The Phoenix and the Carpet

by E. Nesbit

  CHAPTER 8. THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR

  The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been broughtthere by the wishing carpet. The cats were mewing and the musk-rats weresqueaking so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. In the kitchenwere the four children, one candle, a concealed Phoenix, and a veryvisible policeman.

  'Now then, look here,' said the Policeman, very loudly, and he pointedhis lantern at each child in turn, 'what's the meaning of this hereyelling and caterwauling. I tell you you've got a cat here, and someone's a ill-treating of it. What do you mean by it, eh?'

  It was five to one, counting the Phoenix; but the policeman, who wasone, was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the Phoenix,were small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in the comparativesilence, Cyril said--

  'It's true. There are a few cats here. But we've not hurt them. It'squite the opposite. We've just fed them.'

  'It don't sound like it,' said the policeman grimly.

  'I daresay they're not REAL cats,' said Jane madly, perhaps they're onlydream-cats.'

  'I'll dream-cat you, my lady,' was the brief response of the force.

  'If you understood anything except people who do murders and stealingsand naughty things like that, I'd tell you all about it,' said Robert;'but I'm certain you don't. You're not meant to shove your oar intopeople's private cat-keepings. You're only supposed to interfere whenpeople shout "murder" and "stop thief" in the street. So there!'

  The policeman assured them that he should see about that; and at thispoint the Phoenix, who had been making itself small on the pot-shelfunder the dresser, among the saucepan lids and the fish-kettle, walkedon tip-toed claws in a noiseless and modest manner, and left the roomunnoticed by any one.

  'Oh, don't be so horrid,' Anthea was saying, gently and earnestly. 'WeLOVE cats--dear pussy-soft things. We wouldn't hurt them for worlds.Would we, Pussy?'

  And Jane answered that of course they wouldn't. And still the policemanseemed unmoved by their eloquence.

  'Now, look here,' he said, 'I'm a-going to see what's in that roombeyond there, and--'

  His voice was drowned in a wild burst of mewing and squeaking. And assoon as it died down all four children began to explain at once; andthough the squeaking and mewing were not at their very loudest, yetthere was quite enough of both to make it very hard for the policemanto understand a single word of any of the four wholly differentexplanations now poured out to him.

  'Stow it,' he said at last. 'I'm a-goin' into the next room in theexecution of my duty. I'm a-goin' to use my eyes--my ears have gone offtheir chumps, what with you and them cats.'

  And he pushed Robert aside, and strode through the door.

  'Don't say I didn't warn you,' said Robert.

  'It's tigers REALLY,' said Jane. 'Father said so. I wouldn't go in, if Iwere you.'

  But the policeman was quite stony; nothing any one said seemed to makeany difference to him. Some policemen are like this, I believe. Hestrode down the passage, and in another moment he would have been in theroom with all the cats and all the rats (musk), but at that very instanta thin, sharp voice screamed from the street outside--

  'Murder--murder! Stop thief!'

  The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in theair.

  'Eh?' he said.

  And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the darkstreet outside.

  'Come on,' said Robert. 'Come and look after cats while somebody's beingkilled outside.' For Robert had an inside feeling that told him quiteplainly WHO it was that was screaming.

  'You young rip,' said the policeman, 'I'll settle up with you bimeby.'

  And he rushed out, and the children heard his boots going weightilyalong the pavement, and the screams also going along, rather ahead ofthe policeman; and both the murder-screams and the policeman's bootsfaded away in the remote distance.

  Then Robert smacked his knickerbocker loudly with his palm, and said--

  'Good old Phoenix! I should know its golden voice anywhere.'

  And then every one understood how cleverly the Phoenix had caught atwhat Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to lookafter murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all hearts werefilled with admiring affection.

  'But he'll come back,' said Anthea, mournfully, 'as soon as it finds themurderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there isn't one at allreally.'

  'No he won't,' said the soft voice of the clever Phoenix, as it flewin. 'HE DOES NOT KNOW WHERE YOUR HOUSE IS. I heard him own as much to afellow mercenary. Oh! what a night we are having! Lock the door, and letus rid ourselves of this intolerable smell of the perfume peculiarto the musk-rat and to the house of the trimmers of beards. If you'llexcuse me, I will go to bed. I am worn out.'

  It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away therats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any breastthat, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk.

  'Let's hope it won't be musk-milk,' said Anthea, in gloom, as she pinnedthe paper face-downwards on the carpet. 'Is there such a thing as amusk-cow?' she added anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled and vanished.'I do hope not. Perhaps really it WOULD have been wiser to let thecarpet take the cats away. It's getting quite late, and we can't keepthem all night.'

  'Oh, can't we?' was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had beenfastening the side door. 'You might have consulted me,' he went on. 'I'mnot such an idiot as some people.'

  'Why, whatever--'

  'Don't you see? We've jolly well GOT to keep the cats all night--oh, getdown, you furry beasts!--because we've had three wishes out of the oldcarpet now, and we can't get any more till to-morrow.'

  The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of adismal silence.

  Anthea spoke first.

  'Never mind,' she said. 'Do you know, I really do think they're quietingdown a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk.'

  'They can't understand English,' said Jane. 'You forget they're Persiancats, Panther.'

  'Well,' said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious, 'whotold you "milk" wasn't Persian for milk. Lots of English words arejust the same in French--at least I know "miaw" is, and "croquet", and"fiance". Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let's stroke them as hard as we canwith both hands, and perhaps they'll stop.'

  So every one stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as soonas a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was pushedgently away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the hands ofthe strokers. And the noise was really more than half purr when thecarpet suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on it, instead of rowsof milk-cans, or even of milk-jugs, there was a COW. Not a Persian cow,either, nor, most fortunately, a musk-cow, if there is such a thing, buta smooth, sleek, dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked large soft eyes atthe gas-light and mooed in an amiable if rather inquiring manner.

  Anthea had always been afraid of cows; but now she tried to be brave.

  'Anyway, it can't run after me,' she said to herself 'There isn't roomfor it even to begin to run.'

  The cow was perfectly placid. She behaved like a strayed duchess tillsome one brought a saucer for the milk, and some one else tried to milkthe cow into it. Milking is very difficult. You may think it is easy,but it is not. All the children were by this time strung up to a pitchof heroism that would have been impossible to them in their ordinarycondition. Robert and Cyril held the cow by the horns; and Jane, whenshe was quite sure that their end of the cow was quite secure, consentedto stand by, ready to hold the cow by the tail should occasion arise.Anthea, holding the saucer, now advanced towards the cow. She rememberedto have heard that cows, when milked by strangers, are susceptible tothe soothing influence of the human voice. So, clutching her saucer verytight, she sought for words to whose soothing influence the cow might besusceptible. And her memory, troubled by the events of the night, whichseemed to go on and on for ever and ever, r
efused to help her with anyform of words suitable to address a Jersey cow in.

  'Poor pussy, then. Lie down, then, good dog, lie down!' was all that shecould think of to say, and she said it.

  And nobody laughed. The situation, full of grey mewing cats, was tooserious for that. Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to milk thecow. Next moment the cow had knocked the saucer out of her hand andtrampled on it with one foot, while with the other three she had walkedon a foot each of Robert, Cyril, and Jane.

  Jane burst into tears. 'Oh, how much too horrid everything is!' shecried. 'Come away. Let's go to bed and leave the horrid cats with thehateful cow. Perhaps somebody will eat somebody else. And serve themright.'

  They did not go to bed, but they had a shivering council in thedrawing-room, which smelt of soot--and, indeed, a heap of this lay inthe fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother wentaway, and all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places, and thechrysanthemums were dead, and the water in the pot nearly dried up.Anthea wrapped the embroidered woolly sofa blanket round Jane andherself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, butfierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug.

  'It is most truly awful,' said Anthea, 'and I am so tired. Let's let thecats loose.'

  'And the cow, perhaps?' said Cyril. 'The police would find us at once.That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to come in. And sowould the cats. No; I see quite well what we've got to do. We mustput them in baskets and leave them on people's doorsteps, like orphanfoundlings.'

  'We've got three baskets, counting mother's work one,' said Janebrightening.

  'And there are nearly two hundred cats,' said Anthea, 'besides thecow--and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her; and thenI don't know how you'd carry it, and you'd never find a doorstep bigenough to put it on. Except the church one--and--'

  'Oh, well,' said Cyril, 'if you simply MAKE difficulties--'

  'I'm with you,' said Robert. 'Don't fuss about the cow, Panther. It'ssimply GOT to stay the night, and I'm sure I've read that the cow is aremunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and thinkfor hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for thebaskets, we'll do them up in dusters, or pillow-cases, or bath-towels.Come on, Squirrel. You girls can be out of it if you like.'

  His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired anddesperate to care; even being 'out of it', which at other times theycould not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down inthe sofa blanket, and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them.

  'Ah, he said, 'that's all women are fit for--to keep safe and warm,while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things.'

  'I'm not,' said Anthea, 'you know I'm not.' But Cyril was gone.

  It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled upclose to her sister; and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly, and ina sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as Robert openedthe door of the nursery. They heard the booted search for baskets inthe back kitchen. They heard the side door open and close, and theyknew that each brother had gone out with at least one cat. Anthea'slast thought was that it would take at least all night to get rid ofone hundred and ninety-nine cats by twos. There would be ninety-ninejourneys of two cats each, and one cat over.

  'I almost think we might keep the one cat over,' said Anthea. 'I don'tseem to care for cats just now, but I daresay I shall again some day.'And she fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping.

  It was Jane who awoke with a start, to find Anthea still asleep. As, inthe act of awakening, she kicked her sister, she wondered idly whythey should have gone to bed in their boots; but the next moment sheremembered where they were.

  There was a sound of muffled, shuffled feet on the stairs. Like theheroine of the classic poem, Jane 'thought it was the boys', and asshe felt quite wide awake, and not nearly so tired as before, she creptgently from Anthea's side and followed the footsteps. They went downinto the basement; the cats, who seemed to have fallen into the sleepof exhaustion, awoke at the sound of the approaching footsteps and mewedpiteously. Jane was at the foot of the stairs before she saw it was nother brothers whose coming had roused her and the cats, but a burglar.She knew he was a burglar at once, because he wore a fur cap and a redand black charity-check comforter, and he had no business where he was.

  If you had been stood in jane's shoes you would no doubt have run awayin them, appealing to the police and neighbours with horrid screams. ButJane knew better. She had read a great many nice stories about burglars,as well as some affecting pieces of poetry, and she knew that no burglarwill ever hurt a little girl if he meets her when burgling. Indeed, inall the cases Jane had read of, his burglarishness was almost at onceforgotten in the interest he felt in the little girl's artless prattle.So if Jane hesitated for a moment before addressing the burglar, itwas only because she could not at once think of any remark sufficientlyprattling and artless to make a beginning with. In the stories and theaffecting poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it alwayslooked old enough to in the pictures. And Jane could not make up hermind to lisp and 'talk baby', even to a burglar. And while she hesitatedhe softly opened the nursery door and went in.

  Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor,scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water.

  She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether sheCOULD bring herself to say, 'What's 'oo doing here, Mithter Wobber?' andwhether any other kind of talk would do.

  Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke.

  'It's a judgement,' he said, 'so help me bob if it ain't. Oh, 'ere's athing to 'appen to a chap! Makes it come 'ome to you, don't it neither?Cats an' cats an' cats. There couldn't be all them cats. Let alone thecow. If she ain't the moral of the old man's Daisy. She's a dream out ofwhen I was a lad--I don't mind 'er so much. 'Ere, Daisy, Daisy?'

  The cow turned and looked at him.

  'SHE'S all right,' he went on. 'Sort of company, too. Though them aboveknows how she got into this downstairs parlour. But them cats--oh, take'em away, take 'em away! I'll chuck the 'ole show--Oh, take 'em away.'

  'Burglar,' said Jane, close behind him, and he started convulsively,and turned on her a blank face, whose pale lips trembled. 'I can't takethose cats away.'

  'Lor' lumme!' exclaimed the man; 'if 'ere ain't another on 'em. Are youreal, miss, or something I'll wake up from presently?'

  'I am quite real,' said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was notneeded to make the burglar understand her. 'And so,' she added, 'are thecats.'

  'Then send for the police, send for the police, and I'll go quiet. Ifyou ain't no realler than them cats, I'm done, spunchuck--out of time.Send for the police. I'll go quiet. One thing, there'd not be room for'arf them cats in no cell as ever _I_ see.'

  He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyeswandered wildly round the roomful of cats.

  'Burglar,' said Jane, kindly and softly, 'if you didn't like cats, whatdid you come here for?'

  'Send for the police,' was the unfortunate criminal's only reply. 'I'drather you would--honest, I'd rather.'

  'I daren't,' said Jane, 'and besides, I've no one to send. I hate thepolice. I wish he'd never been born.'

  'You've a feeling 'art, miss,' said the burglar; 'but them cats isreally a little bit too thick.'

  'Look here,' said Jane, 'I won't call the police. And I am quite a reallittle girl, though I talk older than the kind you've met before whenyou've been doing your burglings. And they are real cats--and they wantreal milk--and--Didn't you say the cow was like somebody's Daisy thatyou used to know?'

  'Wish I may die if she ain't the very spit of her,' replied the man.

  'Well, then,' said Jane--and a thrill of joyful pride ran throughher--'perhaps you know how to milk cows?'

  'Perhaps I does,' was the burglar's cautious rejoinder.

  'Then,' said Jane, 'if you will ON
LY milk ours--you don't know how weshall always love you.'

  The burglar replied that loving was all very well.

  'If those cats only had a good long, wet, thirsty drink of milk,' Janewent on with eager persuasion, 'they'd lie down and go to sleep aslikely as not, and then the police won't come back. But if they go onmewing like this he will, and then I don't know what'll become of us, oryou either.'

  This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the wash-bowlfrom the sink, and he spat on his hands and prepared to milk the cow. Atthis instant boots were heard on the stairs.

  'It's all up,' said the man, desperately, 'this 'ere's a plant. 'ERE'Sthe police.' He made as if to open the window and leap from it.

  'It's all right, I tell you,' whispered Jane, in anguish. 'I'll sayyou're a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my uncle,or ANYTHING--only do, do, do milk the cow. Oh, DON'T go--oh--oh, thankgoodness it's only the boys!'

  It was; and their entrance had awakened Anthea, who, with her brothers,now crowded through the doorway. The man looked about him like a ratlooks round a trap.

  'This is a friend of mine,' said Jane; 'he's just called in, and he'sgoing to milk the cow for us. ISN'T it good and kind of him?'

  She winked at the others, and though they did not understand they playedup loyally.

  'How do?' said Cyril, 'Very glad to meet you. Don't let us interrupt themilking.'

  'I shall 'ave a 'ead and a 'arf in the morning, and no bloomin' error,'remarked the burglar; but he began to milk the cow.

  Robert was winked at to stay and see that he did not leave off milkingor try to escape, and the others went to get things to put the milk in;for it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl, and the cats hadceased from mewing and were crowding round the cow, with expressions ofhope and anticipation on their whiskered faces.

  'We can't get rid of any more cats,' said Cyril, as he and his sisterspiled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters andpie-dishes, 'the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same one--amuch stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling orphan we'dgot. If it hadn't been for me throwing the two bags of cat slap inhis eye and hauling Robert over a railing, and lying like mice undera laurel-bush--Well, it's jolly lucky I'm a good shot, that's all.He pranced off when he'd got the cat-bags off his face--thought we'dbolted. And here we are.'

  The gentle samishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl seemedto have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking in a sort ofhappy dream, while the children got a cap and ladled the warm milk outinto the pie-dishes and plates, and platters and saucers, and set themdown to the music of Persian purrs and lappings.

  'It makes me think of old times,' said the burglar, smearing his raggedcoat-cuff across his eyes--'about the apples in the orchard at home,and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the ferrets, and howpretty it was seeing the pigs killed.'

  Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said--

  'I wish you'd tell us how you came to choose our house for yourburglaring to-night. I am awfully glad you did. You have been so kind. Idon't know what we should have done without you,' she added hastily. 'Weall love you ever so. Do tell us.'

  The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the burglarsaid--

  'Well, it's my first job, and I didn't expect to be made so welcome, andthat's the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don't know but what itwon't be my last. For this 'ere cow, she reminds me of my father, and Iknow 'ow 'e'd 'ave 'ided me if I'd laid 'ands on a 'a'penny as wasn't myown.'

  'I'm sure he would,' Jane agreed kindly; 'but what made you come here?'

  'Well, miss,' said the burglar, 'you know best 'ow you come by themcats, and why you don't like the police, so I'll give myself away free,and trust to your noble 'earts. (You'd best bale out a bit, the pan'sgetting fullish.) I was a-selling oranges off of my barrow--for I ain'ta burglar by trade, though you 'ave used the name so free--an' there wasa lady bought three 'a'porth off me. An' while she was a-pickin' of themout--very careful indeed, and I'm always glad when them sort gets a fewover-ripe ones--there was two other ladies talkin' over the fence. An'one on 'em said to the other on 'em just like this--

  "'I've told both gells to come, and they can doss in with M'ria andJane, 'cause their boss and his missis is miles away and the kids too.So they can just lock up the 'ouse and leave the gas a-burning, so'sno one won't know, and get back bright an' early by 'leven o'clock. Andwe'll make a night of it, Mrs Prosser, so we will. I'm just a-goingto run out to pop the letter in the post." And then the lady what hadchosen the three ha'porth so careful, she said: "Lor, Mrs Wigson, Iwonder at you, and your hands all over suds. This good gentleman'll slipit into the post for yer, I'll be bound, seeing I'm a customer of his."So they give me the letter, and of course I read the direction what waswritten on it afore I shoved it into the post. And then when I'd soldmy barrowful, I was a-goin' 'ome with the chink in my pocket, and I'mblowed if some bloomin' thievin' beggar didn't nick the lot whilst I wasjust a-wettin' of my whistle, for callin' of oranges is dry work. Nickedthe bloomin' lot 'e did--and me with not a farden to take 'ome to mybrother and his missus.'

  'How awful!' said Anthea, with much sympathy.

  'Horful indeed, miss, I believe yer,' the burglar rejoined, with deepfeeling. 'You don't know her temper when she's roused. An' I'm sure I'ope you never may, neither. And I'd 'ad all my oranges off of 'em.So it came back to me what was wrote on the ongverlope, and I says tomyself, "Why not, seein' as I've been done myself, and if they keeps twoslaveys there must be some pickings?" An' so 'ere I am. But them cats,they've brought me back to the ways of honestness. Never no more.'

  'Look here,' said Cyril, 'these cats are very valuable--very indeed. Andwe will give them all to you, if only you will take them away.'

  'I see they're a breedy lot,' replied the burglar. 'But I don't want nobother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest now? Straight?'

  'They are all our very own,' said Anthea, 'we wanted them, but theconfidement--'

  'Consignment,' whispered Cyril, 'was larger than we wanted, and they'rean awful bother. If you got your barrow, and some sacks or baskets, yourbrother's missus would be awfully pleased. My father says Persian catsare worth pounds and pounds each.'

  'Well,' said the burglar--and he was certainly moved by her remarks--'Isee you're in a hole--and I don't mind lending a helping 'and. I don'task 'ow you come by them. But I've got a pal--'e's a mark on cats. I'llfetch him along, and if he thinks they'd fetch anything above theirskins I don't mind doin' you a kindness.'

  'You won't go away and never come back,' said Jane, 'because I don'tthink I COULD bear that.'

  The burglar, quite touched by her emotion, swore sentimentally that,alive or dead, he would come back.

  Then he went, and Cyril and Robert sent the girls to bed and sat up towait for his return. It soon seemed absurd to await him in a stateof wakefulness, but his stealthy tap on the window awoke them readilyenough. For he did return, with the pal and the barrow and the sacks.The pal approved of the cats, now dormant in Persian repletion, andthey were bundled into the sacks, and taken away on the barrow--mewing,indeed, but with mews too sleepy to attract public attention.

  'I'm a fence--that's what I am,' said the burglar gloomily. 'I neverthought I'd come down to this, and all acause er my kind 'eart.'

  Cyril knew that a fence is a receiver of stolen goods, and he repliedbriskly--

  'I give you my sacred the cats aren't stolen. What do you make thetime?'

  'I ain't got the time on me,' said the pal--'but it was just aboutchucking-out time as I come by the "Bull and Gate". I shouldn't wonderif it was nigh upon one now.'

  When the cats had been removed, and the boys and the burglar had partedwith warm expressions of friendship, there remained only the cow.

  'She must stay all night,' said Robert. 'Cook'll have a fit when shesees her.'

  'All night?' said Cyril. 'Why--it's tomorrow morning if it's on
e. We canhave another wish!'

  So the carpet was urged, in a hastily written note, to remove the cow towherever she belonged, and to return to its proper place on the nurseryfloor. But the cow could not be got to move on to the carpet. So Robertgot the clothes line out of the back kitchen, and tied one end veryfirmly to the cow's horns, and the other end to a bunched-up corner ofthe carpet, and said 'Fire away.'

  And the carpet and cow vanished together, and the boys went to bed,tired out and only too thankful that the evening at last was over.

  Next morning the carpet lay calmly in its place, but one corner was verybadly torn. It was the corner that the cow had been tied on to.