Poor Cecco

by Margery Williams Bianco

  Poor Cecco, who was in no mind to give up the beautiful cave he had taken so much trouble over, went up and spent the night there alone.

  He was awakened by the smell of coffee, and the voices of Jensina and Mrs. Woodchuck, who were conversing in the kitchen below him, Mrs. Woodchuck saying: “For my part I like my coffee strong, and as for my husband, he will touch nothing but the very best acorns!”

  “That sounds like breakfast!” thought Poor Cecco, and he rose, stretched himself, and trotted round to the front door.

  Jensina, who was a born housewife, had been at work early. The kitchen was swept, the beds made, and coffee steaming on the table. Mrs. Woodchuck had dressed the children, and being shortsighted, insisted on buttoning Bulka into the velvet jacket belonging to Ferdinand, the youngest woodchuck, who thereupon burst into loud howls, but the mistake was soon remedied.

  After breakfast they were prepared to start on their way, but Mrs. Woodchuck, who was a most hospitable soul, would not hear of this. She had arranged, she said, to invite a few neighbours in that evening to make a little party for Jensina, and it would be too bad to disappoint them.

  In return for her kindness Jensina immediately offered to lend a hand with the washing while Mrs. Woodchuck made her preparations for the party. So she set off for the spring, a bundle under each arm, leaving Poor Cecco and Bulka to bring as many more as they could carry, for, she said, one might as well make a good job of it.

  The spring was a little distance below the house, in a hollow set about with tall shady grasses. All that Bulka and Poor Cecco need do, therefore, was to stand at the top of the hill and roll the bundles down to her as fast as she needed them, which they did while Jensina spent her day kneeling at the edge of the spring, splashing merrily about and very contented. By tea time she had washed one hundred and thirteen bundles of laundry, which was certainly, she thought, some little help to her hostess, and as all the water in the spring was now used up it was as well to stop.

  So having hung her laundry neatly out to dry on the grasses, she smoothed her hair, dried her hands on a mullein leaf, and went back to the house to await the party.

  Chapter XI

  JENSINA’S PARTY

  THE first to arrive were Mr. and Mrs. Weasel, and their friends the Chipmunks. Old Ezra Bunny came next with his family, and then the High-Hangers, who wore red waistcoats and were rather superior, Mrs. Fieldmouse, and the Opossums, who were new to the neighbourhood. They had just taken a house in the woodlot across the hill and were anxious to be thought well of, though many considered them humbugs. Then came Auntie Skunk and Uncle Billie Skunk and their four children, and by this time the kitchen was quite full. Thanks to Jensina’s industry most of the laundry bundles had disappeared, except a few which, arranged to look like sofas and chairs, did very well for the company to sit upon. Mrs. Woodchuck’s guests tried to appear politely unaware of the real nature of the furniture beneath them; only Mrs. Weasel, seeing a fragment of brown calico peeping out, was heard to remark impulsively:

  “There’s my petticoat I’ve missed for three months! I do wish she’d send the things back if she’s ever going to!”

  Acorn coffee was served, with nuts and carrot sandwiches, and then the babies of the party were all put to bed, not without some trouble, in an adjoining closet, and while the old folks settled themselves in a corner the dancing began.

  Uncle Billie Skunk played the fiddle, and old Ezra Bunny the concertina. Old Ezra wore a white shirtfront and a brown coat, rather untidy in the seams, and he had long yellow teeth that showed whenever he smiled. He had played for so many kitchen dances that he could call out the figures with his eyes shut. He waved the concertina over his head and stamped with his foot whenever it was time for the music to change.

  “First couples forward!” he called out. “Ladies in the middle! Swing your partners!” And while he stamped and shouted Uncle Billie Skunk, all in black, looked very solemn as he bent over his fiddle, but was really winking at the dancers all the time.

  “It’s a lovely party!” Jensina whispered to Poor Cecco as they whirled round the floor. “I’m so glad we stayed!”

  Jensina, in her gingham frock, and wearing the blue beads which Bulka had lent her for the evening, was very much admired and enjoyed herself thoroughly. It quite made up, in fact, for her disappointment of the night before. Among these simple people she found herself quite at ease, and behaved accordingly. She danced gypsy dances, sang songs and told fortunes, and in the intervals of the music had always a little group about her. Indeed, it was whispered before the evening was over that the eldest High-Hanger would have proposed marriage to her, had he not been already engaged to a distant cousin on the Woodpecker branch of the family.

  Bulka was also having a delightful time. He had made friends with the young Chipmunks, and they were enjoying a dance of their own at the farther end of the kitchen. Not knowing the steps, they held hands in a ring while each capered as he chose in time to the music. Presently, Bulka, losing his shyness, grew excited. He pushed his companions aside, and having cleared a space all to himself on the floor, began to turn somersaults and stand on his head.

  Poor Cecco attended to every one, showed new steps to his partners, and in the intervals carried sandwiches and blackberry cider to the old ladies in the corner, entreating them to get up and dance with him.

  “His manners are perfect”, murmured Mrs. Chipmunk, “and he is so distinguished. He arrived with his party last night by automobile. They are making a tour of the world. The young lady they say is of gypsy extraction and most talented; she told my fortune in the coffee-cup and it was quite surprising! I am to become famous and inherit a large fortune!”

  “Perhaps then she won’t need to steal other people’s nuts in the Fall,” whispered the field mouse to her neighbour.

  Presently there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Woodchuck hastened to open. It was the Iron Grenadier from the farm across the way. He had begun life as a door-weight, but losing his position and the greater part of his substance with it, by an accident in middle age, had since spent his declining years in the barn. He was old and very stiff, but on hearing that a party was to be given in honour of the strangers he came stumping up the hill, pounding on every door in turn and shouting enquiries, until at last he found Mrs. Woodchuck’s house.

  He was given at once the place of honour by the chimneyside, with a mug of blackberry cider and Mr. Woodchuck’s best pipe.

  “A bit of a bore,” Mrs. Weasel whispered to Poor Cecco, “and he shouts so loudly it’s quite dreadful at times, but he is a solid character, and we all feel proud of him!”

  Suddenly, while the enjoyment was at its height, and Jensina had just performed for the third time her most dashing gypsy dance, twirling on her toes and snapping her fingers, there was a strange and sinister scuffling overhead, accompanied by loud squeaks. And immediately, through the hole in the roof which Mr. Woodchuck had still forgotten to repair, something fell with a thud right at Jensina’s very feet.

  It was a large stone, with a piece of paper wrapped around it. Poor Cecco was the first to snatch it up, and when he had unfolded the paper this is what they saw:

  Instantly the music stopped. Every one crowded round. “What is it?” they cried. “What is it?” Mrs. Chipmunk put her hand to her heart, and Bulka left off turning somersaults and pushed forward to see what had happened.

  As for Jensina, when the stone fell at her feet, she stood for a moment perfectly still, as though turned to a statue. Now, at sight of the writing on the paper, she became deathly pale.

  “She is fainting!” some one cried. “Bring her water!”

  But Jensina controlled herself, and with a despairing look flung her arms round the necks of Poor Cecco and Bulka, who happened to be nearest to her.

  “Alas, my friends!” she sobbed. “Alas! It is I who have brought all this trouble upon you!”

  “Stop crying!” ordered Poor Cecco, who disliked being hugged in public. �
�Tell me at once, Jensina, what this means? For I think,” he added sternly, “you know more about this business than you told us, and I suspected all along you had something up your sleeve!”

  “It isn’t up my sleeve,” said Jensina. “It is—but stay! Who knows what ears may be listening? How much better if I had never deceived you, but told you the whole truth from the beginning!”

  “It certainly would!” said Poor Cecco, while Bulka, who hated to see any one cry except himself, uttered hastily: “Don’t be cross to her!”

  Jensina, however, had stopped weeping. Sitting down on the floor, and drying her eyes with the edge of her frock, she began:

  “When I first came to live among the ash-heaps where you met me I was very lonely. For long weeks I saw no one to speak to. I’ve always been used to company, and little by little, if only to pass the time of day, I was forced to make acquaintance with the rats. They were the only people living there, I was quite at their mercy, and I had to be polite. There was one among them, lame in the hind leg and better mannered than the others, who had been kind to me in the beginning, and he used to come sometimes of an evening and drink a cup of coffee at my house. It was from him I learned the few words of rat language that I know.

  “Being too lame for active service, my friend—for I may call him that—was employed in the government, and he told me from time to time a great deal about the customs and traditions of the rat people. Much that he told me was both curious and strange—in fact I think he talked a lot more than he should have done—and having a high position in the Secret Service he knew many things that are hidden from the ordinary rat in the street. Among other things, he told me of the existence of the rats’ most treasured possession, the Tooth of Grimalkin”

  On hearing Jensina refer to the ash-heap country, in that matter-of-fact way, some of the company who had been foremost in admiring her during the evening, now turned up their noses; and began at once to look about for their wraps; but at the word “treasure” their curiosity got the better of them, and they sat down again, though not without some whispering among themselves, to which, however, Jensina paid no heed.

  “This object,” Jensina continued, “has been in the rats’ keeping for many centuries and is most jealously guarded. In times of peace its place is in the King’s treasury, and in war-time it is carried before them in public procession. It is said to have come into their possession in the time of the Mousades, when their hero slew the cat Grimalkin and bore back the Tooth in trophy. As long as they preserve this mascot, so the rats believe, no enemy can overcome them, but without it they would at once become powerless. No rat can gaze on this precious relic unmoved; few in fact ever have the chance to do so anyway, but my friend was among these few, and so he was able to describe the Tooth to me in complete detail.

  “Now I must tell you,” Jensina went on, considerably cheered by having an audience, “that in spite of their cleverness the rats are really very careless. Their archives, as my friend admitted, are often kept in a terrible state; everything in disorder and they don’t even trouble about repairs. As one of their proverbs says, ‘Good is good enough’. So it happened on the night of the great storm, which you will remember, when the sky broke and all the water came tumbling down, the cellars of the Royal Treasure were completely flooded, and it fell to the lot of one rat, the janitor’s brother-in-law, who happened to be on guard, to rush down, snatch the box containing the relic, and bear it to a place of safety.

  “Now, whether there was a hole in the box, which I can quite believe, knowing their extreme carelessness in such matters, or whether the guardian in his hurry carried it upside down, I don’t know. But on going for a walk first thing in the morning, to see what was washed out by the storm, the first thing I saw, shining on the path before me, was the famous Tooth of Grimalkin.

  “On the moment’s impulse I picked it up and hid it under my frock, meaning to give it back to my friend at the first opportunity. But when you arrived I was so overjoyed at meeting persons of my own rank once more that the Tooth went completely out of my head.

  “Later, I slipped it in my bundle, still meaning to leave it in some spot where it might be found. But the behaviour of the rats, and their horrid attack on dear Bulka, at once altered my mind. Disgusted with them, I decided that they could hunt their tooth for themselves, but at a certain moment, seeing that the battle was going against us, and wishing to divert their attention, I was rash enough to call out in rat language: ‘Go and look after your precious old Grimalkin Tooth!’

  “You saw”—she turned to Bulka and Poor Cecco—”the immediate effect of my words! I admit it surprised me, for up to then I hadn’t really believed all I was told. But it was too late; the secret was out, and I was determined that, come what might, never would I give up that tooth, if only to spite them, and I hurried you away in the hope that we might yet outdistance their pursuit. But alas, no such luck!”

  “Ash-heaps, indeed, and picking up what doesn’t belong to her!” sniffed Mrs. Weasel aloud. “I always said the Woodchucks kept queer company! It’s time we went home, before there’s trouble with the police!”

  Fortunately Jensina didn’t hear her remark, but Mrs. Woodchuck did, and was rightly indignant.

  “You may go home, you stuck-up things!” she cried heartily. “And small credit to you! Your washing will be returned to-morrow, and I’ll thank you to pay at the door!”

  Saying which she bustled them out, and the High-Hangers with them, before turning to Jensina and exclaiming: “Poor darling, with all the trouble she’s been through!”

  “It isn’t that I mind,” said Jensina, dabbing at her eyes again. “I’d go through it again to-morrow just to spite those rats, but it’s the trouble I have brought on my friends by my own pig-headedness. And now I’m in a terrible hole, for if I give the Tooth back to them for the sake of peace they’ll only take their revenge on us, and as long as I keep it, so long will they pursue us and track us down, as they did to-night. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” And she nearly broke down again.

  The Iron Grenadier seemed to have been asleep all this while, but in reality he had been listening attentively to all that Jensina said. Clearing his voice now, he began:

  “My dear young lady, this is a matter in which an old soldier’s advice may be very useful. In the first place, I have heard many times of this famous Tooth of Grimalkin, for the legend of it exists wherever the rat people dwell. Living in the barn I am in touch with what goes on, and I may tell you that up to now the Rat Government have kept their loss very secret, for no rumour of it has reached the rats in this part of the country. This is good news for you, as it shows that they dread exposure and realise their helplessness, but for which they would have attacked you long ago. As long as you keep the Tooth you are safe; they may try to trick you and frighten you into giving it up, but they will not dare to attack you openly. You have therefore a dangerous and most powerful weapon, and one you must use with care. To give it up, at this point, would be fatal, and very silly. You must keep it till such time as you may happen to need the rats’ help; then you can drive a bargain with them. Use prudence and all your wit, and have no fear that in such conditions as you impose, they will not keep their word.

  “And now it is time that we all took a little rest, and if you feel any nervousness, remember I am an old campaigner, and I shall have the greatest pleasure in standing guard at your doorway all night!”

  And after gallantly kissing Jensina’s hand, the party having by now dispersed, he took up his station outside the front door and stayed there sternly, musket in hand, till the sun rose and the dew stood out in shining drops on his iron nose.

  Chapter XII

  THE LETTUCE BOX

  “THE best thing to do,” said Poor Cecco next morning, when they had bidden the Woodchucks good-bye and were walking down the hill, “is to go home. This life of adventure is all very well, but we have been away for a long time, and by now every one will be wondering what has become o
f us.”

  “Home!” shouted Bulka. “Hurray! Let’s go home!” And he turned a somersault at once.

  It was all very well to say, but how would they get there? It wasn’t so easy. For one thing, no one had the faintest idea, now, in which direction home lay. It might be East, West, North or South, but after taking so many turns and coming through so many adventures even Poor Cecco had lost his sense of direction completely. As for Bulka, he had never even troubled his head about anything of the kind.

  Poor Cecco thought and thought, and in the end he took a piece of stick, and finding a smooth bit of earth began to trace on it, as well as he could remember, the way they had come. It looked a queer sort of map when he had done, with stones and scraps of twig stuck in here and there to mark the different points of their journey, and certainly no one but Poor Cecco himself could have explained it.

  “First,” he said, “we came down a road, and here is the bridge, and the old man, and those pebbles are the ducks—there ought to be more of them, but never mind—and that twisty line is the river. And then we crossed a field, only I can’t make that very well because it was all dark, but somewhere there is the little dog’s cottage, and this is the ash-heap country, and that white stone is Jensina. And here is where the rats attacked us, and then we went back to the road again. Stop a minute—I must put the road further over; there isn’t room. And then we took the automobile.”

  Ah, the automobile! That was the real trouble. No one knew which way the automobile had gone. For one thing, they were half asleep most of the way. Certainly the automobile mixed everything up. If it hadn’t been for that, Poor Cecco was quite sure his map would have come out all right.

  “Let’s leave the automobile out,” suggested Bulka.

  “We can’t,” said Poor Cecco. “The automobile must have gone this way.” And he traced another line.

  “But it would have gone straight into the long grass!” Bulka objected.