Part 2 — A TALE OF MANY TAILS.

By Katharine B. Foot.

Carry stood in the door-way with her dolly on one arm and her kitten hanging over the other. Kitty didn't look comfortable, but she bore up bravely, only once in a while giving a plaintive mew. Carry gazed into the bright white sunshine.

"It's melting hot," she said. "I guess, grandma, I'll take my doll and Friskarina out to the wash-house and have a party."

"Well," said grandma, looking over her spectacles, "I've no objection; only there's a black cloud coming up, and you may get caught out there in a thunder storm."

"If I do, can Jake come for me with an umbrella, and can I take off my shoes and stockings and come home barefoot?"

"Yes; I don't believe it would hurt you."

"Then I'll go;" and Carry picked up a box with a little tea-set in it, and started off, saying: "Do you believe it'll rain cats and dogs and pitchforks, grandma? That's what Jake says."

"No, my dear. You'd better ask him if he ever saw such a rain."

"So I will," and away went Carry through the sunshine. And she said to herself: "Wouldn't it be funny if it did rain so? I guess grandma wouldn't like it much if cats rained down, 'cause she says five cats are too many now."

The tea-party on an old chair without a back wasn't much of an affair, after all; for, although the doll—Miss Rose de Lorme—was propped up against a starch-box more than half a dozen times, she would keep on sliding feet first until she came down flat on her back and thumped her head. The kitten went to sleep in the corner just as Carry put her down.

"Oh, dear!" sighed the little girl. "It's so lonely with cats and dolls and things that can't talk!" And then she sat down in a corner by the old wash-boiler, where she could see out of the open door, and took Kitty into her lap.

The great fluffy clouds banked up higher and higher, and from being white and dazzling they began to grow black at the edges; and the black masses rolled up and up, until the sun was all hidden and the sky was dark. Then came the rain, gently at first, in drops far apart, but soon it fell faster and faster, and the little leaves on the currant-bushes jumped up and down and seemed to enjoy the shower-bath. To Carry's great delight, little streams began to creep over the path, now in separate little trickles, and presently with sudden little darts into one another, as they came to uneven places in the walk. She watched it all with great wide eyes, and felt quiet and cool just to smell the damp earth.

But soon the drops grew bigger, and all at once they weren't drops of rain at all!

"Good gracious!" cried Carry. "Kittens,—little blind kittens! It'll rain dogs next, I suppose!"

That's exactly what did happen; for down came puppies along with the kittens. They squirmed and mewed and hissed and yelped, and all the time kept growing bigger and bigger. Some came head first pawing the air as they fell; some tail first, looking scared to death; but most miserable of all were those that came down tumbling over and over. It made them so dizzy to come down in that whirligig fashion, that they staggered about when they tried to stand. Carry felt truly sorry for them, and yet she couldn't help laughing. And the cats and dogs who had come first laughed too.

"Dear me! That's sort of funny, isn't it?" she thought; but the surprise didn't last long, for, in the midst of a tremendous shower, down came two most remarkable figures, and, with them, what at first sight appeared to be several long sticks; but, on looking again, Carry saw these were pitchforks!

"Oh!" said she, "I thought they'd come."

Then she stared for a minute at the two odd figures, and cried: "Why! it's Mother Hubbard's dog and Puss in Boots!" And sure enough, so it was!

Puss had a blue velvet cloak on his shoulders, large boots, and a velvet cap with a long plume. He turned toward Carry and made her a low bow, gracefully doffing his hat.

"You are right, Mademoiselle," said he. "I am that renowned personage, and your humble servant. Permit me to add, Mademoiselle, that my eyes have not beheld a fairer damsel than they now rest upon, since last I saw my beloved mistress, the charming Marquise de Carabas."

Mother Hubbard's dog was dressed in a suit of fine old-fashioned clothes, and held tightly between his teeth a very short stemmed pipe from which he puffed great clouds of smoke.

He came up beside Puss, and said, without removing his pipe: "Stuff and nonsense! We don't talk so stupidly in our village. Don't waste your time in silly yarns, but let's settle this fight at once."

Puss turned away and, addressing Carry, said:

"Mademoiselle, this plebeian does not understand the language of court circles, to which I have been used for many years. Mademoiselle will pardon his ignorance." And here Puss rolled up his eyes and placed his hand upon his heart and bowed so low that he was actually standing on his head before he had finished. But he turned a graceful somersault and came right side up again in half a second, without looking at all disturbed.

"Sir!" said the dog, with dignity, "this matter should be settled at once, or the sun will be out, and then——" he stopped short and winked at Puss in a very knowing manner.

"Ah! that is true," replied the cat, "I had forgotten. Shall it be a general or a single combat?"

"Well," said the dog, gravely, sitting down on a large flower-pot nearby, "I think, as we have been wanting to fight this out for some time,—indeed, I may say, almost since time began,—we had better allow every one to have a tooth and a claw in it. Then, perhaps, this matter will be settled forever."

"Quite my opinion," responded Puss. "But first the ladies, infants, and weak and wounded, must be removed from the field."

"All right!" said the dog. "But look here. You first stop that, will you?" and he pointed to a fine gray cat that was rubbing herself against a large, comfortable-looking Newfoundland.

"Immediately," said Puss, and he bawled in a loud voice: "There is to be no friendly intercourse between soldiers of the two armies. It is in the highest degree detrimental to military discipline."

And the dog shouted: "Stop being pleasant to each other, right off. I can't have it. You always have fought, and you've got to fight now."

The big Newfoundland at once made a snap at the gray cat, and she put up her back, spit and clawed at him, and ran off as fast as she could.

Then Puss waved his handkerchief, as a flag of truce, and said in a loud voice, "There will be a cessation of hostilities for five minutes, until the non-combatants are removed."

The able-bodied cats arranged themselves in rows, and the dogs did the same. The two generals stepped grandly in front of the lines, and the battle seemed about to begin, when a young and frisky cat, at the far end of the front rank, took advantage of a dog opposite who had turned his head, and jumped upon his back, clawing him in so cruel a way that he howled dreadfully.

At this, Mother Hubbard's dog advanced angrily, and taking the cat by the nape of the neck, threw her among the cat army, saying: "The trumpet hasn't sounded, and we haven't begun yet. That was a real sneaky trick, just like a cat."

"Sir!" cried Puss in Boots, loftily, "Do you mean to insinuate that I am a sneak?"

"I didn't say so precisely," returned the dog. "But if you want me to, I will." Then he added, in a taunting tone, "You are a sneak!"

Puss trembled with rage at this insult, and drew the little sword he wore at his side.

"Prove it!" he cried, brandishing his blade.

"Didn't you sneak yourself and your master into a castle and fine clothes that you had no right to?"

"Didn't you pretend to be dead once and frighten your poor mistress nearly out of her wits? Take that, sir!" and he made a furious cut at him.

But the dog dodged the weapon, and, with a cutlass suddenly pulled from behind him, made a fierce blow at the cat. Puss leaped nimbly away, with a scream of triumph and defiance. Then they set to with all their skill and hate and cunning.

Presently Puss fell, apparently dead, and Sir John Hubbard, the victor, was leaning on his cutlass, looking sorry, when suddenly Puss jumped up, grasped his sword and made a savage lunge at the dog. "That was only one of my lives!" he screamed. "I have eight left. Cats have nine lives, but you—you miserable dog—have only one."

Then they fought worse than ever, and neither seemed willing to yield.

RAINING CATS AND DOGS.

But the fight ended in a strange way. Just as the dog again laid Puss low, a tremendous shower of pitchforks fell, beating on everything with dreadful effect. Sir John saved himself by getting under a tree, but poor Puss couldn't move to a shelter, and his remaining seven lives were being rapidly knocked out of him, when the brave dog rushed out into the storm and proved himself a generous foe by shielding Puss from the pitchforks with his own body.

"You are a dear good dog!" cried Carry. "I always loved you the best!" But even as she was speaking there came a terrific clap of thunder, and her own cat, who had been trembling with fear, sprang to her shoulder and buried her claws there and as Carry shrieked with fright and pain, Jake was holding her in his arms.

"Were you frightened, out here all alone?" said he. "I was busy and I didn't think you'd mind the rain; but when the thunder began I came out quick."

"Rain?" said Carry, "I don't mind rain, Jake; but I don't like it to rain cats and dogs when they fight. Why, where are they?" She lifted her face from Jake's shoulder, and looked about her amazed, for not a cat was to be seen nor a dog, but only the steady rain, pouring straight down.

"Cats and dogs!" said Jake, laughing.

"And pitchforks, too, Jake,—yes, really!"

"Well," said Jake; "if you aint the most curious little gal!"

But Carry don't think she is half as curious as other people are who wont believe what she saw with her own eyes.

WE CAME,—WE SAW, WE LEFT.