THE ADD

Miss Weekes, formerly the postmistress, lived in the tiny cottage next to the church hall. Every Thursday afternoon, the sisters met for tea and a gossip. Miss Weekes was lame and it took her a minute or two to hobble down the passage to the door. It was while Mrs. Mostyn was waiting for the door to be opened that her eye was caught by the notice board hanging on the wall outside the hall. It was protected by a glass frame secured by a pad­lock. Miss Weekes, a prominent church worker and member of the parish council, kept the key. The only notice now displayed was an announcement of a jumble sale in aid of the vestry fund, three months out of date. The rest of the board was bare and this gave Mrs. Mostyn the idea which was to cause one of the rare quarrels between her sister and her­self.

While they were at tea she groped in her handbag for a pencil and a piece of paper, wrote out something and passed it across the table. Miss Weekes put down her rock cake, put on her glasses, took the slip of paper and read: ‘Home wanted for nice little stray cat. Apply next door.’

`What cat's this?' she asked.

`What it says. A stray. Been hanging round us near a fortnight. Some campers went and left it behind.'

`What's it like?'

`Little stripey cat with white feet.'

Miss Weekes screwed up her eyes reminiscently. `There was a cat of that description in church last Sunday.'

'In church?'

`Yes. At early service. Must have followed us in. Came and sat in the middle of the aisle and gave us quite a turn. I think it had been fighting. Mr. Timmins threw it out. I haven't seen it in the village since.'

`You wouldn't have. It's come back down our way.'

`Can't one of you take it in?' `Nobody wants it.'

'Can't you get that daft woman, Miss What's-her­ name, to adopt it? Do her good to have something to think about beside herself.'

`Of course it would, we all know that. But seeing she never says a word to anyone - not so much as pass the time of day - who's going to ask her?'

`Get Jinny Reece to do it. She's got a way with her.'

`Not with that old tartar she hasn't. It's out of the question. So will you put up the notice?' `I can't.'

`The board is only for church notices, same as the one outside the school is for school notices. A thing like this doesn't belong anywhere.'

`Same as the cat, seemingly,' Mrs. Mostyn said crossly.

'If you feel badly about it, then adopt it yourself.' You know I can't. The old dog's that jealous he'd have a fit.'

'Well, I can't help,' Miss Weekes said firmly.

'Meaning you won't. You never did like cats since poor old Tinker ate your blooming canary.'

`There's no need to rake up past history.'

'I will if I like,' Mrs. Mostyn snapped. `I don't see why you're so tetchy about your silly old notice board. Who's going to care if you do stick up a notice about a cat? It's a good cause, isn't it?'

`Rules are made to be kept.'

The affair ended with Mrs. Mostyn banging down her teacup and marching out. After she had done so she was sorry and marched in again to apologize. Miss Weekes accepted the apology and gave her an affectionate kiss. But she still refused to put up the notice.

On her way home Mrs. Mostyn reached the cross­road, where the lane branched off to the hamlet, at the same time as the school bus. She waited till Jinny and Joey Reece got off and all three walked down the lane together, holding their heads low against the driving snow. The children's wind-stung faces looked like rosy apples. They clapped their hands, blew white jets of breath and jigged up and down. They were jubilant. It was the last day of term.

WOULD-BE FRIENDS

'Coo, isn't it cold!' cried Jinny. 'Miss Johnson says it'll be colder still when the wind drops. She telled us to wear two pair of socks.'

`Miss Johnson got fur boots,' piped Joey.

`They aren't real fur,' he added hastily.

Miss Johnson had devoted the whole of one nature lesson to the trapping of wild animals for their fur. She told the children that most of the traps used were horribly cruel. She said that nobody who knew about these things would ever want to wear a fur coat. Afterwards some of the parents wrote to tell her the children had been upset by these disclosures. Miss Johnson replied that she was glad to hear it, for this was what she intended.

'Coo, my ears are froze,' said Jinny.

To distract them Mrs. Mostyn related how the striped kitten had gone to church on Sunday.

'Seemingly it's turned religious,' she said.

Joey yelped with laughter, but Jinny looked thoughtful.      

'It used to be a custom for people to take their animals to church to be blessed, Miss Johnson told us.'

'Now it's been to church perhaps God will help it to find a home,' said Joey.

'I misdoubt it. God's apt to leave such things for us to deal with.'

'Why don't we then?'

'We're doing our best, love. We're all doing our best.'

'If we can't and Miss Johnson can't, then God'll have to,' Jinny said glumly. 'There's nobody else.'

The children scampered off, but despite the cold they did not go straight home. They went down to the pond to look for the kitten. There was no sign of it.

'I know it was there yesterday because I saw it,' said Jinny. 'It was settin' by the wall when we were - going to school, and waiting for our Mum to come and feed it, only she didn't 'cos of our Dad. I wonder where it's gone now.'

'P'raps it's found a place to live,' said Joey. 'I wish it could come and live with us. Why won't our Mum let it come and live with us? Why can't we have the kitty for Christmas? I'm going to ask our Mum to give us the kitty for Christmas.'

'You won't get it.'

'Why?'

'Because she said not.'

'She feeds it, so why won't she let us keep it?'

'I expect she got her reasons,' Jinny said with a sigh. 'Grown-ups always got reasons.'

'Do you think it went back to the village and got run over, like Granny Oddams' cat?'

'How should I know? It might have. But some­body would have told us. Remember when Miss May­berry's Ginger got hurt by that dog? We all heard about that soon's it happened.'

'He got well again, old Ginger did. And everybody knows him. Ain't many people know about the kit­ten. So who'd tell us?'

' I dunno, really,' said Jinny gloomily. 'Something could have happened to it. Be awful not to know. P'raps it's caught in a trap. That old man who lives in the bakery cottage, he sets traps for foxes.'

'Who said?'

'Mavis Bunting. She told me. She's his niece, or something. She says he catches a lot of foxes. He gets a pound for the skin. He got a badger once and sold it for shaving brushes. He's a horrible old man.'

`If he caught the kitten, would he sell its skin for a fur collar?'

`Don't talk like that.'

`Well, would he? He'd get as much as for a fox. P'raps he has caught it and that's where it is, all dead and bloody, under a bush.'

Jinny was regretting having mentioned the old man. Joey had begun to sniffle and his voice was rising to a wail. `It's dead, our kitty is, I know it's dead. It'll never come back. That old man killed it.'

`Stop it, Joey! Takin' on like that, all over nothing.'

`It's not nothing.' His grief was genuine and Jinny had to comfort him.

`The kitten isn't dead. It'll come back. There's all sorts of places where it could go to. Off in the woods somewhere. For all we know, someone might have found it and taken it in. Miss Johnson told a lot of people it was looking for a home and p'raps by now someone's offered. Don't be a baby. That's better. Haven't you got a hankie?'

'No.'

'Here's mine. Have a good blow.'

IN THE WOODS