Halfway across the yard the leaf still lay, motionless now, because the breeze had followed the sun behind the hills to rest Gobbolino walked across the yard and sniffed at the leaf, not so much from curiosity but because it stood out in the moonlight like a finger that beckoned, spoiling the lovely quiet carpet of light spread out in front of him.
As he lifted a paw to flatten the leaf against the earth, the moonlight shone upon a number of words written across the leaf; a sight that Gobbolino found exceptionally strange, since leaves fall off trees, and do not provide sheets of writing paper any more than trees provide writing tables in their native state. He held down the leaf with his forepaw and carefully read the inscription upon it.
When he had made out the meaning of the words written there he nearly fell over backwards in his astonishment; and for a moment his heart almost stopped beating. He raised his paw for the briefest second and the leaf fluttered away from him, stirred by the very last echo of the evening breeze. It disappeared underneath the chicken house.
Gobbolino found it after a while, among the shadows. Holding it very firmly this time he read aloud:
“PLEASE COME AND HELP ME, BROTHER! OH, PLEASE DO! OH, DO! DO!”
It was such an extraordinary message to be written on a leaf. And it was such an extraordinary message for a kitchen cat to receive! Gobbolino did not know what to make of it.
There was only one person in the world who had the right to call him brother, and that was his little sister Sootica, who was a witch’s cat.
Long ago Gobbolino had been a witch’s cat himself, until he was saved by a spell, and became what he had always longed to be, an ordinary kitchen cat with a home of his own and a coat that was almost tabby.
Nobody really liked witches’ cats, or wanted them at their firesides. The farmer and his wife did not like them. Gobbolino remembered the day, now long ago, when they had turned him out into the wide world to fend for himself because he had blown sparks out of his ears, and turned himself into all kinds of grotesque shapesand sizes to make the children laugh.
[Êàðòèíêà: i_003.jpg]
It was such an extraordinary message
As he remembered those far-off days the old sensation of loneliness and not being wanted came back to him, and he shivered in the moonlight at the thought of his little sister Sootica feeling wretched and unhappy too, far up there in the Hurricane Mountains, or wherever else she might be now And yet… his sister Sootica had been glad to be a witch’s cat. Over and over again she had told him of her ambitions to know the book of magic by heart, to cast spells over people, and to fly down the night on a broomstick, making people cringe and shiver. She hoped to be the most famous witch’s catin all the world!
What could have happened to make her call for help in this manner? Was it possible that the witch had punished her with some dreadful revenge because she had rescued Gobbolino when he was about to be flung down the Hurricane Mountains? And because he owed her his life ought he not to help her when she called out to him?
But where could she be now?Where?
The owl never came back.
Gobbolino waited outside in the yard until the children came and chased him indoors.
“The hobgoblins will get you!.” they teased him, spreading out his blanket beside the fire.
But all night long Sootica’s message to him rang in his ears: “PLEASE COME AND HELP ME, BROTHER! OH, PLEASE DO!. OH, DO! DO!”
2THE LITTLE WOODEN HORSE [Êàðòèíêà: i_004.jpg]
By MORNING Gobbolino had not slept a wink all night. He tried to tell himself that the message was perhaps a trick to get him back into the witch’s cave and make him a slave again, but in his heart of hearts he knew this was not true. Witches did not want ordinary cats in their homes any more than ordinary people wanted witches’ cats, and she would be glad to get rid of him.
Besides, there was something so beseeching, so pleading in the message scrawled on the leaf that he felt it could only have come from his sister Sootica. And just as she had helped him before so he must help her now.
It broke his heart to leave the farmhouse and the kind family without a word of explanation, but he was afraid that if he stopped to explain his mission they would either prevent him from going, or, worse still, they would refuse to have him back again, because his sister was a witch, and with all his heart he counted on a welcome and his usual place by the fire when he came home.
He had made it his duty to watch the baby asleep in its basket under the apple trees, and again he was overcome with remorse at leaving his post. But one of the farm dogs, who was too old to go into the fields, kindly agreed to take his place, and just as the clock was striking seven in the morning Gobbolino crept out of the orchard, across the yard and away from the farm.
For the first mile he felt so lonely that half a dozen times he nearly turned back. It was so long since he had travelled all by himself. The happy bustle of the farmhouse, inside and out, had become so much a part of his new life that he did not realize how much he would miss it.
“But I shall soon be back again,” Gobbolino comforted himself. “I don’t know what I can do to help my sister, but once I see her I shall find out, and then I shall come home.”
He set his face towards the Hurricane Mountains, because that was the only place he knew where his sister Sootica might be, and thinking, as he did, that every hour was bringing them closer together he began to feel much more cheerful, and even to purr a little as he trotted along.
“For I am such a lucky cat!” his heart sang. “I have a home to come back to, and kind friends to welcome me on my return. The children will be a little sad waiting for me and wondering when I am coming home, but when I do return they will be very happy, and everything will be as it was before.”
The mountains were a great way off, and although Gobbolino walked all day they did not seem to come any nearer. He drank at a stream, but had had nothing to eat since leaving the farm, and his paws were so sore he could hardly stand up on them. Every now and again he stopped to give each of them a good lick, and to clean out the dust and grit from between his pads. This refreshed him a little, but he thought very anxiously about the next day and the next, and the terribly long distance he would have to walk before he reached the far-off Hurricane Mountains.
At last the road ran into a forest, and here the going was easier, because the pine needles made a carpet, quite springy and pleasant to walk upon.
Gobbolino was trotting along quite happily when he came upon a little wooden horse grazing in a small green glade.
They greeted one another very civilly. Gobbolino was delighted to find someone he could talk to for a little while, but he wished he were able to enjoy the berries that the little wooden horse was helping himself to from the bushes round the glade. Gobbolino noticed that he kept removing his head and putting them through the hole into his wooden body.
“Are those berries good to eat?” he asked the little wooden horse.
“Why yes! They are very good indeed!” said the little wooden horse. “But I am not picking them for myself. I am picking them for my mistress, the wife of my dear master, Uncle Peder the toy-maker, who lives close by, and she will turn them into jam, and put them into little pies, and bottle what is left over for the winter.”
“Did you say you lived close by?” said Gobbolino eagerly “Do you think your master has a shed where I could spend the night, and maybe catch a mouse or two for my supper? Because I still have a long way to go,” he added, “and I have had nothing to eat all day”