The Lucky Number

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXII, Issue 22166, 20 July 1935, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Lucky Number

By ISABEL M. CLUETT

Joan was six and she was having a party. Everything went in sixes—six little boys and girls, six candles on the cake, six coloured balloons and at six o'clock—but wo haven't come to that yet. , Granny had sent Joan a lovely Persian kitten, Avhich she named Mewriel, becauso- —well, you know the kitten language as well as I do. Everyone wanted to nurso Mewriel, she was so soft and cuddly, but at last she jumped daintily into her basket, and with a faint tinkle of her silver bell she curled herself round and went to sleep. At six o'clock, as the children gathered round the tea table, it was found there wero seven children and only six chairs. The seventh was a istrange little boy with a small white goat beside •

him. " Please, may I come to tho party?" he begged. " But this is only a six party," said Joan.

" Seven is a lucky number," he coaxed, " and my little goat Butter will do tricks for you."

Mummy _ saw that tho littlo boy, though poorly dressed and barefooted, was olean and tidy and polite, and bo looked so longingly at the pink and whito cake and bananas and coloured jellies and all, that «he could not send him away. So he had a delicious tea, while his goat stood quietly beside him and nibbled cakes and bananas so daintily that everyone fell in love with him. "Why is your goat called Butter? asked Joan, and tho boy replied, " Because he is," which was the truth, and not rudeness as might be thought. After tea the boy thanked Joan's mummy very nicely and drew out a penny whistle, and Butter trotted up to him. When he played " Over tho Hills and Far Away," tho goat danced away and away from him, but when ho played /' Whistle, and I'll Come to Ye, My' Lad," Butter came tripping back to him. All the children loved Butter, who played hide and seek with thorn so cleverly you would think he was one of the in selves. Then suddenly tho boy and goat disappeared, and not a trace of them could ha found. Tho children were sad, for Butter had been bo gentle and amusing. So they all went to havo a peep at Mewriel and would you believe it?—she, too, had disappeared. Everyone began to hunt all over the houso and up and down the garden paths calling, coaxingly, " Mewriel, Mewriel." But thero was no mew or littlo silver tinkle of a bell in reply, and no little fluffy furry bundle . came scurrying out of the hushes. Joan began to cry, which is never a wise thing to do on a birthday. I was always told. Then somoono said. " I saw the bov with the goat stroking Mewriel." "Oh," cried another, "tho hoy has taken Mewriel."

, And at once everyone began to say it except Joanj who shook her head tearfully, and said, " Oh,- no! He wouldn't take my kitty because he loved his littlo goat so much," which was really a very good reason if you think it out. Now, all the searchers went out into the roads looking for the boy and goat, but they had vanished. No boy no goat —no Mewriel. Joan sobbed . herself to sleep, but woko again with a great start. For very faint and far away she heard a tin whistlo playing " Over tho Hills," and as she slipped out of bed quickly she heard on the porch tho patter of littlci sharp hoofs. She ran to the door, and there was Butter gravely nodding , his little beard at her, and suddenly

tho tune changed to " Whistle and I'll Come," and away went Butter dancing down tho garden path, with Joan, in her little white nighty and baro feet, running after him. Clearer came the tune as they approached the great dark cliff above tho beach, which Joan had always been warned not to go near, but she was too anxious about Mewriel to be frightened now or remember tho warning. Suddenly Butter gave a skip and disappeared over tho clifl' edge, and Joan crept near the edge with a beating heart. On a ledge below hor she could see in tho bright moonlight tho missing boy with Mewriel nestling in his arms. Then Joan's daddy, who had missed hor, came hurrying up, and she screamed to .him with excitement, " Daddy, look." In a very short time he had the boy and the kitten safely on top of the cliff. Butter needed no help to get up, so you need never call anyone a goat now if you think him stupid. How in the world did you get down there?" asked daddy, with Joan and the kitten in his arms. " I saw Mewriel slip under tho gate," replied tho boy, " and ran after her to catch hor, but she skipped over the cliff, and though I called her she seemed too frightened to climb .up again. So Butter and I climbed down to got hor, for she was mowing bo sadly. And then I twisted my anklo and couldn't get back, and no one heard me calling. It got dark, and then I thought of sending Butter back to the houso. I thought he'd bo sure to go there, because ho got bananas there, and he does love them so." " So ho did. Clever, clever Butter," cooed Joan, with Mowriel's soft purring body against her cheek, " and good, brave boy." " A bravo boy, indeed, my lad," said Joan's daddy, and that was the beginning of happier times for tho boy who owned Butter. But then, you see, seven is a lucky number.