"Five times five Black Cats are twenty-five Black Cats." And then there
were twenty-five of the angry little beasts.
"Five times twenty-five Black Cats are one hundred and twenty-five
Black Cats," added the Wise Woman with a chuckle.
Then the Mayor and the Aldermen and the high Soprano Singer fled
precipitately out the door and back to the city. One hundred and
twenty-five Black Cats had seemed to fill the Wise Woman's hut full,
and when they all spit and miauled together it was dreadful. The
visitors could not wait for her to multiply Black Cats any longer.
As winter wore on and spring came, the condition of things grew more
intolerable. Physicians had been consulted, who advised that the
children should be allowed to follow their own bents, for fear of
injury to their constitutions. So the rich Aldermen's daughters were
actually out in the fields herding sheep, and their sons sweeping
chimneys or carrying newspapers; and while the poor charwomen's and
coal-heavers, children spent their time like princesses and fairies.
Such a topsy-turvy state of society was shocking. While the Mayor's
little daughter was tending geese out in the meadow like any common
goose-girl, her pretty elder sister, Violetta, felt very sad about it
and used often to cast about in her mind for some way of relief.
When cherries were ripe in spring, Violetta thought she would ask the
Cherry-man about it.
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