One-Eyed Cat Read Online Free

Seattle.
    Ned loved their driveway that nearly floated away during the spring rains and filled up with rocks which bit into the worn tires of the Packard. The condition of the road was one of the two things that aroused Papa’s temper; the other was the roof which always needed new shingles.
    For a moment after they parked, Ned sat in a haze of sleepiness as his father lifted out his old leather briefcase from the back seat and bent over, as he usually did, to check the state of the worn tires.
    â€œCome along, Ned …” his father said.
    He opened his door and stepped onto the running board, then shook his head to clear away the sleepiness and raced toward a maple tree that stood on a bank below which his mother’s old rock garden still flourished. He grabbed a low branch and swung out over the edge. The bells from the monastery, half a mile down toward the river, suddenly began to ring, and the week seemed to slip from Ned’s back, and for no special reason, he called out, “Hurrah!” as he let go of the branch.
    On the porch, next to the drooping branches of the lilac bush which was older than the house itself, stood a large yellow suitcase nearly covered with seals and stamps. Ned stared at it a second then cried, “Uncle Hilary!”
    His father turned quickly away from the car. Ned pointed at the porch, and he and Papa ran up the three steps and bent over the suitcase as though it were Uncle Hilary himself. Ned put his finger on a seal that read, Shepheard’s Hotel, Cairo, then flung himself against the screen doors which, because of the warm weather, had not yet been taken down and stored for the winter. As he walked into the central hall, he heard his mother laugh. He could tell she was happy in the special way that Uncle Hilary’s visits made her happy.
    At the end of the hall, just past the staircase, was the door to the kitchen. Mrs. Scallop stood there, her hands crossed on her stomach. “Your uncle came,” she whispered to him as though it were a secret.
    From now on, it was her day off. Ned knew Papa had offered to drive her into Waterville every Sunday she’d been here, but she’d never taken him up on the offer.
    â€œI know that,” said Ned. “I can hear him talking.”
    Mrs. Scallop withdrew slowly into the kitchen like a shadow passing into darkness. She is so silly , Ned thought. He started up the staircase. On the landing floor there were pools of color, reflections from the stained-glass window through which the sun poured. In the upper hall, a great pier glass leaned against the wall, and sometimes the mirror glinted as though sparks had been struck from it or as though it had borrowed sunlight from the stained glass.
    Straight ahead, its windows golden with sun, was Mama’s room. She was leaning back in her wheelchair, an afghan half-fallen from her knees. Standing in front of her, thin and tall, dressed in a gray jacket nipped in at his waist, his long, narrow feet in low boots, his hair as silvery as a rain cloud, stood Uncle Hilary, one ankle crossed over the other, grinning. They look so much alike, Ned thought; it made him feel odd to think of them as brother and sister, not only as uncle and mother. Maybe Mrs. Scallop had been right to whisper; they looked as if they had old secrets between them.
    Papa had come up behind Ned. “Hilary! What a grand surprise!” he said.
    â€œHello, Neddy, dear,” Uncle Hilary said, “And James, dear, too. I should have telephoned but I didn’t know until the last minute whether I could leave New York. I had to find a place to work on my essay about the Camargue, and a friend suddenly had to go out of town and gave me his flat key and there you are! But I can only stay the night—if you don’t mind putting me up, then I’ll take the train down to the city in the morning. Ned! You look as though you’d grown a foot since I last saw you—let’s see,