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Pussy Black-Face: The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends

<h2 class='c006'>CHAPTER XIII PIGS, COWS AND CHICKENS</h2></div> There were several pig-pens. As the young man explained to us later, it does not do to put pigs of different sizes together. The big ones impose on the little ones, and push them away from the feeding-troughs, so all Farmer Gleason's pigs were in assorted sizes. They were the rudest pigs I ever saw, but of course I have not seen many live ones. I have seen plenty of dead ones in Boston. Their manners had plenty of repose, but these creatures were yelling, jumping, pushing, snorting and charging each other as if they were crazy. Each pen wanted to be fed first. Mary soon grew calm, then she began to laugh and scream, for the pigs excited her. She and her mother stood on one side, while Denno went up- and down-stairs with more 210feed. He got some milk from a hogshead—and the milk almost set them wild. They pushed and slobbered till each pig's head was covered with white, and even the man had to laugh, though he said he saw their greedy goings-on twice every day of his life. The man had to do his work, and could not stay in the barn cellar, so Mrs. Denville and Mary and I followed him up-stairs. Little Mary was wiping her eyes, and I heard her promising herself many visits to the pigs in future. When we got to the barn floor, Denno ran up the ladder where Thummie had gone, and began to throw down hay. Mrs. Denville stepped along the floor, and called to Mary, “Come here, dear, and see the horses.” There were some fine box stalls there on the south side of the barn. Glory and Dungeon came forward, and put their heads out, expecting to receive a dainty of some kind. “We have nothing now,” said Mrs. Denville. “The next time we come, we will bring you some bread or lumps of sugar—what 211fine big creatures you are! Mary, here is a pony,” and she passed to the next stall. “That is the children's pony,” said Denno who at this moment came down from the ladder. “They call him Ponto.” The pony was very affectionate and gentle, and Mary could hardly bear to leave him. He was a dapper little fellow with a fine arched neck, and silky mane, and beautiful eyes. “Come, I want to see the cows,” said Mrs. Denville. “I wish to see the source of your excellent milk supply.” The cow stalls ran all along the other side of the barn. Denno took us in, for Mrs. Denville was rather nervous. “They wouldn't hurt you, ma'am,” he said; “still, if you're frightened, don't go too close.” “This is Miss Molly,” he said, pointing to a fine red cow who had a chain round her neck, and was having a good feed of something from a box. “She is no particular breed, but a grand milker. This is a Jersey,” and he passed to the next stall. 212“Oh, what eyes, mamma,” murmured Mary, “what eyes.” The cow had eyes like big brown ponds. They were beautiful country eyes, and she turned them on us in a calm and deliberate way. We were walking behind the cows, but this one seemed so gentle that Mrs. Denville stepped forward, and glanced in her manger. “What is she licking in there?” “Rock salt, ma'am,” said Denno. “They all have a big lump, and they set great store by it.” There were six or seven more cows, all sleek, fat and clean. “Do you groom them the way you do the horses?” asked Mrs. Denville. “Yes, ma'am, but not so much. We would if we had time, but this is the busy season, and we're just jumping.” Mary was giving one of her happy little shrieks. “Oh! mamma, see what I have found. I almost stepped on it.” I had seen it before she did. It was a pretty little red calf tied near one of the 213cows. Oh! how anxious that cow was about it. “Is it her baby?” asked Mary. Denno told her that it was. “Then why don't you put it in with her?” asked my little mistress. “It wouldn't do, little miss. It would be taking milk all the time. We always keep the calves tied all day, except a little while night and morning when they can get all the milk they like from their mother. But I guess I'll begin pretty soon to let this calf out to pasture.” “Are these cows going out to-day?” inquired Mrs. Denville. “Oh, yes, ma'am. I'm late getting them milked. A neighbor's son hurt his foot, and I had to go help attend to it. Usually I milk by daylight, and get the cows out of the stable. So-so, bossy,” he went on. Going in beside the cow he called Miss Molly, he unfastened her chain, and allowed her to leave her stall. She immediately went to a kind of trough at one side of the stable, where there was 214running water. What a good long drink she had. Then she leisurely made her way toward a door in the north side of the barn, stood for a few seconds in the doorway, as if, Mrs. Denville said, she were admiring the magnificent view of the Purple Hills in the distance. Denno was unloosing the other cows, and as Miss Molly heard them coming behind her, she stepped down a sloping walk, and entered a large green field that stretched away beyond the river. “I suppose she won't come back till dark,” said Mrs. Denville. “No, ma'am,” replied Denno, “but she'll be here then, waiting to get in that door, and all the other cows with her.” “Don't they ever run away like naughty children?” asked Mary. “No,” replied the man, “they don't run away, but sometimes if we are careless about our fences, they get into the neighbor's pastures. Usually though, they come right home. You see they love their stable. Mr. Gleason keeps them clean and comfortable, 215and gives them extra feed, and cows know when they are well off as well as human beings. They like to sleep in their own beds. Some of the neighbors have to run all over their pastures hunting cows at night but we never do.” “Mamma, what are you laughing at?” inquired Mary taking her hand. Mrs. Denville's face was very much amused. “I was just thinking, Mary,” she said, “how many points of similarity there are between human beings, and the lower order of animals. These cows are just like us in one respect. They like a quiet, happy home. You remember what an unhappy household there is next us in Boston. The mother delicate and fretful, the servants unruly, the master of the house a tyrant. Their sons hate to come home. I have seen them entering the front door late in the evening with a regretful air, as if they were saying, “I wish I did not have to spend the night here—”” “And papa just hurries home,” concluded Mary, as her mother paused with a slight 216frown, as if to say, “I should not be talking about my neighbors.” “How large is the pasture?” asked Mrs. Denville hurriedly of the young man, and as she spoke, she walked to the open door. “It goes across the river, and away back of that wood, ma'am. You can't see the cows when they are at the further end of it.” “I should like to walk back there,” said Mrs. Denville. “Would it be too far for you, Mary?” “Oh, no, mamma,” said my little mistress, but just as we were about to step out through the doorway, Denno said, “Don't you want to look at the oxen, ma'am?” “Yes, indeed,” replied Mrs. Denville, and she went back into the stable. Denno proudly opened a half-door that led into a very large stall. There were two enormous creatures in there, and I was quite frightened of them. “Are they cows?” asked Mary in an awed voice. “No, oxen,” replied her mother. “They 217do the work of horses. Are you going to let them out, Denno?” “Yes, ma'am. They go to pasture days that we are not working them.” Mrs. Denville and Mary drew up very close in one of the vacant cow stalls, and Denno let out the big animals. They were beauties, dark red with fine large eyes and big horns. They gave us a calm, steady look as they passed by, then they too went on out into the sunshine. As soon as they disappeared, Denno seized a big broom and began to sweep and tidy the stable, so that the cows would find it in order when they came home at night. Mrs. Denville and Mary went out-of-doors, and I, of course, followed them. Beyond the big barn was what Mr. Gleason called his young orchard. Young, I suppose, because the trees were small, and just on the edge of this orchard stood a red building having many windows. “It looks like a hen-house,” said Mrs. Denville, “let us go and see.” We walked toward it, found ourselves confronted 218by a wooden fence that bounded the pasture. I easily went under it, and after a little searching, Mrs. Denville found a gate. She and Mary went through, then we approached the little building and looked in. The door was wide open. Inside, there were plastered walls and ceiling and a number of perches. It was as clean as wax, and if it had not been for the perches, if we had seen tables and chairs, I should have said it was some little house for human beings. I am sure many poor people in cities have not a home as snug as Farmer Gleason's hens have. The windows were open, and the whole place was as quiet as—well, as quiet as the rest of the things in the country. The floor was covered with grass sods, and Mrs. Denville stepping softly in asked, “Is there any one at home?” “Ka, ka, ka,” said a demure voice. “Oh! the nest boxes,” remarked Mrs. Denville in a voice equally demure, and she approached the wall where there were fastened 219up some rows of things that I did not understand. It seems they were nest boxes. I crept closely after Mrs. Denville, then, as I could not see, I sprang on the rack of perches. Oh! how cunning! There in that nice roomy nest, on a clean straw bed, sat a fat gray hen with a red comb and the quaintest air in the world. “She is likely sitting on eggs,” said Mrs. Denville, “hens are shy at such times. We must not frighten her.” “Oh, mamma,” exclaimed Mary, “I must stroke her,” and she reached out one cautious finger. “Be careful,” said her mother, but her caution was not needed. The hen was evidently a great pet, for she only pecked kindly at Mary's finger, and said again gently, “Ka! Ka! Ka!” “I wonder how many eggs she has,” continued Mrs. Denville, and she gently pushed the hen on one side. The gray biddy, far from resenting this familiarity, agreeably stepped off the nest, 220said very loudly a number of times, “Ka! Ka! Ka!” and went up to a dish of water where she took a great many drinks. Little Mary was squealing with delight. There was one new-laid egg in the nest beside a china nest egg. “May I have it? May I have it?” she cried, and Mrs. Denville said, “Certainly, if you will explain to Mrs. Gleason how you got it.” “Why, here are more nest eggs,” said Mrs. Denville, and she examined the other boxes, “and quite a number of eggs. We must get a basket, and come up here for the fresh eggs every day. It will amuse you, Mary, and save Mrs. Gleason trouble.” The gray hen after drinking all she wished, had taken to cackling. “Poor biddy, biddy,” said Mrs. Denville in a clear voice, “Mary and I will bring you up some food.” The moment she made that promise, she had more claimants on her favor. I never saw anything more funny than the way in which more hens arrived after she raised her 221voice. They seemed actually to spring out of the earth, and little Mary squealed with delight. First of all, a big, white rooster came running round the corner of the hen-house, his legs just sticking out behind him. He drew up quickly when he saw Mrs. Denville, as if to say, “Why, here is a stranger, what are you calling us for?” Then, as if persuaded that she had something for him, he glanced over his shoulder, and called to the hens, “Kut, kut, ka, da dee. Come on, girls, there is nothing to be afraid of.” The girls came cackling, running, complaining, and pushing for front places. Mary was very much disappointed to think that she had nothing for them. Mrs. Denville, however, found a little mixed grain covered up in a box and this she gave to Mary. Oh! how tame those hens were. They crowded round my little mistress, and ate from her hand, and I nearly collapsed with laughter as I listened to their talk. Mary and her mother could not understand them, but I did. 222“Kut, kut, girls,” said the rooster, “these strangers have good faces. Must be some relation to the Gleasons. Don't be frightened, girls. Stuff yourselves all you can. We don't get much grain these days since we are allowed to run in the orchard. A little corn sits well on the angleworms in the crop. Hurry up, girls, the sun is getting high, there are lots of eggs to be laid.” Then the hens would answer him. “Ka, ka, the Leghorn is pushing me. I can't get at the little girl's hand. It is a small hand anyway. That Plymouth Rock just pecked me—I've got a horse mane oat in my throat—it's stuck fast, let me to the water dish. I don't like these strangers much. I wish the children would come home. Some one pulled my tail—I say, it's mean to push.” Then the rooster would settle their differences, stepping very high and going gravely from one to another. I don't know much about hens. I never had any chance to study them in Boston, but I easily saw that this rooster was a good fowl. He was vain, that was his one fault. Mrs. Denville told Mary 223that he was a white Wyandotte, and a very handsome creature. He understood her, and after that he was so proud that he could not eat. He just strutted. “Do they see my legs, girls?” he chuckled in his throat to the hens, “do they see my nice fine legs, and the big spurs just like a gamecock's? Oh, I hope they will notice my legs. It is all very well to praise my body, but I am very proud of these nice clean feet. Not a scale on them. Listen, girls, they're giving me more praise. Oh! isn't it lovely. I am so happy I can't eat. I wish my comb hadn't got frost-bitten last winter. It has marred its beauty just a little bit. Oh, girls, this is a proud day for your lord and master, when ladies from Boston give him such delicious taffy.” I had to laugh myself to hear him. Mary was perfectly convulsed, though she did not understand him as I did, and had to guess at his meaning. He had a good business head too, for the instant that the grain was gone, he made his hens follow him to the orchard. 224“Not the meadow, girls,” he said sharply, as some of them seemed inclined to rebel and go down by the river. “Didn't I tell you you must give the grubs a rest there for a while? Follow me to the orchard,” and he strutted along, and pecked, and clucked, and looked after them till they all went meekly after him. Then we saw him in the distance, scratching for worms, calling his girls and giving them everything he found. I did not see him eat once while we were watching. Oh! what a good walk we had, after the hens left us. Mrs. Denville with Mary hanging on her arm, sauntered down the gentle hillside to the meadow. There we came to the river, and Mary took time to strip off her shoes and stockings, and paddle in it. There were willows and alders growing all along the edge of it. Mrs. Denville said the farmer had planted them there to keep the watercourse from changing, then there were small things, peppermint, spearmint, and goldenrod, which Mrs. Denville said would blossom toward autumn, and wild hop vines, and little Mary brushing in among them, 225bruised the leaves which filled the air with perfume. After she had got tired of paddling in the water, she put on her shoes and stockings, and we went over a foot-bridge, and across another meadow, then up through an orchard of pear trees and across a field of winter rye, and then—then into the most beautiful wood I have ever seen. It was not like the parks about Boston, lovely as they are. They have a calm, cultivated air. This wood in Farmer Gleason's land is wild. Things grow any way they like. First are the tall pine trees. I felt myself such a very little cat as I stared up at their long, straight trunks, and their green heads away up, up against the blue sky. What happy trees to be so very far up in the air! It must be the next best thing to flying. Under the pines, were shorter trees, some with big leaves—hardwood trees, but mostly spruces and firs, shorter and more stubby growths. They were all lovely, anyway, then under them, spread huckleberry 226and blueberry bushes. What crops we shall have later, for we saw thousands and millions of little berries forming. In one place, we saw a cranberry bog. I stepped on it, and found it very soft for my feet, softer than the softest carpet in the Denvilles' house in Boston. The earth seemed to be spongy underneath, then there was moss, and then the pretty trailing vines of cranberry. I am very fond of turkey with a suspicion of cranberry sauce. I hope the farmer's wife will give us some. Well, we stayed in that wood till dinner time, for here dinner is at twelve. Mrs. Denville and Mary took off their hats, and sat down with their backs against the same tree trunk, and they ate the strong, sweet wintergreen leaves and talked about the beauties of nature, and then they went to sleep, and only woke when a dismal sound came faintly to us. Mrs. Denville sprang up. She said she thought she was in a steamer, and the foghorn was blowing. Then she remembered that country people blew a horn for meals, 227so she took her little daughter by the hand, and they both walked slowly back to the house. We had a very odd dinner. “Pork and beans,” Mrs. Gleason called it. It tasted very nice here, but I have a feeling that I wouldn't like it in the city. The farmer says it is very “hearty,” and he has a good deal of it as the haying season approaches. Well, I must go to sleep. I am tired of reviewing the events of this day, pleasant as they have mostly been. If it weren't for Serena, I should not have a worry to-night. <div class='chapter'> 228 <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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