"I loved the old man, and used to sit on his knee of an evening, as he sat and smoked his short clay pipe by the fire; and I loved the children too, especially little Alfred, the boy who would never go to bed at night until I was ready to go with him.

"Poor wee fellow, he fell ill at last, and this was the beginning of the end of life in the grand old forest.

"Alfred died, and they took him away to his long home, and I never saw him more. But I used often and often in the bright summer days to go and sit on his little grave and think of him. People said I expected he would one day come again. Nothing of the sort. Cats know what death is, and I felt sure that Alfred would never, never come again.

"I knew these people were very, very poor, because one day, when a lady came to see the wonderful wild cat and took quite a fancy to me and offered my master a long price, he reluctantly agreed to part with me.

"He sat silent for a long time.

"But I could see the tears silently coursing down his cheeks.

"Then he turned to the lady.

"'Take him, then,' he said, 'take him and be good to him. He were my wee lad's cat like that be dead and gone, but a ten-pun' note's an'

awfu' temptation to poor folks like we, and will get the children many a little comfort for the comin' winter. Pay the la.s.sie,' he added, 'I'll no touch it.'

"He gave one glance at the fireside, and then went out and stayed away for hours.

"He could not bear to see me leave."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

HAND MET HAND IN A HEARTY SHAKE.

I do not think that Shireen would have been quite happy, had she not been able to go now and then and see her village friends, especially perhaps Emily and the blacksmith.

A rough-looking and a rough-voiced sort of a man was Mr Burn-the-wind, as the villagers called him; but it will be readily enough admitted, I think, that there is always some good in people whom cats, and dogs, and children, are fond of. You see, it is like this: we grown-up people are very apt to judge others by their speech, and by what people say about them; while the children, and the creatures we are so fond of calling the lower animals, read one's character often at a glance, or if not, by one's actions at all events. Well, Mr Burn-the-wind was actually beloved by dogs and cats, and seldom during the day could you have come into his shop without finding a crowd of merry children there, with whom the good fellow laughed and romped, or chased round and round the anvil.

Lizzie and Tom looked in pretty often to see the blacksmith, although they were what the people called gentlefolks' children, and although Burn-the-wind did not take the liberty of romping with them, he told them many a droll story, and sometimes sang them a song.

Then Shireen used to be found there, and if Tom and Lizzie came in and waited awhile, she went trotting home with them, and sometimes they met Cracker, and so they all came back together.

Tom admired Burn-the-wind very much, and sometimes insisted upon being taken up on his st.u.r.dy shoulders, that he might catch hold of the bellows handle and blow the fire. And how he used to laugh, to be sure, when the coals got red and hot sparks flew!

"What are you going to be when you grow up?" said Burn-the-wind one day to Tom.

"I haven't twite (quite) made up my mind yet," replied Tom manfully, "but I will either be a great general, and cut off lots of heads, or a blacksmith, and soo (shoe) horses."

Tom thought it grand fun to see a horse being shod, and wondered at the animal's patience in holding up foot after foot, while Shireen sat by and sang.

The snow was on the ground one afternoon when Lizzie and Tom, rosy and healthy-looking after a long walk, dropped in on their way home.

Warlock and Tabby were with them, and Vee-Vee also.

"Is Shireen here, Mister Blacksmith?" said Tom.

"Ay, that she is, my lad. Been singing to me, and I was singing to her.

Oh, we're fine friends, I a.s.sure you."

So all waited with Burn-the-wind for some time and then all went home together, after bidding the village smith a kindly good-night.

Uncle Ben was just coming out of his gate as they pa.s.sed, with c.o.c.kie on his shoulder, and the bird screamed with delight when she saw the party.

"Oh, Uncle Ben," cried Lizzie, "you're coming to the Castle, aren't you?"

"Yes, my dear, that's where old Ben is bent upon going for a game of chess and a long clay pipe."

The little party were all a.s.sembled to-night around the low fire, which was burning and spluttering away most cheerfully. Even Chammy was squatting on a branch of his tree by the ingle-nook, holding up first one hand and then another to the welcome blaze.

"Shall I begin just where I left off, Cracker?" said Shireen.

"Oh, do!" cried Cracker. "I want to hear about more fur flying, you bet."

Well, then, said Shireen, we left a sufficiently large army to guard the entrenched camp at Bushire, and went on with quite a small, and very daring fleet, to attack the large army of the Shah, in the town of Mohammerah.

I felt somewhat sad after we had reached the fortified town we were going to attack, to find that I was not to be taken on sh.o.r.e, and so you see, Cracker, I can give no personal narrative of the battle, because I was not in the thick of it, and didn't actually see the fur flying.

But all I saw on the morning of the twentieth of March impressed me very much. Where do you think I went for safety, Warlock?

"Into your master's bed, perhaps."

No, Warlock, but right up into the maintop crosstrees, where I could be as far as possible away from our own ship's guns. I had no fear of the enemy's guns.

I had gone up there very early and at daybreak heard much heavy firing, for a raft had been placed quite close to the walls of a fort, with mortars on it. Then soon after all our ships began to batter the walls of the fortified town, and they got as near as possible in order to do this. But mind you, Cracker, the Persians weren't slow at returning the fire, and some of their round shot crashed into our ship, and made her tremble from stem to stern.

"That means from head to tail, doesn't it, Shireen?"

Yes, Cracker. One great shot came tearing quite close past me, but I took no heed. Indeed, despite the roar of battle that was going on on all sides of me, I couldn't help thinking about my mistress. Everything beautiful always made me think of Beebee. And it was a lovely sight I saw.

"The battle?" said Cracker.

Well no, not so much that perhaps, but the morning was bright and clear, every puff of white smoke, with its tongue of fire, made me jump a little, but the smoke itself was borne quickly to leeward on the wings of a cool breeze. Then on sh.o.r.e were the low wicked-looking forts, and the greenery of trees, and the Persian hors.e.m.e.n in splendid uniform dashing hither and thither, and the ships themselves, with the loosely hanging canvas and their flags, on the river, glittering in the rays of the spring sunshine. All was beautiful.

Then further on in the day began the disembarkation, and I saw my dear master among his hilted warriors going on sh.o.r.e, and my heart sank with fear, as I thought he might be shot.

I even began to descend the rigging to go with him, but then I thought I could be of no use, and so remained.

All the while the troops were leaving, the battle of great guns raged on between ships and sh.o.r.e, and I was dreadfully alarmed once at a fearful explosion that took place on sh.o.r.e, for the enemy's magazine blew up, and ma.s.ses of masonry and timber, and mangled human beings were thrown straight into the air amidst sheets of flame and rolling clouds of smoke.

Well, Cracker, I did not see my dear master again for three or four days, and very anxious I was; but I had heard that the British arms had been everywhere successful, and that the town and all the forts were in our possession. The army of the Shah had fled far away.

When my master came back at last, and honest Jock McNab with him, how loudly I sang as I ran to meet them! It was one of the happiest days in my life.

But a strange adventure now gave hope and happiness to my dear master once more.

One beautiful afternoon there he was, walking on the ramparts of one of the half-ruined ports of Mohammerah, in company with Jock McNab, his faithful Scottish servant. To-day, all being safe, I myself was permitted to come on sh.o.r.e with them, and I was seated on Jock's shoulder. After gazing for a short time down into the silver, silent river--his thoughts, I felt, were very faraway--the surgeon of the ship came round.

"Ah! Edgar," he said, "have you seen the ruins of the exploded magazine yet?"