dolly! _I’ll_ tell you a story.”

“Why, Impty, dear, I didn’t know you could talk,” the little girl cried.

“You never asked me,” answered the kitten, demurely. “But I _can_ talk, and I can tell stories, too, for I know all the lore of Cat-Land. When I sleep I go there in my dreams, and my grandfather, the King of the Cats, purrs the Kitty-Cat tales in my ear. You have been so kind to us all your life that you are loved through the whole Cat Kingdom, and so, one tale each night until your mother comes home, I am permitted by the King to tell you. But now lie down, and I will purr to you, and then, if Miss Jane comes in, she can’t do more than say ‘Scat’ and drive me away, but if she heard me really talking, goodness knows what _would_ happen!”

So Dolly cuddled down with a happy little sigh, and Impty curled himself up close to the pillow, and began the story of “The White Cat.”

THE
WHITE CAT
]

Once upon a time there was a King who had three sons, all of whom were so handsome and good and clever, that he could not decide which should be the one to reign after him when he was dead and gone. Now this King was getting old, and as he knew that he must soon make his choice, and appoint his heir, he called his three sons to him.

“Listen,” he said to them: “I am growing older every day, and soon one of you must rule the kingdom in my stead. Now, I love you all so well that I can make no choice, but I will give each of you the chance to win the crown. Gather together your servants and your horses, set out upon a journey, and the one of you who shall bring me back the most beautiful little dog, shall inherit my sceptre. One year will I give you for the search, and then I will make my decision.”

So the three sons took leave of their father, and started in different ways, sad at heart at leaving home and each other, for, though they were rivals, they were devoted brothers. One went north, and one went south, and both saw many strange sights, but the youngest Prince had the most wonderful adventures of all. He wandered here and there, buying dogs of all kinds: dachshunds, spaniels, black and tans, until he had a large pack of tiny dogs trotting at his heels.

Then, when the year was all gone but a month, and he was thinking of turning his steps homeward, he wandered from his followers, and lost his way in a wide, dark forest. After calling out and hallooing in vain, he noticed a number of lights burning brightly not very far away, and he turned his steps in their direction. What was his surprise to come to the gate-ways of a mighty castle, brilliantly lighted, but with no warders at the doors. Instead of men-at-arms, a number of white hands appeared in answer to his knock, and ushered him into a spacious, well-lighted hall. He sat down in a soft arm-chair that the hands had brought up close to the fire, and, when he was warmed and rested, the hands drew off gently his travel-stained garments, and dressed him in a magnificent suit of scarlet satin laced with silver. Then, when he was ready, and looking as a Prince should look, the hands led him into the banqueting-hall, and there, under a canopy at one end of the room, he saw the most beautiful cat he had ever beheld in his life. She was as white as snow, with long, soft, silky fur, and the prettiest little face imaginable. Below her were seated cats playing on harps and lutes, and all about the hall hurried other cats busy on some errand.

His chair was placed beside the White Cat’s; every honor was shown him, and, because he could not eat the mice and rats that were served up in all sorts of ways, the hands brought him his favorite dishes. While they were thus feasting, the Prince happened to look at a bracelet that the Cat was wearing. What was his surprise to see that it was a band of gold that held a miniature of himself! He was lost in wonderment, as well he might have been, for he was sure that never in his life had he given his picture to a cat of any kind. But when he asked her about it, she only smiled sadly, and shook her head, refusing to say anything.

After the banquet was over, as he was very tired from tramping all day long, the hands led him to his chamber, and helped him to bed. The next morning he was awakened by the baying of hounds, and the cries of huntsmen under his windows. Jumping up, he quickly looked out, and saw the whole court ready to set out to the forest. When the hands had dressed him in a suit of Lincoln green, he joined the White Cat, who was waiting for him to come and ride by her side to the hunt. She was mounted on a monkey, and the hands led out a wooden horse for the Prince to ride. At first he was inclined to be angry at being given such a clumsy steed, but the White Cat begged him so gently to try it, that he mounted the hobby-horse, and found that he had never ridden better in his life.

And so, day after day, the Prince spent his time at the Castle of the White Cat: feasting, dancing, hunting, and so quickly did the time go by, that he forgot that his year was nearly spent. He had told the White Cat of his quest, and how he hoped to be able to take back to the King, his father, the most beautiful little dog in the world. But so happy was he that he had forgotten all about it, nor would he have remembered it at all if the Cat had not called him to her, and said, “Prince, to-morrow you must leave me, and go back to your own world.”

The Prince was heart-broken to think how he had forgotten his promise to his father, but the White Cat told him not to grieve, and placed in his hand an acorn, bidding him hold it to his ear. The Prince did so, and it seemed to him that he heard the bark of a tiny dog.

“Do not open the acorn until you reach the court of the King, and I promise you that all will be well,” she said.

So the Prince bade good-by to the White Cat sadly enough, and set out on his homeward journey, riding his awkward hobby-horse, and in far less time than he had taken to come, he was back again at the Palace. His brothers had arrived before him, and, as he entered the hall, they were showing off proudly their delicate, highly bred dogs. But when the youngest Prince opened the acorn and displayed his beautiful little dog, all black, resting against a white satin cushion, the whole Court cried out in admiration that the Kingdom must surely be given to him.

The old King was a little unwilling, however, to give up ruling yet, and the two other brothers begged so hard to have another chance that it was finally decided that the Princes should again set out on their travels; and that, this time, the one who should bring home the finest piece of linen, long enough to make the king a robe, and delicate enough to pass through the eye of a needle, should have the Kingdom as his reward. A second time the three Princes started out, but now the youngest Prince refused to allow his retinue to accompany him. Instead, he mounted his old hobby-horse, and rode away to the White Cat’s Castle. When he reached the gate, the whole Court of Cats ran to welcome him. The White Cat received him as graciously as before, and when the Prince told her the search he had again been sent upon, she smiled, and promised that she would set her cleverest spinners at work. There, for another year, the Prince stayed, and the time went as swiftly as happiness always does, and he was amazed when the White Cat called him to her, and told him that he must go that very night if he wished to reach his father’s court in time for the test. Then she put into his hand a walnut, bidding him keep it carefully until he should reach the King’s Palace.

Just as before, he arrived as his brothers, believing that he would not come in time, were opening out their webs of linen. Very fine they were. The web that the eldest brother had brought would slip with ease through a bodkin; the second son’s piece could be drawn through the eye of a large darning needle; but the whole Court, remembering what the youngest Prince had already done, waited to see what he had to show. He took the walnut from his pocket and cracked it. Inside was a hazel-nut. This he cracked, too, and, what was his surprise to find a cherry-stone!

When he had broken this in halves he saw inside a grain of wheat, and in the grain of wheat a millet seed. And then the Prince lost heart, and thought that the friend he had so believed in had played him some cruel trick. But as this idea passed through his mind he felt a soft scratch on his hand to let him know that the White Cat was true. So he opened the millet seed, and drew forth the finest web of linen in the world. At the least it was four hundred ells long, and so delicate that it would slip with ease through the eye of the smallest needle that could be found.

All the courtiers cried aloud together that the youngest Prince had once more won the Kingdom, but the elder brothers begged for a third chance, and as the old King was still unwilling to give up his throne, he decided that his three sons should again set out, and that the one who brought home the most beautiful maiden should marry her, and that as King and Queen they should rule together over his Kingdom.

For the last time the Princes started forth on their quest. The elder brothers took their own roads, but the youngest, mounting his old wooden horse, rode straight to the Castle of the White Cat. She was as happy as ever to see him, and soothed away his disappointment, promising him all the help in her power. Just as before, the days sped away in merry-making, and when the year rolled round again, the White Cat told the Prince that now the time had come when he was to carry back to his father’s Palace the most beautiful girl in the world.

“But where shall I find her?” cried the Prince, in despair. “I have delayed too long in your castle, and now I shall never rule over my father’s Kingdom.”

“Yes, you shall,” replied the White Cat. “If you will do as I bid you, you shall have the most beautiful Princess in the world for your bride. Take your sword, cut off my head and tail, and fling me into the fire that burns in the great hall.”

The Prince angrily refused to do anything so base.

“What! After all your kindness would you have me treat you as your worst enemy might? No, I would far rather never be King than buy my inheritance at such a price,” he said.

But the White Cat begged so, telling him, with tears in her eyes, that it was the greatest favor in the world that could be done her, that, at last, the Prince consented.

He drew his sword, cut off her head and tail, and flung her into the fire. In her stead rose up, to his great wonderment, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

She stretched out her hands to him.

“Oh, you have saved me from a horrible enchantment, dear Prince,” she cried. “If you had not done as I asked, all my life long I should have remained a cat. I was changed into that shape, and condemned to stay so until my death, or until the enchantment should be broken, because I displeased the fairies who brought me up. They declared that I must marry the hideous little King of the Dwarfs, and when I refused, and showed them your picture, telling them that you were the only man that I would ever wed, they threw this spell over me. And now, if you love me as I do you, and wish to marry me, take me to your father’s Palace, and the Kingdom shall be yours.”

The Prince, who all this time had been falling deeper and deeper in love, helped her mount her horse, and followed by her attendants--who were cats no longer, but men and women like themselves--the Prince and the beautiful Princess rode back to his home.

The brides of the elder brothers were beautiful to see; the Court could not decide which was the lovelier, but when the youngest Prince entered the hall, every courtier declared that he had again been successful.

The old King rose from his throne.

“My son,” he said, “the Princess you have brought home is the loveliest lady that these old eyes have ever seen, and though my Kingdom is all unworthy her rule, it is yours; fairly have you won it.”

But the Princess knelt down beside him, and said:--

“We will not take your crown from you, for I am Queen of five mighty Kingdoms. Therefore you shall keep yours, and one each will I give to your elder sons, while my husband and I will reign over the other three.”

So every one was contented, and as for the Prince and his beautiful Princess, none ever ruled more wisely, nor were more beloved by their subjects than they were.

* * * * *

“And so they lived happy for ever and ever afterwards,” murmured Dolly, contentedly. “All nice fairy tales end that way, Impty.”

But Impty only yawned, and arched his back lazily. Then he jumped down from the bed.

“I am going to Cat-Land now,” he said, “to get you a story for to-morrow night. And I am going to sleep under the big arm-chair, near the door, so that I can slip out when Miss Jane comes in at seven o’clock. If she sees me, you know she might lock me up in the shed to-morrow night, and then, what _would_ we do?”

And, in another minute, the little lonely child--not lonely any more, but very happy--and the black, black kitten were fast asleep.

THE SECOND NIGHT

Miss Jane must have been astonished at the willing way Dolly went to bed the next night. There never was a child more ready to be undressed; and although Miss Jane braided her hair in a tighter, lumpier braid than ever, Dolly never said a word. There was no need for the child to sit up in bed and stare at the light slanting through the shutters, as she thought how far away her mother was. Instead, she cuddled into her pillow contentedly, and as soon as Miss Jane was safely downstairs, Impty jumped up, and curled himself into a soft, black ball beside her.

“To-night,” he began, “to-night I am going to tell you the tale of ‘The King of the Field-Mice.’”

THE KING
OF
THE
FIELD
MICE
]

There was, once upon a time, long, long ago in Japan, a very poor man, a gardener named Chúgoro Yamakawa, who, with his wife, Ino-yo San, lived in a little cottage on a small plot of ground. All that they had to eat they raised in their garden, and their clothes were bought by the money that the old man made in selling his vegetables and fruits from door to door. Their only treasure was their cat Tamá, a large, sleek fellow, and the finest mouser in the whole neighborhood. Every day, when Chúgoro went to work in his garden, Tamá trotted after him, and rubbed up against him, as if to say, “My dear Master! How I wish that I could help you!”

Well, one day, as Chúgoro was digging around his young bamboo trees, Tamá came bounding through the grass with something in his mouth. The old man looked down, and saw that it was a pretty little field-mouse, and, as he was a very kind-hearted man, he took it away from the cat, who seemed perfectly contented, and trotted off as if his business was done.

The field-mouse was not dead, only frightened, and as soon as Chúgoro put it down on the ground again, instead of running away, it sat up on its hind legs, and said in the tiniest, clear voice: “I owe you many thanks, Chúgoro Yamakawa, for saving my life. Know, then, that I am the King of all the Field-Mice, and, if you will meet me to-night at the door of my Palace, I will bestow great riches upon you.”

The old gardener thanked the little King, and promised to meet him that evening as soon as his work was done. So, after sunset, leaving Tamá with Ino-yo San, he walked through the garden until he reached the hole where the mouse was waiting for him.

“But I cannot enter here,” said Chúgoro, looking at the little hole. “Oh, yes you can,” answered the King, “for I will touch you with my paw, and then you will grow small like me, and able to enter my dwelling.”

_Page 43._]

He stretched out his paw, and immediately the old man shrank and shrank until he was no larger than the King of the Field-Mice himself.

They walked together down a narrow passage-way which, after a little, widened into a beautiful hall, all glittering with gold and silver. In the middle was a table richly spread with “o-tsu-yu” and salad and raw fish, all in gorgeous lacquered bowls, with plenty of “saki” to wash the viands down. There Chúgoro sat and feasted with the King and the Queen and the whole Royal Court, and, as they ate, from the kitchens came the small song of the servant mice, pounding rice for the New Year. As they pounded, they sang this strange little ditty:--

Ton, ton! Neko sai oraneba
Nezumi no yo zakare. Ton, ton!

(When the cat’s away
The mice will play!)

After the King saw that Chúgoro could eat no more, he led him to the treasure chamber, and filled his arms with gold and silver and fine lacquer work; enough to make him a rich man for life. Then he led him through the winding passage, and bade him good-by. When the old man was out in the fields again, he found that he was the same height that he had always been, and he hurried home to share the good news with Ino-yo San and Tamá.

With his riches he built himself a fine new house, and bought jewels and silk robes for his wife, and, as for Tamá, he rested at night on a downy cushion, and lived on everything nice that a cat could wish.

Now, a rich, miserly neighbor of Chúgoro’s, Gizæmon Muratani by name, seeing the gardener so rich and prosperous where he had always been in want before, called upon him, and begged to know what had brought him such wealth.

Chúrgoro, who was very generous, and who wished all the world to be as fortunate as himself, told the whole story to Gizæmon. Immediately the miser asked that Tamá should be lent to him, that he might once more catch the King of the Field-Mice. The gardener willingly agreed, and Gizæmon took Tamá, and started across the fields, with the cat trotting at his heels. All of a sudden, Tamá darted swiftly away, and came bounding back over the grass with something in his mouth. It was the King of the Field-Mice again! Gizæmon set him free, and--for he was very ungrateful--drove Tamá harshly away. The mouse thanked the rich man as he had Chúgoro, and, in the same way, begged him to come that night to the door of his Palace. The miser’s heart swelled with pride and vanity.

“Now,” thought he, “I will be richer than my neighbor, for all that the Field-Mouse gives me, and all that I have myself, will be mine.”

He could hardly wait for the sun to set, he was so anxious to gather up his riches.

The King met him at the doorway, and touched him with his paw. Like Chúgoro, he grew smaller and smaller until he could follow the King down the little winding passage. When the banquet hall was reached, he was seated at the King’s right hand, and served with all sorts of delicious food; but the greedy man looked around instead of eating, and, as he saw how many fine things there were in the room, and, as he heard the little kitchen mice singing away, as they pounded:--

Ton, ton! Neko sai oraneba,
Nezumi no yo zakare. Ton, ton!

he thought, “What a fine thing it would be for me if I could make these mice believe that a Cat _was_ here! Then they would run away, and all these riches would be mine!”

So he called out in a loud voice, “Miaou! Miaou! Miaou!” and the little, frightened mice fled away in a tremble. Gizæmon was beginning to gather up the gold and silver dishes, when, all at once, he found he was growing taller and taller and taller. He ran to the door, but he was much too large to get out. He dropped all his stolen riches, but he kept on growing bigger and bigger and bigger until he grew right up in the field like a potato, and a farmer who was digging there cracked his head with a hoe.

And so his greediness and ingratitude were rewarded, but as for Chúgoro Yamakawa and his wife Ino-yo San, they lived with Tamá, their cat, happy for ever and ever afterwards, as you say.

* * * * *

“But I _do_ think,” Impty added, as he jumped down from the bed, and went to hide under the arm-chair, “I do _really_ think that Tamá was a wonderful cat not to have eaten the field-mouse that last time. I’m afraid _I_ should.”

THE THIRD NIGHT

Impty came dancing out of his hiding-place as soon as the sound of Miss Jane’s footsteps died away on the stair.

“‘Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, where have you been?’” cried the little girl gayly.

“Well, I haven’t been _quite_ to London to look at the Queen,” answered Impty, as he pranced across to Dolly’s pillow, and curled down beside her. “But I’ve been somewhere that’s very nearly as good, for I’ve visited the Court of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, and heard there the story of ‘The Discontented Cat,’ and I’m going to tell you to-night the tale of her adventures, and how she was taught to be happy instead of being always dissatisfied.”

THE
DISCONTENTED CAT
]

Once upon a time--I can’t say exactly when it was--there stood a neat, tidy little hut on the borders of a wild forest. A poor old woman dwelt in this hut. She lived on the whole pretty comfortably; for though she was poor, she was able to keep a few goats, that supplied her with milk, and a flock of chickens, that gave her fresh eggs every morning; and then she had a small garden, which she cultivated with her own hands, and that supplied her with cabbages and other vegetables, besides gooseberries and apples for dumplings. Her goats browsed upon the short grass just outside the garden, and her chickens ran about everywhere, and picked up everything they could find. There were some fine old trees which defended the cottage on three sides from the cold winds, and the front was to the south, so it was very snug and sheltered. The forest afforded her sticks and young logs for fuel, so that she was never in want of a fire; and, altogether, she managed to make out a pretty comfortable life of it, as times went.

The only friend and companion the old woman had was her gray cat. Now, the cat was a middle-aged cat: she had arrived at a time of life when people grow reflective; and she sat by the hearth and reflected very often. What did she reflect about? That is rather a long story. You must know, then, that a few leagues from the old woman’s hut, at the other end of the forest, there rose a grand castle, belonging to a very great baron. And sometimes, on fine summer mornings, as the old woman and the cat were sitting in the sunshine, by the door, the old woman at her spinning-wheel, and puss curled up for a nap after her breakfast, the forest would suddenly ring with the sound of hunting-horns, shouts, and laughter; and a train of gay ladies and richly dressed gentlemen would sweep by on horseback, with hawk and hound, and followed by servants in splendid liveries; for the Baron was fond of hawking and hunting, and frequently took those diversions in the neighboring forests. Now, it so happened that in one of the tall trees behind the cottage there lived a magpie, not by any means an ordinary magpie, but a bird that had seen a good deal of the world; indeed, at one time of her life, she had, as she took care to inform everybody, lived in the service of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg. How she happened to leave such a grand situation, the magpie never explained: to be sure, some ill-natured people did say that there had been an awkward story about the loss of one of the Countess’s diamond bracelets, which was found one fine morning in the inside of a hollow tree in the garden; and that Mag was turned away in disgrace directly. But how the matter really was I cannot say; all I know is, that she took up her abode halfway up one of the large oaks, behind the old woman’s hut, a long time before our story begins; and that, being of a particularly sociable and chatty disposition, she soon established an ardent friendship with the cat, and they became the greatest cronies in the world. So when, as I said just now, the Baron’s grand hunting parties swept past, they afforded the magpie a fine opportunity for displaying her knowledge of life and the world. And sometimes, too, she would dwell at great length on the splendor and happiness she had enjoyed while she lived with the Countess in her Palace, till the cat’s fur almost stood on end to hear the wonders she related. What a place that Palace must have been! Very different, indeed, from the old woman’s cottage.

Now these conversations with the magpie sadly unsettled the mind of the cat; more particularly when the magpie related to her how daintily the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg’s cat always lived,--what nice bits of chicken she dined upon, what delicious morsels of buttered crumpet she often had for breakfast, what soft cushions she lay upon, and a great deal more to the same purpose: all of which made a powerful impression upon our wondering friend. So she sat and reflected by the fire, while the good old woman, her mistress, went on spinning the wool which she sold afterwards at the nearest town, to buy food and clothes.

The more the cat talked to the magpie, the more dissatisfied she became with her present condition; till, at last, I am sadly afraid that when, in a morning, the old woman gave her her breakfast of goats’ milk with some nice brown bread broken into it, she began rather to despise it, instead of taking it thankfully, as she ought to have done, for she was very comfortably off in the cottage--having bread and milk every morning and night, and something for dinner, too; besides what mice she could catch, to say nothing of a stray sparrow or squirrel now and then. But, as I said just now, the magpie’s chattering stories unsettled her; she thought it would be so charming to dine upon bits of roast chicken, and have buttered crumpets for breakfast, and fine cushions to lie upon, like the Countess’s cat. All this was very silly, no doubt; but she wanted experience: she knew nothing of the thousands and thousands of poor cats who would have thought her life quite luxurious. It is a very bad thing to get unsettled; it sets people wishing and doing many foolish things.

One fine bright evening the magpie was perched upon the projecting bough of her oak, and the cat, who thought the cottage particularly dull that day, had come out for a little gossip.

“Good evening!” screamed the magpie, as soon as she saw her; “do come up here and let us chat a little.” So the cat climbed up, and seated herself on another bough a little below.

“You look out of spirits to-day,” began the magpie, bending down a very inquisitive eye to her friend’s face. “I am afraid you are not well. But I am not surprised. That old sparrow I saw you eating for dinner must have been as tough as leather. It’s no wonder you are ill after it! You should really be more careful, and only catch the nice tender young ones.”

“Thank you,” replied the cat, in a rather melancholy tone, “I am perfectly well.”

“Then what in the world ails you, my dear friend?”

“I don’t know,” answered the cat, “but I believe I am getting rather tired of staying here all my life.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the magpie, “I know what that is--I feel for you, Puss; you may well be moped, living in that stupid cottage all day. You are not like myself, now; _I_ have had such advantages! I declare to you I can amuse myself the whole day with the recollection of the wonderful things I have seen when I lived in the great world.”

“There it is,” interrupted the cat. “To think of the difference in people’s situations! Just compare my condition in this wretched hole of a hut, with the life you say the Countess’s cat lives. I’m sure I can hardly eat my sop in the morning for thinking of her buttered crumpets. It’s a fine thing to be born in a Palace!”

“Indeed,” replied the magpie, “there is a great deal of truth in what you say; and sometimes I half repent of having retired from her service myself; but there’s a great charm in liberty--it is pleasant to feel able to fly about wherever one likes, and have no impertinent questions asked.”

“Does the Countess’s cat ever do any work?” inquired puss.

“Not a bit,” answered the magpie. “I don’t suppose she ever caught a mouse in her life. Why should she? She has plenty to eat and drink, and nothing to do but to sleep or play all day long.”

“What a life!” cried the cat. “And here am I, obliged to take the trouble to catch birds or anything I can, if I want to make out my dinner. What a world it is!”

“Your most obedient servant, ladies,” just at that moment hooted an old owl from a neighboring fir-tree. “A fine evening to you!”

“Dear me, Mr. Owl! How you made me jump!” cried the magpie, quite crossly, “I nearly tumbled down from the bough!”

To tell the truth, the magpie did not particularly care for the owl’s company. He was apt to say very rude things sometimes; besides, he was thought a very sensible bird, and Mag always declared she hated sensible birds--they were so dreadfully dull, and thought themselves so much wiser than other people.

But the cat was not sorry to have a chance to tell her woes to any one who was so generally respected for his wisdom, and she said at once:--

“We were talking, my dear sir, on the wide differences there are in the world.”

“You may well say that,” answered the owl, giving a blink with his left eye. “I suppose,” he added, turning to the magpie, “that your ladyship finds a good deal of difference between your present abode and the Countess’s grand palace garden. I only wonder how you could bring yourself to make such a change--at your time of life, too.”

“What a very rude speech,” thought the magpie; she fidgeted upon the branch, drew herself up, and muttered something about people minding their own business.

“But you, my dear cat,” went on the owl, “you have every reason to be satisfied with your lot in life.”

“I am not so sure of that,” said the cat. “I think I have a good many reasons for being quite the contrary; the Countess’s cat has cream and buttered crumpets for breakfast, and sleeps on a beautiful soft cushion all night, and all day, too, if she likes it; and just look what a dull life of it I lead here! And I have nothing but the hearth to lie upon, and nothing for breakfast but milk and brown bread!”

“And you ought to be thankful you can get that,” cried the owl, quite angrily. “I can tell you what, Mrs. Puss, I have seen more of the world than you have, and I just say this for your comfort--if you could see how some poor cats live, you would be glad enough of your present condition.”

“Humph!” muttered the cat, “I really don’t see how _you_ have contrived to see so much of the world, sitting as you do in a tree all day. I should think that the magpie ought to know something of life, after the high society she has lived in; and I _do_ say it’s a shame that one cat should have buttered crumpets and cream for breakfast, just because she happens to live in a palace, while another has only brown sop, because she happens to live in a cottage!”

“But suppose,” replied the owl, “that some other cat, who lives in a cellar, and never gets anything to eat, except what she can pick up in the gutters, should take it into her head to say, ‘What a shame it is that some cats should have nice, snug cottages over their heads, and warm hearths to sit by, and bread and milk for breakfast, while I am obliged to live in this horrid, cold cellar, and never know how to get a mouthful?’”

But the cat could not believe him.

“My dear Mr. Owl,” she said, “you can’t really mean that there are any such poor cats in the world. I am sure that the magpie, with all her experience of life, would have told me about it, if it were really so. You must be mistaken.”

The magpie was, by this time, very tired of such a long silence, and she broke in with:--

“You will excuse me, my worthy friend, but really you do sit there so, day after day, blinking in the sun, without a soul to speak to, that I don’t wonder at your taking very strange fancies into your head. I can only say that, during the whole of my residence in the Palace of the Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg, my late respected mistress, I never came in contact with any cat in the condition you are pleased to mention, and _I_ should know something of the world, I think.”

“Well,” said the owl quietly, “I will not dispute your ladyship’s knowledge of the world, but I strongly advise our friend, Mrs. Puss, to remain contented at home, and not try to improve her fortune by going into the town. People should learn to know when they are well off.”

Just then, patter, patter, patter, came a few large drops through the leaves; the magpie, making a prodigious chattering, and declaring that a tremendous storm was coming on, flew down from the bough; and whispering to the cat not to mind what the owl said,--“a stupid old bird,”--she hid herself, very snugly, in a hollow place in the trunk--not at all sorry, to tell the truth, to end the conversation. The owl nestled himself in a thick bush of ivy that grew near, and the cat ran into the cottage, to sit by the fire and reflect, for between her two friends her mind was a little puzzled.

The old woman shut the cottage door, heaped some dry fir logs on the fire, and sat down to her spinning-wheel. The rain pelted against the shutters, the wind howled in the tree tops, and roared loudly in the forest behind the hut; it was a terrible night out of doors, but within the cottage it was snug enough; the fire was blazing merrily, the old woman’s wheel turned briskly round, the kettle was singing a low, quiet song to itself beside the crackling logs, and the cat was sitting on the hearth looking warm and comfortable. But she was not at all comfortable in her mind, for discontented people seldom are. It never entered her head to consider whether there were any poor cats abroad that night, without a shelter over them. In fact, she could think of nothing just at this time but the luxuries enjoyed by the fortunate cats who might happen to be born in grand palaces: so, curled up in the warmest corner of the hearth, she sat watching the little spouts of flame that kept flashing up from the pine logs, and wishing for the hundredth time that day, that she had had the good luck to be a palace cat. Presently a very strange thing happened.

All of a sudden, she felt something very lightly touch her coat, and looking round, there stood, close by her, the most beautiful little thing that anybody ever dreamt of. She was not many inches high, her robe seemed made of gold and silver threads fine as gossamer, woven together. On her head she wore a circlet of diamonds, so small and bright that they looked like sparks of fire, and in her tiny hand she bore a long and very slight silver wand.

The cat looked at her with astonishment; it was very odd that the old woman did not seem to see her at all.

The beautiful little lady looked at the cat for a minute or two very steadily; and then said, “You are wishing for something; what is it?”

By this time the cat had recovered from her fright, and was able to speak, so she answered, “Please your Majesty, whoever you are, you have guessed right for once--I _am_ wishing for something. I wish to live in the Palace of the magpie’s grand Countess!”

Wonderful to relate--the words were no sooner spoken than the fairy struck her wand upon the floor three times, and lo! and behold! instantly there appeared a car made of four large scallop-shells joined together, and lined with rich velvet; the wheels were studded with the whitest pearls, and it was drawn by eight silver pheasants. The fairy seated herself inside, and told the cat to step in after her. Puss obeyed, and in an instant the hut, the old woman, and the little garden, all had vanished, and she and the fairy were sailing through the air as fast as the eight pheasants could fly.

“Where in the world are we going, please your Majesty?” said poor puss in a dreadfully frightened tone, clinging to the sides of the car with her claws, so that she might not be tossed out. “Hush!” said the fairy, in a voice so solemn that the cat did not venture to ask another question.

On, on, on they flew, and the wild heath swelled into mountains and sank again into plain and valley; and they heard beneath them, like the distant sea, the rustling of the wind among the clumps of pine trees. On, on, the birds flew, till at length there appeared far below them, the glimmering lights and dim outlines of a stately city. On, on, the birds flew, and the city grew nearer and nearer; turrets and spires and ancient gables rose in the bright moonlight, and the houses grew thicker and thicker together.

At length the pheasants flew more slowly, and the cat saw that they were approaching a marvellous building. How her heart beat, partly with fright, partly with the rapid motion, partly with hope. Yes, they were really drawing near a magnificent Palace. It had high towers and carved gate-ways, that threw strange deep shadows upon the walls, and the panes of the lattices glittered like diamonds in the moonbeams, and smoke from the chimneys curled up into the cat’s face, and got down her throat, and made her sneeze dreadfully--she wondered how the fairy could bear it. But now, slowly, slowly, slowly, the magic car began to descend, till it was just on a level with one of the windows, which happened, very conveniently, to have been left wide open; so in flew the pheasants, car and all, and alighted on the hearth-rug. “Jump out; be quick!” cried the fairy. The cat did not wait to be told twice--she was out in a twinkling; but before she could turn her head round, car, fairy, and pheasants had vanished, and she was left alone in the strange room. And what a room it was! It was so large that three or four huts like her old mistress’s would have stood in it. The floor was covered with something so thick, so warm, and so beautiful, all over flowers in bright colors, that she had never seen anything like it before: in short, everything in the room was so fine or so soft or so large or so bright, that the cat could not conceive what such strange things could be meant for.

However, she soon decided that the hearth-rug was the most delightful bed she had ever rested upon; and stretching out her limbs upon it, before the huge fire that was burning in the grate, she tried to collect her scattered ideas before she went any farther in these unknown regions. Suddenly the door opened.

“Dear me! What a pretty cat!” cried a waiting-maid, entering the room, “and just when we are wanting another, too. My lady, the Countess, will be quite pleased.” Then, coming up to the cat, she took her in her arms, and began stroking her most affectionately. “Pretty Pussy! How did you ever get into the room? Oh, I see! They left the window open, and so you wandered in out of the street, poor little cat. It’s really quite lucky, just as the old one is dead.” So saying, she again stroked the cat, and carried her away into the inner room, where there sat an old lady in an easy chair by the fire eating her supper.

“Please, your ladyship,” said the waiting-woman, “here’s a poor cat come into the house to-night, just as we were wanting one--will your ladyship be pleased to let it remain here?”

“To be sure,” said the old Countess von Rustenfustenmustencrustenberg,--for it was she,--“it has come just in time to supply the place of poor old Finette. Put it into Finette’s bed to-night, Ermengarde, and give it a good meal first, for I dare say it is hungry enough, poor creature. Bring it here to me, and let me stroke it.”

You may imagine how puss purred her very loudest as the Countess patted her, and called her a pretty cat. She thought herself now the luckiest cat in the world. How she wished that spiteful old owl could but know about it. Ermengarde now took her back into the first room she had entered, and setting her down on the hearth-rug, went out. Presently she returned, and placed before the cat a dish that held such a supper as she had never dreamed of. However, she did full justice to it in time; and then, after some more patting and petting, the maid again took her up, and placed her by the side of the fire in a very pretty basket lined with soft cushions.

The next morning the cat was awake early; the sun was shining through the satin curtains of the splendid room, and everything in it looked so _very_ beautiful! How different from the old woman’s hut! So the cat sat up in the basket, and looked about her. After she had amused herself in this way for some time, Ermengarde opened the door.

“Well, Pussy,” she said, “so you are wide awake, and ready, I dare say, for your breakfast.”

Now for the buttered crumpets! thought the cat. The maid went out, and quickly brought back a large saucer of rich milk, with some roll crumbled into it. No buttered crumpets!

Puss was really disappointed. It was certainly very strange, but perhaps she should have some another morning. However, she made a very good breakfast, but she was a little cross all day. Soon after breakfast the Countess came in, followed by a lapdog--a fat, spoilt, disagreeable-looking animal--and the cat took a dislike to him at first sight. And as for the dog, he almost growled out loud when the Countess stooped down to stroke the cat.

“Now, Viper,” said the old lady, “be good! You know you are my own darling, that you are; but you must not quarrel with poor pussy. No fighting, you know, Viper!”

Whereupon Viper struggled down out of his mistress’s arms, for she had taken him up to kiss him, and giving a short snarl, he mounted upon a stool before the fire, and sat eying his new acquaintance with such a fierce look that the poor cat really shook all over, and wished herself safe out of the Palace again. However, whenever the Countess left the room, she always called Viper away, too; so they were not left together at all the first day. After a little the cat began to get used to Viper’s cross looks, and did not mind him a great deal: and the old lady petted and made so much of her, that she thought no cat had ever been so fortunate before.

One day Viper was to dine with the cat, and Ermengarde brought in two plates this time, and to work they fell with all their might. Viper had eaten up nearly all his own dinner, and the cat was saving a beautiful _merrythought_ for her last titbit when, as ill luck would have it, the Countess was suddenly called out of the room.

Instantly, with a growl that sounded like thunder in the cat’s ears, Viper darted right at the _merrythought_, crying:--

“You vile little wretch of a stray cat, do you suppose I shall allow you to come in here and rob me of my bones?”

“Indeed, my lord,” said the cat, very much frightened, “I did not mean to take more than my share!”

“And pray, madam,” screamed Viper, “what do you mean by that? Do you think that I have taken more than mine? Now, Mrs. Puss, just listen to me, once for all: if you give me any more of your impertinence, I’ll worry you to death in two minutes!”

Poor puss! She trembled so from head to tail that she could hardly stand, but just as she was going to beg him not to be angry, the Countess came in again, and took Viper for his afternoon ride. Poor puss! She was very sad all evening, and she wished many times that she had never left her mistress’s cottage. True, she had cream for breakfast and chicken for dinner, but what was that worth, if every mouthful she ate she feared that Viper would snatch from her?

Fifty times did she wish herself a hundred leagues off! How careful she resolved to be to do nothing that could possibly offend the dog. And so, for the next three or four days, by dint of giving up to him all her best bones, and always jumping up from her cushion whenever he wanted to lie upon it, she managed to get on in halfway peace with his lordship. But unluckily, one morning, puss, finding herself all alone in the drawing-room, and feeling very sleepy--she had not rested for nights from very fear--thought she might as well take the chance of getting a nap. Jumping upon a high footstool near the fire, she was soon asleep. How long she had napped she could not tell, when she was awakened by a furious barking, and, opening her eyes, she saw Viper standing at a little distance, looking as if he were going into fits with rage.

Poor puss! She recollected all in a moment that she had got upon Viper’s own footstool! She jumped down before you could count one!

“You audacious little upstart!” cried the dog, as soon as he could speak from wrath. “Do you think I shall submit to such liberties?”

“Indeed, I humbly beg your lordship’s pardon,” stammered the poor cat, “but I really quite forgot--”

“Forgot, indeed!” roared Viper, “I’ll teach you to forget, Mrs. Puss!” and making a tremendous dash at her, he would have finished her in no time, had not, fortunately, the window been open a little--just enough for the cat to get through.