by Peggy Bacon
Gabrielle had a contempt for everything American, a scorn she was quick to express.
This room was given to Aunt Selina and Tootsie, and Gabrielle had the one next door. They rested and refreshed themselves from the journey. As soon as came downstairs the trouble began.
The entire family had gathered in the parlor to welcome Aunt Selina, who came in followed by Gabriel with a load of packages and Tootsie on a leash. I looked out of the basket where I was nursing my three plump kittens, Daffy, Downy and Dilly, and the sight of Tootsie curdled my sweet disposition.
Aunt Selina’s presents would have started things very pleasantly if her gifts had been sensibly chosen. Angelica truly liked her seed-pearl brooch, but she was the only one sincerely pleased. The fine lace frills for Ben were “fit for a fop,” as he told his wife later on. Horace, who never took snuff, received a snuffbox. Henry’s lilac gloves were most unsuitable for country wear; so was Kate’s sable muff. Minnie’s silk cap was too small for a five-year-old, and the Little Tripper, being too old for a rattle, was much offended and hurled it to the floor.
Cranberry did worse than that. Cranberry, age six, was a manly little fellow, very proud of wearing trousers that were cut like Brother Henry’s. When he opened his box and discovered a wax doll, he lost his temper and stamped its head to bits. Then Minnie howled, having yearned for just such a doll, and the three younger children were banished in disgrace.
Gabrielle rolled up her beetle eyes and told nurse Annie, who was herding the youngsters out, that American children were nothing but savages; no French child would dare to behave that way for fear of the whip. And Irish Annie retorted: “Sure, I believe you! The wretched little frogs, beaten from birth, must be a puny lot of frightened Frenchies. Small wonder they all grow up so black and cranky!”
Gabrielle hitched the leash to the doorknob and retired in dudgeon.
Back in the parlor, the rest of the family apologized for the behavior of the younger members. Angelica, Ben, Horace, Henry and Kate tried to seem extra appreciative and grateful for their gifts, because it was obvious to all that Aunt Selina was feeling insulted and injured.
Ben ordered up a bottle of old Madeira, and he and Horace toasted Aunt Selina and complimented her on her handsome appearance. What with the wine, some biscuits and the praise, Aunt Selina’s spirits were soothed and cheered and she became quite playful and coquettish. She fiddled with her bracelets and fluttered her fan and prattled about a beau of hers in Boston, an English baronet she had met at a ball. He was most attentive, and he would be following her in a week or so, to stay at the village inn, the Broody Hen.
Tootsie was whining and tugging at his leash, so Aunt Selina freed him. He dove for my basket. I rose up in wrath, humped my back and spat. He yapped, retreated, and sprang back and forth snarling, alarming Daffy, Downy and Dilly. I saw there must be a showdown right away, so I flew at him, raked his ear, and he fled to Aunt Selina.
She snatched him up and cooed, “Poor Tootsie-wootsie! Did the naughty pussy scratch its precious ear?”
Angelica said, “It’s only natural for a mother cat to protect her kittens, Aunt Selina. I think you had better keep the dog out of their way.”
Aunt Selina replied, “La, la, my dear! The pretty creatures will all be friends in no time.”
Which was perfectly absurd.
Friends indeed! Whenever Tootsie came near my basket of kittens, I’d chase him out of the parlor, down the hall and back up here. Then I’d leap onto this chair, hissing and shadowboxing, driving him wild, for Tootsie considered this room his very own.
It was really mine. For years, when I needed a rest from my various kittens, I had the habit of coming here to sleep in this cozy, becoming, red velvet chair. And after Aunt Selina and Tootsie came, I continued the practice, for I didn’t intend to change my habits for Tootsie or anyone else.
Of course, I couldn’t sleep with Tootsie around. I had to be on the alert to claw his face, if he came too close. He was slightly bigger than I was, stronger and heavier. Cowardice alone held him at bay. So I would perch and he would wriggle and growl in a frenzy of irritation.
I had a lovely time teasing Tootsie and I was not the least afraid of him. It was the other way round. He was mighty ferocious when he was safe on Aunt Selina’s lap. Elsewhere, if I came toward him, he would run off with his tail between his legs. Up to then, Saul had been my only enemy and I was afraid of Saul. This time my enemy was afraid of me, which was exhilarating. I relished the fact. The daily skirmishes added zest to life.
Sometimes Aunt Selina would scold us both and sometimes she would coax us to be friends, stroking first one of us and then the other, or trying to feed us from the same dish. Angelica was too reasonable to expect us to be playmates, but Aunt Selina lived in a dream world.
It was Halloween when the Trumbulls gave that banquet in honor of Aunt Selina. The rector and the doctor brought their wives, and many couples came from the neighboring countryside. Aunt Selina’s beau the English baronet, who had reached the village inn that afternoon, was also an honored guest. Altogether there were thirty people, as many as the dining room could hold.
It happened that I was especially weary that evening. I had been hard at work for the past week, weaning my kittens, teaching them how to behave and training them to take good care of themselves. They were a bouncing trio and did me credit. Daffy was tortoiseshell, Downy was pure white and Dilly a light buff. They were charming, popular and well brought up. They had learned to wash their faces, sleek their coats, drink from a saucer politely and eat off a plate without tossing the food around or wading through it. I had done a good job but I was tired out, so I crept up here to get a rest.
The dinner party was in full swing and I knew that Tootsie was down in the dining room, going the rounds, sitting up on his hind legs, begging for tidbits, a contemptibly servile way of getting food, to which I would not stoop. I thought that he would surely be occupied for a couple of hours. I felt safe in forgetting him and I dropped off into a deep, exhausted sleep.
However, I wasn’t as safe as I supposed. Tootsie had barely gone the length of the table when he had nibbled all that he could hold. He trotted up here and, seeing me fast asleep, seized his chance. With a lethal spring, he bit deep into the back of my neck and my first life came to an end.
“Oh, poor dear Opalina,” Ellen moaned.
“Don’t worry, my child,” said Opalina crisply. “It happened so fast, it didn’t hurt at all. And my revenge was sweet!” She licked her chops and her great eyes flared and sparkled like Roman candles on the night of the Glorious Fourth.
Well, to continue: Tootsie raced downstairs and mingled with the guests to establish an alibi. Much good that did him! When the company left and Aunt Selina came up and found me dead, she summoned the others and everyone guessed immediately that Tootsie was the villain.
Annie, the children’s nurse, said: “Sure and it’s Halloween, the greatest time of all for ghosts and witches! An evil spirit took possession of the dog, for the witch hate a cat that isn’t black.”
I will pass over the painful scene that night. The family was shocked. On the following day they buried me beneath the lilac bush and put up a neat little stone to mark my grave. Angelica and the children wept for me. Ben and Horace blinked and blew their noses. Then Angelica broke it to Aunt Selina that Tootsie must be locked up. Tootsie was dangerous. He must be kept from harming the little kittens. To which Aunt Selina felt forced to agree.
So Aunt Selina or Gabrielle would lead him out on a leash for an airing, now and then. The rest of the time he was imprisoned here, a stroke of luck for me.
I had become a ghost immediately and, believe me, it was a most remarkable change! I had always been splendidly graceful and limber, supple, agile and well coordinated. Now my freedom of motion far surpassed all mortal acrobatics.
I could drift about like smoke or roll in a ball like a giant dandelion gone to seed. I could mushroom up like a genii, whirl like
a cyclone, soar like a bubble or spread like a great white bat. I could make my burning eyes the size of saucers, flash my tongue like a flame, and whisper in English. All these talents I displayed to Tootsie as soon as it grew dark.
It was November and the days were short. Aunt Selina descended the stairs at teatime and seldom returned till it was time for bed. I had many hours in which to haunt and punish Tootsie for his wicked deed.
I would writhe across the rug like a milky serpent, then rise and circle in the air above him. Tootsie would cower and crawl beneath the bed or flatten himself under the chest of drawers. I filtered in wherever he was hiding and drove him from one shelter to the next. I’d hiss and whisper in his ear: “Bad Tootsie! You beastly cur! Lie down, bad dog, lie down!” And Tootsie would whimper and try to squeeze himself into the narrow space below the wardrobe. Then I would progress to my more spectacular feats, sometimes ending up as one huge head, bowling over the floor in his direction.
After several evenings of this treatment, Tootsie, never an easygoing type, was more than usually irritable. He fidgeted and snapped so much that Aunt Selina became quite worried about him.
She couldn’t imagine what was the matter with him because she never saw me. When she came with her lighted candle, I disappeared, and when she got into bed and blew the candle out, I floated downstairs. I had no wish to frighten Aunt Selina and I liked to spend the rest of the night with my kittens, hovering about them as they snoozed, and gloating over the roly-poly pile, swaddling them in a protective smog.
“I can’t understand whatever has come over Tootsie,” Aunt Selina said plaintively one day. “The poor little lambkin seems to have gone quite mad.”
“If the dog is mad,” said Ben, who was literal-minded, “he had better be shot.”
Aunt Selina shrieked feebly and collapsed against the cushions of the sofa. Gabrielle was summoned to bathe her forehead with eau de cologne and fetch her smelling salts. When she revived, she dabbed her eyes and wailed that Tootsie was all she had in the world, and what would she ever do without her Tootsie. She hadn’t meant that Tootsie was actually mad, the dear little poppet was simply not himself, he was under the weather, a teeny bit out of sorts.
Ben replied he was sorry to have upset her; but he shook his head. The dog must be closely watched for signs of illness. The children mustn’t go near him, when Gabrielle took him out for a walk.
That night while I was up here playing with Tootsie I had an inspiration. Drifting mistily to a corner of the ceiling, I slowly condensed, lit my eyes to their goggliest, and, letting the rest of me trail like the tail of comet, I suddenly swooped diagonally at Tootsie, who was huddling spellbound over against the wall.
With that, he started such yelping, howling and squealing and such a frantic scratching at the door that the commotion was heard throughout the house. Nurse Annie was first on the scene, with a lighted candle, then the rest of them came on the run from all parts of the building. The children awoke and appeared in their little nightgowns, and all crowded into the doorway, staring at Tootsie, wondering what on earth was wrong with him and why he continued to shiver, twitch and whine.
Aunt Selina finally succeeded in quieting him and everyone went to bed. But the very next morning, Ben and Angelica took a firm stand. They told Aunt Selina that for the rest of her visit, Tootsie must be boarded with the veterinary.
Thus did I rid the house of criminal Tootsie, who served a prison term, chained to a doghouse, in the veterinary’s backyard. Aunt Selina moped and behaved like a martyr for a day or so. Then she had more important things to worry about.
“It’s late. I’ll tell you that tale tomorrow night.”
II. SAVING AUNT SELINA
THE FOLLOWING EVENING when Jeb had been put to bed, Ellen and Phil prepared to hear the next story.
“There are many advantages in being a ghost,” Opalina began, glowing contentedly. “It’s very relaxing to weigh nothing at all. It’s interesting to be invisible by day and spy on everything that’s going on; and it’s fun to be able to frighten people at night.”
“You don’t scare us,” said Phil.
“I could if I wished. Don’t flatter yourselves that you’re so awfully brave. I am humane. I never abuse my power. But let me tell you if I ever catch you teasing the youngling, wrapping up in sheets and going ‘Hoo! Hoo!’ in that amateurish way, I’ll teach you a lesson that you’ll never forget.”
“We won’t do it any more,” Ellen vowed contritely.
“You’d better not! Well, to get on with my tale —“
Having disposed of Tootsie, I had leisure to observe the humans. Lo and behold, the newcomer, Aunt Selina’s beau, was the center of attention!
Sir Humphrey Pomme de Terre, as he was called, was a wiry, spry young man with a beaky nose. He dressed in the height of fashion, powdered his hair, twirled a gold-topped cane and flourished a snuffbox, taking pinches and sneezing daintily into a large fancy kerchief. He minced and capered and bobbed around Aunt Selina, making flowery speeches. She responded coyly, fluttering her eyes and flapping her fan, for she was in the mood to marry again and a title appealed to her. Lady Pomme de Terre. How elegant it would sound!
Sir Humphrey often spoke of his great connections, his fine possessions and his glorious forebears. The Pomme de Terres were a noble and ancient race, he informed them all.
They were descended from a Norman baron who had come over with William the Conqueror. His estate in Devonshire was an earthly paradise.
“Then what are you doing here?” Ben asked bluntly. “What have the Colonies to offer you?”
“Egad, sir! In our set, to see the world is considered part of a gentleman’s education. Travel is broadening,” the baronet declared. “I made the Grand Tour through Europe last year. Now I have come to see how the other half lives.” And Sir Humphrey gave a condescending snicker.
Angelica, Ben and Horace listened thoughtfully to these assertions of the baronet, but Aunt Selina was properly impressed. She took it into her head that the Broody Hen was nowhere near good enough for a Pomme de Terre and that it would be nice if Ben and Angelica invited him to come and stay in the house. She threw out a number of hints:
The rooms at the Broody Hen were shockingly small.
“They’re perfectly clean and adequate,” said Ben.
The food at the Broody Hen was very coarse.
“It’s good plain fare and plentiful,” said Ben.
“Sir Humphrey is used to the best of everything. I fear he must be wretchedly uncomfortable.”
“Dear Aunt,” said Angelica, “if he has traveled extensively, he must have stayed in far worse places than this, for there isn’t a better inn in the whole county.”
Aunt Selina pouted and said no more.
“I suppose we shall have to invite him,” Angelica said when her aunt had gone upstairs. “My poor dear aunt has evidently set her heart on it.”
“We’d never get rid of him,” Ben replied gruffly. “It’s bad enough as it is. He’s here every day and he hangs around till he’s asked for dinner, tea and supper.”
“He’s an awful sponge,” said Horace. “There may be a reason.”
“If you love your aunt, you shouldn’t encourage him,” said Ben. “Mark my words, he’s only after her money.”
“He could be fond of her,” Angelica suggested. “She’s pretty and sweet and still quite youthful-looking.”
“To be sure she is, but she’s much too old for him. Why would he choose a woman twice his age? She’d better marry a decent middle-aged man instead of this scamp of a fortune hunter.”
Horace’s and Ben’s suspicions were justified. I, who know everything, knew the awful truth. The newcomer’s real name was Jeremy Greene, formerly fencing master to a lord. Having robbed his patron, he fled to America where he posed as a nobleman and lived by his wits. Aunt Selina was on the verge of accepting a scoundrelly impostor. Certainly the Trumbulls should get rid of him as fast as they could.
> That was easy to say but hard to do. Her loving relatives grew more nervous daily, as daily Aunt Selina grew more kittenish. My Daffy, Downy and Dilly seemed filled with worldly wisdom compared to that innocent charmer. It was Indian summer. At all hours of the day, Aunt Selina and her suitor might be seen flirting in the garden or the shrubbery or sitting together in the summerhouse.
Their behavior amused the children no end. They thought Aunt Selina and her beau very funny indeed. Henry and Kate mimicked them constantly for the entertainment of the little ones. When Horace, attracted by explosions of mirth, shrieks from Cranberry, Minnie and the Little Tripper, caught them all making fun of their elders, he scolded them conscientiously but halfheartedly. Horace had a hard time keeping a straight face, for Henry and Kate were wonderfully comic, and Horace had helped them develop their gifts.
Horace was like an older brother to the children. They adored him. He taught them games as well as lessons and trained them in the art of acting, which they loved. He wrote short plays for them, designed their costumes and coached them in their parts. A small pavilion that stood in the hollow beyond the shrubbery served for a stage, while the grassy banks formed an amphitheater for the audience. Here, during the summertime, the children often performed for the family and their friends.
Though it was late in the season, as I have said, the weather was warm. To keep the children out of mischief, Horace decided to put on one more play. He wrote a skit, a witty little farce, which would give Henry and Kate an opportunity to clown and let off steam. Then he set them all to work learning their lines and announced a performance for the coming Saturday.
This well-intentioned effort on Horace’s part came to nothing.