Toots And Boots

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Title:     Toots And Boots
Author: Juliana Horatia Ewing [More Titles by Ewing]

CHAPTER I.

My name is Toots. Why, I have not the slightest idea. But I suppose very few people--cats or otherwise--are consulted about their own names. If they were, these would perhaps be, as a rule, more appropriate.

What qualities of mind or body my name was supposed to illustrate, I have not to this hour a notion. I distinctly remember the stage of my kittenhood, when I thought that Toots was the English for cream.

"Toots! Toots!" my young mistress used to say, in the most suggestive tones, creeping after me as I would creep after a mouse, with a saucerful of that delicious liquid in her hand.

"Toots is first-rate stuff," I used to think, and I purred accordingly, for I never was an ungrateful cat.

This was in the dining-room, and in the morning. Later in the day, "Toots" was served in the drawing-room. It was between these two periods, I remember, that one day I found myself in the larder. Why I went there, puzzled me at the time; for if there is anything I hate it is a chill, and there was a horrid draught through a window pierced with tiny holes, which seemed to let in a separate blast for every hair of one's fur. I followed the cook, it is true; but I did not follow the cook as a rule--not, for instance, when she went out to the coal-hole in the yard. I had slipped in under her dress. I was behind the potato-tub when she went out, shutting the door after her. For some mysterious reason I felt on the tip-claw of expectation. My nose twitched with agreeable sensations. An inward voice seemed to murmur, _Toots_! Regardless of the draughts, I sprang on to the shelf close under the window. And there was such a dish of cream! The saucers in which one got it at breakfast did not hold a twentieth part of what this brimming pan contained. As to the five o'clock china, in which visitors give you a tepid teaspoonful, with bits of old tea-leaves in it--I grinned at the thought as I drew in tongueful after tongueful of the thick yellow cream.

At this moment I heard my young mistress's voice in the distant passages.

"Toots, Toots!" said she.

"I've got plenty," purred I, lifting my head to speak, by a great effort.

"Toots, Toots!" she miowed on, for she wasn't much quicker-witted than the rest of her race.

"No, thank you," thought I; "and if you want five o'clock toots for yourself, I advise you to come here for it." I thought this, but speak I really could not--I was too busy lapping.

It was delicious stuff! But when the dish was about three-parts empty, I began to feel as if I had had a good deal, and to wish I had more appetite for the rest. "It's a shame to leave it, though," I thought, "when a few more laps will empty the dish." For I come of an ancient and rough-tongued cat family, who always lick their platters clean. So I set to work again, though the draught was most annoying, and froze the cream to butter on my whiskers.

I was polishing the glazed earthenware with the family skill, when I became conscious that the house was resounding to the cry of "Toots!"

"Toots, Toots!" squeaked the housemaid, in the servants' hall.

"Toots, Toots!" growled the elderly butler, in the pantry.

"Toots, Toots, cock-a-Toots!" yelled that intolerable creature, the Macaw.

"Toots, Toots!" snapped the cook.

"Miow," said I; for I had finished the cream, and could speak now, though I confess I did not feel equal to any great exertion.

The cook opened the door. She found me--she did not find the cream, which she had left in the dish ready for whipping.

Perhaps it was because she had no cream to whip, that she tried to whip me. Certainly, during the next half-hour, I had reason to be much confused as to the meaning of the word "Toots." In the soft voice of my mistress it had always seemed to me to mean cream; now it seemed to mean kicks, blows, flapping dish-cloths, wash-leathers and dusters, pokers, carpet brooms, and every instrument of torture with which a poor cat could be chased from garret to cellar. I am pretty nimble, and though I never felt less disposed for violent exercise, I flatter myself I led them a good dance before, by a sudden impulse of affectionate trustfulness, I sprang straight into my mistress's arms for shelter.

"You must beat him, miss," gasped the cook, "or there'll never be no bearing him in the house. Every drop of that lovely cream gone, and half the sweets for the ball supper throwed completely out of calculation!"

"Naughty Toots, naughty Toots, naughty Toots!" cried the young lady, and with every "Toots" she gave me a slap; but as her paws had no claws in them, I was more offended than hurt.

This was my first lesson in honesty, and it was also the beginning of that train of reasoning in my own mind, by which I came to understand that when people called "Toots" they meant me. And as--to do them justice--they generally called me with some kind intention, I made a point of responding to my name.

Indeed, they were so kind to me, and my position was such a very comfortable one, that when a lean tabby called one day for a charitable subscription, and begged me to contribute a few spare partridge bones to a fund for the support of starving cats in the neighbourhood, who had been deserted by families leaving town, I said that really such cases were not much in my line. There is a great deal of imposition about--perhaps the cats had stolen the cream, and hadn't left off stealing it when they were chased by the family. I doubted if families where the cats deserved respect and consideration ever did leave town. One has so many calls, if one once begins to subscribe to things; and I am particularly fond of partridge.

But when, a few months later, the very words which the lean tabby had spoken passed between the butler and the cook in reference to our own household, and I learnt that "the family" were going "to leave town," I felt a pang of conscience, and wished I had subscribed the merry thought, or even the breast-bone--there was very little on it--to the Deserted Cats' Fund.

But it was my young mistress who told me (with regrets and caresses, which in the circumstances were mere mockery) that I was to be left behind.

I have a particularly placid temper, and can adapt myself pretty comfortably to the ups and downs of life; but this news made my tail stand on end.

"Poor dear Toots!" said my mistress, kissing my nose, and tickling me gently under the ear, as if she were saying the prettiest things possible. "I am _so_ sorry! I don't know _what_ we are to do with you! But we are going abroad, and we _can't_ take you, you dear old thing! We've such heaps of luggage, and such lots of servants, and no end of things that _must_ go! But I _can't bear to think_ of you left behind!"

"No," said I indignantly; "that's just it, and the people at number ten, and number fourteen, and number twenty-five, couldn't bear to think what would become of their cats, so they went away and didn't think about it. They couldn't bear to see them die, so they didn't give them a dose of quick poison, but left them to die of starvation, when they weren't there to see. You're a heartless, selfish race, you human beings, and I suspect that Mrs. Tabby is not the only shabby-looking, true-hearted soul, who has to pester people for subscriptions to patch up the dreary end of existence for deserted pets, when caressing days are over. Fuff!"

And I jumped straight out of her arms, and whisked through the dining-room window. For some time I strolled thoughtfully along the top of the area railings. I rather hoped I might see Mrs. Tabby. I wondered how her subscription list was getting on. I felt all the difference between a lady's interest in a Reduced Gentlewomen's Benevolent Institution or a Poor Annuitants' Home, when she is well and wealthy, and the same lady's interest when some turn of Misfortune's wheel has left her "dependent on her own exertions." It seemed that I was to be left dependent on my own exertions--and my thoughts turned naturally to Mrs. Tabby and the Deserted Cats' Fund.

But not a sign of the good creature! At this moment a hansom cab rattled up, and a gentleman got out and rang our front-door bell. As he got out of the cab, I jumped down from the railings, and rubbed against his legs--he had very long legs.

"Halloa, Toots! is that you?" said he in a kindly voice, which had always had attractions for me, and which in my present mood was particularly grateful. His hat was set well on the back of his head, and I could clearly see the friendly expression of his countenance. Suddenly he tilted it over his nose, which I have observed that he is apt to do when struck by a new idea. "Toots!" said he abruptly, "what are they going to do with you?"

Blessings on this kind of friend! say I; the friend who will encumber himself with the responsibility of thinking what's to become of you, when you are down in the world. Those tender-hearted souls who can't bear to think of your misfortunes are a much more numerous part of one's acquaintance.

A ray of hope began to dawn upon me. Perhaps a new and an even more luxurious home was to be offered for my acceptance. In what foolish panic had I begun to identify myself with the needy classes of society? A cat of my stripes and style! Once more I thought of benevolent institutions from a patronizing point of view. But I would be a patron, and a generous one. The shock _had_ done so much! And the next time Mrs. Tabby called I would _pick out a lot of my best bones for the Fund_.

Meanwhile, I went back to the railings, and from these took a flying leap, and perched myself on the gentleman's shoulder. I could hardly have managed it from the ground, he had such very long legs.

I think, by the bye, that I have mentioned this before. I do not wish to repeat myself, or to dwell on my grievance, though, if his legs had been shorter, his riding-boots would not have been so long, and I might at this moment know what became of--but I must not forestall my story.

I jumped on to the gentleman's shoulder. In doing so, I knocked his hat over one eye. But I have seen it so since then, and he made no complaint. The man-servant opened the door, and we went into the house together.

 

CHAPTER II.

I flatter myself that my head is not remarkable for size and beauty alone. I am a cat of mind, and I made it up at once as to the course of conduct to pursue.

I am also a cat with some powers of observation, and I have observed that two things go a long way with men--flattery and persistence. Also that the difficulty of coaxing them is not in direct proportion to their size--rather the reverse. Another thing that I have observed is, that if you want to be well-treated, or have a favour to ask, it is a great thing to have a good coat on your back in good order.

How many a human being has sleeked the rich softness of my magnificent tiger skin, and then said, in perfect good faith, "How Toots enjoys being stroked!"

"How you enjoy the feel of my fur, you mean," I am tempted to say. But I do not say it. It doesn't do to disturb the self-complacency of people who have the control of the milk-jug.

Having made up my mind to coax the gentleman into adopting me, I devoted myself entirely to him for the evening, and ignored the rest of the party, as serenely as a cat knows how. Again and again did he put me down with firm, but not ungentle hands, saying--"Go down, Toots," and pick stray hairs in a fidgety manner off his dress-trousers; and again and again did I return to his shoulder (where he couldn't see the hairs) and purr in his ear, and rub my long whiskers against his short ones.

But it was not till he was comfortably established in an arm-chair by the drawing-room fire, round which the rest of the family were also seated, that the charm began to work.

"How devoted Toots is to you!" purred the ladies, after an ineffectual effort on my part to share the arm-chair.

"You're a very foolish Toots," said the gentleman. (I was back on his shoulder by this time.)

"Toots, you've deserted me," said my young mistress. "I'm quite jealous," she added.

"Toots, you brute!" cried the gentleman, seizing me in both hands. "Where's your good taste, and your gratitude? Go to your mistress, sir," and he threw me into her lap. But I sprang back to his shoulder with one leap.

"It's really most extraordinary," said one lady.

"And Toots never goes to strangers as a rule," added my mistress.

Everybody is proud of being _exceptionally_ favoured. It was this last stroke, I am convinced, that rubbed him the right way. A gratified blandness pervaded his countenance. He made no further attempts to dislodge me, and I settled myself into the angles of his shoulder and affected to go to sleep.

"What are you going to do with him?" he asked, crossing one long leg over the other with a convulsive abruptness very trying to my balance, and to the strength of the arm-chair.

Both the ladies began to mew. They were _so_ sorry to leave me behind, but it was _quite_ impossible to take me. They couldn't bear to think of my being unhappy, and didn't know where in the world to find me a home.

"I wish _you_ would take him!" said my mistress.

I listened breathlessly for the gentleman's reply.

"Pets are not in the least in my line," he said. "I am a bachelor, you know, of very tidy habits. I dislike trouble, and have a rooted objection to encumbrances."

"We hear you have a pet mouse, though," said my mistress. He laughed awkwardly.

"My dear young lady, I never said that my practice always squared with my principles. Helpless and troublesome creatures have sometimes an insinuating way with them, which forms an additional reason for avoiding them, especially if one is weak-minded. And----"

"And you _have_ a pet mouse?"

He sat suddenly upright with another jerk, which nearly shot me into the fire-place, and said,

"I'll tell you about it, for upon my word I wish you could see the little beggar. It was one afternoon when I came in from riding, that I found a mouse sitting on the fender. I could only see his back, with the tail twitching, and I noticed that a piece had been bitten out of his left ear. The little wretch must have heard me quite well, but he sat on as if the place belonged to him.

"'You're pretty cool!' I said; and being rather the reverse myself, I threw the Queen's Regulations at him, and he disappeared. But it bothered me, for I hate mice in one's quarters. You never know what mischief they mayn't be doing. You put valuable papers carefully away, and the next time you go to the cupboard, they are reduced to shreds. The little brutes take the lining of your slippers to line their nests. They keep you awake at night--in short, they're detestable. But I am not fond of killing things myself, though I've a sort of a conscience about knowing how it's done. I don't like leaving necessary executions to servants. As to mice, you know--poisoning is out of the question, on sanitary grounds. 'Catch-'em-alive' traps are like a policeman who catches a pickpocket--all the trouble of the prosecution is to come; and as to the traps with springs and spikes--my man set one in my bedroom once, and in the middle of the night the mouse was caught. For nearly an hour I doubt if I was much the happier of the two. Every moment I thought the poor wretch would stop screaming, for I had ordered the trap in the belief that death was instantaneous. At last I jumped up, and put the whole concern into my tub and held it under water. The poor beast was dead in six seconds. A catch-'em-alive trap and a tub of water is the most merciful death, I fancy; but I am rather in favour of letting one animal kill another. It seems more natural, and _fairer_. They have a run for their lives, so to speak."

"And who did you get to kill your mouse?"

"Well, I know a youngster who has a terrier. They are a perfect pair. As like as two peas, and equally keen about sport--they would go twenty miles to chase a bluebottle round an attic, sooner than not hunt something. So I told him there was a mouse _de trop_ in my rooms, and he promised to bring Nipper next morning. I was going out hunting myself.

"The meet was early, and my man got breakfast at seven o'clock for me in my own quarters; and the first thing I saw when I came out of my bedroom was the mouse sitting on the edge of my Indian silver sugar-basin. I knew him again by his ear. And there he sat all breakfast-time, twitching his tail, and nibbling little bits of sugar, and watching me with such a pair of eyes! Have you ever seen a mouse's eyes close? Upon my word, they are wonderfully beautiful, and it's uncommonly difficult to hurt a creature with fine eyes. I didn't touch it, and as I was going out I looked back, and _the mouse was looking after me_. I was a fool for looking back, for I can't stand a pitiful expression in man or beast, and it put an end to Nipper's sport, and left me with a mouse in my quarters--a thing I hate. I didn't like to say I'd changed my mind about killing the mouse, but I wrote to Nipper's master, and said I wouldn't trouble him to come up for such a trifling matter."

"So the mouse was safe?"

"Well, _I_ thought so. But the young fellow (who is very good-natured) wrote back to say it was no trouble whatever, and the letter lay on my mantel-piece till I came home and found that he and Nipper had broken a chair-leg, and two china plates."

"_Did_ they kill the mouse?"

"Well, no. But I nearly killed Nipper in saving him; and the little rascal has lived with me ever since."

The ladies seemed highly delighted with this anecdote, but, for my own part, I felt feverish to the tips of my claws, as I thought of the miserable creature who had usurped the place I wished to fill, and who might be the means of my having to fall back after all on the Deserted Cats' Fund. What bungling puss had had him under her paws, and allowed him to escape with a torn ear and the wariness of experience? Let me but once catch sight of that twitching tail!----

At this moment the gentleman got up, stretched his long----

But I will _not_ allude to them! It annoys me as much as the thought of that bungling cat, or of Nipper's baulked attempt. He put up his hands and lifted me from his shoulder, and my heart sank as he said, "If I am to catch my train, I fear I must say good-bye."

I believe that, in this hopeless crisis, my fur as usual was in my favour. He rubbed his cheek against mine before putting me down, and then said, "And you've not told me, after all, where poor Toots is really going."

"We have not found a home for him yet, I assure you," said my mistress. "Our washerwoman wants him, and she is a most kind-hearted and respectable person, but she has got nine children, and----"

"Nine children!" ejaculated my friend, "My poor Toots, there will not be an inch of that magnificent tail of yours left at the end of a week. What cruelty to animals! Upon my word, I'd almost rather take Toots myself, than think of him with a washerwoman and nine children. Eh, Toots! would you like to come?"

I was on the carpet, rubbing against his--yes, long or short, they were _his_, and he was kind to me!--rubbing, I say, against his legs. I could get no impetus for a spring, but I scrambled straight up him as one would scramble up a tree (my grandmother was a bird-catcher of the first talent, and I inherit her claws), and uttered one pitiful mew.

The gentleman gave a short laugh, and took me into his arms.

"Oh, _how_ good of you! Jones shall get a hamper," cried the ladies. But he shook his head.

"Three of the fourteen parcels I've got to pick up at the station are hampers. I wouldn't have another on my mind for a fortune. If Toots comes at all, he must come like a Christian and look after himself."

I will not dwell on our departure. It was a sadly flurried one, for a cat of my temperament. The ladies saw us off, and as my young mistress covered me with farewell kisses, I felt an unquestionable pang of regret. But one has to repress one's affections, and consider one's prospects in life, if one does not want to come upon the Deserted Cats' Fund!

My master put his hat on the back of his head on the steps, and knocked it off in shouting through a hole in the roof of the cab that we were to drive like the wind, as we were late. At the last moment several things were thrown in after us. A parcel of books he had lent the young lady, and a pair of boots he had left behind on some former occasion. The books were very neatly packed, and addressed, but the boots came "like Christians, and looked after themselves." And through all, I clung fast, and blessed the inherited vigour of my grandmother's claws.

At the parcels office, I certainly risked nine lives among the fourteen parcels which were dragged and pitched, and turned over in every direction; but though he paid me no other attention, my master never forgot to put back a hand to help me when we moved on. Eventually we found ourselves alone in a very comfortable carriage, and I suppose the fourteen packages were safe too, thanks to the desperate struggles of five porters, who went off clutching their paws as if they were satisfied with the result.

After incommoding me for some time by rustling newspapers, and making spasmodic struggles to find a posture that suited him, my master found one at last and fell asleep, and I crept up to the velvet collar of his great-coat and followed his example.

 

CHAPTER III.

I like living with bachelors. They have comfortable chairs, and keep good fires. They don't put water into the tea-pot: they call the man-servant and send for more tea. They don't give you a table-spoonful of cream, fidgeting and looking round to see if anybody else wants it: one of them turns the jug upside-down into your saucer, and before another can lay hold of it and say, "Halloa! The milk's all gone,"--you have generally had time to lap it up under the table.

I prefer men's outsides, too, to women's in some respects. Why all human beings--since they have no coats of their own, and are obliged to buy them--do not buy handsomely marked furs whilst they are about it, is a puzzle to a cat. As to the miserable stuff ladies cover themselves with in an evening, there is about as much comfort and softness in it as in going to sleep on a duster. Men's coats are nothing to boast of, either to look at or to feel, but they _are_ thicker. If you happen to clutch a little with gratification or excitement, your claws don't go through; and they don't squeak like a mouse in a trap and call you treacherous because their own coats are thin.

I was very comfortable in my new home. My master was exceedingly kind to me, and he has a fearless and friendly way of tickling one's toes which is particularly agreeable, and not commonly to be met with.

Yes, my life was even more luxurious than before. It is so still. To eat, drink, and sleep, to keep oneself warm, and in good condition, and to pay proper attention to one's personal appearance; that is all one has to do in a life like mine in bachelors' quarters.

One has unpleasant dreams sometimes. I think my tea is occasionally too strong, though I have learned to prefer it to milk, and my master always gives it to me in his own saucer. If he has friends to tea, they give me some in their saucers. One can't refuse, but I fancy too much tea is injurious to the nerves.

The night before last, I positively dreamed that I was deserted. I fancied that I was chased along a housetop, and fell from the gutter. Down--down--but I woke up on the bear-skin before the fire, as our man-servant was bringing in candles.

It made me wonder how Mrs. Tabby was getting on. I had never done anything further in that matter; but really when one's life goes in a certain groove, and everything one can wish for is provided in abundance, one never seems to have time for these things. It is wonderful how energetic some philanthropic people are. I dare say they like the fuss. (I can't endure fuss!) And Mrs. Tabby's appearance--excellent creature!--would probably make her feel ill-at-ease in bachelor quarters, if we could change places. Her fur is really almost mangy, and she has nothing to speak of in the way of a tail. But she is a worthy soul. And some day, when the Captain and I are going to town without much luggage--or if she should happen to be collecting in the country,--I will certainly _look up a few of my worst bones for the Fund_.

I really hesitate to approach the subject of my one source of discontent. It seems strange that there should be any crook in a lot so smooth as ours. Plenty to eat and drink, handsome coats, no encumbrances, and a temperament naturally inclined--at least, in my case--towards taking life easy. And yet, as I lay stretched full-length down one of my master's knees the other night, before a delicious fire, and after such a saucerful of creamy tea which he could not drink himself--I kept waking up with uncomfortable starts, fancying I saw on the edge of the fender--but I will tell the matter in proper order.

I turned round to get my back to it, but I thought of it all the same; and as every hair of my moustaches twitched, with the vexation of my thoughts, I observed that my master was pulling and biting at his, and glaring at the fire as if _he_ expected to see--however, I do not trouble myself about the crumples in _his_ rose-leaves. He is big enough to take care of himself. My own grievance I will state plainly and at once. It may be a relief to my mind, which I sometimes fear will be unhinged by dwelling on the thought of--but to begin.

It will easily be understood that after my arrival at my new home, I waited anxiously for the appearance of the mouse; but it will hardly be credited by any one who knows me, or who knew my grandmother, that I saw it and _let it escape me_. It was seated on the sugar-basin, just as the Captain had described it. The torn ear, the jerking tail, the bright eyes--all were there.

If this story falls into the paws of any young cat who wishes to avoid the mortifications which have embittered my favoured existence, let me warn him to remember that a creature who has lived on friendly terms with human beings cannot be judged by common rules. Many a mouse's eye as bright as this one had I seen, but hitherto never one that did not paralyze before my own.

He looked at me--I looked at him. His tail jerked--mine responded. Our whiskers twitched--joy filled my brain to intoxication--I crept--I crouched--I sprang--

He was not spell-bound--he did not even run away. With a cool twinkle of that hateful eye, and one twitch of the ragged ear, he just overbalanced the silver sugar-pot and dropped to the ground, the basin and sugar falling on the top of him with a crash which made me start against my will. I think that start just baulked the lightning flash of my second leap, and he was gone--absolutely gone. To add insult to injury, my master ran in from his bedroom and shouted--"Stealing, Toots? confound you, you've knocked down my sugar-pot," and threw both his hair-brushes at me.

_I_ steal?--and, worse still, _I_ knock down anything, who have walked among three dozen wine-glasses, on a shelf in the butler's pantry, without making them jingle! But I must be calm, for there is more to tell.

The mouse never returned. It was something, but it was not enough. My pride had been deeply hurt, and it demanded revenge. At last I felt it almost a grievance that I _did_ reign supreme in the Captain's quarters, that the mouse did not come back--and let me catch him.

Besides our in-door man, my master had an Irish groom, and the groom had a place (something between a saddle-room and a scullery) where _he_ said he "kept what the master required," but where, the master said, Terence kept what was not wanted, and lost what was.

There certainly were, to my knowledge, fifteen empty Day and Martin's blacking-bottles in one corner, for I used occasionally to walk over them to keep my feet in practice, and it was in this room that Terence last had conscious possession of the hunting-breeches which were never seen after the Captain's birthday, when Terence threw the clothes-brush after me, because I would not drink the master's health in whisky, and had to take the cleanest of the shoe brushes to his own coat, which was dusty from lying in the corn-chest.

But he was a good-natured creature, and now and then, for a change, I followed him into the saddle-room. I am thankful to say I have never caught mice except for amusement, and a cat of daintier tastes does not exist. But one has inherited instincts--and the musty, fusty, mousey smell of the room did excite me a little. Besides, I practised my steps among the blacking-bottles.

I was on the top of the most tottering part of the pile one afternoon, when I saw a pair of bead-like eyes, and--yes, I could swear to it--a torn ear. But before I could spring to the ground they had vanished behind the corn-chest.

This was how it came about that when the Captain's room was cosiest, and he and his friends were kindest, I used to steal away from luxuries which are dear to every fibre of my constitution, and pat hastily down to the dirty hole, where Terence accumulated old rubbish and misused and mislaid valuables--in the wild hope that I might hear, smell, or see the ragged-eared enemy of my peace.

What hours I have wasted, now blinking with sleep, now on the alert at sounds like the revelries of mocking mice.

When I say that I have even risked wet feet, on a damp afternoon, to get there--every cat will understand how wild must have been the infatuation!

I tried to reason myself out of it. "Toots," I would say, "you banished him from your master's room, and you have probably banished him from Terence's. Why pursue the matter farther? So pitiful an object is unworthy of your revenge."

"Very true," I would reply to myself, "but I want a turn in the air. I'll just step down as far as the saddle-room once more, and make myself finally comfortable by looking behind the old barrel. I don't think I went quite round it."

There is no delusion so strong when it besets you, or so complete a failure in its results--as the hope of getting relief from an infatuation by indulging it once more. It grows worse every time.

One day I was stealing away as usual, when I caught my master's eye with a peculiar expression in it. He was gnawing his moustaches too. I am very fond of him, and I ran back to the chair and looked up and mewed, for I wanted to know what was the matter.

"You're a curious cat, Toots," said he; "but I suppose you're only like the rest of the world. I did think you did care a little bit for me. It's only the cream, is it, old fellow? As a companion, you prefer Terence? Eh? Well, off with you!"

But I need hardly say that I would not leave him. It was no want of love for him that led me to the saddle-room. I was not base enough to forget that he had been my friend in need, even if he had been less amiable to me since. All that evening I lay on his breast and slept. _But I dreamt of the mouse!_

The next morning he went out riding.

"He will not miss me now," thought I. "I will devote the morning to hunting through that wretched room inch by inch, for the last time. It will satisfy me that the mouse is not there, and it really is a duty to try and convince myself of this, that I may be cured of an infatuation which causes annoyance to so excellent a master."

I hurried off as rapidly as befitted the vigour of the resolution, and when I got into the saddle-room I saw the mouse. And when the mouse saw me he fled like the wind.

I confess that I should have lost him then, but that a hole on which he had reckoned was stopped up, and he had to turn.

What a chase it was! Never did I meet his equal for audacity and fleetness. But I knew the holes as well as he did, and cut him off at every one. Round and round we went--behind the barrel, over the corn-chest, and then he made for the middle of the room.

Now, amongst all the rubbish which Terence had collected about him, there were many old articles of clothing belonging to the Captain, including a pair of long riding-boots, which had been gathering mildew, and stiffening out of shape in their present position ever since I came. One of these was lying on the floor; and just as I was all but upon the mouse, he darted into the boot.

A quiver of delight ran through me. With all his unwonted sagacity, Master Mouse had run straight into a trap. The boot was wide, and head and shoulders I plunged in after my prey.

I scented him all the way down the leg, but the painful fact is that I could not quite get to the bottom. He must have crouched in the toe or heel, and I could get no farther than the calf. Oh, if my master's legs had but been two inches shorter! I should have clawed into the remotest corner of the foot. As it was, I pushed, I struggled, I shook, I worried the wretched boot--but all in vain.

Only when I was all but choked did I withdraw my head for a gasp of fresh air. And there was the Captain himself, yelling with laughter, and sprawling all over the place in convulsions of unseemly merriment, with those long legs which--but they are not his fault, poor man!

* * * * *

That is my story--an unfinished tale, of which I do not myself know the end. This is the one crook in my luxurious lot--that I cannot see the last of that mouse.

Happily, I don't think that my master any longer misunderstands my attachment to the saddle-room. The other day, he sat scribbling for a long time with a pencil and paper, and when he had done it, he threw the sketch to me and said, "There, Toots, look at that, and you will see what became of your friend!"

It was civilly meant, and I append the sketch for the sake of those whom it may inform. I do not understand pictures myself.

Those boots have a strange fascination for me now. I sit for hours by the mouth of the one where he went in and never came back. Not the faintest squeak from its recesses has ever stirred the sensitive hairs of my watchful ear. He must be starving, but not a nibble of the leather have I heard. I doze, but I am ever on the alert. Nightmares occasionally disturb me. I fancy I see him, made desperate by hunger, creep anxiously to the mouth of the boot, pricking his tagged ear. Once I had a terrible vision of his escaping, and of his tail as it vanished round the corner.

But these are dreams. He has never returned, I suspect that the truth is, that he had a fit from fright, in the toe of the boot, and is dead. Some day Terence will shake out his skeleton.

It grows very cold. This place is full of draughts, and the floor is damp.

He _must_ be dead. He never could have lasted so long without a move or a nibble.

And it is tea-time. I think I shall join the Captain.

[The end]
Juliana Horatia Ewing's short story: Toots And Boots

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