“And there was Maidie, too! oh, what a sad, sad accident! Caught in a rabbit trap, poor love! She has limped about on only three footsies ever since.” “That comes of rabbitting,” said Cheesebox, who was a stay-at-home cat; “I used to know a black cat called Smutty, who caught moles alive, and brought them into the kitchen.” “What, what, what! Will you be quiet, you horrid old cats? I want to go to sleep!”
“A sweet pussy pussy is Tamsine. Whose kitten was she?” resumed Mary Ellen, after renewed struggles with the patient and the blanket. “Whose kitten? She was Judy’s kitten, only, of course, she was not Judy’s. Judy had a fat big kitten of her own in the hayloft; and one day she brought in a much younger young kitten, the smallest that ever was seen. It was so very tiny it could sit inside a glass tumbler. Goodness knows where Judy had picked it up! She carried it into the house and put it down before the fire on the hearth rug. Judy nursed it, and it grew up into Tamsine; but it was not Judy’s kitten.” “She was a fine cat, old Judy; such a splendid ratter.” “Tamsine is a rubbish; she will not look at a rat; and she plays with mice, which is as silly as trying to educate them. Did you ever hear of Louisa Pussycat’s mouse seminary?” “No? Never! does she bury the dear little things? I always eat them.” “I did not say ‘cemetery,’ I said ‘seminary.’ ‘Seminary’ is the genteel word for school; Miss Louisa Pussycat is very genteel.
“One night I went to town to buy soap and candles, and I thought I might as well call at the Misses Pussycats’ shop, as I was passing. On my way through the square I saw Louisa coming down the steps from the loft over the stores. She had purchases in a basket, and she was on her way homewards. We passed the time of night, and inquired after each other’s kittens. Then, as I had hoped, she invited me to step in and drink a cup of tea, and inspect the latest spring fashions from Catchester. As we went along the cat-walk, she told me how she had commenced to keep a mouse seminary in addition to conducting the millinery business. She said, ‘It is remarkable how character can be moulded in early youth; you would scarcely credit the transformation which I achieve with my mice, Cheesebox.’ I inquired, ‘Do you use porcelain moulds or tin, Louisa?’ ‘Character, Cheesebox; I refer to the amelioration of disposition and character; not to compote of mouse. I mould and educate their minds. I counteract bad habits by admonition, by rewards, and – a’hem – by judicious weeding out. Recalcitrant pupils whose example might prove deleterious are fried for supper by Matilda. I never have any trouble with dunces or drones. My pupils excel especially in application, and in exemplary perseverance. This very night I have left the whole seminary industriously occupied with the task of sorting two pounds of rice, which I have inadvertently poured into the moist sugar canister. Think of the time which it would have cost me to retrieve those grains of rice myself! But – thanks to my indefatigable mice – I am free to go out shopping; and my sister Matilda is drinking tea with friends, whilst my mouse seminary is sorting rice and sugar under the superintendence of my favourite pupil, Tilly-dumpling. I have also taught my mice to count beans into dozens, and to sift oatmeal into a chestnut.’ ‘Dear me, Louisa,’ said I, getting a word in edgeways, ‘are their fingers clean enough to handle groceries? I always think one can smell mice in a store cupboard?’ ‘My mice, Cheesebox, always lick their fingers before touching food.’ ‘Really? and can you trust them with cheese?’ ‘We have – a’hem – a china cheese cover, which the mice are unable to raise. But for ordinary household duties – such as tidying and dusting – their assistance is invaluable. And they call me punctually at 8.30 – I should say 7.30 – I sit up late, you know, trimming bonnets.’
“A LITTLE STEEP THREE STOREY HOUSE”
“At this point of the conversation, we turned a corner, and came in sight of the milliner’s shop; a little steep, three-storied house with diamond panes in the windows. (They call it Thimble Hall.) The house was lighted up; not only the shop, but also the parlour, which the Misses Pussycats only used on Sundays. ‘Dear me, Louisa, do you allow your mice to burn candles?’ ‘A’hem – no. It is an indiscretion,’ said Louisa, feeling in her pocket for her latchkey. Even before the key was in the lock, we could hear patterings, squeakings, and shrill laughter. ‘Your pupils seem to be merry, Louisa?’ ‘It must be that little wretch Tilly Didlem, who eats comfits in school. I will have mouse sausage for supper,’ said Louisa, opening the house door hurriedly. As we entered the passage, we encountered a smell of toffee; and something boiled over on the parlour fire with a flare-up. There was pitter pattering and scurrying into mouse-holes; followed by silence. We looked into the parlour; the fire had been lighted upon a weekday; and upon the fire was a frying-pan. ‘Toffee! Mouse toffee! Toffee with lemon in it. I’ll toffee you! I will bake the whole seminary in a pasty!’ ‘When you catch them, Louisa. After all – when the cat’s away the mice will play!’
“I fancy that was the end of the Misses Pussycats’ mouse seminary. Since then they have been content to manage the bonnet shop.”
CHAPTER XX
Iky Shepster’s Play
Paddy Pig continued to be poorly all next day; poorly and very feverish. The circus company were concerned and worried. It added to their anxiety that they should be detained so long at Codlin Croft Farm. The farm animals and poultry were becoming troublesome; Sandy was almost as tired of Charles the cock, as Paddy Pig was of Mary Ellen the cat.
“A change of air might do Paddy Pig good. It strikes me his illness is largely imagination and temper; listen how he is squealing!” said Sandy to Pony Billy. “I do not like to take the responsibility of removing him without advice,” said the cautious pony, “suppose it should prove to be measles?” Sandy had an inspiration, “Could we not consult the veterinary retriever?” “Would he come, think you? You and your friend, Eddy Tinker, bit him rather shabbily, two of you at once.” “Perhaps he would come if you asked him, Pony William. If you would ask him nicely; and take my apologies with this large bone.” “Where did you find that large bone, Alexander?” “In the ashpit, I assure you, William, it smells.” “It does,” said Pony Billy; “I’m tired of trotting on the roads; but I suppose it must be done. The sooner we get away to the moors the better for all of us.”
“Jenny Ferret says Xarifa has rubbed her nose with gnawing the wires of her cage; and Tuppenny’s hair is all tangled again for want of being brushed. But it is not safe to let them out, with all these strange dogs and cats; and Charles is not to be trusted for pecking. Look at the poultry crowding round the caravan! Mrs. Hodgson has been calling ‘chuck! chuck!’ all the afternoon, but the hens won’t go home to lay.And the worst of it is they are all clamouring to see the Pigmy Elephant.” “Tell them he has caught a cold in his trunk.” “That would be too near the truth; they must not guess that Paddy Pig is the elephant.”
Pony Billy thought for a moment. “Say the elephant has gone to Blackpool.” “Now that’s a good idea! And if Charles asks me any more impertinent questions, I’ll pull his tail feathers out.”
Pony Billy looked serious; “Such a proceeding would be a poor return for the hospitality of Codlin Croft. Give them some sort of a show, Sandy, while I am away. Consult Jenny Ferret.”
