Chatterbox, 1906 Part 120

But Mother would not tell her thoughts; she only smiled to herself and said, 'Run away, darlings, and pack up your dolls' clothes, and remember you must take nothing except what can be put into the dolls' trunk.' And away the children ran to look after this important matter.

Next day the cab was at the door. Mother had taken her seat, Jane had locked the hall door, and Mr. Merry, with Tabby in his arms, was just leaving the house, when, with an angry 'fuff,' and a desperate spring, she leaped to the ground and disappeared in a moment among the trees at the side of the house. What was to be done?

Edith was ready to cry, but Mr. Merry comforted her by promising to return in the afternoon, when, no doubt, Tabby would be at the door, hungry enough. He would give her a saucer of milk, and, while she was lapping it, he would secure her and take her away. Edith was greatly relieved; she thanked him warmly, and, in the excitement of railway travel, Tabby was almost forgotten.

What a delightful place Clifton was! Such toy-shops, such Zoological Gardens with real lions and tigers! Could children ever weary of such a place? Certainly neither Edith nor her two sisters; and so it was with a feeling of disappointment that they saw the travelling boxes once more pulled out, and faithful Jane begin to pack again. Mother was much better, however--that was one great comfort, and, as she was longing to be home again at the Grove, the children were fain to be content. As they drew near Ventnor, the three girls began talking of home and Tabby.

'Do you think that Mr. Merry will be willing to give her back to me, Mother?' said Edith, anxiously. 'She is such a darling, perhaps he may want to keep her!'

'Don't be afraid, dear,' said her mother, smiling; 'I dare say he has a cat of his own, and will be quite glad to send Tabby back.'

'Oh, Edie!' cried Evelyn, 'here we are; there are the chimneys of the Grove. Mother, may we not run home and not wait for the cab?'

'Very well, dears, run away; Jane will go with you.'

And away the little girls ran. They had just opened the gate and entered the avenue, when they saw some object approaching them. It seemed to be the ghost of Tabby! Staggering weakly down the avenue to meet them, her ribs sticking out, her fur torn off her in patches, her eyes dim, her voice quite gone, and her tail almost bare of fur, came poor dear Tabby, feebly trying to welcome her little mistress home.

Edith burst into tears as she lifted the poor cat into her lap, while kind-hearted Jane ran to the nearest cottage and returned with some warm milk. Oh, how greedily it was lapped up, and with what hungry eyes she looked for more! Jane had to warn the children lest in their compa.s.sion they should give her too much food at once, which would have been very hurtful to an animal so starved as the poor cat had been. Mr. Merry had only fulfilled one half of the agreement; he had taken the half-crown, but he had not taken the cat; and great was the anger of the children at his treachery and cruelty.

The next day, when he brought the milk as usual, they all ran down to scold him. But he was a man of composed manner and few words; he listened in silence, then he grinned at the sight of poor p.u.s.s.y's tail which Edith showed him, and, taking up his milk-cans, he departed, saying, 'Her should just have coom when I were willing to take her. Her deserves all she have got!'

'And, Mother,' said Ina, as she told the story, 'just think! he has kept poor Edie's half-crown. What a wicked man he must be!'

THE FORCE OF LABOUR.

The mere drudgery undergone by some men in carrying on their undertakings has been something extraordinary; but it has been drudgery which they regarded as the price of success. Addison ama.s.sed as much as three folios of ma.n.u.script materials before he began writing. Newton wrote his _Chronology_ fifteen times over before he was satisfied with it; and Gibbon wrote out his _Memoir_ nine times. Hale studied for many years at the rate of sixteen hours a day, and when wearied with the study of the law, he would recreate himself with philosophy and the study of mathematics. Hume wrote thirteen hours a day while preparing his _History of England_. Montesquieu, speaking of one part of his writings, said to a friend, 'You will read it in a few hours; but I a.s.sure you that it has cost me so much labour that it has whitened my hair.'

_From SMILES'S 'Self-Help'._

A GENTLE DONKEY.

(_Continued from page 378._)

II.

The next day, just before the donkey-cart was expected round, Major Raeburn ran up to the nursery.

'I should drive down that quiet road towards the Mill, Mary; and don't allow Master Harry to irritate Tim with a whip, or any nonsense of that sort. Do you hear?' he continued, turning round to that young gentleman, who, seated in baby's chair, was pretending to be a motor. 'Promise that you will be a good boy.'

'All right, Father, but you had better get out of the way now, or you will be run over by my motor. People that get in front of motors always get killed.'

Here he uttered a piercing yell, at which six-months-old Baby crowed and kicked to show how much she enjoyed the game.

'That's just the engine exploded,' he explained, 'and Mary, you must come and see if the driver is killed.'

At this point in his game the sound of wheels was heard upon the gravel outside; with a bound Harry was on the seat of Nannie's chair at the window.

'It's Tim, it's Tim!' he cried, and picking up his little sailor cap, he tore downstairs to inspect his new present.

'Good morning, Master Harry,' said Simmons, as Harry danced out upon the drive; 'are you going to give Tim a piece of sugar?'

'May I?' he called out to his mother, who was looking through the rugs in an old oak chest for one that would be suitable for the size of the donkey-cart.

'Yes, dear, certainly. Ah, there you are, Mollie,' she continued to her sister-in-law, who had been roused from her book in the drawing-room by the sound of the voices. 'Are you sure that you care to go? I am afraid that you will be dreadfully cramped in that small cart. If I were in your place, I should keep the door open and hang my legs out.'

'Keep your mind quite easy about me,' answered Aunt Mollie, laughing.

'If the worst comes to the worst, I can always get out and run behind!

Where is our driver? In the cart? I never saw you come out, Mary. Now then, Harry, tumble in, opposite to Mary. Aunt Mollie is going to be the footman and sit at the door.'

Mary chirruped to the donkey, Harry waved his cap, and as Simmons shut the door of the cart with a sharp bang, Tim tossed his head in the air with a 'don't I look nice?' expression in his large soft eyes, and trotted away down the broad tree-lined avenue.

All went well at first, and Mary was delighted.

'Donkeys can be so nasty,' she said, 'but this one is a perfect little dear, Miss.'

At this moment Tim saw something very interesting in the hedge, and turned across the road to examine it.

'Oh, you naughty donkey,' exclaimed the girl, 'I can't allow you to do that,' and she gave the rein a sharp pull to bring him into the road again.

Tim, however, took not the slightest notice, but continued his examination.

'We really must get him to move,' murmured Aunt Mollie, anxiously, 'for we are right across the road, so that nothing can pa.s.s us.'

Meanwhile poor Mary was using every effort to get him away from the hedge.

'Don't you be nervous, Miss,' said the girl cheerfully; 'nothing ever comes along this road, for it only leads to the Mill Farm.'

Mary's words were greeted by a loud 'Hullo!' from the driver of a baker's van that was coming along the road behind them at a sharp pace.

'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' murmured Mary, 'it's Crawford the baker! What will he think when he sees that I am beaten by a little donkey? Can you drive, Miss? Perhaps you could make him go.'

Miss Raeburn shook her head ruefully. She was a Londoner, and her knowledge of animals was extremely limited.

'What shall we do?' she said nervously, and mentally she drew an awful picture in which the baker's weary-looking horse became a spirited charger, dashed into the donkey-cart, and trampled the whole party to death.

In vain did Mary, now desperate, bring the whip across Tim's fat, well-groomed sides; he merely shook his long ears, whisked his tail angrily against the shafts, and resumed his investigation in the hedge.

'Let me see if I can help you,' called the young baker at last. 'Donkeys are artful little things; but perhaps if I get him round again, he will follow my van; that is to say, if I can pa.s.s in this narrow road.' As he spoke he took Tim firmly by the head.

For a second or two the donkey tossed his head in a vain endeavour to free himself; then he gave the baker one of his gentlest glances and stepped round into the road.