The Blue Cat of Castle Town (A Newbery Honor Book). Catherine Cate Coblentz

is the mold, time the weaver, the carver,

      Time and the workman together,

      Sing your own song.

      “Sing well,” said the river. “Sing well.”

      “Purr,” went the kitten, slowly and carefully. “Purr, purr, purrr.” That was the first line.

      But as he finished it, the blue kitten suddenly felt afraid. So he began to bargain with the river. Being a blue kitten, he was wiser than most.

      “Before you teach me the rest of the song, river,” he begged, “help me a little. There must be many people in Castle Town. Tell me about them so I shall know whom to choose.”

      The river gurgled before answering. No one had ever questioned the river in this manner, and therefore it was a little uncertain as to how much even a blue kitten should know. Finally, however, the river began, slowly and soothingly.

      “Well, there is a pewterer in Castle Town. His name is Southmayd. Ebenezer is the first name. Once he sang the song. But of late he has forgotten. Still he has ears which should recognize the song when he hears it again. And it is possible there is yet a tune in his throat. And magic in his hands. Though whether he has time enough to fashion beauty, being only a river, I cannot say.”

      “Um!” said the kitten, nodding his head. “Southmayd, Ebenezer.”

      “There is a weaver in Castle Town,” went on the river, “who came from Ireland. He has never sung the song, but once he dreamed of singing it. If you could only get him started, who knows? The hearth you are seeking might be there. The name of the weaver is John Gilroy.”

      “Gil—roy,” said the kitten sleepily. “John. Ho—ho—hum!” He opened his mouth so wide and tipped his head so far back one would have thought he expected to swallow the stars.

      “Ho—ho—hum!” After all the kitten had never before been long away from the warm nest of dried clover, Queen Anne’s lace and chickory. Nor tried to stay awake all night for that matter. While naturally the light of a blue moon is soothing.

      He meant to listen very carefully. But the voice of the river was gentle and slow. The cat settled down and closed his eyes so the light of the blue moon on the waters should not distract him. And almost at once he began to sink deeper and deeper into the dark velvet softness of a kitten s sleep.

      But the river was too busy telling its secrets to notice. Or perhaps it did notice and thought— Well, after all, I am keeping my part of the bargain.

      “Beware of Arunah Hyde,” it whispered. “Beware! Never sing your song to him. Take heed of what I say, blue kitten. For you and Arunah work different spells. Arunah loves gold very much. And the dark spell he is fashioning has him in its clutches. He seeks after something and knows not what, so he seeks the more desperately. His hands are full and spilling over with gold. But his heart is empty of beauty and peace. He has never known content.

      “The top whirls fast and yet faster,

      Till it falls, slung wide from its whirling.

      The spring wound too tight will break from the straining.

      “There is Bright Enchantment and man is its master.

      And there is dark seeking forever, and that masters the man.”

      So sang the river. “Forever and ever, and ever.”

      By this time the kitten’s nose was buried deep in his paws, and he sighed a little in his sleep. While the wind swept through the valley in a long, dreary moan.

      The river spoke a little louder. “And in trying to rid himself of the dark spell, Arunah is but spreading it. Arunah is planning now to make Castle Town the center of the Vermont Universe.”

      The blue kitten opened his eyes and shook the river spray from his whiskers.

      “Vermont? Universe?” he asked sharply.

      “It is all the same,” declared the river. “Any Vermonter will tell you so.”

      “Ah,” said the kitten. And he curled down once more and drew the dark, soft sleep back over him like a shawl. But this time the tip of his left ear stuck out, and it did hear a little. Though the kitten was not to remember for a long, long while what the left ear heard.

      The river took up its murmuring. “So, whatever you do, blue kitten, beware of Arunah Hyde. Never, I warn you, sing your song to him. Arunah, too, has a song. And that spreads his dark enchantment. One of you will win in the end, for on your two songs does the future of Castle Town depend. And in the end, too, one of you will be overpowered by his own song.”

      Had the kitten been awake—really awake, he would have cried out like his mother that such words were nonsense.

      “Now, remember, the name is Arunah Hyde,” repeated the river. Then, with a sharp swish, it flung a dash of cold water over the small form curled by the reeds. “Did you hear what I said, blue kitten?”

      “Of course,” sniffed the kitten with a shiver, sitting up now very straight. “His name is Arunah Hyde.”

      “Mm!” came from the river. “Beware too of the man who wants office because he thinks the office will make him important.”

      “Of course,” yawned the kitten.

      “And of the loud talker, the one who wants to show off and have things better than his neighbors.”

      The kitten yawned again. This time as his head tipped back he saw the blue moon. It was climbing fast. It was right above him.

      “Have you told me all I should know?” he asked the river.

      “All, blue kitten? Why, I am just beginning.”

      The kitten did not like the tone. He lifted his head and stared across the river as though much interested in the bushes on the other side. “After all,” he said loftily, “I am the blue kitten. And I can learn some things for myself!”

      But the river went on as though it had not been interrupted.

      “There is a carpenter in Castle Town, a simple man, and no one knows him well. Yet he, like yourself, was born to the sound of the river’s singing. His father was a silversmith. And he sang the song well. But when he wanted to teach his son to work with silver, the son would not listen. Yet the sound of the river’s song is forever in the son’s ears. Perhaps you will meet this man.”

      “The name?” demanded the blue kitten, who was getting very weary. Besides the blue moon was moving toward the west. And when the moon should disappear, he understood—for his mother had warned him—he must have learned the river’s song. Blue moons come seldom in a kitten’s life. Or in anyone else’s for that matter.

      “The name is Thomas Royal Dake. His mother gave him the name Thomas. But his father insisted on Royal. That,” explained the river, “is a term applied to kings.”

      “But this man is only a carpenter.”

      “Only a carpenter,” agreed the river. It lingered over the syllables, as though it loved them.

      “Dake,” said the blue kitten. “Thomas.”

      “Royal,” added the river.

      “Umph,” sniffed the kitten. “Is there anyone else in Castle Town whom I should know?”

      “Well, there is a girl in Castle Town, who is not anything at all. She is not rich and she is not pretty. And she has an ugly name. She is lonely, for her mother is dead. I know nothing about her voice, but she has an ear for sounds. She listens to the wind, and to the gurgle of the brook, or so I am told. So, she might listen to you. She…”

      “We had better get on with the song,” said the blue kitten, not bothering to learn the girl’s name. For the moon had passed its zenith.

      “Oh, well,” groaned the river, “there are some things, small kitten,