puir wee things had haurdly ony hair, and were as blin as bats. They seemed to feel the cauld withoot their minnie, for they gaed borin into ane anither, ilka ane tryin to win to the middle, whaur it was warmest. But as sune as ane had gotten whaur it wantit the ithers on the ootside stertit to fecht their wey in again, sae there was nae rest for ony. The haill kittle keepit on the steer, like kail on the beyl, mewin and mewkin, and shovin wi their tottery hin legs.
I pat doun my haund and gied ane ο them a bit clap, and gat the fricht o my life, for it hissed at me like a wild thing. But I couldna blame the bit craitur, for wi no being able to see it nae dout couldna ken I was juist a wee laddie and didna ettle ony ill. I micht hae been ony body.
I sat watchin for a gey while, faer taen on wi them. Then I thocht that if I gaed to my grannie she micht gie me ane to be my very ain, and I could keep it by itsell in a warm box in the dairy, and feed it wi cream frae a saucer.
I gaed doun the closs mou lether like a streik of lichtnin, and ran for the hoose.
I creepit into the parlour wi the sort ο awed feelin that ye aye hae in a kirk. In the kirk it comes frae the picturs in the winnocks, that keep oot the licht, but in my grannie’s paurlor at Linmill there were white lace curtains that lat the licht through, sae it maun hae come frae the stourie smell ο the horse-hair chairs, the very smell itself ο kirk pew cushions.
My grannie and grandfaither were at their noddin yet, and my grannie was snorin.
I stude for a while feart to wauken her, and had a lang look roun, and the mair I lookit the mair awed I grew, and in the end I made up my mind to wait till the mornin, the room was sae awesome.
It was the stuffed weasel in the gless case abune the kist ο drawers, glowerin at the stuffed rabbit.
But the fire settlet in the grate, and a muckle reid eizle fell oot on the fender, and my grannie opened her een.
She lowpit for the eizle wi the muckle tangs, and syne turnt to me.
‘I thocht ye were gaun to play ootbye, Rab?’
‘Oh Grannie, I fand a nest ο wee kittlins in the stable hey-laft.’
‘Kittlins! Mercy me, we’ll sune hae that mony cats aboot the ferm we’ll need anither cou to gie them aa milk. I’ll hae to get Daft Sanny to tak them to Clyde the morn, and throw them ower Stanebyres Linn.’
‘But I wantit ane for my very ain.’
‘We hae ower mony cats already, I tell ye. Awa ootbye and play.’
I wad hae argied wi her, for aa she was sae crabbit, but my grandfaither opened his een and gied a growl like a chained dug.
‘What’s aa the steer? Can ye no let a body hae a sleep in peace? Awa ootbye, Rab, and dinna come near the hoose again till tea-time.’
I thocht I had better gang.
I gaed awa back to the stable hey-laft to hae anither look at the kittlins, but their minnie was back, and she wadna let me see them. She airched her back and stuck her tail up straucht and hissed at me wi her mou wide open and her lang teeth bare, till I was feart to gang near. My feelins were hurt a wee, to tell the truith, for she was a cat that I had aye pettit, and fed whiles wi cream; a big black and white ane by the name ο Moussie, and I was grieved that she suld think I could ettle her ony hairm.
I gaed back to the hey aneth the skylicht and lay doun to think.
I made up my mind that if my grannie had the kittlins drount I wad leave Linmill at ance and gang back to my minnie. I wadna spend a holiday in her hoose again.
At tea-time the kittlins werena mentioned, and aa at ance I grew cheerie, for I jaloused they were forgotten. I thocht then that if I said naething aa micht yet be weill, and wi luck the kittlins micht hae time to growe up, and take to the orchards, afore the aulder folk fand them oot.
I had forgotten Johnnie Kirkhope, whiles caaed Hide-the-Pea, the lazy ane amang the daft men.
Johnnie had a weill kent habit ο stealin aff at orra times for a bit rest in some quait pairt ο the ferm. He wad bide for hours in the shunkie, or doze awa a haill efternune aneth an aipple tree in a thick pairt ο ane or ither ο the orchards, but whiles it was to some quait corner ο the steadin itsell, like the stable loose-box or the byre beyler-hoose, that he gaed for his bit sleep. And as luck wad hae it, no lang efter I fand the kittlins he took to the stable hey-laft.
I had sclimmed the lether wi some cream in a jeelie-jaur, for I had taen to feeding Moussie at the hey-laft door, whan I heard my grandfaither caain for Hide-the-Pea. And juist as I was poorin the cream in Moussie’s saucer, and wonerin what wey she didna come forrit to my caa, wha suld rise oot ο the hey fornent the kittlins’ nest but Hide-the-Pea himsell.
He passed me and stertit to gang doun the lether, and my grandfaither saw him and stertit to flyte.
‘Ay, come doun, ye lazy deil. What were ye daein up there?’
‘I was daein a bit job for the Mither.’
The daft men aye caaed my grannie the Mither.
‘And what job were ye daein this time? Haein a guid sleep?’
‘I was lookin for a nest ο kittlins. The Mither likes to hae them aa drount.’
‘Did she ask ye to look for the kittlins?’
‘Na, but I thocht I heard them, and gaed up to look.’
‘Did ye fin them?’
‘Ay.’
‘Tell Daft Sanny, then. It’s his job to droun aa the kittlins. Did I no tell ye to frichten craws in the field at the Kirkfieldbank road-end?’
‘Ay.’
‘Awa and dae it, then, or ye’ll get nae supper the nicht.’
I ran ower to my grandfaither as Johnnie turnt awa.
‘Grandfaither, I want to keep ane ο the kittlins for my very ain.’
‘Awa wi ye. I’m thrang. Ask yer grannie.’
It was aye the same. I had to ask my grannie. And I aye kent what she wad say afore I gaed near her.
She was ben in the daft men’s bedroom at the faur end ο the hoose, tit-tittin awa to hersell aboot the dottles ane ο them had been knockin oot on the fire-end. She keepit the place like a new preen, and the dottles were aa that was needit to speyl her temper. I kent afore I stertit that it was haurdly worth my while to speir aboot my kittlin, but she had seen me come ben, and I had to gang on wi it.
Shair eneugh, I was wastin my time.
‘Na na,’ she said, ‘nae mair cats.’
‘But it’s a kittlin I want. Just a wee kittlin.’
‘Hou lang wad it bide a wee kittlin? And ye wad turn tired ο it in a day or twa. What did ye dae wi the rabbits yer grandfaither gat for ye? Fed them for a day or twa and then negleckit them athegither. They were aa deid a stervation when Daft Sanny gaed to clean oot the hutch. And nou ye want a wee kittlin. Na na, nae mair ο yer pets. The rabbits were the last.’
It wasna true that I had negleckit the rabbits, though it was true that they had aa deed. They were young anes howkit oot ο their hole, and taen awa frae their minnie, and I had been telt to feed them on oatmeal and tea leaves, whan they needit their minnie’s milk; sae it wasna my faut that they had deed. The kittlins wad hae been different athegither, for aabody kens that kittlins like cream, but the mention ο the rabbits had made me miserable, and I hadna the hairt to argie. I gaed awa and grat in the front orchard, aside the greengage tree, and syne stertit pouin sulphur grosets.
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