Part 6 (1/2)

”Do you want me to go with you?” asked the old man, rising slowly.

The dog leaped against the gate, shoving it open, then ran ahead, only to return and bark again.

”All right,” the poundmaster picked up his cap, and when he followed, Jan's delight could not have been misunderstood by any one.

”Woof! Woof!” he kept shouting back, and in dog-talk that meant, ”Hurry! Hurry!”

And Captain Smith did hurry as fast as he could, but Jan reached the driftwood long before the old man. The kitten was in the same place, just as he had left it.

”Why, it's a kitten!” cried Jan's master, as he, too, reached the spot.

”Poor little thing!”

He stooped down and picked up the tiny, limp body. ”I think it's dead, Jan, but you did your best to save it. Didn't you?”

The dog watched intently, his tail waved slowly and his nose touched the hand that was gently rubbing the wet fur. Then, without any warning, the kitten's eyes opened and blinked and it uttered a faint mew.

”Well! I declare, it's alive after all!” the captain exclaimed. ”It must have been washed ash.o.r.e from some wrecked boat, judging from that driftwood raft. Looks most starved to death, Jan. If there's any truth that cats have nine lives, this little thing must have used up a good many of its lives getting to land. Come along, Jan! We'll try to save what's left, anyway.”

The dog scampered toward the bungalow, running back at times to leap about the old man. Jan was so happy that he had saved the poor little thing. It was only a little, grey kitten, and at the Hospice, of course, the dogs saved people; but that was in a place where there was snow.

When they all reached the kitchen, Jan crowded against the captain, who rubbed the s.h.i.+vering little cat with an old towel. Then it was placed on the floor with a saucer of milk. As the milk disappeared, the dog in his delight, moved closer, but the frightened animal humped up its back, fuzzed its thin tail and spit at him.

Of course, it did not know that Jan had saved its life, or that he did not want to hurt it, now. He moved away and sat down quietly to watch it. The saucer was filled with milk a second time, and the kitten's tongue lapped as fast as it could go. Its sides bulged out from its scrawny body when it had emptied the saucer and moved across the room.

”You poor little thing!” cried the old man, picking it up gently. ”It's only got three legs, Jan!”

The poundmaster fixed his gla.s.ses and examined a hind leg which had no foot. ”I guess it was born that way,” he spoke. ”Must have been taken on some boat as a mascot. Well, it doesn't matter what has happened to it, just so it's comfortable now, Jan!”

The kitten went back to the empty saucer, and sniffed at it, then with a funny little hop and jump, it came back and rubbed, purring, against the old man's leg, but it kept a sharp watch on the big dog.

”We'll call it Hippity-Hop,” decided Captain Smith, and as neither the kitten nor Jan suggested a better name, that settled it.

Hippity-Hop was really quite a nice little kitten, even if she did not have as many legs as most cats have. Her fur was dark grey, a white breast and ring around her neck looked as though she had put on a clean s.h.i.+rt and collar, while every one of her three paws was snow-white, like nice white gloves. She spent a great deal of her time was.h.i.+ng her fur with her tongue.

For many days Hippity-Hop was afraid of Jan, who was big enough to swallow her at one gulp; but when she learned that he stood back and let her eat first from his dish, although she had just cleaned her own plate, she lost her fear and grew to love him. Each night after supper she crawled between his paws and went to sleep, while he lay very still, that he might not waken his little friend.

Jan was very sure that Hippity-Hop was the nicest little kitten in the world, after she had learned one thing:

When first she went to live with the captain and Jan and had seen Cheepsie walking around on the floor, Hippity-Hop's green eyes glistened. Then her claws reached out from the fur that hid them and her tail twitched and jerked as she crouched to spring on the little yellow bird that was paying no attention to the kitten. But, just as she was ready to jump, there was a terrible roar behind her and she was grabbed by Jan's big jaws.

Hippity-Hop gave a yowl of fear, and twisted to scratch Jan's eyes, but he gripped her firmly, though his teeth did not hurt her. Captain Smith, hearing the commotion ran into the room and understood at once what had happened. He took the kitten from Jan, and though Hippity-Hop spit and scratched and yowled, the old man dipped her several times in a tub of water. Cats hate water, and Hippity-Hop hated water more than most cats, for it made her think of the time she had been almost drowned in the ocean.

”You've got to learn to be kind to Cheepsie, or else you can't live here with us,” the old man said as he set the kitten on the porch floor.

The kitten began to lick her wet fur, but she was badly frightened and very sure that if Jan did not eat her up, the captain would put her back in the ocean again. So she resolved never to bother Cheepsie after that one time.

The bird seemed to understand, too, for it was not long after this that Hippity-Hop, Jan and Cheepsie ate out of the same dish. At times the bird would perch on the dog's head and sing to them all. Jan always sat as still as he could, until the song ended and Cheepsie had flown over to the captain's shoulder. Often the old man took his violin from the corner, and as he played he whistled or sang in a quavering voice, Jan's tail beat time on the floor, Hippity-Hop joined with a song of her own, though it was only a loud purr, while Cheepsie, perched on their loved master's shoulder, sang and trilled as loudly as he could, trying to make more music than the bird that lived in the violin.

”It's a fine old world, Jan!” the poundmaster would say, as he put the violin away in its box.