or no. So, listen well, and some time I will teach you The Song. But first, I shall tell you of Castle Town.”
“I—will—not—listen!” declared the blue kitten stoutly, putting two blue paws firmly over both ears. Kitten paws do make good ear muffs, but they are warm. And summer is no time for a kitten to wear ear muffs, at least not for long.
When he removed the paws, just to cool his ears, the river was laughing at him. “You are not a blue kitten for nothing,” it said, and went right on murmuring. But now it was only a comforting, soothing hum, just part of the meadow’s enchantment and wonder.
After that the blue kitten really tried not to listen. But of course no kitten can keep his ears covered all the time. And little by little, day after day, he heard the sound of the river. Every now and then it told of Castle Town.
“Castle Town was settled a long time ago,” said the river. “Up from Connecticut, through the wilderness, came men and women, riding on horseback or walking beside their oxcarts.
“They brought their Bibles and their babies in their arms. They brought apple seeds and rose roots, which had come long ago from England and from Scotland, in their saddlebags. They brought seed corn and barley. They brought axes and tools and pewter molds, spinning wheels and looms in their carts.”
“And they brought my seven-times great grandfather in a little girl’s pocket,” interrupted the kitten. His mother, when she had been in a story-telling mood—which was not often—had told him that.
The river paid no attention. Perhaps the river knew more about the kitten’s seven-times great grandfather than the kitten—or even his mother, knew.
“Best of all,” declared the river, “these folk from Connecticut brought the Bright Enchantment. Beauty and peace and content they brought in their hearts. They knew, and some among them sang, the river’s song.
“So they came to the Vermont valley and said that here should be their castle forever. For a man’s home is his castle. They cleared the land, they planted their corn and barley. They slipped the apple seeds hopefully in the earth, and they set out their rose roots near the log cabins which were their first homes.
“Soon the cabins gave place to homes of boards of pine, of maple and of birch. Some of these homes were set close together for company, along a mile of road which ran east and west through the valley. At the east end of this mile was the village green so the children of Castle Town should have a place to play forever. The church was built on the edge of the green and a graveyard was beside it for the dead to rest in. Not far from the center of this settled mile was a tavern, where men often gathered and talked much of liberty. And at the west end was the cobbler’s shop. The bricks in the walls of that shop were the softest rose color, folk said, in all the world—or at least in as much of the world as they had seen. The boards which went into the homes in the valley were the finest, the apples which soon hung on the apple boughs were a much better flavor than they had even been in Connecticut. And as for juice—well you had only to taste the cider to judge that! While the fragrance lifting from the roses was such a sweet, though unseen, cloud that it made the hearts of all those passing through it beat faster, and their feet kept time as to music.
“All this was part of the Bright Enchantment in the days when there was beauty and peace and content in the hearts of the people of Castle Town.”
In spite of himself the blue kitten began to purr, “Beauty and peace and content.”
“What did I tell you?” cried the mother cat, coming to the haycock at that very moment with a field mouse. And she smacked the blue kitten sharply on his right ear. And even more sharply on the left, for that was the ear nearest the river.
But it was too late. The blue kitten was growing fast. And, the river had been right, for whether he listened or not, he heard it murmuring. Day after day he heard it. Most of all he heard the words, “Beauty and peace and content.” He would like to find a hearth where a mortal understood and sang that song.
“It will not be easy,” warned the river. “Occasionally there have been men and women who were born knowing the song, but mortals cannot teach it to other mortals. Only a blue cat can do that, a blue cat who sings and believes in the song.”
“Believes—what is that?” asked the kitten.
“That is something you must find out for yourself. Not even I, the river, can tell you. But this I can say. Castle Town needs to learn the song and that quickly if the dark spell, which is now being fashioned, is to be kept from engulfing the place. So your quest, blue kitten, is very important. Remember, you must live your own life, and sing your own song.
“Now, whatever happens, and plenty will happen, do not be discouraged too easily or too soon. Your task is hard and there will be many difficulties to face. But this, too, is true, blue kitten, if you do find a mortal who will welcome you at the hearthstone, and who will both listen and sing the song as long as you live, not only shall you rest in comfort in your chosen place, but you shall live forever!”
“Live forever,” echoed the blue kitten.
“That is utter nonsense,” declared his mother, when the kitten told her he was going to live forever. “Never have I heard of a cat with more than nine lives! Never!”
“But the river…” began the kitten.
“Mer-row! I see you would rather listen to the river than to me,” said the blue kitten’s mother sadly. And she sat and looked at nothing for a long time.
At last she came to a decision. “Very well, blue kitten!” she said. “The moon will be blue tomorrow night. So, as long as you are determined upon it, you had better go then and sit in the reeds by the river’s edge and learn the river’s song. It must be done, if it is to be done at all, in a single night.
“Besides,” she continued, “you will be grown soon and there are no longer enough mice in the meadow to feed the two of us. So perhaps it is just as well that you get ready now to make your way in the world.”
“But,” began the blue kitten, thinking how full of mouse his stomach was, and how soothing it was to have his whiskers brushed, “the river says my task is hard and there will be many difficulties.”
“Of course,” agreed the mother. “I told you that a long time ago. Or at any rate I told you not to listen to the river. But, after all, a nest of dried clover, Queen Anne’s lace and chickory cannot last forever. You must live your own life and sing your own song.”
“That’s just what the river says,” declared the kitten.
“Mer-row! Oh, go and listen to the river then!” said the mother cat crossly.
CHAPTER TWO
THE RIVER’S SONG
The blue kitten curled his blue tail respectfully around him and sat facing the river. It had been dusk when he left the comfort of the familiar haycock and set forth. But it was almost dark when he came through the reeds and by the wild duck’s nest to the edge of the river. He heard the heavy flapping of wings as the startled duck whirred upward. He heard the hoot owl on a dead limb, and the lonely call of the whippoorwill. He wiggled the toes of his front paws wistfully. He did so want to turn about and go home.
But
