Black, White and Gray: A Story of Three Homes

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  PHILIPPA'S BIRTHDAY.

  The three kittens were just a month old on the last day of March, andthis was also Philippa Trevor's birthday. She would have liked herbirthday to be in the summer, because an out-of-doors party was so muchnicer than an indoors one, but even Philippa could not arrangeeverything in the world as she wished. So she was obliged to put upwith a birthday which came in the spring, when there were very fewleaves on the trees, and the grass was generally too wet to walk on, andthe sky often cold and grey. Philippa had found that she could get mostthings by crying for them, but still there remained some quite beyondher reach, and unmoved by her tears, and it was just these that she mostwanted and wailed for when she was in a perverse mood. These were timesof discomfort throughout the house, and of great distress to her motherand Miss Mervyn, for with the best will in the world they could not makethe rain stop nor the sun shine, nor time go quicker. Yet, if Philippacried herself ill, as she often did for some such unreasonable whim, itwas so very bad for her.

  "We must keep the child cheerful, my dear madam," Dr Smith had said toMrs Trevor. "The nerves are delicate. She must be amused withoutexcitement, and never allowed to work herself into a passion, or to beviolently distressed about anything. It will be well to yield to her,if possible, rather than to thwart her."

  But though he said "we," the doctor went away, and it was those wholived with Philippa who had to carry out this difficult task. The lastpart of it was easy, only it did not seem to produce the desired result.Philippa was yielded to in everything, but instead of being cheerfuland contented, she became more fretful and dissatisfied, had lessself-control than ever, and flew into passions about the very smallesttrifles. This was the case on the morning of her birthday, when therewere two things which seriously displeased her. One was the weather,for, instead of being fine and sunshiny, it rained so hard that itseemed doubtful whether her little friends would come to the party. Theother was, that the musical box which her mother had promised her, andwhich was to play twelve tunes, did not arrive as early as she expected.

  "It's all as horrid as it can be," she said sulkily when Miss Mervyntried to comfort her. "I don't care a bit for the other presents if themusical box doesn't come.--And it's raining harder than ever.Everything's horrid."

  "It will clear up very likely by the afternoon," said Miss Mervyn.

  "But if it does," whined Philippa, "and if they all come, I shan't havemy musical box to show them."

  "Perhaps it will come before then," said Miss Mervyn patiently, and atthat minute a small covered hamper was brought into the room.

  "A parcel from Fieldside for Miss Philippa," said the servant.

  "Then it's _not_ the musical box," said Philippa, who had looked up withrenewed hope.

  "I wonder what it can be," said Miss Mervyn. "Something alive, I think.Come, Philippa, let us open it."

  She cut the cord as she spoke, and Philippa advanced languidly to thetable to see what the hamper contained. When the lid was lifted,however, her expression changed to one of interest and surprise, forthere, on a bed of straw, its fur beautifully clean, and a blue ribbonround its neck, lay the white kitten. It yawned as the light fell onit, and looking up at the strange faces, uttered a tiny mew.

  "What is that card on its neck?" said Miss Mervyn.

  "`From Maisie and Dennis, with love and good wishes,'" read Philippa, ina pleased and excited voice. For the moment the musical box had quitegone out of her head.

  "I like it best of all the presents I've had yet," she said, and justthen Mrs Trevor came into the room.

  "Look, mother!" she exclaimed.

  Seizing the kitten, she rushed forward and held it up to Mrs Trevor,whose gown was trimmed with an elegant ruffle of lace down the front; inthis the kitten's sharp little claws at once entangled themselves.

  "Ah, my lace!" she cried. "Take care, my love; it will scratch you.--Miss Mervyn, pray remove the creature.--Yes, very pretty, my darling.Who sent it to you?"

  "Dennis and Maisie," said Philippa, squeezing the kitten under her arm."May I have it to sleep on my bed?"

  "Ah no, dear," said Mrs Trevor absently, examining her torn lace with aslight frown; "that's not the proper place for kittens. Dear me, whatsharp claws the little thing has, to be sure! I must let Briggs mendthis at once."

  She went out of the room, leaving the question to be further arguedbetween Miss Mervyn and Philippa.

  "I'm sure Dennis and Maisie don't have kittens to sleep with them," saidthe former.

  "Then you're just wrong," said Philippa triumphantly, "because Dennis'sdog Peter always sleeps in his room, and that's just the same."

  The white kitten had now struggled out of her clutches, and waswandering sadly round the room in search of its old friends andrelations. It seemed likely to make one more subject for dispute atHaughton Park, where from the time Philippa got up till she went to bed,there was already no end to the wrangling. Confused by finding itselfin a strange land where nothing familiar met its eye, it at last tookrefuge under a book-case, and when Philippa looked round, it was nowhereto be seen.

  "Oh, my darling little kitten is lost!" she exclaimed.

  Miss Mervyn, who did not like cats or any other animals, would not havebeen sorry if this had been the case, but Philippa was preparing to sheda torrent of tears, and this must be avoided at any cost.

  "Hush, my dear," she said, folding her gown closely round her; "we willfind it. It cannot have gone far."

  Cats, in Miss Mervyn's experience, were shy treacherous things whichalways hid themselves, and jumped out from unexpected places. So shenow proceeded cautiously round the room, peeping into dark corners andbehind curtains, as if some dangerous animal were lurking there. Therewas no place too small or too unlikely that she did not thoroughlyexamine, but it was Philippa who at last caught sight of a pair of greeneyes gleaming in the darkness under the book-case.

  "There it is!" she cried, and casting herself flat on the floor, shestretched out her arm and dragged it out by one leg. But she did nothold it long, for the white kitten, frightened, and quite unused to suchrough treatment, put out its sharp little claws to defend itself.

  "Oh!" screamed Philippa at the top of her voice. She flung the kittenfrom her, and stretched out her arm piteously; on it there was a longscratch, just beginning to bleed a little.

  "The nasty, spiteful thing!" exclaimed Miss Mervyn. "My darlingPhilippa! 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 sentaway."

  But Philippa would not have her arm bathed, and the kitten should not besent 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 meantimeshe would stand and sob.

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

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

  At last she submitted to have her arm bathed, and discovered that it wasnot such a very bad scratch after all, and soon the arrival of themusical box gave her something else to think of. For the time the whitekitten was forgotten, and it took the opportunity of crawling behind thecurtains, 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 thatPhilippa should play with her friends in the long gallery.

  The long gallery was a very delightful place to amuse one's self in on arainy day. It was the only old part of Haughton which remained, and itwas much prettier than the new. Six tall latticed windows stood inrecesses all down one side, and facing them were dark old portraits ofstraight-nosed ladies with pow
dered hair, and gentlemen in wigs. Thesehad the gallery all to themselves, for there were no furniture orornaments in it, except some great china vases in the window-seats. Ateither end there was a high stone mantelpiece, carved all over in quaintpatterns. The ceiling was oak, and so was the floor--this last veryslippery, 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 longgallery when they arrived, and they found all Philippa's visitorsassembled there, with the musical box tinkling out its tunes in one ofthe window-seats. Miss Mervyn, who felt the long gallery very cold anddraughty, 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 alively waltz tune; "Dennis shall be my partner."

  All the little figures in their bright dresses went whirling down thelong shining floor, two and two, skirts fluttering and hair streamingout with the rapid movement. At the end of the long gallery the musicalbox was quite invisible, and its little thin voice could hardly beheard.

  "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 asolemn march.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Philippa poured forth her complaints. She had wanted to have aconcert--a proper concert--and they had done it all wrong, and theywouldn'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, MissMervyn," turning to that lady, "to allow such a noise. Really, when Iopened the door, it was quite like a number of cats quarrelling. Quiteenough to give Philippa one of her bad headaches for the rest of theday."

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

  The kitten had been on her mind ever since she arrived: she had not seenit, and did not even know that it had been received, for in theexcitement of her party Philippa had quite forgotten to thank hercousins 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 gametogether 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 thetwo little girls went away together.

  "Did you like it?" asked Maisie anxiously. "It's pretty, isn't it? Andit keeps itself very white. It's the prettiest of all the kittens--nextto 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 theschoolroom; "when they're quite little, they don't know better. You'llhave to teach it to be good."

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

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

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

  This time the kitten had found a good hiding-place, and the little girlssearched everywhere in vain for a long while. At last Maisie thought oflifting the silk cover on the top of Miss Mervyn's work-basket, andthere, snugly coiled in the midst of wools, knitting, and fancy work,lay the white kitten fast asleep! This was not the worst, for it hadevidently amused itself first by a game of play. All the skeins of woolwere twisted up in a tangle, and a quantity of silk was wound tightlyround 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 MissMervyn'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 havemade a good beginning in its new home.

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

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

  Maisie lifted the kitten carefully out of its warm bed, and gentlydisentangled 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 abasket, so perhaps it thought this was its own. You must give it a ballor a cork, and then it won't want to play with the wrong things."

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

  "Now you take it and nurse it a little," she continued, putting thekitten, still half asleep, into Philippa's arms, "and I'll try to getthe 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 thesame."

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

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

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

  "There!" she said; "that's as straight as I can make it."

  "I don't see why you took so much trouble over it," said Philippa; "itwasn't your fault--it was the kitten's."

  "Well, the kitten couldn't put it straight," replied Maisie. "It wasn'thalf so mischievous as Darkie at home, but I expect it feels strangehere just at first. When it gets to know you, it won't be so naughty."

  She looked a little anxiously at the kitten, who was purring contentedlyin Philippa's arms.

  "I hope," she added, "it will be a nice, well-behaved cat when it growsup."

  "It _ought_ to be the nicest of the three," said Philippa; "that's verycertain."

  "Why?" asked Maisie.

  "Well, you see," said Philippa, with her chin in the air, "it will havesuch advantages here. It will sleep on my bed, and have cream for itstea, and it will always wear a lovely ribbon on its neck, or perhaps acollar with a bell. And it will have nothing to do but play, and neverbe with common, low people."

  Maisie looked thoughtful.

  "The grey kitten's very nice and affectionate," she said, "though itisn't pretty. It won't have advantages though, because it's got to goand do hard work."

  "What hard work?" asked Philippa.

  "It's going to catch mice for old Sally's Eliza," replied Maisie, "so ofcourse it can't sleep in any one's bed--it will have to be up all night.And I don't suppose it will have meals exactly except what it picks up.And I'm _sure_ it won't wear a collar and a bell, because that wouldfrighten the mice away."

  "Blanche will be better off than that," said Philippa; "she'll be alady."

  "We shall be able to see, shan't we," said Maisie, "what sort of catsthey are when they grow up. And then we can settle which is the best--Darkie, or Blanche, or the grey one."

  "What do you mean by the best?" said Philippa. "Do you mean theprettiest?"

  "Oh dear, no," said Maisie. She pondered the question for some minutes,and then added seriously: "I mean the one that's the greatest comfort tothe person it belongs to."