Authors: Juliet Armstrong
“
We could call him Sunday,
”
Maureen suggested, after a moment
’
s thought, adding shyly:
“
It would remind us of the nice afternoon we
’
ve had with you.
”
“
Now who teaches you children to make all these pretty speeches?
”
Andrew demanded teasingly, with a glance in Catherine
’
s direction.
“
And what has Ruth to say?
”
“
I think Friday would be a better name than Sunday,
”
Ruth declared eagerly, her rosy face wreathed in smiles.
“
You know, after the blac
k—”
“
Yes, after the black gentleman in that book Matron
’
s reading to us,
”
Maureen chimed in enthusiastically.
“
I think Friday
’
s just a lovely name.
”
Friday it had to be, and soon, the other puppies restored to their mother, Ruth was proudly carrying the new acquisition around in her arms.
They went on a tour of the beautifully kept farm buildings, over which hung an atmosphere of Sabbath drowsiness. The cows had been milked, and were out in the pastures again, but there were some new little calves to visit, a couple of hefty but singularly mild-looking bulls, and several enormous pigs, surrounded, some of them, by clamorous little ones, to whom they appeared to pay scant attention, as they lay dozing in the late afternoon sunshine.
The constraint from which the children had suffered at tea-time had vanished
completely now. They were enjoying every moment, and showed it; and it was with difficulty that Catherine persuaded them, as six o
’
clock chimed from the village chu
r
ch, and the bells began to ring for the evening service, that it was high time they went home.
“
They really have behaved beautifully,
”
she thought with pride, as the quartet returned slowly to the house, Ruth still in possession of Man Friday. Nor was her calm ruffled when Beryl, who was standing at the open front door, a white coat slipped over her chiffon frock, told Andrew rather coldly that she had waited as, long as she could, but must be off now
.
“
Oh, you can surely stay a minute or two,
”
Andrew returned casually.
“
As a matter of fact, we
’
re back earlier than I expected, not later.
”
“
We must be hurrying off, anyway,
”
Catherine put in pleasantly, anxious now to make a speedy exit. But as she shook hands with Andrew something quite unforeseen happened. A small tabby kitten came edging out of the house and running up to Maureen in the inconsequent way kittens have, rubbed itself against her legs.
“
Oh, the darling! If only we could have this kitten, too.
”
In an instant Maureen had swooped and picked the kitten up, cradling it against her face, and listening ecstatically to its noisy purring
.
“
Maureen!
”
Catherine exclaimed sharply. And then was sorry she had used that tone, for the child, going very white, put the kitten down at once, and bit her lip nervously.
For a moment there was an odd little silence, then Andrew said—over-heartily it seemed to Catherine:
“
Of course you can have the kitten. We
’
ve always
far
too many about the place. You
’
d better call him
‘
Crusoe
’
to fit in with Man Friday. He
’
s a bit of an explorer already, I can tell you.
”
Then turning to Catherine, he asked evenly:
“
Matron won
’
t object, will she?
”
“
I
’
m sure she won
’
t,
”
Catherine began,
“
but—
”
“
No
‘
buts
’
,
”
he retorted quickly.
“
Look, Maureen, Crusoe
’
s trying to climb up again. You
’
ll just
have
to take him with you. But mind you butter his paws, or he
’
ll be setting off for the North Pole,
o
r goodness knows where else. He
’
s that sort.
”
Smiling dumbly now—and a shade uncertainly—Maureen picked the kitten up again, and after polite goodbyes and thanks, Catherine and the two children started back for Garsford House.
But as they went, Catherine heard Beryl say something which made her cheeks burn.
“
That younger child is obviously terrified of Miss Emberley,
”
she observed.
“
It
’
s dreadful to think of the bullying that goes on in some of these places—
”
The two children, occupied with their pets, missed both Beryl
’
s remarks, and Catherine
’
s flush
of indignation, and Catherine herself failed to catch the rest of the sentence.
But she heard Andrew
’
s ironic laugh and her anger deepened. Did he really think such an accusation a cause for amusement? Could he find
no
thing
to say in her defence? Or did he think her cruel, too?
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Her sense o
f the ridiculous came to her rescue a moment later when Maureen, slipping her free arm through hers, observed confidently:
“
I know it was awful of me to ask for the kitten; when you looked at me like that I felt dreadful—just for a minute. But aren
’
t you a teeny bit glad, in your heart of hearts, that I did forget to be quite polite? He
’
s so sweet.
”
“
And what Mr. Playdle says is quite true,
”
Ruth put in eagerly.
“
They have several cats about the place already. I saw a grey Persian, and a tortoise-shell
—”
“
I really like cats even better than dogs,
”
Maureen interrupted impetuously;
“
they have such pretty little faces, and they
’
re so cuddly.
”
And then, before Catherine—who had been making several attempts—could slip in a word of what she felt to be a necessary homily, she went on, looking up at her trustfully:
“
I wish we could call you
‘
Miss Cat
’
instead of Miss Emberley.
”
Ruth looked shocked.
“
That
’
s not a proper shortening of Catherine,
”
she said.
“
It wouldn
’
t do at all.
”
“
I
’
m afraid it wouldn
’
t!
”
Catherine smiled down at Maureen.
“
Now if we were to call you
‘
Kitten,
’
it would be much more appropriate. You and Crusoe have the same sort of eyes and expression exactly.
”
Ruth peered round.
“
So they have,
”
she agreed.
But Maureen was not to be deflected from her purpose.
“
I can call you
‘
Miss Cat
’
when we
’
re alone together, can
’
t I?
”
she insisted, adding wistfully:
“
I
’
ve never made up a pet name for anyone before.
”
“
I dare say!
”
Sure that the child would have forgotten her whim within the next day or two, Catherine did not take it very seriously.
“
And now, darling, you must listen to me. You must never, never ask for presents. Do you think you can remember that?
”
Maureen nodded, and gave Catherine
’
s arm an affectionate squeeze.
“
I
’
ll remember, Miss Cat,
”
she promised.
“
I only wish I had something to give Mr. Playdle in exchange.
”
Ruth sighed.
“
I should think he has everything he wants,
”
she said.
Catherine had been genuinely put out by Maureen
’
s lapse. It had been a bad let-down, she felt, for Garsford House, and its efforts to train the children in self-respect and sturdy independence.
But after a day or two
’
s reflection she came to the conclusion that she had been over-sensitive: that had Maureen been the c
hild of
respectable and prosperous parents, instead of an all too recently rescued waif, she would have treated the incident far more lightly.
In any case it would have been difficult to continue to nurse feelings of disappointment. While the other children clustered round Man Friday, who behaved in the delightfully clown-like fashion proper to his age and kind, Maureen devoted all her attention to the kitten, lavishing a wealth of affection on him, and using every wile to keep
him
in her company.
There had been much buttering of his small paws, on his first arrival at Garsford House, and for two or three days it seemed as though this homely precaution—allied to the tit-bits which Maureen managed to save for him—was proving effective.
But one morning, just before dinner time, he disappeared, to the mild dismay of everyone but Maureen who, rushing back from school to play with him, and finding him missing, was completely overwhelmed.
Matron was away for the day, and it was in vain that Hilda
and
Catherine tried to console the child with tales of straying kittens who invariably turned up when least expected. Her vivid imagination conjured up pictures of her pet falling into dangers of every kind,
and
she refused utterly to be comforted.
“
The whole thing is absurd,
”
Hilda declared roundly, as she and Catherine sat over their after
dinner cup of tea,
the children—including the woebegone and reluctant Maureen—having gone off to afternoon school.
“
How can the kids be allowed to have pets, if they
’
re going to be so silly over them? Matron will have to put her foot down, that
’
s all.
”
Catherine, confident that Crusoe would come running back any moment, and that Maureen would soon learn to be philosophical over his natural desire to explore the world, said nothing. And, chancing to be particularly busy that afternoon, cutting out new overalls for some of the toddlers, she put the matter out of her mind. After all, the children had searched the house thoroughly, looking in every drawer
and cupboard, so there was nothing to be done in that direction.
But when tea-time came and went, without any sign of the kitten, she could bear the sight of Maureen
’
s white face no longer, and resolved that the moment the babies were bathed and put to bed, she would go and make an extensive hunt for the prodigal, inquiring for him at all the near-by cottages.
When the last of the toddlers was safely tucked up and kissed goodnight, she slipped on a coat and ran downstairs, intent on starting her search. She would take Maureen with her, she decided, for though it would slow her up, it would give the child something to do, and stop her fretting.
She looked for her in the playroom first, then in the garden, but the child was nowhere to be found; and she discovered then, from questioning the other children, that they could not remember having seen Maureen for at least an hour.
“
That means she has gone out by herself to hunt for Crusoe,
”
Catherine decided;
“
and unless I
’
m much mistaken she will be wandering about in the direction of the Manor. Her first guess will be that he has tried to get back to his old home.
”
Refusing kindly but firmly a host of offers to accompany her, she set out alone, not going, for once in a way, by the road, but leaving by a wicket gate at the bottom of the back garden and crossing some meadows in a direct line to the farm buildings, of Garsford Manor.
Andrew might not like her coming that way, she knew; but it was her strong hope that by avoiding going up to the front door, she might also avoid seeing him. She would have to give as her excuse, of course, if she did run into him, that she was anxious not to trouble him over the kitten
’
s escapade: she could hardly confess how bitterly she had been hurt by Beryl
’
s i
n
sinuation that Maureen was afraid of her, and by his failure to stick up for her.
“
Maybe he thinks Maureen
is
scared of me,
”
she thought wearily, as she trudged over the fields, her eyes searching everywhere for a glimpse of the child
’
s pink cotton frock.
“
He
’
s not to know why she shrinks away, if one uses anything but the gentlest tone to her. He probably imagines that I bully all the children, behind the scenes.
”
Plodding on, she met a farm laborer or two, returning late from work, but they could give her no news of either the kitten or the child. But presently, in one of the fields which joined the farmyard, she came to the end of her quest. From the top of a high oak tree she heard a wail and glancing up caught a flash of pink, and there, peering down at her was Maureen.
“
I
’
ve found Crusoe,
”
she piped,
“
but I can
’
t reach him. He
’
s too high up.
”
“
Perhaps if you call him, he
’
ll come down to you,
”
Catherine suggested, concealing the alarm she felt at Maureen
’
s somewhat precarious position, and speaking in the most nonchalant tone she could muster.
“
I don
’
t think he will,
”
was the quavering response.
“
He
’
s dreadfully scared; and I
’
m rather frightened, too, as a matter of fact. I
’
m—I
’
m not very used to climbing trees.
”
“
You
’
ve chosen the right kind of tree to start on,
”
Catherine told her robustly.
“
Oak trees are grand for climbing. Now, if you
’
ll stop worrying about Crusoe, and just come down as carefully as you can, we
’
ll go acr
o
ss to the farm and see if we can borrow a ladder. How
’
s that?
”
“
I can
’
t remember how I got up. And I feel dreadfully
dizzy when I look down.
”
Even at that distance Catherine could tell that tears were threatening.
“
Well, hang on tight, and I
’
ll fetch a ladder for you both,
”
she told the child steadily.
“
Oh, please don
’
t go away! I
’
d rather try to come down than be left alone here.
”
There was a note of hysteria now in the high, childish voice.
“
We
’
ve been here
ages,
Crusoe and me, and I
’
ve called and called
—
”
There was a rustling of leaves as she managed to get down to the branch immediately below her, but it seemed that this perch was more perilous still, for she called out desperately:
“
I know I shall fall in a minute. There
’
s nowhere to put my feet.
”
“
Now, pull yourself together, Maureen, and be a brave girl. There are plenty of nice strong branches up there, and you can easily hang on till I come up and help you.
”
Catherine, who had climbed every tree in the Vicarage at Hilliton by the time she had reached Maureen
’
s age, was already beginning to find her way up.
“
You
’
ve nothing on earth to be scared about.
”
Maureen, clinging inexpertly to the branch on which she had landed, said no more but, white and trembling, stared down at Catherine as though—as was indeed the case—she felt doubtful of being able to retain her hold and her balance another minute. And then, as Catherine drew level with her, the unexpected thing happened. Crusoe, who evidently had more faith in Catherine
’
s agility than in Maureen
’
s, suddenly leapt, scrambling and clawing, on to her back, startling her considerably, and causing Maureen to let out a loud shriek.
“
Thank goodness
you
don
’
t scratch, anyway.
”
Recovering herself quickly, Catherine smiled across at Maureen.
“
Now, edge
a
long towards me—a little nearer—just a little nearer still. That
’
s fine. I
’
ve got you now. Put your arms round my neck as though you were riding pick-a-back—without choking me completely,
please
—and we
’
ll get ourselves down in no time.
”
It wasn
’
t quite so easy as she pretended. Maureen could do little to help herself, and the kitten
’
s claws were like needles stuck into her shoulders. But at last they were safely down, and then Maureen, bursting into tears, fairly flung herself into her arms.
“
Oh, Miss Cat, darling, it was awful,
”
she sobbed.
“
I found Crusoe in the farmyard, pretending to stalk pigeons, and he was following me home, as good as gold, when a horrid white dog came along and chased him up the tree. There wasn
’
t anyone about, and the dog kept barking and barking, and I didn
’
t know what to do.
”