FullReads

“One day last winter I found a poor old mother cat dead on the shore, lying against the skin and bone bodies of her three little kittens. She had died trying to shelter them. She had her poor stiff claws around them. Master, I cried. Then I swore. Then I carried those poor little kittens home and fed ‘hem up and found good homes for them. I know the woman who left the cat. When she comes back this summer I’m going to go down and tell her my opinion of her. It’ll be rank meddling, but, lord, how I love meddling in a good cause.”

“Was Captain Kidd one of the forsaken?” I asked.

“Yes. I found him one bitter cold day in winter caught in the branches of a tree by his darn-fool ribbon collar. He was almost starving. Lord, if you could have seen his eyes! He was nothing but a kitten, and he’d got his living somehow since he’d been left till he got hung up. When I loosed him he gave my hand a pitiful swipe with his little red tongue. He wasn’t the prosperous free-booter you behold now. He was meek as Moses. That was nine years ago. His life has been long in the land for a cat. He’s a good old pal, the Captain is.”

“I should have expected you to have a dog,” I said.

Abel shook his head.

“I had a dog once. I cared so much for him that when he died I couldn’t bear the thought of ever getting another in his place. He was a friend–you understand? The Captain’s only a pal. I’m fond of the Captain–all the fonder because of the spice of deviltry there is in all cats. But I loved my dog. There isn’t any devil in a good dog. That’s why they’re more lovable than cats–but I’m darned if they’re as interesting.”

I laughed as I rose regretfully.

“Must you go, master? And we haven’t talked any business after all. I reckon it’s that stove matter you’ve come about. It’s like those two fool trustees to start up a stove sputter in spring. It’s a wonder they didn’t leave it till dog-days and begin then.”

“They merely wished me to ask you if you approved of putting in a new stove.”

“Tell them to put in a new stove–any kind of a new stove–and be hanged to them,” rejoined Abel. “As for you, master, you’re welcome to this garden any time. If you’re tired or lonely, or too ambitious or angry, come here and sit awhile, master. Do you think any man could keep mad if he sat and looked into the heart of a pansy for ten minutes? When you feel like talking, I’ll talk, and when you feel like thinking, I’ll let you. I’m a great hand to leave folks alone.”

“I think I’ll come often,” I said, “perhaps too often.”

“Not likely, master–not likely–not after we’ve watched a moonrise contentedly together. It’s as good a test of compatibility as any I know. You’re young and I’m old, but our souls are about the same age, I reckon, and we’ll find lots to say to each other. Are you going straight home from here?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going to bother you to stop for a moment at Mary Bascom’s and give her a bouquet of my white lilacs. She loves ’em and I’m not going to wait till she’s dead to send her flowers.”

“She’s very ill just now, isn’t she?”

“She’s got the Bascom consumption. That means she may die in a month, like her brother, or linger on for twenty years, like her father. But long or short, white lilac in spring is sweet, and I’m sending her a fresh bunch every day while it lasts. It’s a rare night, master. I envy you your walk home in the moonlight along that shore.”

“Better come part of the way with me,” I suggested.

“No.” Abel glanced at the house. “Tamzine never likes to be alone o’ nights. So I take my moonlight walks in the garden. The moon’s a great friend of mine, master. I’ve loved her ever since I can remember. When I was a little lad of eight I fell asleep in the garden one evening and wasn’t missed. I woke up alone in the night and I was most scared to death, master. Lord, what shadows and queer noises there were! I darsn’t move. I just sat there quaking, poor small mite. Then all at once I saw the moon looking down at me through the pine boughs, just like an old friend. I was comforted right off. Got up and walked to the house as brave as a lion, looking at her. Goodnight, master. Tell Mary the lilacs’ll last another week yet.”