The Eighth Night
As Impty settled down into his place the next night, his purr sounded almost like a laugh.
“Why, Kitty, what are you laughing at?” Dolly asked, for the black kitten was usually a sober little person.
“I was just thinking of a prank my grandfather played in his young days, long, long before he ever thought of being the King of the Cats. If you like, I’ll tell it to you.”
There were once four crows that sat in an ash-tree near an old farm-house. It wasn’t long before the owl that lived hard by looked out of his window under the eaves of the loft, and said to them:—
“Good day to you.”
“Good day,” answered the crows.
“Have you any spare time?” asked the owl. “Then I can put you in the way of earning an honest penny.”
“Indeed, we’d like to,” said the four, for the snow was lying old and thick over the whole country, and there wasn’t much to be earned.
“My good comrade, Tom Grimalkin, is dead,” said the owl. “Now, I was thinking you might carry him to his grave. When my old friend was alive, he often used to say to me: ‘Jan Owl,’ he would say, ‘you must give me a decent burial. A respectable life deserves a respectable funeral,’ he used to say, for he was a clever cat. Now, look here! You four have good black coats on, and are honest people—”
“Come along, then,” said the crows, and crept in through the owl-hole after him, one by one.
Now it was pretty dark in the loft, and the thatched roof was low, but they could see Tom Grimalkin where he lay. He was stretched at full length in the hay, without a move in him. The owl took up his post at his friend’s head, and the crows hopped along, all askew, just as they do in windy weather among the young wheat.
“Many’s the mouse we’ve caught in this loft together, Tom,” said the owl. “We’ve always been good friends, and many’s the spree we’ve had with one another. But that’s all past and gone now. Oh, Tom! Tom, old fellow! How you’d rejoice, and what a spring you’d make, if you were only alive, and I said to you, ‘Tom, four stupid black crows are standing round you this minute!’”
Then up sprang the Tom-Cat, and there was a crow-hunt, the like of which you’ve never seen.
“Didn’t I tell you that owls were more like cats than birds? Why, even that silly song that your uncle sings sometimes, about the owl and the pussy-cat that went to sea in a pea-green boat, and lived on honey, says so. I don’t think that any self-respecting cat would eat honey, but the rest of it’s true enough. This isn’t getting on with my next story, though, and directly I’m through I’ve got to go to Cat-Land. There’s to be a grand ball at the Palace to-night, and I’m to open it with my cousin, the Princess Miaoulina. You never heard, did you, about the way my grandfather happened to learn that he was King of the Cats? Well, then, I’ll tell it to you.”
A number of years ago, a gentleman, who was travelling through the eastern part of Germany, lost his way at nightfall, and at last found himself wandering through a large, dense forest. He walked his horse slowly for some hours among the trees, and finally, as he was getting very cold and tired, he thought he saw a light about a quarter of a mile away. He turned his steps toward it, for he hoped to find some peasant-cottage where he could pass the night, but, when he came nearer, he saw that the light was streaming through the windows of a ruined church. Looking over the sill of one of them, he saw a number of cats gathered round a small grave, into which four of them, crying bitterly, were lowering a little coffin with a crown and Grimalkin the Fifteenth engraved upon it. Instead of stopping to ask the way, the traveller jumped on his horse, and rode off, fortunately finding the right path at last. His friends had been expecting him for several hours, and, after they had given him a good dinner, and made him as comfortable as they could, they asked him why he was so late.
“Well,” said the man, “I lost my way, and wandered for some hours without knowing where I was, and finally I did strike the right path by some great good luck. But, while I was lost, I saw the strangest sight I have ever seen in my life!”
“What was it?” asked his hosts, eagerly.
“Why,” the traveller began, “I saw more cats than I ever beheld in all my life before; every one sad and crying, as a coffin, with a crown and Grimalkin the Fifteenth marked upon it, was being lowered into the ground.”
He had got no farther in his story than that, when the large black cat who had seemed to be asleep in front of the fire, leaped up and cried: “What! Grimalkin the Fifteenth dead! Then I’m the King of the Cats!” and springing up the chimney, he disappeared, and was never seen again!
“The reason he was never seen again,” Impty explained, “was because he went straight to Cat-Land, and people can’t go there, you know. That black cat was my grandfather, and he’d never hoped to be King so soon. But, you see, Grimalkin the Fifteenth lost all his nine lives at once, and so my grandfather succeeded to the throne immediately. Some day, perhaps, I’ll be King of the Cats, and if I ever am, I’ll make a new law so that you can come to Cat-Land just as you are without changing your shape. Wouldn’t that be nice? Good night!”