One-Eyed Cat Read Online Free PDF

conversation part was finished and they were really talking. He had just touched the skirt of her dress; she always wore bright, pretty dresses.
    â€œWhen you were about five years old,” she had answered. “But I think the sickness had been coming on for a long while.”
    â€œBefore that, could you run fast?”
    â€œYes, I could run and run. And I rode my horse, Cosmo. I could pick you up and swing you into the air.”
    â€œThen—” he began.
    â€œThen the ax fell,” she said.
    The ax fell, he repeated her words to himself now, as Mama opened her eyes and turned to look at him. She smiled. She had been like a tree, he thought, and then was cut down.
    Mrs. Scallop didn’t cook during her time off. One Sunday after Ned had finished his bowl of cereal and huckleberries, he had asked her what she was going to eat for supper. “Mrs. Scallop,” she had replied, speaking of herself in the third person as she frequently did, “never eats supper on Sunday.”
    Papa made omelets that evening and sliced up some tomatoes, which he sprinkled with sugar much to Uncle Hilary’s consternation. “Why is America afraid of olive oil?” he asked loudly, placing his hand on his forehead as though he had a headache. Papa smiled and didn’t seem troubled by Uncle Hilary’s question. Ned thought he would have been troubled if he’d seen Uncle Hilary winking across the table at Ned while Papa had his eyes closed and was saying grace.
    After supper, Uncle Hilary and Papa sat in the living room talking and Ned lay on the floor looking at the funny papers. He always read them in the same place, between the radio and the library table. On top of the radio was a bronze sculpture of a lion, his paw raised over the head of a tiny mouse that was looking up at him, “fearlessly,” Papa had said. Ned wasn’t so sure about that. On the oak library table were folded newspapers which Papa kept for a week before throwing them away, a silver letter opener which had nearly turned black with tarnish, a stack of recent National Geographics, a magnifying glass and a pair of library scissors inlaid with mother of pearl. Ned loved the oak table and everything that was on it. When he finished the funnies, he swung himself over to it and sat up, leaning against one of its thick legs. Papa was saying that they did lead a plain life compared to Uncle Hilary’s.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with a plain life,” Uncle Hilary said with a little smile that seemed to say there was something wrong with it. “I get worn out by hotels and trains and languages I can’t speak, and oh, my poor stomach, the things it has to put up with! Sheep’s eyes and lung stew—”
    â€œAnd tomatoes covered with sugar,” interrupted Papa, laughing.
    Uncle Hilary looked a little put out, Ned thought, as though he were the one supposed to make jokes. Then he said, “I just think it would do Ned a world of good. He’s never been away from here.”
    â€œWould you like that?” Papa suddenly asked Ned, bending slightly so he could see Ned under the table’s edge. “Uncle Hilary wants to take you on a trip during your Christmas vacation.”
    Ned’s heart leaped. He wanted to shout, Yes! There was something in his father’s voice that he hadn’t understood; it made him uneasy. If he said yes, he wanted to go with Uncle Hilary, would Papa think he wanted to get away from him?
    â€œCould you come, too?” he asked.
    â€œNed, you know I can’t leave your mother,” Papa said reproachfully.
    â€œI must think of a place to take you that will fit exactly into ten days,” Uncle Hilary said.
    â€œNed, do come out from under the table,” Papa said with the special patience he had when he was trying not to be cross. Ned got to his feet.
    Uncle Hilary’s visits were always brief. It was probably best that way, Ned