Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 March 1877 — MRS. BUNSBY’S CAT. [ARTICLE]

MRS. BUNSBY’S CAT.

A small red farm-house, with a smooth green lawn in front, and an old willow at one end, was the home of the Dolittle’s—a type of a thousand other homes in New England. By the doorway, now illuminated by tne last rays of the setting sun, sat Mr. Dolittle, smoking his evening pipe. Within the door sat Mrs. Dolittle, stringing apples. Their ages you could not have guessed within a dozen years, because you could not have told how many of the lines on hands and faces were written by Father Time, and how many were due to unintermittent toil, while there were no little subterfuges of dress to conceal defects or set on attractions. In all this they also were types of their class. Never had the Dolittles known actual want; never had they known what it was to possess a dollar for which they had not twenty different uses. Yet they had labored on contentedly enough, making the day’s toil meet the day’s necessities, and this was all they expected to do. Not but that they had their dreams, like other mortals. Even now they were discussing the good fortune of a neighbor who had lately received a bequest of a thousand dollars. “If all the world should die, I shouldn’t inherit a thousand Hollars,” said Mr. Dolittle. “Ner I either,” said his wife. “ I remember I read a story once—-a real nice story it was—about a girl that went through all kinds of trials and tribulations, and just as she was ready to give up in despair, news came that her Uncle Kichard* way off in the Indies, had died and left her all his money. I couldn’t help thinking, ‘ what if that should happen to me!’ But then, I never had an uncle, so how could he go oti to the Indies and die?” Mr. Dolittle puffed away in silence a few minutes, and then said—“lt does seem, sometimes, as though the Lord showed partiality, giving so much to some folks, ana so little to others.” “ Why, husband, I’m afraid that’s wicked. Perhaps he does it because some folks can take care of it better than others.” “Umph!” grunted Mr. Dolittle. “I guess I could take care of it as well as old Wyatt; I shouldn’t be afraid to risk it, any way.” “ Well, I don’t know as I should. He haint got half your gumption, that’s certain ; and as to his wife, she don’t know B from a broomstick, as you may say,” said Mrs. Dolittle; then breaking off suddenly, she exclaimed, “My gracious, who’s that?” “ ’Taint anybody that lives round here,” said her husband. “ Anybody might know that,” said she. •* He’s coming this way, as true as you live!” “ ’Taint likely," said her husband. “ He m, though.” All doubt was set at rest, for the object of these remarks, a gentleman in black broadcloth, now left the highway, and crossing the green, approached the house. Bowing politely, he said — “This is the residence of Mr. Dolittle, I believe.” “ Well, yes, sir, I calc’late I own the place. Don’t know of anybody else that’s got any claim upon it,” answered Mr. Dolittle facetiously. “Just so. Nice thing to have a clear title, as we of the legal profession understand very well. That isn’t what I came to talk about, however. My errand, in fact, is to your wife. ” At these words, Mrs. Dolittle pushed her basket under the table, pulled off her apron and tucked it behind the basket, rolled down her sleeves, and even took a sly peep into the looking-glass—all before the stranger had fairly crossed the threshold. “ This is my wife,” announced Mr. IDcQittle. “And I am Mr. Driscoll,” said the gentleman, taking the chair to which Mrs. jDolittlb motioned him. “ I don’t remember as ever I knew anybody by the name of Driscoll,” said Mrs. Dolittle, doubtfully, and beginning to think there was some mistake in the matter, and that she was not the person he sought, after all. But his next words removed her doubts. “ Your maiden name was Nancy Tuttle, -was it not?” “It was, sir, now peering into his face, with heightened curiosity. “And some years before your marriage, you were in the service of Mrs. Bunsby ?” “So I was,” exclaimed Mrs. Dolittle. “Then, madam, I have news for you.” “ Good news, I hope.” “ Most persons would so regard it, and yet, as is ever the case in this world, the bitter is mingled with the sweet Mrs. Bunsby herself is dead.” “My poor old mistress! And what ailed her?” “ She died sitting in her chair. Apoplexy, most likely; but before hc'r death she made a will.” Mrs. Doolittle leaned forward eagerly. “ Our deceased friend was, as you know, a woman of many peculiarities. ■One of them was a great fondness for nets.” Then, drawing from his pocket a legal-looking document, he read, “ I give

and bequeath my beloved cat Spotted Tall, to my former serving-maid, Nancy Tuttle, now the wife of Thomas Dolittle.” Mrs. Dolittle’s countenance fell. “ And in order that said Spotted Tail be properly cared for, without detriment to said Nancy, I further devise that the sum of sixty dollars be paid to said Nancy annually during the life of said Spotted Tail,> or so long as said Nancy shall observe the conditions hereunto affixed.” Then followed minute directions for the treatment of the cat, which Mr. Driscoll having read, he asked if Mrs. Dolittle desired to accept the bequest on these terms. “ Certainly I do;” said she. “ I’d have taken care of the poor beast, any way, and sixty dollars don’t grow oh every bush." “ Then the cat shall be sent to you tomorrow,” said Mr. Driscoll, and, returning the will to his pocket, he took his leave without more ado. “ Well, if that don’t beat all!" exclaimed Mrs. Dolittle. “ The luck’s on our side this time,” returned her husband. “ Sixty dollars a year! Why, that’s the interest of a thousand, so we are as well off as Sam Wyatt, after all, and better, because he’ll fool his away, like enough, and ours is all tied up safp.” Late in the afternoon of the following day, a carriage and pair dashed across the green and stopped in front of Mr. Dolittle’s door. Spotted Tail had arrived. Never did ease-loving bachelor travel" with more appliances for comfort than this fortunate animal. First, he himself was handed out, Iving in a basket, lined and cushioned. Then followed a bottle of milk, the wing of a chicken and a hard-boiled egg, the remains of his lunch. Next came a porcelain plate and saucer —his ordinary dining utensils —a paper bag containing catnip, and a porringer to steep it in. Last of all followed his bed, a veritable bed, with eider down pillows, and the softest of blankets. “The fools ain’t all dead yet,” remarked Dolittle, slyly, as he took this from the hands of the attendant.

“ No, but one of ’em is,” answered the man, with A laugh, “ and has sent you her heir apparent,” Then he sprang into the carriage, as if very glad that his mission was safely executed. And now it is high time that you should be introduced to the hero of this sketch, who, when Mr. Dolittle entered the house, was standing in the middle of the floor, taking a survey of his new quarters. He was one of the largest of his species, with fur of that tawny hue which recent novelists are so fond of ascribing to the hair of their heroines. His eyes were of the same hue in his serene moments, though they were capable of flashing like fire when his temper was aroused, and seemed of inky blackness when the pupils dilated. His graceful and expressive tail was an appendage of which any cat might have been proud. In color it was like his body, saving for three distinct spots of a deeper hue, from which it is probable he derived his name, and not from that Indian warrior who has since made such a stir in the world, but whose fame was then scarcely known beyond the limits of his tribe.* When Spotted Tail had examined his surroundings sufficiently, he walked straight to Mrs. Dolittle’s rocking-chair, jumped into it, and curling himself up on the cushion, fell asleep, thereby evincing that ability to make the most of the situation, which is a main element of success. From that time he became thoroughly domesticated in the family, and wasted no vain regrets on his old home or his deceased mistress, while to the credit of Mrs. Dolittle be it said, she performed her part of the contract to the letter. • “ Sixty dollars a year is pretty well for taking care of a cat,” observed'Mrs. Dolittle, one evening, when she had given Spotted Tail his supper and put him to bed. “ That’s so,” said her husband. “ And now I think I’ll have the bam clapboarded.”

“ What, with my money,” cßed she. “I guess it’s as much for your intdreit to have the barn tight as ’tis mine,” said he. “Do you mean to say the barn is as much mine as it is yours?” “ Of course I don’t,” began he. “ Well, the money’s mine, and I don’t mean to waste it clapboarding barns,” said she. “ Whatever you do, don’t let sixty dollars a year run away with what little sense you ever had,” said he, angrily. “ Things have come to a pretty pass when my own husband call me a fool to my face,” said she. “ I didn’t call you a fool."* “ You said the same as that.” “No such thing.” “ I’m sure you did. What m a fool if it aint a person without any sense.” “ Oh, well, if the cap fits, put it on, fool’s cap or any other.” “ Thank you, I don’t choose to put it on; I fancy it would fit you better.” “If this money is going to whet your tongue like that, I shall wish ’twas all in the Red Sea.” "Oh, very well! So I’m a scold, am I ? A scold and a fool! Can’t you think of something else to call me?” “My patience! You used to be a peaceable kind of woman to get along with. I don’t know you to-night; but there, the old saying’s true: ‘ Put a beggar on horseback, and he’ll ride to the devil.’ ’* ‘|Now you’ve capped the climax. I could have borne anything else, but as to sitting here and hearing you swear like a trooper, I won’t. I’ll—l’ll—go somewhere.” “ Where?” asked be, aggravatingly. “To bed,” snapped she, and flounced out of the room, leaving her husband to smoke his pipe in peace. •This was the nearest to a quarrel that ever the pair had come in all their married life, and if it had ended here‘all would have been well. But when did a quarrel ever end with the words which fomented it? That this did not was soon exemplified, for, a fortnight later. Mrs. Dolittle paid a visit to her neighbor, Mrs. Wyatt, and found her arrayed in all the glories of a new alpaca. Why should not the have a new alpaca as well as Mrs. Wjatt? was the question which arose in her mind. She thought of it all the way home; and the more she thought of it, the more determined was she to bring it about. That . night, after supper, she broached the subject to her husband. "I tell you it’s a real beauty; an’ll wear like iron; not a thread of cotton in it. I could wear it to meetin’ and circles all winter; yes, and summers, too, for alpacas are suitable to wear all the year round. She says I can buy one for eight dollars, and eight dollars ain’t high for a body’s best dress. There ain’t any reason why your wife shouldn’t look as smart as Sam Wyatt’s Wife, is there, now? So, if you can spare me eight dollars, I’ll ride

to Gotham the next time you cany your apples to market, and buy me one.” “ What, with wiy money!” was her husband’s reply. “ Thomas Dolittle, I wonder at you,” said she. Indignantly. “ Well, it’s a poor rule that won’t work both ways,” returned he. “If you keep your money to yourself, why shouldn’t I.” “As to that, haven’t I earnt all you ever gave me, over and over?' Havent I worked twice as hard since I was married as ever I did before, when I was getting good wages, too ?” “It’s ’most a pity you married me, thep, ain’t it?” “Nodoubt youthink so ;■ and perhaps you might have found somebody that would have beeu more prudent and saving than I’ve been; perhaps you might, but it’s too late to talk about that now. If you do repent of your oargain, you’ll have to abide by it.” “I didn’t say I repented of it, but goodness knows, I shall if you keep on like this.” Mr. Dolittle rose and pushed back his chair so violently that it fell over. “Well, I wouldn’t break the furniture to pieces if I was you,” remaraed his wife. “ Kicking chairs over don’t prove that you’re in the right.” With an exclamation which it would be inexpedient to transcribe, Mr. Dolittle left the house, and, after wandering aimlessly for half an hour, fell in with an acquaintance, who coaxed him to that refuge of hen-pecked husbands, the village barroom. The division which this little entering wedge of discord had made, grew wider and wider, until it threatened to sunder’ this once united couple entirely. Scarcely a day passed, scarcely an article was purchased, without a strife of words in which “your money” and “mymoney” figured largely. Unfortunately, Mr. Dolittle had given his wife the advantage of a real grievance by repeating his visits to the bar-room, and coming home, if not drunk, not precisely sober. So when hC agaia proposed a Mrs. Bunsby’s bequest for qlapng the barn, which he did one day at dinner-table, his better-half retorted—

“ Why don’t you take your own money, instead of throwing it away at the tavern?” Now, the fact that Mr. Dolittle had always been a steady, industrious man, and was secretly very much ashamed of his recent shortcomings, did not tend to make his wife’s taunt any less cutting; so he answered her angrily, and a strife more bitter than usual ensued. He left the table still in a state of excitement, and went to the shed, where he had been splitting wood, with the intention of resuming his labor. Just as he had taken his ax hr his hand, he saw, sunning himself in the doorway, Spotted Tail, the cause of all his trouble. Moved by a sudden impulse, he raised the ax and struck poor puss a blow on the head. The beautiful creature fell without a struggle, stretched his fine limbs and, with one reproachful look at his murderer, died. Mr. Dolittle dropped his ax, and stood horror-struck at what he had done. He thought of the little income which might have been of so much use to himself and wife, and which had now slipped away with the parting breath of poor Spotted Tail. To do him justice, this was not the only thought which troubled him. He had become sincerely attached to the cat, and would have grieved his loss under any circumstances, but that he should have aied by hie hand filled him with remorse. And his wire—how would sAebear it? He would have that part of it over, at all events. So, opening the kitchen door, he said: / “Nancy, come here.” His face was pale, and his voice quite husky. She stepped into the shed, and, pointing at the slain monarch, he said: “ Look there.” One glance showed her what had happened, but not a word said she. Sitting down on a block of wood, she took Spotted Tail in her arms and wept bitterly. This was nbt what her husband had expected. He had been prepared for reproaches, for violence almost, but not for tears.

“ Nancy, I guess you don’t understand. I did it. I killed him.” “Yes, I know. Oh, poor thing! poor thing!” sobbed she, still caressingtbe cat. “ I’ve robbed you of all your money, Nancy. Why don’t you tell me to clear out, and never come back again ?” “ Yes, the money’s gone; but what good did it ever do us ? It only brought a curse with it. But this beauty —oh, to think I shall never see him following me round the house any more! • “ Never see him watching for me at the window when I come home from anywhere! Oh, it’s too bad! too bad!” “Nancy, I wish you’d take the ax and cut my head off!” said her remorseless husband. “ I’d rather have you with your head on,” said she. “I guess you feel bad enough about it; and, after all, if you was to blame, so was I, so we’ll call it quits.” Then Mr. Dolittle fell to coaxing his wife, and she allowed him to take the cat tenderly from her arms, and lead her back to the kitchen. He di<J not go to the tavem that evening, but as he sat smoking his usual pipe, he said: \ “ By the way, Nancy, I’ve got to go to Gotham to-morrow, and you’d better go with me and buy that alpaca dress you were talking about the other day.” “On the whole, I’ve concluded I don’t need a dress,” said she. “I’d a good deal rather you’d take the money to help clapboard the barn. It needs it bad enough. I was out there the other dav, and saw where the rain had beat in enough to most drown the poor cow.” So Mrs. Dolittle’s tears had washed all the bitterness from her heart, and Mr. Dolittle’s remorse and pity had swept the anger from his, and ever after they lived a happy and united couple. The next Christmas, Mr. Dolittle brought his wife a present of Spotted Tail’s skin, beautifully stuffed. She said it was almost as good as having him ali re. Some persons would say it was a great deal better. — Ruth Chesterfield, in Youth's Companion.