Benjamin West and His Cat Grimalkin by Marguerite Henry & Wesley Dennis

Author:Marguerite Henry & Wesley Dennis [Henry, Marguerite & Dennis, Wesley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781481403962
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2014-03-11T07:00:00+00:00

When Benjamin’s fingers grew cold, he would box with Grimalkin. Or he would swing on the wooden pins that held the rafters in place.

The hours flew. Often he caught himself humming like a teakettle. Happiness seemed to bubble up inside him whenever he painted.

For three whole days—except for mealtimes—Benjamin and Grimalkin lived in the garret. They were never late for meals. Grimalkin’s appetite was more dependable than a sundial. Promptly at mealtime he would cuff Benjamin on the ankle and give him no peace until he laid down his brush.

And just as Mamma was dipping up the gravy or ladling porridge into bowls, Benjamin and Grimalkin would be there.

On the afternoon of the third day, Benjamin was startled to hear the blasting voice of Master Snevely.

“Thy son!” the voice trumpeted. “Is he ailing?”

Benjamin strained his ears, but could hear no answer.

“For three days,” the voice boomed upward, “his seat has been vacant.”

Again the house was muffled in stillness.

Benjamin held his breath. At last the rat-a-tat of hoofbeats growing fainter and fainter drifted up to him.

With a sigh of relief he went on painting the foliage of a hickory tree.

Suddenly there were light footsteps on the ladder. Then the trapdoor creaked open. A starched white cap showed above the opening, then a pair of troubled blue eyes.

“Mamma!” gasped Benjamin. “What have I done? I have not even thought about school.”

Mamma’s lips thinned into a firm line as she mounted the last few steps and walked the length of the garret. Her eyes seemed to throw off sparks.

“Benjamin!” she said sharply. “It pains me . . .” And then she stopped short as she caught sight of the picture. Benjamin had not copied Grevling. But he had learned some of his secrets.

He had learned how to make water ripple in the wind and how to make the sun touch off the underside of leaves.

“Put down thy brush,” she said softly. “Another stroke might spoil it.”

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