The Moffats (18 page)

But here she was at Brooney's. Somehow or other her feet marched her right over to the ice-cream counter. No more hesitating over what that nickel was going to buy. Something inside had decided for her. A small, thin voice—Jane knew it was none of hers—said, "One ice-cream cone, please. Strawberry."

Jane sat on the bread box, kicking her legs against the sides. The ice-cream cone was absolutely delicious. At least the first few bites were delicious. But the more she ate, the less she enjoyed it. She was a pig, that's what, a pig. She found she couldn't eat the last few bites of the cone at all. She gave it to Mr. Brooney's little yellow dog, Jup, who gobbled it up without the least trace of enthusiasm, as though he were doing her a favor, in fact.

She sat there disconsolately for some minutes. The few violets she had picked had wilted in her moist hand. She gave them to little Gretta Brooney, who was delighted with them. Jane banged her feet against the bread box. She thought of the bag of sweets she might have had. She could have surprised them all! How pleased and excited everyone would have been. Instead of that she was nothing but an old pig. She started for home, thoroughly ashamed and angry with herself. None of the others would have done such a thing. Well, she never would again, of that she was sure.

When she reached home, she found that even Catherine-the-cat had been faithful to the share and share alike principle and had brought four new little kittens to the yellow house. Catherine brought four kittens every year, one for each of the Moffat children. This year she had hidden them in the barn until they were old enough to hold up their wobbly heads and stand on their shaky legs. So on this day she had brought them into the yellow house for Mama to see.

Mama found an old wooden soapbox for them and there they were, wagging their heads when Jane came in. Sylvie, Joe, and Rufus were all sitting on the floor watching them.

"We been waitin' for you," said Rufus, beside himself with excitement. "We're going to do the choosing now."

Choosing their kitten was a game they played every year. This was great sport, the only sad thing about it being the thought that they would have to part with their new pets as soon as Mama could find homes for them. This was never difficult, for there wasn't a better mouser in the whole town of Cranbury than Catherine and it was expected that her kittens would inherit this skill.

"Oh, aren't they cunning?" gasped Jane as Sylvie lifted each one of them out of the box.

The kittens would try to stand on their shaking legs. But this was very hard for them and every few minutes they would fall into sitting positions. There they would remain for a time, heads wobbling foolishly from side to side. Then they would try again this exciting business of walking. The four kittens seemed quite bewildered at all the strange people, the strange world. All except one. This one, a ball of gray fuzz, with perfectly enormous feet, leaped into the air a few times and then started on a tour of exploit ration. Every few steps she would fall down. But she kept right on trying. There was no doubt that this kitten was the most enterprising of the four.

Rufus burst out laughing at her. "Gee, I hope I win that one," he said.

That was what they all hoped. The little gray one was the favorite.

"Oh, let this one be mine," Jane prayed, although she felt she didn't deserve any such luck after spending that whole five cents on herself.

The children looked the kittens over and decided on temporary names for them. The little gray one they called Boots because of her truly extraordinary feet. Another kitten they named Mask. This one was black all over except for its face, which was white. It was Rufus who thought up the name Mask for it. Another they called Whiskers and the last one they named Funny because she had one green eye and one blue eye. Next Sylvie wrote each of these four names on four pieces of paper. These she dropped into Mama's hat.

"Now, who will be the one to draw out the names?" Sylvie asked.

"Rufus! Rufus!" cried Joe and Janey. "Because he is the littlest."

"All right," said Sylvie. "Whichever cat has his name drawn by Rufus will be set in the middle of the room. Then we will all go to the four different corners of the room and call, 'Kitty, kitty.' Whichever person that kitten goes to, why, that person will be the winner of that kitten."

Sylvie had thought this game up years ago and they all loved it.

So now Rufus closed his eyes, put his chubby fist into the hat, and drew out the first name. They waited with bated breath while Sylvie read the name.

"Funny!" she said.

A cheer went up as Funny was put in the middle of the room.

"Kitty, kitty, kitty," the children called from the four corners of the room. In this game it was possible that you might have a preference for one or another of the four kittens. But this must never be evident. You must call as fervently for this one as that one.

"Kitty, kitty, kitty," they called to the little one named Funny.

"Mu-u-r-r." A very feeble, wistful cry came from Funny. She turned around with difficulty. She was feeling terribly alone in a strange world. Suddenly she rushed as fast as she could toward Jane. However, walking in a straight line was utterly impossible for her and it was Sylvie's corner she finally ended up in. So Sylvie and Funny were out of the game.

Rufus scrunched up his face, put his hand in the hat again. The name was—Whiskers!

Whiskers! Cheers again. But Whiskers didn't care. He just sat there with his head nodding on his shoulders, looking as though he were going to fall asleep at any moment.

"Kitty, kitty, kitty," Joe, Jane, and Rufus coaxed.

Whiskers just sat there and looked around the room with a pleasant though simple expression.

"Come, Whiskers. Come, kitty," they pleaded again.

But Whiskers just sat there, swaying gently to and fro.

"We shall have to go nearer to this one," said Joey in the manner of a patient parent.

Joey, Jane, and Rufus drew nearer, to within a few feet of Whiskers. Still he just sat.

"He doesn't want to play," said Rufus in disgust.

Now the three went right up close to him. Just a kitten's length away. At this, Whiskers stood up on his shaky legs and staggered nonchalantly over to Rufus. He nestled comfortably on his sleeve and was asleep in a second. So Rufus and Whiskers were out of the game, too.

Now just Boots and Mask were left. And Joe and Jane.

Oh, please let Boots be mine
, Jane prayed again and again.
Although, of course, I know I don't deserve it
, she added.

Rufus drew again. This time the name was—Boots.

Boots! The children all cheered lustily. Boots herself seemed full of excitement. All the while the game had been going on, she had been clawing at the soapbox and meowing madly to get out. Now she was out!

"Oh, be mine, be mine," breathed Jane.

"Look at the big toes on her," Joe marveled. "Boy, oh, boy, I hope I win her."

Of course, Joe was just as anxious for Boots as Jane was. And why shouldn't he be? Of these four sweet kittens she alone showed marks of personality that lifted her above the usual run of cats and kittens. She paid no attention to Joe or to Jane. Instead, she raced madly around the room. She whacked at a tassel that was hanging from the red plush chair. This caused her to lose her balance and she rolled over and over. Up again. She resumed her swift, though wobbly, adventuring through the sitting room, the new world.