is so nice; butat times I am hungry and thirsty both, if you can understand me--then Idrink the milk. At times I am allowed to sit on the table when mymistress is at breakfast, and I often put out my paw, ever so gently,and help myself to a morsel from her plate; but I wouldn't do it whenshe isn't looking. The other day I took a fancy to a nice smelt, and Ijust went and told my mistress and led her to the kitchen, and I gotwhat I wanted at once.
"I am never put out at night. I have always the softest and warmest ofbeds, and in winter, towards morning, when the fire goes out, I goupstairs and creep (singing loudly to let her know it is I) into mymistress's arms.
"If I want to go on the tiles any night, I have only to ask. A fellowdoes want to go on the tiles now and then, doesn't he? Oh, it is ajolly thing, is a night on the tiles! One of these days I may give youmy experience of life on the tiles, and then you'll know all about it--in the meantime, madam, you may try it yourself. Let it be moonlight,and be cautious, you know, for, as you have only two feet, you will feelrather awkward at first.
"Did I ever know what it was to be hungry? Yes, indeed, once I did; andI'm now going to tell you of the saddest experience in all my long life.You see it happened like this. It was autumn; I was then about fiveyears of age, and a finer-looking Tom, I could see by my mirror, nevertrod on four legs. For some days I had observed an unusual bustle bothupstairs and downstairs. The servants, especially, seemed all off theirheads, and did nothing but open doors and shut them, and nail up thingsin large boxes, and drink beer and eat cold meat whenever they stood onend. What was up, I wondered? Went and asked my mistress. `Off to theseaside, pussy Tom,' said she; `and you're going too, if you're good.'I determined to be good, and not make faces at the canary. But onenight I had been out rather late at a cat-concert, and, as usual, camehome with the milk in the morning. In order to make sure of a goodsleep I went upstairs to an unused attic, as was my wont, and fellasleep on an old pillow. How long I slept I shall never know, but itmust have been far on in the day when I awoke, feeling hungry enough toeat a hunter. As I trotted downstairs the first thing that alarmed mewas the unusual stillness. I mewed, and a thousand echoes seemed tomock me. The ticking of the old clock on the stairs had never soundedto me so loud and clear before. I went, one by one, into every room.Nothing in any of them but the stillness, apparently, of death anddesolation. The blinds were all down, and I could even hear the micenibbling behind the wainscot.
"My heart felt like a great cold lump of lead, as the sad truth flashedupon my mind--my kind mistress had gone, with all the family, and I wasleft, forgotten, deserted! My first endeavour was to find my way out.Had I succeeded, even then I would have found my mistress, for cats havean instinct you little wot of. But every door and window was fastened,and there wasn't a hole left which a rat could have crept through.
"What nights and days of misery followed!--it makes me shudder to thinkof them even now.
"For the first few days I did not suffer much from hunger. There werecrumbs left by the servants, and occasionally a mouse crept out from thekitchen fender, and I had that. But by the fifth day the crumbs had allgone, and with them the mice, too, had disappeared. They nibbled nomore in the cupboard nor behind the wainscot; and as the clock had rundown there wasn't a sound in the old house by night or by day. I nowbegan to suffer both from hunger and thirst. I spent my time eithermewing piteously at the hall-door, or roaming purposelessly through theempty house, or watching, watching, faint and wearily, for the mice thatnever came. Perhaps the most bitter part of my sufferings just then wasthe thought that would keep obtruding itself on my mind, that for allthe love with which I had loved my mistress, and the faithfulness withwhich I had served her, she had gone away, and left, me to die all alonein the deserted house. Me, too, who would have laid down my life toplease her had she only stayed near me.
"How slowly the time dragged on--how long and dreary the days, howterrible the nights! Perhaps it was when I was at my very worst, that Ihappened to be standing close by my empty saucer, and in front of mymirror. At that time I was almost too weak to walk; I tottered on myfeet, and my head swam and moved from side to side when I tried to lookat anything. Suddenly I started. Could that wild, attenuated image inthe mirror be my reflection? How it glared upon me from its glassyeyes! And now I knew it could not be mine, but some dreadful thing sentto torture me. For as I gazed it uttered a yell--mournful, prolonged,unearthly--and dashed at me through and out from the mirror. For sometime we seemed to writhe together in agony on the carpet. Then up againwe started, the mirror-fiend and I. `Follow me fast!' it seemed to cry,and I was impelled to follow. Wherever it was, there was I. How ittore up and down the house, yelling as it went and tearing everything inits way! How it rushed half up the chimney, and was dashed back againby invisible hands! How it flung itself, half blind and bleeding, atthe Venetian blinds, and how madly it tried again to escape into themirror and shivered the glass! Then mills began in my head--mills andmachinery--and the roar of running waters. Then I found myself walkingall alone in a green and beautiful meadow, with a blue sky overhead andbirds and butterflies all about, a cool breeze fanning my brow, and,better than all, _water_, pure, and clear, and cool, meandering overbrown smooth pebbles, beside which the minnows chased the sunbeams. AndI drank--and slept.
"When I awoke, I found myself lying on the mat in the hall, and thesunlight shimmering in through the stained glass, and falling in patchesof green and crimson on the floor. Very cold now, but quiet andsensible. There was a large hole in my side, and blood was all about,so I must have, in my delirium, _torn the flesh from my own ribs anddevoured it_. [Note 1.]
"I knew now that death was come, and would set me free at last.
"Then the noise of wheels in my ears, and the sound of human voices;then a blank; and then some one pouring something down my throat; and Iopened my eyes and beheld my dear young mistress. How she was weeping!The sight of her sorrow would have melted your heart. `Oh, pussy,pussy, do not die!' she was crying.
"Pussy didn't die; but till this day I believe it was only to please mydear mistress I crept back again to life and love.
"I'm very old now, and my thoughts dwell mostly in the past, and I likea cheery fire and a drop of warm milk better than ever. But I have allmy faculties and all my comforts. We have other cats in the house, butI never feel jealous, for my mistress, look you, loves me better thanall the cats in the kingdom--fact--she told me so."
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Note 1. Not overdrawn. A case of the kind actually occurred some yearsago in the new town of Edinburgh.--The Author.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
"GREYFRIARS' BOBBY"--"PEPPER"--THE BLIND FIDDLER'S DOG.
"Alas! for love if this were all, And nought beyond on earth."
"A good story cannot be too often told," said Frank one evening.
"Well, I doubt that very much," said my wife; "there is a probability ofa good story being spoiled by over-recital."
"I'm of the same opinion," I assented; "but as I intend the story of`Greyfriars' Bobby' to be printed in my next book, I will just read itover to you as I have written it."
I had fain hoped, I began, to find out something of Bobby's antecedents,and something about the private history of the poor man Grey, who diedlong before Bobby became a hero in the eyes of the world, and attractedthe kindly notice of the good and noble William Chambers, then LordProvost of Edinburgh. I have been unable to do so, however; even anadvertisement in a local paper failed to elicit the information I somuch desired.
What Mr Grey was, or who he was, no one can tell me. Some years ago,runs an account of this loving, faithful dog, a stranger arrived inEdinburgh bringing with him a little rough-haired dog, that slept in thesame room with him, and followed him in his walks, but no one knew whothe stranger was, or whence he came.
The following account of Bobby is culled from the _Animal World_ of thesecond of May, 18
70:--
"It is reported that Bobby is a small rough Scotch terrier, grizzledblack, with tan feet and nose; and his story runs thus:--More thaneleven years ago, a poor man named Grey died, and was buried in the oldGreyfriars churchyard, Edinburgh. His grave is now levelled by time,and nothing marks it. But the spot had not been forgotten by hisfaithful dog. James Brown, the old curator, remembers the funeral well,and that Bobby was one of the most conspicuous of the mourners. Jamesfound the dog lying on the grave the next morning; and as dogs are notadmitted he turned him out. The second morning the same; the thirdmorning, though cold and wet, there he was, shivering. The did man tookpity on him and fed him. This convinced the dog that he had a rightthere. Sergeant Scott, R.E., allowed him his board for a length oftime, but for more than nine years