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-Presents-
FURTHER CHRONICLES OF AVONLEA
as related by L.M. Montgomery
Chapter I
MAX always blesses the animal when it is referred to;
and I don't deny that things have worked together for
good after all. But when I think of the anguish of mind
which Ismay and I underwent on account of that
abominable cat, it is not a blessing that arises
uppermost in my thoughts.
I never was fond of cats, although I admit they are
well enough in their place, and I can worry along
comfortably with a nice, matronly old tabby who can
take care of herself and be of some use in the world.
As for Ismay, she hates cats and always did.
But Aunt Cynthia, who adored them, never could bring
herself to understand that any one could possibly
dislike them. She firmly believed that Ismay and I
really liked cats deep down in our hearts, but that,
owing to some perverse twist in our moral natures, we
would not own up to it, but willfully persisted in
declaring we didn't.
Of all cats I loathed that white Persian cat of Aunt
Cynthia's. And, indeed, as we always suspected and
finally proved, Aunt herself looked upon the creature
with more pride than affection. She would have taken
ten times the comfort in a good, common puss that she
did in that spoiled beauty. But a Persian cat with a
recorded pedigree and a market value of one hundred
dollars tickled Aunt Cynthia's pride of possession to
such an extent that she deluded herself into believing
that the animal was really the apple of her eye.
It had been presented to her when a kitten by a
missionary nephew who had brought it all the way home
from Persia; and for the next three years Aunt
Cynthia's household existed to wait on that cat, hand
and foot. It was snow-white, with a bluish-gray spot on
the tip of its tail; and it was blue-eyed and deaf and
delicate. Aunt Cynthia was always worrying lest it
should take cold and die. Ismay and I used to wish that
it would - we were so tired of hearing about it and its
whims. But we did not say so to Aunt Cynthia. She would
probably never have spoken to us again and there was no
wisdom in offending Aunt Cynthia. When you have an
unencumbered aunt, with a fat bank account, it is just
as well to keep on good terms with her, if you can.
Besides, we really liked Aunt Cynthia very much - at
times. Aunt Cynthia was one of those rather
exasperating people who nag at and find fault with you
until you think you are justified in hating them, and
who then turn round and do something so really nice and
kind for you that you feel as if you were compelled to
love them dutifully instead.
So we listened meekly when she discoursed on Fatima -
the cat's name was Fatima - and, if it was wicked of us
to wish for the latter's decease, we were well punished
for it later on.
One day, in November, Aunt Cynthia came sailing out to
Spencervale. She really came in a phaeton, drawn by a
fat gray pony, but somehow Aunt Cynthia always gave you
the impression of a full rigged ship coming gallantly
on before a favorable wind.
That was a Jonah day for us all through. Everything had
gone wrong. Ismay had spilled grease on her velvet
coat, and the fit of the new blouse I was making was
hopelessly askew, and the kitchen stove smoked and the
bread was sour. Moreover, Huldah Jane Keyson, our tried
and trusty old family nurse and cook and general
"boss," had what she called the "realagy" in her
shoulder; and, though Huldah Jane is as good an old
creature as ever lived, when she has the "realagy"
other people who are in the house want to get out of it
and, if they can't, feel about as comfortable as St.
Lawrence on his gridiron.
And on top of this came Aunt Cynthia's call and
request.
"Dear me," said Aunt Cynthia, sniffing, "don't I smell
smoke? You girls must manage your range very badly.
Mine never smokes. But it is no more than one might
expect when two girls try to keep house without a man
about the place."
"We get along very well without a man about the place,"
I said loftily. Max hadn't been in for four whole days
and, though nobody wanted to see him particularly, I
couldn't help wondering why. "Men are nuisances."
"I dare say you would like to pretend you think so,"
said Aunt Cynthia, aggravatingly. "But no woman ever
does really think so, you know. I imagine that pretty
Anne Shirley, who is visiting Ella Kimball, doesn't. I
saw her and Dr. Irving out walking this afternoon,
looking very well satisfied with themselves. If you
dilly-dally much longer, Sue, you will let Max slip
through your fingers yet."
That was a tactful thing to say to me, who had refused
Max Irving so often that I had lost count. I was
furious, and so I smiled most sweetly on my maddening
aunt.
"Dear Aunt, how amusing of you," I said, smoothly. "You
talk as if I wanted Max."
"So you do," said Aunt Cynthia.
"If so, why should I have refused him time and again?"
I asked, smilingly. Right well Aunt Cynthia knew I had.
Max always told her.
"Goodness alone knows why," said Aunt Cynthia, "but you
may do it once too often and find yourself taken at
your word. There is something very fascinating about
this Anne Shirley."
"Indeed there is," I assented. "She has the loveliest
eyes I ever saw. She would be just the wife for Max,
and I hope he will marry her."
"Humph," said Aunt Cynthia. "Well, I won't entice you
into telling any more fibs. And I didn't drive out here
to-day in all this wind to talk sense into you
concerning Max. I'm going to Halifax for two months and
I want you to take charge of Fatima for me, while I am
away."
"Fatima!" I exclaimed.
"Yes. I don't dare to trust her with the servants. Mind
you always warm her milk before you give it to her, and
don't on any account let her run out of doors."
I looked at Ismay and Ismay looked at me. We knew we
were in for it. To refuse would mortally offend Aunt
Cynthia. Besides, if I betrayed any unwillingness, Aunt
Cynthia would be sure to put it down to grumpiness over
what she had said about Max, and rub it in for years.
But I ventured to ask, "What if anything happens to her
while you are away?"
"It is to prevent that, I'm leaving her with you," said
Aunt Cynthia. "You simply must not let anything happen
to her. It will do you good to have a little
responsibility. And you will have a chance to find out
what an adorable creature Fatima really is. Well, that
is all settled. I'll send Fatima out to-morrow."
"You can take care of that horrid Fatima beast
yourself," said Ismay, when the door closed behind Aunt
Cynthia. "I won't touch her with a yard-stick. You had
no business to say we'd take her."
"Did I say we would take her?" I demanded, crossly.
"Aunt Cynthia took our consent for granted. And you
know, as well as I do, we couldn't have refused. So
what is the use of being grouchy?"
"If anything happens to her Aunt Cynthia will hold us
responsible," said Ismay darkly.
"Do you think Anne Shirley is really engaged to Gilbert
Blythe?" I asked curiously.
"I've heard that she was," said Ismay, absently. "Does
she eat anything but milk? Will it do to give her
mice?"
"Oh, I guess so. But do you think Max has really fallen
in love with her?"
"I dare say. What a relief it will be for you if he
has."
"Oh, of course," I said, frostily. "Anne Shirley or
Anne Anybody Else, is perfectly welcome to Max if she
wants him. I certainly do not. Ismay Meade, if that
stove doesn't stop smoking I shall fly into bits. This
is a detestable day. I hate that creature!"
"Oh, you shouldn't talk like that, when you don't even
know her," protested Ismay. "Every one says Anne
Shirley is lovely - "
"I was talking about Fatima," I cried in a rage.
"Oh!" said Ismay.
Ismay is stupid at times. I thought the way she said
"Oh" was inexcusably stupid.
Fatima arrived the next day. Max brought her out in a
covered basket, lined with padded crimson satin. Max
likes cats and Aunt Cynthia. He explained how we were
to treat Fatima and when Ismay had gone out of the room
- Ismay always went out of the room when she knew I
particularly wanted her to remain - he proposed to me
pleased. Max had been proposing to me about every two
months for two years. Sometimes, as in this case, he
went three months, and then I always wondered why. I
concluded that he could not be really interested in
Anne Shirley, and I was relieved. I didn't want to
marry Max but it was pleasant and convenient to have
him around, and we would miss him dreadfully if any
other girl snapped him up. He was so useful and always
willing to do anything for us - nail a shingle on the
roof, drive us to town, put down carpets - in short, a
very present help in all our troubles.
So I just beamed on him when I said no. Max began
counting on his fingers. When he got as far as eight he
shook his head and began over again.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I'm trying to count up how many times I have proposed
to you," he said. "But I can't remember whether I asked
you to marry me that day we dug up the garden or not.
If I did it makes - "
"No, you didn't," I interrupted.
"Well, that makes it eleven," said Max reflectively.
"Pretty near the limit, isn't it? My manly pride will
not allow me to propose to the same girl more than
twelve times. So the next time will be the last, Sue
darling."
"Oh," I said, a trifle flatly. I forgot to resent his
calling me darling. I wondered if things wouldn't be
rather dull when Max gave up proposing to me. It was
the only excitement I had. But of course it would be
best - and he couldn't go on at it forever, so, by the
way of gracefully dismissing the subject, I asked him
what Miss Shirley was like.
"Very sweet girl," said Max. "You know I always admired
those gray-eyed girls with that splendid Titian hair."
I am dark, with brown eyes. Just then I detested Max. I
got up and said I was going to get some milk for
Fatima.
I found Ismay in a rage in the kitchen. She had been up
in the garret, and a mouse had run across her foot.
Mice always get on Ismay's nerves.
"We need a cat badly enough," she fumed, "but not a
useless, pampered thing, like Fatima. That garret is
literally swarming with mice. You'll not catch me going
up there again."
Fatima did not prove such a nuisance as we had feared.
Huldah Jane liked her, and Ismay, in spite of her
declaration that she would have nothing to do with her,
looked after her comfort scrupulously. She even used to
get up in the middle of the night and go out to see if
Fatima was warm. Max came in every day and, being
around, gave us good advice.
Then one day, about three weeks after Aunt Cynthia's
departure, Fatima disappeared - just simply disappeared
as if she had been dissolved into thin air. We left her
one afternoon, curled up asleep in her basket by the
fire, under Huldah Jane's eye, while we went out to
make a call. When we came home Fatima was gone.
Huldah Jane wept and was as one whom the gods had made
mad. She vowed that she had never let Fatima out of her
sight the whole time, save once for three minutes when
she ran up to the garret for some summer savory. When
she came back the kitchen door had blown open and
Fatima had vanished.
Ismay and I were frantic. We ran about the garden and
through the out-houses, and the woods behind the house,
like wild creatures, calling Fatima, but in vain. Then
Ismay sat down on the front doorsteps and cried.
"She has got out and she'll catch her death of cold and
Aunt Cynthia will never forgive us."
"I'm going for Max," I declared. So I did, through the
spruce woods and over the field as fast as my feet
could carry me, thanking my stars that there was a Max
to go to in such a predicament.
Max came over and we had another search, but without
result. Days passed, but we did not find Fatima. I
would certainly have gone crazy had it not been for
Max. He was worth his weight in gold during the awful
week that followed. We did not dare advertise, lest
Aunt Cynthia should see it; but we inquired far and
wide for a white Persian cat with a blue spot on its
tail, and offered a reward for it; but nobody had seen
it, although people kept coming to the house, night and
day, with every kind of a cat in baskets, wanting to
know if it was the one we had lost.
"We shall never see Fatima again," I said hopelessly to
Max and Ismay one afternoon. I had just turned away an
must be ours - "cause it kem t
o our place, mem, a-
yowling fearful, mem, and it don't belong to nobody not
down Grafton way, mem."
"I'm afraid you won't," said Max. "She must have
perished from exposure long ere this."
"Aunt Cynthia will never forgive us," said Ismay,
dismally. "I had a presentiment of trouble the moment
that cat came to this house."
We had never heard of this presentiment before, but
Ismay is good at having presentiments - after things
happen.
"What shall we do?" I demanded, helplessly. "Max, can't
you find some way out of this scrape for us?"
"Advertise in the Charlottetown papers for a white
Persian cat," suggested Max. "Some one may have one for
sale. If so, you must buy it, and palm it off on your
good Aunt as Fatima. She's very short-sighted, so it
will be quite possible."
"But Fatima has a blue spot on her tail," I said.
"You must advertise for a cat with a blue spot on its
tail," said Max.
"It will cost a pretty penny," said Ismay dolefully.
"Fatima was valued at one hundred dollars."
"We must take the money we have been saving for our new
furs," I said sorrowfully. "There is no other way out
of it. It will cost us a good deal more if we lose Aunt
Cynthia's favor. She is quite capable of believing that
we have made away with Fatima deliberately and with
malice aforethought."
So we advertised. Max went to town and had the notice
inserted in the most important daily. We asked any one
who had a white Persian cat, with a blue spot on the
tip of its tail, to dispose of, to communicate with M.
I., care of the Enterprise.
We really did not have much hope that anything would
come of it, so we were surprised and delighted over the
letter Max brought home from town four days later. It
was a type-written screed from Halifax stating that the
writer had for sale a white Persian cat answering to
our description. The price was a hundred and ten
dollars, and, if M. I. cared to go to Halifax and
inspect the animal, it would be found at 110 Hollis
Street, by inquiring for "Persian."
"Temper your joy, my friends," said Ismay, gloomily.
"The cat may not suit. The blue spot may be too big or
too small or not in the right place. I consistently
refuse to believe that any good thing can come out of
this deplorable affair."
Just at this moment there was a knock at the door and I
hurried out. The postmaster's boy was there with a
telegram. I tore it open, glanced at it, and dashed
back into the room.
"What is it now?" cried Ismay, beholding my face.
I held out the telegram. It was from Aunt Cynthia. She
had wired us to send Fatima to Halifax by express
immediately.
For the first time Max did not seem ready to rush into
the breach with a suggestion. It was I who spoke first.
"Max," I said, imploringly, "you'll see us through
this, won't you? Neither Ismay nor I can rush off to
Halifax at once. You must go to-morrow morning. Go
right to 110 Hollis Street and ask for 'Persian.' If
the cat looks enough like Fatima, buy it and take it to
Aunt Cynthia. If it doesn't - but it must! You'll go,
won't you?"
"That depends," said Max.
I stared at him. This was so unlike Max.
"You are sending me on a nasty errand," he said,
coolly. "How do I know that Aunt Cynthia will be
deceived after all, even if she be short-sighted.
Buying a cat in a joke is a huge risk. And if she
should see through the scheme I shall be in a pretty
mess."
"Oh, Max," I said, on the verge of tears.
"Of course," said Max, looking meditatively into the
fire, "if I were really one of the family, or had any
reasonable prospect of being so, I would not mind so
much. It would be all in the day's work then. But as it
is - "
Ismay got up and went out of the room.
"Oh, Max, please," I said.
"Will you marry me, Sue?" demanded Max sternly. "If you
will agree, I'll go to Halifax and beard the lion in
his den unflinchingly. If necessary, I will take a