Spice Box by Grace Livingston Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

“Aren’t you
ashamed
of yourself?”
    As the words left her lips the cat made a dart for the little iron gate that guarded the path to the back door and disappeared from sight, her clothesline decoration tarrying in view for a brief space behind her like the tail of a comet on its way, and then vanished.
    The boy looked up with a grin.
    “Ma’am?” he inquired easily. He felt there wasn’t much she could do from that height except throw out a pitcher of water, and besides, for a wonder, he had a clear conscience, so he met her gaze undisturbedly.
    Suddenly Miss Spicer found herself looking embarrassedly into a pair of merry, dancing eyes of the deepest blue with the curliest black lashes she had ever seen, and wondering what she ought to do or say. It suddenly became evident that she was under obligation to this clear-eyed boy for Ernestine’s release, and the condemnation that had hung upon her tongue clogged and trammeled her speech.
    “I—why—that is—excuse me!” she stammered, “I’m much obliged to you for setting my cat free. I thought you were one of those bad boys.”
    Ronald’s face beamed serenely up at her. It did his heart good to be recognized as belonging in another class from the “bad boys.”
    “Aw—them kids is nutty!” he responded affably. “They’ll get sense bimeby.”
    Ronald was perhaps two years the senior of the eldest of those other boys, and he drew himself up with superiority. The lady suddenly realized that he was a pleasant-looking boy. There was something, too, in his tone that gave him the air of being her champion. A quick wonder filled her. She
liked
it! Nobody had ever championed her before. To be sure, it was a very subtle thing, and when she had thanked the boy again she wondered just what it had been about him that made her feel so friendly toward him.

Chapter 4
    S he went downstairs and tried to find Ernestine. She had never been fond of the cat. It had seemed as if it had taken the place with Aunt Abigail and Uncle Jonathan that a child might have occupied. And that ridiculous name! Ernestine! For a
cat
! She knew it represented all the romance that had no other outlet in poor little narrow Aunt Abigail’s life. Ernestine had been the name perhaps that she would have named a child if she had ever had one. But Martha Spicer had little patience for one who could lavish on a cat the affection that should have belonged to a human being. Yet she had cared for the cat conscientiously and until now had felt only tolerance for her fellow inheritor. It was her duty to look after that cat thoroughly as long as she lived, but love her she had never intended to do.
    Now, however, she felt sudden sympathy for the injured cat, a sort of fellow feeling. They were strays and lonely ones together, with no one to protect and care for them. Her heart smote her for her cold unfriendliness toward the dumb creature. She would never be one to pamper an animal, but her heart was warming toward Ernestine, and she felt quite distressed when she opened the door to find no cat crouching on the steps.
    “Kitty, kitty, kitty!” she called, softening her voice uncharacteristically.
    A sudden stealthy movement at her feet attracted her attention, and two great green eyes peered fearsomely out at her from under the steps.
    “Poor kitty! Poor Ernestine!” she said tenderly, using the hateful name for the first time and without being aware of it.
    Ernestine’s head came a little farther out from her hiding place, showing a gaunt look in the furry face.
    “Come kitty, poor kitty,” went on Miss Spicer, stooping down in earnest now to soothe the frightened beast.
    Ernestine suddenly projected herself like a stealthy shadow out from under the step and slid past her benefactor into the kitchen, taking a hasty surveillance of her environment and making sure of her safety by gliding under the high dining room dresser, from where her green eyes shone balefully out like two green lamps.
    Martha