“Well, we have had a lovely summer,” I said. “We shall have very pleasant things to think over during the long winter.”
“I liked that picnic down by the river about as well as anything,” said Joker licking his lips. “I've often heard folks talk about picnics but they always went so far off that cats couldn't go. Now, when Farmer Gleason had that one right here at home after haying, and had all the men who helped him and their families, I thought it was fine.”
“I liked the big evening party,” I said, “when people drove in from miles round, and they had speeches and singing.”
“And I liked the school children's parade on the Fourth of July,” said Aunt Tabby, “when they all marched up from the schoolhouse with banners, and had that play-acting on the front lawn and the feast afterwards, and nobody got hurt at fireworks.”
“It was all good,” I said—“all this last part of the visit has been lovely. I think it must be easier to have happy times in the country than in Boston.”
Aunt Tabby smiled. “You are young, Black-Face. When you are older, you will know that whether you are happy or unhappy depends on the kind of cat you are.”
Before I could answer her Slyboots came trotting up. She seemed unusually excited for her. “What's this I hear about going back to Boston?” she said.
We told her what we had heard, and I said, “Don't you want to go?”
She shuddered as she said, “I hate the train.”
“Wouldn't be square,” she said firmly. “I'm the Denvilles' cat and I've got to stick it out with them.”
“They'll always be good to you,” said Aunt Tabby. “You can trust those people.”
Slyboots looked at me. “Is Serena going to live with us?” she said.
“I suppose so,” I replied in surprise. “I have never asked her.”
“You just go find out,” she said. “I guess she'll jar you.”
I fled up-stairs to the veranda. Serena was lying with half-shut eyes, and occasionally glancing up into the blue sky seen through the tree-tops.
Something told her I was coming, and without turning her head she said, “The hawk is around. Go warn Mona.”
I flew down-stairs. There was great talk on the farm of the intelligence of the St. Bernard, whereas we cats told her when the hawk was coming, and the birds told us.
As I ran up to the barn I threw swift glances about me. The little birds knew. Wild sparrows, swallows, goldfinches, purple finches, robins, and ever so many other birds were all flying toward the west. The pigeons saw them, and they were high up in the air circling as swiftly as they could round and round the carriage-house, so the hawk could not drop on them from above. The hens didn't know yet, for Beauty and her brood were following Bobby, the tame pig, up and down the young orchard where he was rooting up worms. He wouldn't let any other hen and chickens get near him.