by Peggy Bacon
“We’re listening to a ghost,” said Jeb.
“Now, Phillip! Ellen! You two simply mustn’t fill Jeb up with a lot of spooky nonsense! You’ll give him nightmares.”
“We aren’t!”
“Really and truly we aren’t, Mummy!”
“It’s a cat ghost,” Jeb explained.
“Is it, indeed! Very well then, dears. But Jeb, it’s your bedtime.” Taking his hand, Mother led him away. Phillip shut the door after them and Opalina reappeared.
Now, to go back a bit, Opalina continued, while Saul was busy, I was busy too. I was a great mouser. I knew every cranny and mousehole in the old part of the house. As Saul continued building and the walls went up and the floors were laid, the few mice I hadn’t caught took refuge in the new wing. And there for a while I wasn’t able to follow them. Whenever Saul noticed me prowling anywhere near, he would throw something at me. He never abused me in the presence of others, but if we happened to meet in an empty hallway, he would go for me and give me a vicious kick.
So I led a tiresome life. I became fretful and bored, for catching mice was my chosen profession. I felt I was wasting my talents. At last I determined to get at those mice somehow. One day while Saul was working up on the roof, I sneaked in here.
The paneling in the room was not quite finished and there was a narrow opening, a sort of doorway next to the mantelpiece. I tiptoed through and beside the chimney I found a very small room with a tiny skylight.
I was sniffing about when I heard a sound overhead. I leaped to one side to avoid being hit by a hammer that came hurtling from above. There was Saul’s face scowling down at me from the opening in the ceiling. I spat at him, then I raced off into the old part of the house and sat on Angelica’s lap for the rest of the day.
The next time I got a chance to go hunting for mice was one afternoon when Saul had gone out for more shingles. When I entered this room, the paneling was completed, and to my surprise there was no doorway, no opening of any kind. There was smooth, waxed woodwork from floor to ceiling, and I thought for a minute that I had dreamed about the little room. But as I crouched by the hearth, I heard a scuttle and squeak behind the panel. So I knew for certain that the closet was there and that the mice were too.
After Saul settled himself in this room, I didn’t dare to come up, looking for mice. I tried to keep out of his way and I succeeded, six days out of seven. On the Sabbath it was hard to avoid him, for everyone went to church except Saul and he would wander all over the house, opening cupboards and peeking into chests. Whenever he spotted me, he’d start to chase me, trying to hit me with his walking stick, which he carried about for that horrid purpose.
One Sunday, Angelica and Horace stayed home. Saul, thinking he had the house to himself, cornered me in the front hall and gave me a whack that made me lame for days. I wailed with pain, and Horace popped out of the parlor as Saul was raising his stick for another blow.
“Stop, Master Saul! Pray stop!” the boy shouted, “You’ll break poor pussy’s bones!”
Hearing Horace, Angelica came running. She lifted me up, examined my hind leg and gave Saul a look that might have fired an iceberg. Saul attempted a laugh and muttered that he and the cat were playing tag.
“If that’s your notion of play, Master Saul,” Angelica retorted witheringly “I’ll thank you not to play with Opalina!” Taking Horace by his hand and holding me tenderly, Angelica stalked straight into the parlor and slammed the door in Master Saul’s face.
From that day forth, Saul and Angelica were enemies and Saul had it in for Horace as well as for me.
All that winter I was tantalized by those mice living in the secret closet, safely and cozily raising their families, darting out whenever it suited them for a raid on the pantry or the kitchen. I caught but three in the entire season, which wasn’t enough to keep me occupied. Angelica made me a catnip mouse from a morsel of gray flannel. All the same, I would have led a dull life if it hadn’t been for Horace.
Horace was superior to other humans, who are generally clumsy and solemn. Horace was active, nimble and full of fun. He would race and romp, quite like a cat. Every day we had games of hide-and-seek or puss-in-the-corner. We would play with marbles, a ball or a paper and string. He was the closest friend I ever had.
It was early February, over a month after Saul moved in, when Angelica missed a few jewels. Ben warned her keep the remainder locked away. However, she was careless. One April night, Angelica forgot her jewel case, left it unlocked in the dressing room adjoining her bedroom. The following morning the rest of her gems were gone.
A silver tea set, Ben’s expensive watch and a purse full of gold pieces were also missing. There had been storm during the night. Robbers might have entered without being heard. But Ben had bolted the doors and windows as usual, and there was no sign that thieves had broken in.
What a hullabaloo there was that day! The house was searched from the cellar to the garret. The butler wrung his hands at the loss of the silver. The lady’s maid had hysterics about the jewels. None of the objects were found and all the humans were dreadfully upset.
I wasn’t upset. I was simply curious. I couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. I must admit, I was ignorant in real life. Brilliant I was, but comparatively unenlightened, and human speech was gibberish to me. I remember thinking that the people must be having a giant mouse hunt, the way they were poking about in all the corners. I thought them fools for using the wrong technique. No one would ever catch mice in all that turmoil. The only place they’ll find what they’re looking for, thought I, is up in that wee room next to Saul’s. How right I was! Though of course I was thinking of mice. But I didn’t fret until I saw there was something wrong with Horace.
“Oh dear!” Ellen said anxiously. “What was wrong with Horace?”
“Plenty, my girl! Every time I recall his trials, I weep.” Sure enough, two iridescent tears came floating out of Opalina’s eyes and burst in the air like tiny soap bubbles. You see, she continued, Angelica’s servants and Ben’s were above suspicion. The only newcomer was Horace.
Horace was a distant cousin of Angelica’s, a penniless orphan whom she had adopted out of charity, shortly before her marriage. In return for a home, food and clothing, Horace performed a few simple household tasks. He tended the fires, polished the boots, fed and took care of me. But his chief duty was to serve Angelica and run her errands, which he did with enthusiasm, for he was devoted to Angelica and she was fond of him.
Angelica never suspected Horace of stealing and Ben would never have suspected him either if Saul hadn’t put the notion into his head. Saul pointed out that Horace was racing upstairs a good many times a day to fetch Angelica a book, a fan, a handkerchief or a shawl. Horace was in and out of Angelica’s rooms and knew where to find things as well as the lady’s maid did. And Horace had the run of the whole house, since fires were kept burning in most of the rooms and it was his business to attend to them. And Horace would be very much tempted to steal. He earned no wages and had nothing of his own. Who else could it possibly be Horace?
Ben was unhappy. He scratched his ear and observed that all that might be true. However, if Horace had taken the valuables, where in the world had he hidden them? They’d looked all over, nothing could be found. And what use would they be to poor young Horace? He wouldn’t be able to sell them in the village and he never went anywhere else.
“That’s a boy for you,” Saul replied. “Horace wouldn’t see that far ahead. Probably everything that Horace has stolen is buried under a tree somewhere on the grounds. Beat him until he tells you where to find it. If he confesses and you recover the treasure, you had better send him to the poorhouse. If he won’t confess, you must have him thrown in jail.”
Though Ben refused to follow such harsh advice, he was convinced in the end of Horace’s guilt, mainly because there was no one else to blame. He took Horace aside and told him gently that since he was Horace’s guardian, it was his duty to teach Hor
ace to distinguish right from wrong. With no parents to guide him, Horace might not realize how wicked it was to steal, that if Horace would return what he had taken and promise never to do such a thing again, all would be forgiven.
Horace was horrified. He was overwhelmed. He sobbed and bawled, protesting his innocence. Then Ben lectured him and told him sternly that it was as sinful to lie as it was to steal, that he must show Ben where he had hidden the loot or they would be forced at last to send him away.
At that, poor Horace wept more bitterly than ever. Angelica, getting wind of what went on, came Horace’s defense. She knew the boy too well to think him guilty. Horace was honest as the day, he wouldn’t lie or steal. Whoever the culprit might be, it couldn’t be Horace.
“It couldn’t be anyone else,” her husband replied.
Angelica tossed her head. She at least was a fairly good judge of character. It was heartless, she scolded, to accuse a helpless orphan of stealing, without so much as a shred of evidence. It was stupid to assume the child was a thief, simply because he was poor.
“As for Saul,” Angelica went on, “I never trust anyone who is cruel to animals.”
“If you are suggesting that Saul is a thief, Angelica,” Ben said angrily, “then I must command you to hold your tongue. My brother has his faults, he is quick tempered and he hates cats — a fault in your eyes. But I will never allow him to be slandered in my hearing, certainly not by my wife.”
“Very well, I will speak no more of your brother. But Horace is my affair. I won’t stand for having him bullied and threatened. And no one on earth shall turn him out in the cold.”
So Horace remained but his spirits were thoroughly crushed. He slunk around the house like a dying sheep, his eyes were red, and he didn’t laugh or romp. I was sad, for I had no one to play with. And this state of went on for several days.
Then Saul announced that he was going away, to be gone time, how long he couldn’t tell. Saul said he was hired to build a mansion for a wealthy merchant in a distant town. He would be leaving the next day, long before dawn, while the household would still be asleep. He asked his brother to lend him a horse for the trip, to which Ben agreed.
His story sounded plausible. Ben was happy to hear that his brother had work and also glad to be rid of him for a while. The atmosphere at home had become very tense. Angelica and Saul were not speaking. Angelica was much annoyed with her husband for accusing Horace of stealing; Horace himself was despondent, broken-hearted, and the mystery of the robbery was unsolved.
That night, while the humans were sound asleep, I was on the prowl as usual, hoping but hardly expecting to catch a mouse. Venturing cautiously into the new wing, I noticed Saul’s door ajar, always a sign that Saul was not in his room. I couldn’t resist going in to see if the mice had gnawed any holes in the woodwork. What was my astonishment to find that the narrow doorway had reappeared. As I know now, and as you understand, Saul had fixed a panel to slide back and forth on grooves set in the wall. A sound of nibbling fired my sporting instinct and I crept noiselessly into the secret room.
Through the single pane of glass set in the ceiling, the moon shone down upon a cowhide trunk. The lid, flung open, rested on the floor, revealing the contents, which sparkled beguilingly. I clawed out a bracelet, tapped it and poked it about, making it wriggle a garter snake, until it slipped into a crevice by the chimney.
At that moment I heard a stealthy tread, and Saul came in carrying a loaded tray. Quickly I huddled out of sight under the open lid of the cowhide trunk. I heard the chink of silver placed inside it. Then Saul departed, silently as he had come. He slid the panel back, and there was I, trapped in the secret room!
I cannot describe my sufferings that night. I didn’t dare make a sound. I felt quite sure that if Saul me alone and unprotected, he would kill me.
Worst of all were the mice: I heard them and then I saw them. I could have caught half a dozen, easily. And they saw me, the powerful conqueror, apparently helpless and paralyzed. They became bold. One of them actually approached me, sat on his fat behind and stared in my eye, twitching his tail and whiskers with the greatest impudence! I longed to reach out and smite the cheeky little beast. But mine is a strong character, sell controlled. I never moved a muscle for hours and hours, though I grew stiff and cold.
The moon had set. The secret room was black when Saul began stirring around. Presently I heard him going softly down the back stairs; next I heard the garden door open and close. Now at last I was able to summon my friends.
I had a fine soprano voice in real life. Being well bred, I seldom shrieked and screamed, but this time I let loose at the top of my lungs. I hit high C, held it as long as possible and soon succeeded in rousing the family. Horace came tumbling down from his room in the attic. Ben and Angelica joined him and all three traced my cries to Saul’s bedroom where they gathered outside the panel by the fireplace.
I crouched and mewed on the inside of the panel show them where I was. And Ben discovered a dent in the wood. Inserting his fingernail, he slid the well-waxed panel into the wall. There I was and there w the secret closet and there was Saul’s trunk containing the missing valuables!
There was a brief silence while they stared at the trunk. They stared at the tiny little room, they stared at each other and they stared at me.
Then Ben put an arm around Horace and drew him close.
“Forgive me, lad,” he said huskily. And Horace looked up and smiled for the first time in days, though the tears stood in his eyes.
Angelica said: “I suspected something like this.”
“You were right, my love,” said Ben. “I couldn’t believe it! It’s dreadful, but for Horace’s sake at least, I’m happy to learn the truth.”
“We owe it to Opalina,” replied his wife, picking me up and scratching me under the chin. And all three stood there, waiting for Saul’s return.
Meanwhile Saul had gone across to the stable to fetch the horse that his brother had kindly lent him. He fed the horse and watered him and saddled him and led him around to the gate. Then back he came, intending to strap the trunk and ride off with the treasure. Instead, he was confronted by Ben, Angelica, Horace and me.
There was no violent scene.
Ben said quietly: “It’s a sorry shock to learn that my brother is a thief — a thief who will steal even from his nearest kin.”
Saul said nothing in his own defense. What could he say? He had been caught red-handed. It was plain that he had planned everything carefully, long in advance.
Ben said he would not disgrace the family by having Saul arrested. He did not choose to make his brother into a jailbird.
So the treasures were put back where they belonged and Saul was turned out of the house for a second time. He packed the cowhide trunk with his few belongings, shouldered it, left Heatherfield by the Post Road and none of us ever heard of him again.
After he left, Angelica missed the bracelet, the one wedged in the crack, and she thought that Saul must have either pocketed it or pawned it. It was my fault that she never got it back. But if I hadn’t been such an energetic mouser, Saul would have made away with all the booty, Ben would always have distrusted Horace and Horace would have led a blighted life.
As it was, Horace recovered his high spirits. Ben and Angelica cherished him more than before and everyone concerned was grateful to me. “In fact, we all lived happily ever after, for the first of my nine lives,” said Opalina. “I’m going to sleep now. It’s your bedtime too.”
Second Life
[1765]
I. THE TIMID KILLER
NEXT NIGHT the children sat in the darkened room watching the ghost expanding like a moonflower as she awoke.
“This is the part Jeb loves,” Ellen murmured.
Opalina roused herself. “The youngling has a sense of beauty.” Flickering her eyes, she sent a shower of prisms like coins of light racing over Jeb’s hands.
“Like shiny marbles!” he chuckled.
/> “Your Royal Highness,” Phil began, “you told us about the first of your lives. Will you please tell us how you became a ghost?”
“I was murdered.”
“What’s ‘murdered’?” Jeb asked.
“Murder, youngling, is committed by a dog. I was killed by a dog.”
“I don’t think Jeb had better hear about it,” Ellen said. “It’s nearly his bedtime anyway. Here’s Mummy now, coming to take him to bed.” Ellen jumped up, pulling the child to his feet, and sent him into the hall.
When she sat down again, Opalina stopped washing her face.
“Now that the youngling is gone, I will tell you of my untimely death.”
After Saul’s departure a number of years went by, during which I had many litters of kittens, exquisite kittens, three or four at a time, while Ben and Angelica produced only five children and not all at once.
However, the Trumbull children were a nice lot and very kind to mine. Even as babies, not one of them ever pulled tails. Henry and Kate were the oldest, then came Aaron, nicknamed “Cranberry” for his bright complexion, then Minnie, and Luke, the youngest, called the Little Tripper because he was always stumbling and stubbing his toes.
Horace had grown into a fine young man. Ben sent him to the university where he graduated with honors, and after that he came back home to live and to tutor the Trumbull children.
The Trumbulls had a good many guests, and visitors were apt to stay longer in those days than they do now. People who came from far away, traveling uncomfortably in clumsy coaches over rough bumpy roads, often remained for a month or more. Though the house was overflowing with friends and relatives, young and old, all was merry and harmonious, until one October when Aunt Selina arrived, accompanied by her maid and her pet dog.
Angelica’s Aunt Selina was a rich widow with three great passions in life: clothes, jewels and Tootsie. That pampered spaniel was covered with long limp curls like a wilted old chrysanthemum. He wore a blue satin bow tied to his collar. His thin tongue hung out of his foxy face, his pink-rimmed eyes peered through drooping locks. He snapped and whined and snuffled. No one but Aunt Selina ever loved Tootsie, and nobody here could stand her French maid either.
