“Well—” Emily said. She hardly knew where to begin. “Oh, Kipper, I have so much to tell you!”
“Then best start telling,” said Kipper with a cheerful grin.
But before Emily had finished her story, the grin had long since faded and been replaced by a thoughtful, somber expression. “Sounds mighty like you’re right ’bout Mrs. Plumly being the one your aunt is pertecting,” he said. “And if that’s so, it makes for lots more questions.”
“I know,” Emily said. “And I don’t-I don’t like any of them, Kipper!” Her voice broke.
“Now, see here, don’t you go doing any more o’ them supposings ’bout your Uncle Twice, Emily. Ain’t anything definite ’bout anything. Come now,” he said with a reassuring bob of his head, “tell me more ’bout that sea cap’n. You say he had a nasty wart on top o’ his nose and a red cut going all the way from his chin to his ear?”
Emily nodded.
“Well, you know if that ain’t a exact description o’ Cap’n Scurlock, I’ll eat a live eel, as Pa always says.”
“Do you mean you know him?” Emily asked.
“Don’t know him personal,” Kipper replied. “Just know he’s a mighty nasty indiwidual, him and all his wicked crew. Mrs. Plumly’s right not to want the likes o’ him prowling ’round Sugar Hill Hall. Wonder what he was up to. I ain’t seen him but once or twice inside here as I can recollect, and then only having a word with the snake lady at the front door. But see here, we never got ’round to talking ’bout the fish syrup. You never did tell Mrs. Plumly ’bout it, did you?” he asked anxiously.
Emily shook her head.
“Good! Best not tell anyone ’bout it, Emily. Not anyone!”
“I won’t,” Emily promised. “I don’t think we should, either.”
“But you never did say,” Kipper continued, “do the old ones take to the fish syrup?”
“Oh yes!” cried Emily. “They take it like lambs, the ones I can give it to without being seen. But, Kipper, they just open their mouths for the syrup, like babies who have grown very old without ever learning to speak or smile. I wonder now if I’ll ever be able to help them.”
“But ain’t anybody’s appetite growing any bigger?” Kipper asked.
“Well, some of them do finish their soup now, as I’m beginning to, but they won’t touch the bread. Until they do, you know Mrs. Meeching won’t get them any fresh.”
“Give ’em time,” said Kipper. “Anyways, I brung you some more syrup.”
“Oh good!” Emily clapped her hands together. “I doubt there’s a spoonful left in the bottle. Is it in those bags you brought?”
“It’s in one o’ them,” Kipper replied carelessly. “How ’bout you going over to find out what’s in the other?”
Emily looked at him curiously, but he suddenly became very intent on scrubbing a piece of linen on his washboard. She quickly wiped her hands on her bedraggled dress and ran over to the sacks. Dropping to her knees, she carefully opened one sack and lifted out three large brown bottles of fish syrup. But when she started to open the second sack, she heard an odd little squeak coming from deep inside it. She looked at Kipper with surprise, looked inside the sack, and then threw her hands to her mouth.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! A kitten! A little calico kitten! Where did it come from? And who is it for?”
“Come from Pa’s and my Blackie,” said Kipper, beaming from ear to ear. “And it’s for you! I been busting to tell you. I was afraid it’d wake up and spoil my surprise.”
“A kitten I” breathed Emily rapturously, lifting it carefully from the sack. “But where will I keep it, and how will I feed it?”
“Feeding’s easy, what with Pa’s fish business,” Kipper replied. “As for keeping it, well, I guess as how Pa and me’ll have to keep it. But I’ll bring it to you from time to time so’s you can play with it, Emily.”
Emily set the kitten gently down on the floor. Just as she did, a drop of water flew out from Kipper’s tub and splashed onto its nose. Startled, the kitten arched its back and pranced across the floor. Emily giggled. Then she held out her hand, and the kitten came to sniff at it. Assured of its safety, the kitten suddenly rolled over on its back so that nothing could be seen but its soft white chest, which looked to Emily exactly like Mama’s lambswool powder puff that she had once loved to play with.
“Oh, Kipper,” she breathed, “if only I could keep it just for tonight. Could I?”
“ ’Fraid not, Emily.” Kipper shook his head firmly. “Too much danger. Anyways, where’d you keep it?”
Emily thought a moment. “There’s a tiny room up from mine that’s not locked because there’s nothing in it. Tilly never has a need to go in there, and neither does Aunt Twice.”
“We-e-ell …”
“Please, Kipper! Only for one night. I won’t ask for more.”
“But I ain’t coming back tomorrow, Emily. I ain’t going to be here ’til the day after to deliver the fish.”
“Two nights aren’t any more dangerous than one. Please say you’ll leave it!” Emily pleaded.
“Well,” Kipper said uncertainly, “I guess it would be all right. I’ve brought enough fish, and a bit o’ milk. But no more than two nights, now!”
“Oh, Kipper!” Emily whispered, stroking the kitten’s velvety ears. “If only I could take it around for the old people to see.”
Kipper’s head jerked up so suddenly he almost toppled over. “Oh no!” he said sternly. “Oh no, Miss Emily, none o’ that! I ain’t going to have anything left but grey hair time you get through with all your dangerous notions. There’s to be no taking the kitten out o’ this cellar!”
“But I take the fish syrup around,” said Emily. “Why is it that I can take the fish syrup if I can’t take the kitten?”
“ ’Cause,” said Kipper fiercely,
