Part 11

"Cook says I've got to romp him!" he said. "Every day!--Twice every day!--More'n a hundred times some days! Out doors too! Not just in parks,--parks are good enough for cats,--but in real fields! Else he'll DIE!" Almost as though he was frightened he stooped down suddenly and laid his little ear on Tiger Lily's soft breast. "He's alive now!" he boasted. "You can hear his heart nibbling!" He threw back his little head and laughed and laughed and clapped his hands. He took Tiger Lily by the collar and led him over to the table by the window. He climbed up on the table and pulled Tiger Lily after him.

Tiger Lily was frightened, but not too much. He felt proud. His ears looked fluffy. His back was shining silk. His tail hung down across the edge of the table like a plume.

Far off in the city streets somewhere there was a noise that trolly cars make when they're climbing up a hill and the switch is too hard for them. It was a sour sound.

Tiger Lily started to make a little quiver in his back. The little boy threw his arm around him. A mouse nibbled in the wall. Tiger Lily cocked his head to listen but kissed the little boy's cheek instead. It was a nice kiss. But wet. The little boy laughed right out loud. Way down on the very tip end of Tiger Lily's plumey tail about two hairs wagged. When the little boy saw it his face went all shining. He threw both arms around Tiger Lily's neck. "T--Tiger Lily's--little boy!" he said. "T--T--" Something funny happened to his mouth. It was a teeny-weeny yawn that didn't seem to know just what to do about it. Nothing in all the world felt lonely any more.

Except me.

The Lady put me to bed.

Carol put himself to bed all except the knots in his shoestrings.

We went to sleep.

Pretty soon it was morning. And we went home.

Our Uncle Peter changed a lot of our dog-money into nickles so it would jingle. We sounded like cow-bells. It felt rich. Our Uncle Peter held us very tight by the hands all the way. He said he was afraid we might step into something wet and sink.

It had been Wednesday when we went away. It was only Thursday when we got home. It seemed later than that.

Our Mother was very glad to see us. So was our Father.

The Tame Crow flew down out of the Maple Tree and sat on Carol's head.

Our Tame Coon came out of the hole under the piazza and sniffed at our heels.

The posie bed in front of the house was blue with violets. The white Spirea bush foamed like a wave against the wood-shed window.

In spite of our absence nothing seemed changed.

We gave our Father a dollar of our money to buy some Tulips. We gave our Mother a dollar to spend any way she wanted to. We put the rest of it in a book. It was a Savings Bank Book that we put it into.

"For your old age," our Father said.

Our Father's eyes had twinkles in them.

"I hope you've thanked your Uncle Peter properly!" he said.

"For what?" said our Uncle Peter.

Our Father jingled the twenty nickles in his hand. "For all favors," he said.

Our Uncle Peter said he was perfectly repaid. He made a frown at my Father.

When bed-time came I climbed up into my Mother's lap and told her all about it,--the house,--the cocoa,--the toy Ferris Wheel,--the blue daisies on the stair carpet,--the pigeon that lit on my window-sill in the morning,--the splashy way Tiger Lily lapped his milk.

"It will be interesting," said my Mother, "to see what we hear from Tiger Lily as Time goes on."

Time went on pretty quickly. Pansies happened and yellow poppies and ducks and two kittens and August.

It wasn't till almost Autumn that we ever heard from Tiger Lily or the little boy again.

When the letter came it was from the little boy. But it was the Lady who wrote it.

We thought her writing would be all black and sorrowful. But it was violet-colored instead, with all the ends of her letters quirked up with surprise like her face, only prancier.

"My dear little friends," wrote the Lady, "Dicky wishes me to tell you how much we enjoyed your delightful visit, and to say that Tiger Lily is a sweet dog. He thinks you are mistaken about Tiger Lily not hunting. Tiger Lily hunts very well he says,--'only different.' It's mice, he wants me to tell you, that Tiger Lily is very fierce about. And bugs of any sort. All in-door hunting in fact. Certainly our wood-boxes and our fire-places have been kept absolutely free of mice this entire season. And Cook says that not a June Bug has survived. Truly it's very gratifying. Also Dicky wants me to tell you that there's a field. It's got a brook in it where you can sail boats and everything. It's most a mile. This is all for this time Dicky says.

"With affectionate regards, I am, etc.----"

Our Mother looked up across the top of the letter. It was at my Father that she looked.

"Poor dear Lady," she said. "I hope she's happier now. It's that Mrs. Harnon, you know. Her marriage was so unfortunate to that dreadful Harnon man."

"U--m--m," said my Father.

We read the letter over and over waiting for the next one and wondering about Tiger Lily.

There wasn't any next one till most Thanksgiving. When it came at last it was Dicky's letter just the same, but it was written in our Uncle Peter's handwriting this time. It seemed funny. But perhaps the Lady's hand was lame and she advertised for help.--Our Uncle Peter reads all the newspapers.

The letter was awful short. And there weren't any quirks in it or anything. Just ink. This is what it said:

"Mutts:

Tiger Lily's got nine puppies. We're sleeping fine.

Dicky."

Our Mother looked at our Father. Our Father looked at our Mother. They both looked at the letter again.

"My brother Peter's handwriting just as sure as you're born!" said my Father.

"Of course it's Peter's writing," said our Mother. Her cheeks were quite pink. "Well of all the unexpected romances--" she said.

"Whose?" I said.

"Tiger Lily's," said my Father. He seemed to be in an awful hurry to say it.

I looked at my Mother. Her eyes were shining.

"Is a--Is a 'Romance' a something that you make a story out of?" I said.

"Yes it is," said my Mother.

I thought of my gold pencil.

"Oh, all right," I said, "when I get tall enough and more spelly I'll make a little story about it."

"You already have!" said my Mother.