Black, White and Gray: A Story of Three Homes

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  THE GREATEST COMFORT.

  "This _is_ a dull room!" exclaimed Philippa.

  She had just finished unpacking the basket of good things she hadbrought for Becky, and still knelt beside it, with various parcelsspread out round her on the floor. Miss Mervyn had left her at theTuvvys' cottage for a quarter of an hour, while she went to do someshopping in the town, and would call for her again in the pony-carriage,so that the two children were alone. They had been very silenthitherto, Philippa occupied with her unpacking, and Becky gazing at hermeanwhile with shy admiration. It was like looking at a pretty picture,she thought--only better, because it was real; and her dark eyesexamined her visitor's face and dress narrowly, while the kitten,alarmed at the entrance of a stranger, peeped out from the safe shelterof her arms. Neither she nor her mistress was accustomed to see suchfine drooping feathers as those in Philippa's hat, nor such a soft whitedress with lace frills. They seemed to make everything round them lookdingier and more shabby. Philippa herself however, was much too busy tonotice anything but the contents of her basket for some time. Shecontinued to pull out package after package, naming each as she laid iton the floor, "Arrowroot, eggs, sponge-cakes," in a business-likemanner, until she reached the last. Then tossing back her long hair,she sat back on her heels, gave a searching look round the room, andwithout a moment's hesitation exclaimed: "This _is_ a dull room!"

  Becky did not answer. Now that Philippa was there, it did look darkerand more dismal than usual somehow, and the ceiling blacker with smoke.

  "Do you lie here alone all day?" asked Philippa. "Don't you hate it?"

  "'Tain't so bad as it used to be," said Becky.

  "_I_ couldn't bear it," remarked Philippa, after gazing at Becky for aminute with her mouth wide open.

  "Folks has _got_ to bear things," said Becky.

  "_I_ don't bear things," returned Philippa quickly; "I cry, and thenmother or some one gets me what I want."

  "If I was to cry ever so, mother wouldn't hear me," said Becky, "becauseshe's out charing all day. Anyhow, she couldn't make my back well. DrPrice says as how nought but patience will do that, an' plenty to eat."

  "Well, you'll have some nourishing things now, won't you?" saidPhilippa, with a glance at the parcels, "and I hope they'll make youwell. And when you've eaten them all, I'm going to bring you somemore."

  "Thank you kindly, miss," said Becky, but she did not look so verypleased as Philippa had hoped, and she began to think she was notperhaps a grateful little girl. What should she say next, she wondered,and just then her eye fell on the kitten, which had jumped down toexamine the parcels, and was patting them softly.

  "Oh, you've got a cat!" she exclaimed. "Not a very pretty one, is it?"

  An affectionate light came into Becky's eyes as she looked at herkitten.

  "_I_ call it pretty," she said; "but then I'm ever so fond of it, andit's fond of me too."

  "I've got a cat at home," said Philippa, "a pretty white one calledBlanche, but I don't think she's fond of me, though I give her all sortsof things. How did you make yours fond of you?"

  "I don't know," said Becky. "I don't give her much, so 'tain't that.Sometimes she don't get much to eat for ever so long. I expect, though,she knows what a lot I think of her, and that's where it is!"

  Philippa looked thoughtfully from the kitten to its mistress.

  "I don't believe," she said, "that if I were to be ever so fond ofBlanche, she would care much for me. Everybody's cats seem nicer thanmine."

  "I can't think how I ever got on without this one," said Becky. "She'sa loving little thing, and that funny in her ways! Often and oftenshe'll make me laugh with her tricks, even when my back's bad. She's areal comfort, like Dan said she would be--the greatest comfort I'vegot."

  The greatest comfort! The words made Philippa think of Maisie and hergrey kitten's loss.

  "Where did you get it?" she asked quickly. "Who gave it to you?"

  "Dan found her stray in the streets," said Becky. "A boy was going tobehave cruel to her, and Dan fought him, and brought her home to me."

  Philippa sprang to her feet.

  "Then I do believe," she exclaimed, "that it's Maisie's grey kitten!"

  Maisie's grey kitten! Becky clutched her pet closely, and looked upwith eyes full of terror. How could it be any one's kitten but hers?

  "You know," continued Philippa, much too excited by the discovery tothink of Becky's feelings, "Maisie Chester's my cousin, sister to Denniswho was so kind to your father."

  Becky nodded.

  "Well, their cat had three kittens--a black one, a white one, and a greyone. They kept the black one, and gave the white one to me on mybirthday, but the grey one got lost. It was sent to the tinsmith's inUpwell, and it ran away, so, of course," ended Philippa, pointingtriumphantly at the small form in Becky's arms, "that's it. Won'tMaisie be glad! She always liked it the best, and she's always talkingabout it now."

  Before Becky could say a word, and, indeed, before she had got thedreadful fact into her mind that the kitten belonged to some one else,Miss Mervyn's entrance put a stop to any further explanation. She wasanxious for Philippa to come away at once, and Philippa herself, full ofher great discovery, was equally anxious to go, for she wanted to tellDennis and Maisie the news without delay. They had tried to find thekitten for such a long while, and now she had been clever enough to doit, all by herself!

  Might they drive straight to Fieldside, she asked, instead of goinghome; and in her eagerness, and the bustle of departure, she almostforgot to say good-bye to Becky at all. Then the big empty basket wascarried out to the pony-carriage, Philippa's slim, white figure floatedafter it, there _was_ a clatter of wheels, the scramble of the pony'sfeet, and Becky was alone.

  Had it been a dream? Had Philippa really been there? What dreadfulthing had she said? Maisie's grey kitten! Could it, oh, could itreally be true? Perhaps it was a bad dream, after all. Becky glanceddown on the floor where Philippa had unpacked the basket. There, justas she had left them, were all the nice things she had brought. Eggs,cakes, jelly in a basin, neat packets of arrowroot--it was no dream.She had really been, and brought them all with her, but what were theycompared to what she would take away? What were all the good things inthe world, if the grey kitten were to be Becky's friend and playfellowno longer? How could she do without her?

  Poor Becky threw herself back on her couch, and covered her face withher hands in despair. The kitten seeing this, thought her mistress wasgoing to take a nap, and at once settled herself in her usual place,with her paws planted on Becky's chest, and her green eyes lazilyblinking into her face. They had passed many an hour together in thisposition, but to-day the kitten noticed something strange, for presentlyone shining tear and then another crept slowly between her mistress'sclosed fingers. This was some new game or joke, and she at once beganto join in it, by patting at them softly, taking care not to put out herclaws, and purring to show her satisfaction. What was her surprise whenBecky suddenly caught her tightly to her breast, and bursting intoheart-broken tears, exclaimed:

  "Oh Kitty, Kitty, my own Kitty! Whatever shall I do?"

  This was certainly most puzzling, and so unlike anything in the kitten'sexperience, that she could not make out what part her mistress wishedher to play. She got out of the difficulty at last by going snugly tosleep, and presently, worn out by grief and crying, Becky was quiet too,and began to take comfort in the thought that she should soon be able totell Dan all about it. He had often helped her out of troubles before,and perhaps he would think of some way now.

  She lay with her eyes fixed patiently on the door, waiting for him toappear; but she knew before that happened the door would open twice,once for Mrs Tuvvy, and once for her father, who both got home earlier.Becky had seen the same things so often from her dim corner, that shecould have described them with her eyes shut, and it was all just thesame this afternoon. A heavy, flat-footed step, and Mrs T
uvvy enteredwith a tired, ill-used look on her face, cast off her shawl, untied thestrings of her bonnet, and tipped it forward on her head. Becky wouldhardly have known her mother without her bonnet, for she wore it indoorsand out. Then, talking all the time in a high, drawling voice, sheproceeded to get the evening meal ready. If it were early in the week,there would be something savoury to cook, which she had brought homewith her; or, perhaps, only a small piece of cold pork for Tuvvy'sspecial benefit. To-night there were some slices of ham to broil, andthe room was soon full of the sound and smell of her preparations.

  The door opened again, and Tuvvy himself swung in, with a nod and asmile, and "How's yourself, Becky?" In times not long gone by Tuvvy hadbeen used to enter in a very different manner, but he always came insteadily now, and sat down hungrily to his meals, however scanty theymight be. Last of all, Dan, rosy-faced and cheerful, burst into theroom; and then supper began, with a great clatter of knives and forks.Becky could not eat to-night, for she had far too much on her mind, butshe knew it would be quite impossible to say anything until the meal wasover. It seemed to last a long, long time, but at length Tuvvy gave hischair a little push back from the table, took his pipe and an oldnewspaper from his pocket, and settled himself to read. Mrs Tuvvypulled herself out of her seat with a weary sigh, and began to journeybackward and forwards with the empty dishes to the back kitchen. Nowwas the time.

  "Dan," said Becky, "come here; I've got summat to tell yer."

  Dan left off unlacing his boots, and at once went to his sister's side,but poor Becky's heart was so big with her sad story, that it was sometime before she could make it plain to him. When he did understand it,he sat silent for a long while, with his lips pursed up, as though hewere whistling.

  "Say summat, Dan," cried Becky, in an agony at last.

  "If so be," began Dan slowly, "as how it's Miss Maisie's kitten, 'tain'tours."

  The kitten had finished its supper, and stretched itself out to sleep,just under Becky's chin. She gazed at her brother over its back, asthough he were Fate itself, but said nothing.

  "And we allers said," he went on, "as how we was very grateful to MasterDennis alonger of what he did for father."

  Becky nodded. She knew that. It had made part of her day-dreams formonths past.

  "But there didn't seem any way to show it, because they're so rich andwe're poor." Becky trembled at what was coming, as Dan went on in aneven voice, very low, so as not to disturb his father. "And now we'vegot a thing to give. Course if I hadn't fought for it, and you hadn'ttook care on it, 'twouldn't a been alive now at all. So we'll give itto 'em cheerful, and be glad to do it."

  This was poor comfort.

  "Oh, I don't want to give it up," cried Becky. "I ain't glad to let itgo. I'm that fond of it."

  "Miss Maisie, she was fond of it too, wasn't she?" said Dan.

  Becky nodded. "She loved it best of the three, Miss Trevor said. Butshe's got another cat, and I've got ne'er a one but this."

  "Maybe," said Dan doubtfully, "I could get yer another you'd like aswell in time."

  Becky's only answer was to kiss the kitten fervently and shake her head.

  Dan took hold of his head with both hands, and thought hard for aminute. Then he looked up and said, "There's two things, but youmustn't build on 'em." Becky's eyes showed a faint gleam of hope."First," said Dan, holding up one finger, "it may not be it. There'smore nor one grey kitten lost in Upwell. And second," holding up two,"if it is hers, she may let you keep it. You see she had given it awayonce."

  How wise Dan was! Becky began to feel a little better.

  "You mustn't build on 'em," said Dan, as he bent down to unlace hisboots; "and if you have to give it up, you must think how pleasedthey'll be to have it, and do it cheerful."

  There are few things easier than to tell others what is right to do, andfew things harder than to do right one's self in some cases. PerhapsDan did not understand all that the loss of the kitten would mean toBecky, when he spoke of giving it up "cheerful." He was fond of hissister, and sorry for her; but he had many things to enjoy in his activehard-working life, and it was natural he should sometimes forget howhard it must be to lie all day long in one dull room, to be often inpain, and to have nothing but a grey kitten to cheer and comfort one.It did not seem such a mighty matter to him to give it up, but to Beckyit would be a sacrifice of her one joy and pleasure. If it must go, itmust; but as to giving it up "cheerful," that she could never, never do.She loved it far too well. All that evening, and before she went tosleep at night, she could not hinder her mind from dwelling on the twochances Dan had mentioned. Oh, if one of them should turn out to betrue! In the middle of the night, she woke with a start from a dream inwhich the kitten had been taken from her. She put out her hand to feelfor it, and when her fingers touched the soft furry form curled upoutside her bed, she could not help crying half with relief and half tothink that the time might come when she should feel for it, and it wouldnot be there.

  Now all this sad trouble might have been spared, if Philippa had been alittle more thoughtful. She was not an unkind little girl, but she wasso entirely unused to considering other people's feelings, that it didnot occur to her to imagine the effect of her words on Becky, or to say,"Of course Maisie will let you keep the kitten." That would havealtered everything; but as it was, she was so full of her own clevernessat the discovery, that she talked of nothing else all the way toFieldside, and seemed for the moment to have forgotten Becky and all shehad meant to do for her.

  It was a long way to drive round by Fieldside, and Miss Mervyn was notvery willing to go, for it was getting late. "You must promise me, mydear Philippa," she said, "not to stay more than a few minutes if Iallow you to go in, and I will wait for you in the pony-carriage."

  Philippa promised readily, and arrived at the house, lost no time inmaking her way to the field, where she was told she should find Dennisand Maisie. At first she could see nothing of them; but presently, upin the corner where the cowhouse, haystack, and poultry-yard stood, shemade out two busy figures in white aprons, deeply engaged withpaint-brushes and pots of scarlet paint.

  "Whatever are they doing?" she said to herself.

  They were painting the jackdaws' house, and were that moment asperfectly happy as two children could be. Aunt Katharine had given fullpermission, two immense white aprons, and a liberal supply of paint,which last they were using freely, not only on the jackdaws' house, buton their own persons. Maisie in particular, who _would_ take too muchon her brush at a time, had splashed and sprinkled herself all over,even to the tip of her small round nose; so that she looked like a funnylittle clown squatting on the grass. Even the dog Peter, hunting ratsunder the haystack near, his agitated hind-legs only just visible, borea scarlet patch of paint on one toe.

  "Well!" exclaimed Philippa, when she had got close to them without beingseen, "you are making a mess!"

  "Why, it's Philippa!" exclaimed Maisie, throwing down her brush, andscrambling up from the ground; "but we mustn't go near you," she added,stopping short, "or you'll get all over paint."

  "Isn't it jolly?" said Dennis. "Come round here and look at the bit I'mdoing."

  "No, thank you," said Philippa primly; "I haven't come to stay. MissMervyn's waiting in the pony-carriage. I've only come to say," with apause, "that I've found your grey kitten."

  "So have we," said Dennis coolly; "at least we think we know where itis."

  Philippa's face fell. "Where?" she asked.

  "We don't _really_ know," said Maisie hastily, "only Dr Price saw a greykitten at Tuvvy's house in Upwell, and Aunt Katharine says I may goto-morrow and see if it's ours."

  "And I don't believe you'll know whether it is or not," said Dennis.

  Philippa turned away sulkily. She was thoroughly disappointed to haveher news received in this way.

  "Oh well, then," she said, "you don't want to hear what I know about it,and I am sorry I came round all this way to tell you. Good-bye.
"

  "Oh, stop! stop!" cried Maisie. "Wait for me. I want to hear verymuch; I'll go with you to the gate. Do stop a minute."

  She struggled frantically as she spoke with the string of her apron,which was tied securely round her neck, and her voice was so pleading,that Philippa was softened. She was still cross with Dennis, whopainted away, and did not care a bit; but it was difficult to be angrywith Maisie, and when the apron was at last torn off, the two littlegirls ran across the field together towards the house.

  Philippa's story turned out to be so very satisfactory and interesting.It seemed to clear away all doubt as to the whereabouts of the greykitten. Maisie's eager questions and exclamations of pleasure were morethan enough to satisfy her and make her feel quite good-tempered again.

  "Did it seem happy?" inquired Maisie, as they drew near the gate. "Doyou think it's got a good home?"

  "Becky said," replied Philippa, "that it did not get much to eatsometimes, and it's a very ugly little house they live in; but she'svery fond of it, and it's fond of her too."

  "Then I expect it's all right," said Maisie; "it was always a dearlittle contented thing."

  "She said it was her greatest comfort," added Philippa. "Wasn't it oddshe should say that? It made me think of you and wonder if it wasyours, and so I came straight off to tell you after I heard it was astray kitten."

  "Won't you come with me to-morrow?" asked Maisie. "You see you knowBecky now, and I've never seen her."

  Philippa quite approved of this. She would ask Miss Mervyn to bring herhalf-way to meet Maisie, and they would make the visit together.

  "And I daresay Dennis will come too, if he's done painting," saidMaisie.

  "That doesn't matter at all," said Philippa, as she drove away with MissMervyn.

  The next morning Maisie at Fieldside and Becky at Upwell woke upthinking of the same thing--the grey kitten--but with very differentfeelings. Maisie was delighted at the idea of meeting it again, andBecky was full of sorrow to think that she might have to say good-bye toit for ever. After her parents and Dan had all started out to theirwork, and left her alone with the kitten as usual, she thought it allseriously over, and made one firm resolve--she would not cry. If togive it up cheerful was impossible, she would at least prevent her grieffrom being seen. It might be hard, but it must be done, because, as Danhad said, Dennis and Maisie had been so good to them. "I'll shut myteeth tight," determined Becky, "and they shan't ever know I want tocry. Then, after they're gone, I can cry as much as I like."

  With a sigh she proceeded to get the kitten ready for the visit, bybrushing its coat carefully and smoothing it down with a duster. It hadnot very thick fur, but it was glossy and well-kept, and it was so usedto kind treatment that it bore itself with confidence, like a cat with agood home. If there were nothing striking or handsome in itsappearance, there was at least nothing slinking or miserable about it,and to Becky, who looked at it with the eyes of affection, it had everyattraction a cat could possess.

  "And now you're as ready as you can be," she said wistfully; "a collaror a bit o' ribbon would finish yer off, but I ain't got ne'er a one.Miss Maisie she'll have lots o' ribbons, and nicer things a deal for youto eat than I can give you, but she can't love you better. Maybe you'dbe happier, but oh Kitty, Kitty, I hope you ain't her cat. I want tokeep you, I _do_."

  There was a knock at the door. "Come in," said Becky in a tremblingvoice, and both she and the kitten turned their eyes towards it in afrightened manner as it opened.

  Philippa appeared first, stepping daintily forward with a swing of herelegant skirts, and for a moment Becky thought she was alone. But no,there was another little girl behind her, with rosy cheeks and verybright brown eyes. She came in shyly, and yet she looked very eager,and her gaze was fastened immediately on the kitten in Becky's arms.

  "It's Miss Maisie," thought Becky, her grasp unconsciously tightening onits back.

  "This," said Philippa, waving her hand grandly, "is my cousin, MissMaisie Chester, and--" turning to Maisie--"this is Becky, and that's thekitten."

  "How do you do?" said Maisie holding out her hand; "I hope you'rebetter."

  It was such a very kind little round face that approached that Beckycould not feel afraid. She put out her hand and whispered, "Yes, thankyou."

  "Philippa says," continued Maisie, still with her eyes fixed on thekitten, "that you've found a stray kitten. And we lost a kitten--a greyone--in Upwell, and Aunt Katharine said I might come and see if this isit."

  Face to face with the kitten at last, Maisie began to lose confidence inher memory. After all, it was a long time since she had seen it, andthere were a great many grey cats in the world, and Dennis had alwaysdeclared that it would be impossible to know it again. Her serious gazerested on the kitten, Becky's on her face, and Philippa waitedimpatiently in the background for the decision.

  "Well," she said at last; "is it it, or isn't it?"

  "The thing is," began Maisie, "has it one white paw?"

  Alas for Becky! She knew it had, only too well. Lifting it a littleaway from her, there was the fatal white paw plainly visible to Maisie'ssearching glance.

  "And then," she continued, having observed this with a grave nod, "hasit very nice little coaxing affectionate ways?"

  Becky nodded with a full heart. She could not trust herself to speak.

  "Does it purr much?" pursued Maisie. "_More_ than other cats?"

  Again Becky nodded. She had clenched her teeth long ago, but she beganto be afraid that nothing would prevent her crying.

  "May I have it in my arms?" asked Maisie.

  She took it gently on to her knee, but the kitten had quite forgottenits babyhood, and thinking her an utter stranger, soon wriggled back toits mistress.

  "It doesn't remember me," said Maisie rather sadly, "and yet I nursed itso very often."

  "It _is_ yours, then?" said Philippa.

  "Yes," said Maisie. "I really and truly do believe it is, and I'm veryglad."

  She glanced at Becky as she spoke, and to her surprise saw that her eyeswere full of tears.

  "What's the matter?" she asked; "does your back hurt you?"

  Becky shook her head. "'Tain't that," she managed to whisper. "I meantnot to cry, but I don't seem able to keep it back."

  She stopped and struggled with her tears, tore away the kitten, whichclung to her with its little claws, and almost threw it into Maisie'slap.

  "You're welcome to it," she sobbed out, "and you'll treat it kind."

  At this rough usage the kitten gave a tiny mew of complaint, and Maisieherself was quite as much disturbed. She looked round at Philippa forhelp, stroked the kitten nervously, and stammered: "But it isn't mineany longer--I gave it away; didn't you know?"

  "I told her all about it," said Philippa. "I told her it was given tothe tinsmith's wife."

  "And, of course, you said we shouldn't take it away?" said Maisie.

  "Well, no," said Philippa, looking a little ashamed, as she rememberedher hasty departure; "I didn't tell her that. I thought she would knowit."

  Maisie put the kitten gently back into Becky's arms.

  "Don't be unhappy," she said. "Of course I'd much rather it stayed withyou than with old Sally's Eliza; and I am sure she won't mind, because,you see, she hardly knew it before it ran away. And we couldn't have itat Fieldside, because we mustn't keep more than two cats, and we've gotMadam and Darkie. And I don't want it either, because now I know it'shappy and comfortable, I don't mind any longer."

  Becky found it almost as hard not to cry now as it had been before, therelief was so great; but she managed to whisper some earnest thanks, asshe clasped her pet closely to her.

  "I hope it will always be a comfort to you," said Maisie, as thechildren said good-bye. "I always said it would grow up a nice littlecomforting cat, though it was never so pretty as the others. And now,"she remarked to Philippa as they drove home, "the kittens are settled.They've each got a good home, and we know which
has grown up thegreatest comfort."